Survivors (41 page)

Two blocks away, Delaney lowered his binoculars, reached for his radio, and remembered that Sawyer was now sitting only a few feet away, leaning up against a stack of unused wooden crates. “That’s it, sir,” said Delaney. “Their search parties have gone into the surrounding streets. They’re out of sight.”

Sawyer stood, stretching his back with a sigh.

“That’s our cue, soldier. Order the go.”

“Yes, sir.”

Delaney reached up a hand to switch on his transmitter. “Entry teams, go.”

In the street below, alleyways came alive. Men in urban camouflage appeared from behind Dumpsters and trash cans, hidden from view until their sudden movement revealed them. They held rifles at the ready, advancing slowly on the main entrance to the Fac. They took their time, scanning the rooftops for guards.

Across the Fac’s courtyard, Krueger sat, staring out into the distance, watching for shamblers. The intruders, behind him, escaped his notice.

The men stacked up on either side of the Fac’s main entryway, rifles tucked tightly against their shoulders, barrels aimed at the doorway.

A voice crackled over the radio. It was Sawyer. “Remember. Hit it with morse. Two Victors. Repeat, two Victors. Out.”

The lead man leaned forward, extending a fist to the doorway.

He pounded out the quick code. Dot-dot-dot-dash. Dot-dot-dot-dash.

A feminine voice echoed from within. “It’s about time you got that right!”

Heavy knocks sounded as the bars were removed from the door frame. It cracked open. Revealed was Junko Koji, an amused grin on her face.

“I was starting to think you’d never remember—”

Her grin faded as she took stock of the men confronting her.

Juni turned, a scream of warning on her lips.

A pair of gunshots rang out.

Blood blossomed on Juni’s chest. Her scream caught in her throat, and she stumbled forward, a look of shock on her face. Junko Koji collapsed on the floor, unmoving. Her eyes, still wide open, slowly unfocused, and she settled into stillness. Blood pooled from beneath her chest, slowly spreading across the carpeted floor.

“Tango down,” reported the lead soldier. “Moving in.”

The masked man shot hand signals at his comrades, directing them to either flank of the room, his eyes on the swinging double doors that led deeper into the complex.

“Keep a move on,” warned the shooter. He stepped over the body of Junko Koji as he spoke. “We want to be in and out before the rest of them get back. Priority one is Dr. Anna Demilio, so watch your targets. Don’t shoot her.”

“Roger, lead,” came the chorus of replies.

Below, Agent Gregory Mason heard the shots.

Despite the pain in his chest, he picked himself up and reached for the drawer in the nightstand next to his hospital bed, withdrawing a Beretta pistol. He checked the chamber and magazine. Satisfied, he tucked it into the waistband of his pants. He considered getting up and checking out the noise, but the pain in his chest, less bearable today than on others, convinced him to stay put. If there was trouble, it would find its way downstairs.

After all, Mason reasoned, that was where Anna would be found. He looked over at the very still form of Commander Harris and wished the man was awake and similarly armed.

Outside the Fac, Hal Dorne and Stone also heard the pair of shots ring out. Hal stopped his broadcast from the radio tower and cast a worried glance over his shoulder, wondering where the rounds had come from.

“Probably one of the search parties,” he reasoned. “Found a stray carrier too close to the Fac, yeah?” His gut, perhaps remembering the lesson of the tamping bars, disagreed. Something felt wrong.

He continued his efforts on the radio.

Inside the Fac, the intruders moved quickly, securing room after room, moving efficiently down the halls, checking their corners and watching one another’s backs. Behind them, the entryway doors swung open, and in strode Sawyer, pistol strapped to his waist. He didn’t bother drawing it. He had confidence in his men. He surveyed the scene, cast a quick glimpse at Juni’s unmoving form on the floor, and stepped over her, following in the direction of his men.

He caught up with them in the main hall beyond the reception room.

“Any contacts?” he asked.

“No one since the door guard,” answered the lead infiltrator.

“‘Guard,’ right,” Sawyer snorted. “They’ll be downstairs, in the labs. Let’s go.”

The search parties, distant though they were, had also heard the shots.

“What was that?” asked Jack, staring back in the direction of the Fac.

“Sounded like gunshots,” said Brewster. “Maybe Stone shot a shambler?”

“I don’t know,” said Jack. “Got a bad feeling.”

“Yeah,” admitted Brewster. “Me, too. You know what, scrap the run. If there are people out there, and if they send up another flare, we’ll head back out. But first, let’s get back to the Fac and see what’s brewing.”

The trio abandoned the building and started off at a dogtrot toward the Fac.

Three blocks over and one down, Denton’s group had also noticed the shots. He turned to Mbutu Ngasy. “What do you think?”

The big Kenyan nodded at the radio on Denton’s belt. “I think perhaps you should use your radio and ask.”

“What? Oh, yeah.” He pulled the radio from his belt. “Maybe—”

He was interrupted by Brewster’s voice over the radio.
“Krueger! Krueger! You there, over?”

They made it less than half a block before a round ricocheted off the pavement at Brewster’s feet.

“Sniper!” cried Brewster. He dove for the nearest cover, the rusted-out hulk of a car parked along a curb. Mitsui and Jack followed suit, with Jack coming to rest behind a concrete stoop with Mitsui right behind him.

“Where the hell is that coming from?” yelled Brewster as a second round pinged off the hood of his cover. He grabbed for his radio. “Krueger! Krueger! You there, over?”

It took a moment for the sharpshooter to reply.

“I’m here. What the hell is going on? I think I’m hearing shots!”

“You
are
hearing shots, you dumb shit! We’re pinned down in front of the Fac! Someone’s got us locked down, tight! Can you spot him, over?”

“Where are you taking fire from, over?” came Krueger’s reply.

“Straight ahead of us! From a building, on the corner!” Brewster ducked as a third round punched through the roof of the car he’d ducked behind. “And
hurry,
will you?”

A long moment of silence passed. Another round pinged off the pavement inches from Brewster’s feet. He tucked his legs in closer. “Come on, Krueger, come on! We’re sitting ducks out here.”

“I see him,” Krueger’s voice crackled over the radio. “He’s in a third-story attic, just across the Fac. One second, over.”

Another round slammed into Brewster’s cover, making him wince.

“Well, don’t take all day!” Brewster shouted back.

A moment later, a rifle crack echoed across the blocks, and then all fell silent.

“Nailed him,” came Krueger’s reply. A moment later, his voice came through the radio again. “But don’t look now. Seems like the shots have drawn some company, over.”