The Night Sweeper: Assassin: A Zombie Conspiracy Novel (The Sweeper Chronicles Book 2) (16 page)

I turn to walk away, feeling better about myself. But
still, I shake my head. Ming is a weird character, but I guess she deserves to
be weird after everything she’s been through.

The thought has no sooner crossed my mind when
something slams into my back like a wrecking ball, throwing me several feet
forward and facedown into the grass of the clearing. At first I'm confused, but
all of my training and life experience kick in after a heartbeat and I realize
what happened. The tramp kicked me! I know the feel of a foot in the back. What
the heck was that for?

I push myself to my knees and spin on her, ready to
attack, unable to make sense of the sudden strike. My eyes focus on her, but
she's already thirty feet away, running like a coward, or so I think.

All of that suddenly changes when she abruptly dives to
the ground in a ball and throws her arms over her head. I'm still trying to
process this new strange behavior when an explosion rocks the ground, piercing
my ears with a roar, and knocking me back down again.

The dome overhead implodes and glass rains down on us
like a hurricane torrent, pin pricks scratching at my exposed skin and filling
my hair. Ming gets up, and charges back at me, and she's on me almost before I
have time to react. She throws a massive kick and I manage to move out of the
way just in time, but she spins without stopping and begins lashing out with a
furious onslaught of hands feet and elbows.

The clearing is suddenly caught up in a swirling
blizzard as snow and ice pour into the dome like a waterfall. The pipes from
the sprinkler system in the ceiling of the dome were broken from the explosion,
and now water flows out unchecked, instantly turning into a wintry mix when it
hits the frigid atmosphere. Mixing with the snow from the sky now also falling
into the opening, it's getting hard to see more the a few feet in front of my
face.

As if in response to my thoughts, Ming catches my cheek
with a punch, and I see stars.

So far I'm reacting defensively, my mind still reeling,
and I realize I need to get a grip or this will go badly for me. Ming is
several inches taller than me and nearly as strong as most men judging from the
power of her strikes. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I register the fact
that I'm still barefooted, and glass is digging into the soles of my feet and
toes as I dodge and parry her attacks. The sharp pain helps me get my focus
back, then I instantly shut down all pain reception in my body.

Going on the offensive, I throw a lightning jab at
Ming's midsection. The blow would have ruptured internal organs if it had
connected, but Ming is an experienced Sweeper with years’ worth of battle honed
senses. She's moves like a leopard, and though my blows are powerful, she
manages to block them soon enough or move quickly enough that none of them
connect with the pulverizing force I'm trying to land.

I decide to use it to my advantage and throw an obvious
haymaker that she can see coming from a mile away. But that's exactly what I
want. She throws up her left arm to block the blow from doing serious damage,
but I use the momentum to push her off balance, twisting her body to the side.

In a flash I'm in the air and spinning, the bottom of
my foot connecting solidly with her right cheek. Not a knockout blow, but she
still falls heavily backwards, several streaks of blood running down the side
of her face where the glass embedded in my foot raked across her skin.

I notice that the snow all around me is stained dark red,
the blood from my feet, but I don't have time to worry about it. Ming grabs
something in the snow. I dive towards her in an attempt to pin her down, but
she rolls and I feel a sharp pain in my stomach.

Popping back up to our feet, we face each other down,
for the moment, neither of us making a move. I grab at my abdomen. My hand
comes away bloody, my shirt slashed through. Ming too is sliced and bloody
from being thrown to the ground, but in her right hand something glistens. She
cradles a long, thick shard of glass from the ceiling. I can see where it has
cut into her flesh, but she holds tight anyway.

I curse under my breath, a fresh surge of rage pouring
through me like fire. I notice again the streaks of blood on her face and
an idea hits me as she starts to charge, emboldened by her momentary
victory. I drop to my knee and slam my fists into the ground feeling an
intense but fleeting sting that manages to flare past my lowered senses as
dozens of pieces of glass bury themselves in my fists. She’s on top of me
now, the blade arcing downward at my face

I arch backwards and her swing misses, but
it’s close enough that the blade passes through my hair. Now I have her
off balance, her back to me from the follow-through of the swing, and I throw a
sweeping kick with my right foot against her shins. I don’t get as much
power behind it as I would like, but it’s enough to knock her feet out from
under her and throw her hard onto her stomach.

She’s already rolling away from me and back
onto her feet, but it costs her. As she comes back up, a dozen new gashes
begin to ooze blood across her legs, chest, and back. I leap at
her. She attempts a weak backhanded slash, but I block it with my right
hand. I turn with the block and gouge my left fist across her side,
feeling a sick satisfaction as the shards in my hand dig deeply into her ribs…

The problem with Cray is that he's always been too
trusting, and therefore, a bit naïve.

Back in the days when we trained together, I liked him
well enough as a person, but we were never good friends. It wasn't that I
wouldn’t have been his friend, but he was always stumbling over his words
around the girls, and he was so far advanced above all of us that he kept
mostly to himself.

About the only things he ever said to anyone were
wisecracks, but I think even that came from insecurity. I mean, he was
comfortable enough around the guys, but he was never “chummy” with any of them.

Most of what I told Cray is true enough. I really did
love being a Sweeper. But I had another skill set that eclipsed even my
fighting skills – a skill set that Archer found to be of particular use to him
at the time.

When he first approached me with the opportunity, I was
a little dubious and nervous, but he was convinced that I could pull it off.

It came as a serious shock to learn that he was
secretly in control of the government, but I completely understood. It made
perfect sense.

What greater act of selflessness than to hide in the
shadows, taking the burden of leading without any of the limelight? Of course,
he was well known as the head of The Organization, but that was different. In
public, even that role was subject to The Council. No, I thought highly of him.
To me, he was the epitome of what a leader should be. He was never afraid to
get his hands dirty and even let others take the credit for his sweat and
blood.

I understood the need for his secrecy. The old
government before The Virus was broken. It took an idealist and man of true
drive and power to change the tide.

I still don't get why Cray can't see that. I understand
his sense of morality, but history is overflowing with examples of having to
sometimes sacrifice things, and often people, for the greater good. To me, I
see Archer as no different than a great general who sends his troops into
battle. Sure, people get hurt. People get killed. But we're fighting for
the survival of our nation.

In the years leading up to my faked death, Archer began
to realize that the only true threat of revolt that existed for our rebuilding
nation was the black market. Often, revolts rise from the ranks of those who
are already predisposed to eschew authority, and the black market was a
breeding ground for such people. Not only that, but they had the money
and power to back it up.

Obviously, it would have been better to eliminate them,
but resources were tight and things like Prohibition proved eradicating
criminal organizations is near to impossible. So Archer decided on
another course of action. We would keep tabs on them from the inside.

Archer devised a plan, one that like his own hidden
life would need to be kept secret. To free me from my public role as a Sweeper
so that I could infiltrate the black market effectively, he staged my death and
shuttled me off to New York City, the main black market hub.

For months I worked small jobs, building a reputation
as a hacker. Archer helped me ferret out these jobs and provided support. He
gave me everything I needed. And slowly, I started to gain the notice of
influential people. Giving myself the code name Raven, I worked my way up in
the black market as someone of reliability.

Like the mob, the black market is ultimately controlled
by a handful of powerful people. Per Archer's instructions, I did whatever jobs
were needed until I gained the trust of that inner circle.

Interestingly enough, what really helped me secure the
trust of the powers that be wasn't just hacking. It was my first big job for
Terrance Tippin, one of the big five as I came to call them. He was the head of
a particularly ruthless black market clan, the kind of guy who made the
Godfather look like a kind-hearted soul.

Through various channels, Tippin contacted
me with a proposition. He had a client that had shorted him on a
deal. It just so happened that this person was a high ranking official in
the government, a regional sub-councilman under the High Council named Lester
Hobbs.

He had set up a party with some prostitutes
for himself and some of his pals. The prostitutes were Tippin’s.
When it came time to pay the tab, Hobbs complained that one of the girls bailed
and told Tippin he wasn’t going to pay full price. Tippin said he wasn’t
notified and would have rectified the situation, but the original price
stood. Hobbs only paid what he thought he owed. As revenge, Tippin
wanted me to hack Hobbs’ accounts and take
all
of his money.

I talked with Archer, and he saw an
opportunity. If I could pull off the job and go above and beyond what
Tippin was asking for, there was a chance I could get brownie points in the
trust circle. Hobbs became our unwitting fall guy. He wasn’t
a complete loser. In a way, his sacrifice helped protect our government
by getting me closer to those who could oppose it. I paid him a visit and
put a bullet between his eyes. Then Archer gave me a couple of hundred
grand in cash, appropriated from the government’s slush funds of course.

After that, the story was easy to
fabricate. The meet was set for me to follow up with Tippin and make the
final transfer of Hobbs’ accounts. When I showed up, I was carrying the
cash. I told Tippin that I found out Hobbs kept large amounts of cash in
his house, and since he paid me to get all of Hobbs’ money, it seemed only fair
to include the cash. I also showed him a picture of Hobbs’ head with all
the gory details – a death later confirmed by the news. Tippin was ecstatic,
and as a result, started throwing business my way and recommending me to the
other Four as someone who went above and beyond the call of duty. That
deal sealed my credibility as the Raven and got me into the most powerful
corners of the black market. The rest was history.

After years of hard work, anyone in the underground
knows that if you need information, if you need records changed, if you need
anything requiring a computer, you come to the Raven.

So that's what I am. I am a hacker. I am a salesman of
information and a broker of infiltration. But what I really am, is Archer's
inside woman in the black market. I am, in essence, a spy, and a freaking
good one.

When Cray first approached me, I was shocked. I knew
the superficial story Archer had fed to the news feeds, but I also knew the
truth. Archer had me on lookout for Cray or Mira in case they used the
market. And Cray walked right into my world. As soon as possible, I
contacted Archer to let him know that Cray had surfaced.

After learning that Damian Harbin was alive, the plan
was simple. It was also one of the most dangerous missions I had ever
undertaken. I would go along with whatever Cray was up to, pose as his
friend, and do whatever it took to get the cure and any other important information
I could. That meant keeping Cray alive and getting him to take me to
Damian’s lair. But in order to make it look real, and to keep my cover as
the Raven intact, no one but me and Archer would know about it, including the
soldiers we killed escaping from the bunker.

Archer was required to send a group to track us down to
keep from raising suspicion – the ones that found us at the hospital. He
had to have faith that in the event they did find us, we would be
survive. We did.

The explosion jars me awake, and I sit bolt upright on
the bed, momentarily struggling to clear the fog from my head. I remember Mira
telling me I had been in a metagenic chamber and that it would take a while for
the weakness and grogginess to subside. I don’t know how long I slept,
but now that I’m awake, my mind is growing sharper by the second. And
when I stand, I’m definitely not feeling week. In fact, I feel better
than I have in months. But these are fleeting thoughts. Right now,
my only concern is the reason I was awakened.

Springing from the bed, I move towards the open balcony
door where the source of the explosion originated. I half-expect that something
in the fortress has gone wrong, some terrible accident or some experiment gone
awry. But the sight that meets me nearly stops me in my steps.

Above, a huge portion of the ceiling of the dome is
gone, the structure that supported the glass mangled and gaping open. Snow
pours in like an icy hurricane and I can just make out the forms of two people
fighting in the center of it all, but only for a moment before the blanket of
white gets too heavy for me to see through. I couldn't see clearly enough to be
sure, but I think one of the people was Mira.

I make a move to the edge of the balcony and consider
for a heartbeat jumping over. I quickly realize that would be a bad decision.
The jump is too high, and whatever is going on down there, I can't help with
broken legs.

Turning, I grab my gun from the nightstand and sprint
from the room into the hallway which is now filling with people.

“Move, move, move,” I yell. They struggle to get
out of the way in the midst of the confusion, and I ignore the elevator and
sprint down the stairs, dodging all the while.

I storm through the archway that leads from the living
area out into the dome, the blast of arctic air coming from the ragged hole
high above ripping through me like the cold, clutching fingers of death. In the
distance, I catch glimpses of the two fighting figures again, and now I have no
doubt. One of them is definitely Mira, and even from this distance, I can see
she's covered in blood.

I press myself for every ounce of speed I can muster,
only halfway registering the crunch under my feet. It takes me a distracted
moment to realize it is glass, and not the snow that is crunching underneath
me.

I'm getting steadily closer, and the other figure now
comes into view. I swear violently at the recognition. Ming! All too
sickeningly, I realize the truth. She sold us out. Maybe she was even planning
it the entire time. That would explain how easily she escaped from the guards
in the bunker.

I bring my gun up to bear. I don't know all the back
story, but Ming is pitted against Mira, and that makes her my enemy regardless,
but I don't even have the chance to fire.

What happens next is in such rapid succession, the
events almost seem to be simultaneous. From my right, I catch sight of Graelin
and Beth sprinting towards the fighting women. Most everyone else I suppose is
hiding or taking cover, but Graelin is a warrior, and he is obviously moving in
to defend his territory.

At the same time, there is a deafening roar from
overhead, and we all look up to see huge portions of the steel latticework of
the dome begin to crumble inward and fall towards us. Immediately, everyone is
diving in all directions, dodging massive pieces of shrapnel as they careen to
the ground. I ignore the glass that digs into my prone body as I land on my
back, mere inches from a steel girder that lands at my feet.

I hear shouts, and look over to see a particularly
massive, rectangular piece of metal and concrete slam into the ground, kicking
up snow and glass from the impact. For an unending moment, it stands there on
end, teetering like a monolith ready to fall at any second. Then, as if no longer
able to stand under its own weight, it begins to tip, and starts to fall. I
realize in horror that Beth is lying right beneath it, out cold from being hit
in the head with something from above. Blood pools around her hair
turning the snow crimson.

In an instant, Graelin is there. Screaming with the
effort, he throws his massive hands up against the monolith, and for a moment,
its topple stops. But the weight is too great, even for his superhuman
strength, and it begins pushing slowly down on him, inch by inch, farther and
farther, threatening to crush them both.

I'm on my feet in an instant, and I instinctively move
towards them, but Mira has beaten me to the punch, and like a flash of
lightning, she's there beside Graelin, pushing against the gargantuan slab of
steel. She's several times smaller than him, but their combined strength is
enough, and gradually, its downward momentum stops and begins to move in the
opposite direction, both of their arms and legs trembling from the enormous
strain.

But I know they're going to be okay, and I also know
what I have to do. With Mira otherwise occupied, Ming is now my primary
objective. Whatever is going on here, she's going down. I squint to try to find
her among the blizzard pouring in on us, and I think I catch a blur of
movement. I raise my gun but instantly think better of it. In this mess,
there's no way to know for sure that I'm not accidentally targeting someone
else who could be caught in the same mess we are. I take off again, my boots
crunching, my gun still extended.

From Mira's direction, I hear the continued screams and
grunts of Mira and Graelin in their battle against the monolith, but in front
of me, something black snakes down from the sky, and a figure appears beneath
it. Ming!

“Stop!” I scream, and she pauses. I'm close enough now
that I can see her eyes through the snow and ice. She starts to say something,
but the air is split with gunfire, kicking up puffs of snow and glass all
around me. A lucky shot pings off of my gun, throwing it violently from my
hand, and for the second time in less than a minute, I'm diving for my life.

My mind works like a machine, and without effort, a
grid starts to form, a mental image, created by the sound of the gunfire and
the dull thuds and powder kicks created when they hit the ground. I realize
whoever is shooting is above us creating a perimeter around Ming, and though I
can’t see it through the storm, I can hear the thrumming of helicopter blades.
That means what fell from the sky is a rope.

Anger and annoyance ripple through me. She is not going
to get away! I dive back into the fray, throwing caution to the wind and
praying none of the bullets connect with my flesh. In a moment, I'm through the
perimeter and charging to the last place I saw her. She's there, but now she's
several feet off the ground and rising quickly. She's not climbing, so they
have to be reeling her in. I have a sudden memory flash of the rooftop of the
parking deck at the preacher's hideaway and throw myself at the rope, barely
latching onto the last two feet as it rises into the air.

But this is Ming, and she's seen this parlor trick
before. Glancing down at me, she swings her arm down and underneath her feet. A
long blade of glass she is holding cuts through the rope cleanly, and suddenly
I'm falling, the rope slack in my hands. We went up fast, and I'm a good
fifteen feet off the ground. Slamming into it, glass digs into my back through
my clothes, and I wheeze, winded. Above me, Ming disappears into the
blizzard of snow and night sky and I struggle onto my elbows. I clench my
fists in frustration and curse.

One thing I'm sure of, Ming got whatever she came for,
and now it's a good bet Archer's got it too. Heaven only knows what will happen
now that he has what he wants.

Behind me, I hear a loud, clanking thud, and before I
can turn, Mira is leaning over me. With one hand she grabs my shirt front and
yanks me up.

Graelin emerges from the blizzard, an unconscious Beth
slung over his shoulder. Blood drips from a long gash above and behind her
right ear.

“This way,” Graelin shouts just as a fresh barrage of
explosions rock the wall seventy yards away. The same thing begins happening
all around us.

Whoever pulled Ming up wasn't alone. It seems they have
a squadron, and they fully intend to level this place.

The lights flicker twice then die, and now the only
visibility is provided by the sporadic fires and explosions. But at least
we've reached the edge of the snowstorm pouring in, and I can make out the
shapes of the trees as we dodge and weave between them.

The fortress is really taking a beating. Far overhead,
the dome lets out a terrible screech, then begins to sag. It's not going to be
long before the whole thing collapses.

Even with them zigzagging through the trees, I can
barely keep up with Graelin and Mira as they move like rockets, but just when
I'm starting to wear down, we emerge into a small clearing.

Ahead, Damian is standing by a doorway waving us
forward frantically. Beyond him, a woman and two small children move into the
doorway and disappear into the blackness beyond.

“Is everyone accounted for?” Graelin shouts above the
explosions.

Damian shakes his head gravely. “We have to go now!”

I yell. “Does this place have any defenses?”

“Its defense was its solidarity,” Damian says.

“What about the jets?” Graelin looks hopeful.

“No good,” I say. “Ming knows about them. They'll have
turned the entrance into rubble by now.”

Graelin swears and shifts Beth to his other shoulder.

We're out of options.

“Where does this go?” I ask about the door.

“To the lower levels,” Damian says.

“We'll be trapped,” Mira says.

“If we stay here, we'll be crushed,” I say. “For now,
we survive.”

We'll worry about digging out later.

A section of the wall nearby explodes inward. The heat
rolls over us like a sauna.

That's our cue, and without another word, we leap
through the door and begin descending a long spiral staircase. We move by feel
because there's no light, and we bump and jostle each other as the muffled
booms continue overhead.

“Why aren't the emergency lights coming on?” Graelin
says.

Damian doesn't answer. I'm sure he doesn't know
either. We continue down, the explosions fading into the distance.
We descend for maybe five minutes, our progress slow due to the darkness.
I can feel doors on some of the landings we come to, but Damian herds us
forward. When we’re far deeper than I would have imagined this place
being, he finally exits through a door.