The Night Sweeper: Assassin: A Zombie Conspiracy Novel (The Sweeper Chronicles Book 2) (9 page)

The bunker is located outside of Chicago. Why they
didn’t choose a training facility inside the city, I’ll never know, except that
perhaps the bunker was too well outfitted to let it go to waste. During the
civil uprisings before The Virus, it was built as a place for high ranking
government officials to be taken in the event of an all-out attack from a
foreign nation, or their own people.

Self-sustaining, with room to comfortably accommodate a
thousand people, I suppose it was a logical – if not an overkill – choice for
Archer to choose as the Sweeper HQ and training facility. Suffice it to say,
most of that space goes unused. It’s just more than we needed. The HQ and
training quarters are located on the east side of the complex and encompass
less than a third of the sprawling fortification.

When it was first built, the security of the bunker was
state-of-the-art. But from what we remember from our time in training
there, most of it was no longer used. At least on the outside. Perimeter
fences were left open, video surveillance was minimal, and there were no guards
patrolling on a regular basis. The reason was simple. There was no
longer any need.

After The Virus, the threat of a large-scale attack
from another nation became obsolete. The only thing the vids picked up
was Festers, and manpower was valuable. So they left the gates
open. If a Fester wandered too close, they would never be able to gain
access to the bunker anyway. On top of that, trainees were sent out to
dispatch them as practice. It was a chance for them to deal with the real
thing. Security measures may have changed now. They may no longer
be lax, but it's a calculated risk, and a necessary one.

Upon our arrival in Chicago, our first order of
business was to obtain transportation. Ming called in a favor with one of
her black market associates and we had a car within an hour.

Slipping past the perimeter cameras was easy
enough. We had been on foot for three miles prior to encountering the
perimeter fence, threading our way through the surrounding forest. No
matter how slack security might be, driving through the main entrance was
suicide. A few quick snips with some hand-held wire cutters, and we were
through.

Now we talk in hushed whispers as we walk, going over
the plan for the tenth time, eyes and ears all the time alert for any movement
or possibility of detection. We're nearing the small out-building that
houses the backup generators.

“As soon as you transmit the second signal, I'll wait
ten seconds and cut the power. You'll have three minutes to reach your
objective, and then I'll turn it back on. I'll have to leave after
that. When the generators don't come on, this will be the first place
they head. But I'll have remote access by then and it won't be easy for
them to find the connection. I'll pull back to the car and wait for you.”

“Right,” I say. “Then I'll give the signal when
I'm done, you cut the power again, and I'll come out.” I choke down my
unease. This is my plan, but I have serious misgivings. “What do
you think? I mean, I've never tried something this extreme before.”

She nods her head, her mouth a thin line, her expression
troubled. She suffers from the same doubts. “This is our best chance,”
she says. “I could redirect the internal cameras, but it'll be swarming
with people in there. You'd never make it past them all.”

We arrive at the out-building, a low-slung concrete
construction twenty-five feet long and ten feet wide. I keep a lookout
while Ming picks the heavy padlock securing the door. It opens with a
click, and we push our way inside, the iron door creaking obstinately.

Ming sets to work splicing a connection into the hard
line. After a few minutes, she nods. We're ready to go.

This is it. The moment of truth. We both
stand in silence, lost in our own thoughts.

“Thanks for everything,” I finally say. It sounds
meaningless in the face of all she’s risking to help me.

“No thanks needed. You’re paying me, remember?”
She pauses. “Cray, I’ve been thinking. If you’ve been in the arctic for
months and Archer had all of your assets on the mainland frozen, where did you
get that kind of cash?”

I shrug. “I ripped off a drug dealer.
Ambushed him and intercepted the sale.”

She starts to say something, then stops. After a
few seconds, “I guess that took some planning, huh?”

“Hey, I’m a Sweeper. We’re resourceful, right?”

She unexpectedly rolls her eyes. “Yeah, but…why
didn’t you just hock that fancy motorcycle of yours? Surely that would
have been easier.”

“I…” crap. “Thanks for the confidence booster,” I
say.

She shrugs with an evil smirk. “Don’t mention it.”

I move to the doorway, but she grabs my hand and pulls
me to a stop. I turn back to her and she wraps me in a hug. Heat
floods my cheeks, but when she pulls away, she looks at my expression and
laughs.

“For luck,” she says. “Don't get any funny
ideas.”

I laugh awkwardly, and her expression turns
serious. “Take care of yourself in there.”

“Yeah. See you on the other side.”

I sprint through the woods. My footfalls padding
through the wet grass and leaves seem loud to my ears, but I know from
experience that no one else could hear it unless they were very close.
The woods are thick, but not so much so that I wouldn't see someone coming.

I pace myself, keeping a good speed, but not to the
point of wearing myself out on the half-mile journey to the bunker. It
isn't long before the building comes into view, at least the part that's above
the ground.

Coming to a stop behind a large oak, I take a few
moments to catch my breath. Once I feel sufficiently energized, I remove
the small transmitter from my pocket and depress the single button recessed
into the thin plate of metal. Ming assured me it wouldn't be enough to trigger
any alarms if the bunker was scanning frequencies. It's my signal to let
her know I'm at the edge of the clearing that surrounds the bunker.

I give her fifteen seconds to be safe, but I know she
already has the cameras on this side of the building under her control. I
watch the nearest one swivel out and away from me.

Straight ahead, one of the emergency exit doors stands
up a short concrete stairway. The handrails on either side are splotchy,
the paint having worn away over time from the elements. The door is six
inch thick steel with an electronic lock.

I run across the clearing in a crouch. Before
I've finished crossing the fifty feet of open space, I hear the heavy clank as
the electronically drawn bolt slides backward into the door. Ming's
timing is flawless. So far so good, but the worst is yet to come.

Once I'm inside, I stand on the
landing of the stairwell and breathe deeply and slowly. This is without doubt
the most audacious thing I've ever attempted. My senses are nearly superhuman,
but I've never pushed myself this far before.

I close my eyes and concentrate on the sound of my
breathing – in, out, in, out. I think of Mira and allow the pain I feel to
sharpen my focus. I picture her broken body lying in Damian's lair, unconscious
to the world, totally dependent on me to do this. I take all of that
hurt, the fear, the betrayals, the joys, everything I've ever been, seen, or
done, and I focus that energy into a knife-point of awareness. I can do this. I
have
to do this.

In any other context, windowless would make a stronghold
safer, but in this case, it's given me the advantage I need. This place is
about to become darker than a tomb.

Damian's private office is down three floors, through a
veritable maze of halls and corridors, and sitting in a centralized location in
this part of the bunker. I'll be running blind, counting on my memory and
senses alone to guide me. The first part is easy enough. I've memorized the
layout of the place including all measurements and distances. The danger comes
from changes or differences not shown on the plans. Something as simple as an
open door or someone standing in the way would bring my infiltration to a
screeching halt. For that, I'll be relying solely on my other senses and
nothing short of echolocation. If I can hype my mind into lightning speed, I
should be able to detect anything in my way in time to avoid it. At least,
theoretically.

I finger the transmitter again, and press the button –
the second signal.

The silent countdown in my head moves inexorably
downward. Ten…nine…eight…seven…six…five…four…three…two…one…everything goes
black and I move.

By the time I'm through my first step, my awareness is
so amped it feels like I'm running in slow motion. I crash down the stairway
three steps at a time, nothing but pinpoint memory to guide me, one flight, two
flights, three flights. My feet barely touch one step before I'm dropping
to the next. At the last landing, I turn two paces to my left and barrel
through the doorway on the landing into the first corridor.

I allow my senses to stretch in front of and around me
as I sprint down the passageway. I detect no discernible sounds or movement
directly ahead. On either side I can hear the beginnings of commotion behind
closed doors, but none of the people in this area have had time to come out of
their offices yet.

I turn sharply to the left at just the right instant,
taking the corridor of a T-junction. Something is different now, a slight
disruption in the air, the faint sounds of shuffling ahead, and unintelligible
sounding moans as people form words that to my consciousness are slowed like an
old record player.

I angle my body at just the right moment, squeezing
between two people by mere inches. Judging from the perfume, at least one of
them is a woman.

Fifteen strides and I turn right, allowing a mental
sigh of relief. But immediately, everything is all wrong. I'm
barreling down the new hallway when I realize there's a large cone of dampened
sound less than twenty feet ahead. Again, the sound of dragging voices
reaches my ears, but I can't detect an opening. At least three, maybe
four people span the breadth of the hallway, and there's nowhere to squeeze
through.

I hold my breath and do the only thing I can.
Less than five feet from them, I tilt my body and take two quick steps up the
left side of the wall. My right arm skims someone's hair as I pass
overhead, and I push off of the wall in a tight side roll, my feet slamming
back down on the floor without missing a stride.

Two more turns without running into anyone, down a
short staircase, and I know I'm almost to the most dangerous part. Ten
more steps and I emerge into the cavernous training center. It's here that
Sweepers are trained into combat experts and Fester hunters. This is the most
likely place to be occupied, and unfortunately, Archer's office lies smack in
the center of it, built into a central support pillar that's as big around as a
house.

As I hit the open area, I sense the change in air
pressure and the different way the sounds are bouncing around the room. I can
tell there are lots of people here, and I come to a sudden halt. I push my
awareness as hard as I can, placing each shuffle of feet, each scrape of
clothing against skin, my brain forming a grid based off of what I hear. I
allow no more than five seconds and I'm off again, dodging and weaving through
bodies and equipment, praying I've been able to map everything correctly.

I hold my breath, the sound of my heartbeat like a
plodding thud deep in my chest. I'm less than thirty feet from the office door
when I catch the slight ruffling sound as someone emerges from behind some piece
of equipment right into my path. I have no time to react and slam into the man,
knocking us both to the ground. I make a decision.

"Hey, sorry bro," I say. "Are you
okay?"

With no reason to think otherwise, the man assumes I'm
supposed to be here.

"Sheesh man," he says. "Slow down. I
can't see a freaking thing in here!"

"I know. I'm sorry.” I rise from the
ground. In the darkness, the other man does the same. “I guess I just got
a little freaked out."

The man grunts in annoyance. "If you're freaked out
by a little darkness, you're gonna hate being a Sweeper."

He must think I'm a trainee, and I count my blessings.
Before he can say anything else, I'm up and through Archer's office door. I
reach out my senses for anything, but the office is empty of any other living
soul. I take a seat, breathe deeply to still my pounding heart, and wait.

A minute passes and Ming turns the power back on. I sit
quietly in the corner chair, my gun already drawn and facing the doorway.

It doesn't take long before the door opens and Archer
strides inside, barking to someone still outside the office to find out what
the heck just happened. The other man says something hastily.

“You mean to tell me we don’t have a single set of
backups in this whole place that runs on batteries? For crying out loud,”
Archer says. He lets out a long, creative string of expletives.
“Stupid fool government hacks. What a bunch of idiots.”

He slams the door, but he's still oblivious to my
presence. He reaches out to lay a notebook on his desk and freezes, finally
becoming aware there's someone in the room. Looking up slowly and eyeing my
gun, he gives me a smirk.

“You can have a seat,” I say casually, carefully
watching his every move.

Archer slips into his seat, the chair groaning in
protest at the weight of his muscular frame, his eyes never wavering from me.
He has to be shocked that I'm here, but he hides it well.

"How's the back?" I say.

Archer holds my gaze, always the tough guy. "It
hurts when it rains you little turd."

"You could give up this gig and be a
weatherman."

Archer grunts without mirth. His eyes are locked
on mine, the seething hatred in them unmissable.

"How did you get here?" he says.

"Well, it's a bit complicated, but I assume at
some point my father met my mother and one thing led to another."

This time Archer laughs out loud, but it’s a grating,
humorless laugh. "I assume we have you to thank for the power
outage?"

"Of course. And by the way, keep your hands where
I can see them." Archer's hands had been inching from the top of his
desk towards his lap. They freeze, his smile fades into a scowl, and he
lets out a long, slow breath. I'm not sure, but I think he growls.

"Are you here to kill me?"

This time my smile fades. "Yes."

“Just like that? In cold blood?” He says.

“What, like you and Eckert? You're one to talk.”

“Touché,” he says.

“Not to mention you tried to kill me and Mira.”

“So she did survive,” he says. “I didn’t know if
she’d make it, but then, she’s very special isn’t she?” The way he says
“special” implies he thinks no such thing and that confuses me. “The way
she tossed Eckert’s body across the room, she may as well have been throwing a
football. It seems you aren’t the only one with gifts.”

I curse him under my breath, but keep my face
impassive. I refuse to show him any emotion. No matter what he
says, I refuse to give him the pleasure of rattling me.

“So why haven’t you pulled that trigger yet?” he says.

“Curiosity. You always knew Damian Harbin was my
father. Why did you never tell me?”

“That kind of information can be dangerous. Might
get you prying into things you had no business prying into.”

“Like what? Things about you? Were you
protecting you own butt?”

But he doesn’t answer the question.

“You know,” he says, “I really did care for you, kid.
It wasn’t all a show. But when Jonathan came along, I had the means to an
end, and I only had one shot at it. Once you learned the truth, you had
outlived your usefulness. I’m sorry it had to be that way; I really
am. Oh, I would have let the charade play on for a while if you had
helped me find the cure, but you were doomed the second Jonathan spilled the
beans.”

“You can shove your apology.” Despite my best
efforts, my anger is rising. He’s doing it on purpose, a
distraction. I can’t allow that. I need to end this soon.

“You know, at first I really didn't want to do it, but
the last several months have taught me to hate you. Frankly, I think it's what
you deserve. I should have done it the night you tried to blast us into
oblivion.”

“I told you that's what you should have done. I told
you I’d hunt you down and make you regret it.”

I want to slap him across the face. “Sorry Arch, you're
never going to get that chance.”

“Can you really do it?” he says. “Just blow me away?”

“What was it you always taught me? He who fights fair,
dies first.”

That elicits a smile from him, and I know it’s time.

Now that the moment is here, there’s no longer any fear
or doubt. There’s a deep-set certainty. I know it, and it’s
surprisingly comforting. I will pull the trigger. I’m
going
to pull the trigger. I feel no guilt. Archer is anything but a good
man, and he's done terrible things that he deserves to pay for. If it keeps
Mira alive, I'm more than willing to be his judge, jury, and executioner. I
still don't know why Damian wants this, but I really don't even care. This is personal.

“Well, I've really enjoyed our little chat,” I say, “but
I'm afraid I'm in kind of a hurry, so if you don't mind, I'm going to shoot you
now.”

Archer tenses just a little, almost imperceptibly, the
only show of any fear since he entered the room.

“Before you do that,” Archer says, “I want you to know
I don't hate you. I understand how you feel, Cray. You've always been like a
son to me. I've made hard choices, and I don't regret them. I hope one day
you'll be able to understand why I did what I did.”

“You can spare me the rhetoric,” I say back. “You're
not my father. As far as I'm concerned, I've never had a father.”

I grip the gun in my hand tighter and point it directly
between Archer's eyes. He stares back at me icily. I squeeze the trigger ever
so lightly and feel it budge a millimeter and prepare myself for the coming
spit of the silencer, but before I fully depress the trigger, the lights go
dark plunging us into complete blackness.

I'm startled. This isn't right. I haven't
given Ming the signal. I freeze for half a second before pulling the
trigger, but I already know it's too late. Archer is a step ahead of me, and I
sense in the darkness that he's already moved, even as the thunk of the bullet
rips through the wall behind where he was just sitting. I try to raise my
awareness to a level that I'll be able to sense him in the darkness, but before
I get a chance, the door crashes open, filling the room with a glaring beam of
light, and something small, metallic, and sharp pings into my side. I don't
even have time to react before the taser's voltage is unleashed, locking my
muscles in a painful spasm. I struggle to remain conscious as the pain sears
through me. At last, it subsides, only to be replaced by a powerful boot to the
head that plunges me mercifully into unconsciousness.

I get random flashes of lucidity: Archer barking orders
to armed men, the feeling of two guys yanking me up by my arms and dragging me
from the office, a cold corridor lined with doors, and a glimpse of Ming, blood
trickling from her mouth as two more men drag her likewise semi-conscious form
along beside me before separating us again.

I don't know where they take her, but I end up in a
large, windowless room. They drop me onto a tiled floor and someone else enters
the room behind us. My clarity wavers, and for a while, there's blackness
again. When I come to, my hands are secured above my head by chains leading into
the ceiling above. Conversely, my feet are shackled to bolts in the floor.

A smiling, hulking mass of a man moves towards me, and
I take a deep breath and hold it. This is really going to suck.