Days Of Perdition: Voodoo Plague Book 6 (25 page)

I looked around the area, noticing for the first time that
Dog had stayed with me.  He sat next to my right leg, alert and patient,
waiting to see what we were going to do next.  We had to find Roach, but it was
a big building and he could be almost anywhere in it by now.  Well, that wasn’t
exactly true.  He hadn’t run past me into the kitchen areas.  There was also
access to the administrative offices just past the kitchen and I was confident
he hadn’t gone there either.

Where would I run if I were him?  I looked around the large
open space then remembered the sketch I’d been carrying with me.  Pulling it
out I stared at it for close to a minute.  If I eliminated the service areas
that I was currently standing next to as well as the VIP area where my group had
gone…

Letting the paper fall to the floor I started running.  The
VIP area.  That had to be how Roach had gotten in and it made sense he would
head there in his attempt to escape.  He had a head start and could be hiding
in either the lounge or up on the roof.  Zemeck’s arms were full, carrying
Katie, and Rachel was using both hands to keep pressure on her wound.  That
meant only Martinez had the freedom to fight and defend them from a surprise
attack and she was rushing to get to the Pave Hawk’s med-kit and might get
caught unprepared.

Fear for my wife and friends leant wings to my feet as I
charged across the length of the casino, Dog running beside me.  I had covered
perhaps fifty yards when I remembered the radio and began shouting into it as I
ran, but Zemeck wasn’t answering.  I ran harder, rage supplanting the fear and
coursing through my limbs.  There would be no hesitation, no holding back. 
Roach would die the instant I had an opportunity.

It seemed to take forever but I’m pretty sure I broke my own
speed records as I ran.  Finally I could see the velvet ropes guarding the
leather upholstered entrance to the VIP lounge.  The door was closed, which
didn’t mean anything.  There was most likely a pneumatic closer on it to ensure
the privacy and comfort of the people who were granted access. 

The ropes were hooked to portable stanchions and created a
large buffer zone between the door and the main floor of the casino.  Without
slowing I vaulted over the barrier, Dog running underneath it, then pulled to a
stop at the entrance to the lounge.  I reached out to yank the door open but
paused and forced myself to take two deep breaths to get my respiration and
heart rate under control.

Rifle gripped in my right hand I raised it to the ready
position as I turned the oversized knob with my left and slowly pushed the door
open.  I could immediately hear voices and Dog slipped through as soon as the
opening was wide enough for him.  I followed a second later, softly closing the
door behind me.

There was a small vestibule, no more than a dozen feet
across, then an archway on the right that opened into the lounge.  Dog had
moved to the corner and stopped, waiting for me.  I joined him and listened a
moment before peeking around the edge after recognizing Roach’s voice.

He was ranting, the madness clear in his tone.  Rachel was
trying to talk him down.  She was pleading with him to let them get to the roof
but he was growing more agitated by the moment.  Rifle ready I leaned my head
out enough to see farther into the room.  The first thing I saw was Martinez on
the floor, blood soaking into the carpet underneath her.  She had been shot and
I couldn’t tell if she was still alive or not.

Zemeck was standing, still cradling Katie in his arms, body
turned to shield her from Roach.  Rachel was facing him, both hands pressing on
Katie’s chest, her head turned to look at Roach as she begged for him to let
them by.  The other women we’d rescued were huddled together at the far edge of
the room and Roach stood with his back to the door that led to the roof, facing
my side of the room.  He held a small Uzi at arm’s length, aimed directly at
Zemeck, Rachel and Katie.  His finger was on the trigger.

The only way to take him was to step fully into the room so
I could acquire my target and fire.  Several problems with that.  Friendlies
were standing directly in my line of fire, which also meant they were in
Roach’s line of fire if he got a shot off when he saw me.  He also already had
his weapon up and aimed, his finger on the trigger.  Something like five pounds
of pressure was all that was needed for him to start firing.  Could I do it?

Could I step out, target his head and put him down before he
could fire?  I didn’t like the odds.  I needed him to go down like someone had
turned off a switch.  That meant a shot to the brain stem at the back of the
skull.  That would be instant death with no possibility of a dying nerve
impulse causing his finger to contract and fire the Uzi.  I was confident I
could take him out, but I wasn’t comfortable enough that I could do it without
getting my friends shot that I was willing to take the risk.  That left one
option.

“You want me.  Not them.”  I said, stepping into the open
with my hands at my side.  I had already told Dog to stay back and he remained
hidden around the corner.

“You!”  Roach’s eyes widened and he screamed, spittle flying
from his lips.  “You’re the cause of all of this!  Everything was fine until
you showed up.”

“That’s right,” I said, slowly moving forward.  “It is my
fault, and here I am.  Let them go and we can settle this.”

I had moved fully into the lounge and was now standing next
to Zemeck.  Roach glared at me, eyes wild as he swiveled the Uzi to point at my
face.  Slowly reaching out I put my hand on Matt’s shoulder and pushed.  He
took a step to the side, opening a little space between us.

“You and me, Roach.”  I said, locking eyes with the madman. 
“They don’t matter.  Put the gun down and let’s all walk away.”

From the corner of my eye I could see Zemeck still edging
away.  I needed to keep Roach’s attention on me so I slowly raised my hands and
worked my rifle’s sling over my head, gently placing the weapon on the floor
opposite of where Matt stood.  Roach’s eyes followed my movements, which was
exactly what I wanted.

Next I removed my vest, careful to lay it on the floor
beside the rifle without blocking my access in case an opportunity arose for me
to grab it.  Finally, I carefully drew my pistol from its thigh holster,
bending slightly to place it on top of the vest.  Completely disarmed except
for a couple of blades, I straightened, glad to note that Zemeck had opened up
a few more feet while I was distracting Roach.

“Now I’m unarmed.  I can’t hurt you.  Just walk away.  No
one will come after you.  No one will be hunting you.  I don’t care.  I just
want to get my wife to a doctor.” 

I took a slow half step so that I was standing directly over
the pistol.  It was slightly above floor level, resting on my vest, and I knew
I could get to it fast.  When I’d pulled it out of the holster I’d clicked the
safety off.  There was already a round in the chamber and the hammer was
cocked.  All I had to do was drop, grab it, aim and pull the trigger.  Sounds
easy, and it is if there’s not a psycho staring at you over the sights of a
machine pistol.

Roach’s eyes flicked down to my weapons, then back up to my
face.  He was sweating but seemed to be bringing himself under control.  For a
brief moment I actually thought he might turn and run, but he smiled a
frightening smile.

“I’ve wanted to do this since the first time we met.”  He
said and pulled the trigger.

I’ve always heard the expression ‘my life flashed before my
eyes’, but had never experienced it until that moment.  My mind sped up and a
whole series of memories played out in a fraction of a second.  Going quail
hunting with my dad.  My first beer.  My first car accident.  The death of every
teammate I’d ever lost.  The first time I ever saw Katie.  Katie lying in our
bed, smiling up at me.

Then the Uzi’s hammer clicked, loud in the quiet room.  I
stood there waiting for the bullet that would be racing down the weapon’s
barrel, starting its spin as the rifling caused it to twist as it approached
the muzzle.  Then the flame from the burning gun powder that escaped just ahead
of the projectile that would cross the thirty feet of open space in far less
time than it would take me to blink.  The impact of the round wouldn’t hurt at
first, pain coming later, or maybe not at all if it struck my head and tore
through my brain.  

But none of that happened.  There was just the click when
Roach pulled the trigger, then nothing.  I stood there for a heartbeat, my mind
at first not understanding why I was still alive.  He was out of ammo, or the
round in the chamber had failed to fire, or the weapon had malfunctioned.  I
processed all of these thoughts in an instant, then my body kicked in and I
dove for the pistol.

Roach’s reaction was faster than I expected as he dropped
the Uzi, turned to slam through the door and run up the stairs to the roof. 
The door was already closing by the time I had the pistol up and even though I
didn’t have a clear target I put several rounds into the stairwell hoping for a
lucky shot.

Running forward I blasted through the door in time to see
Roach disappear through the opening onto the roof.  Charging up after him I
couldn’t tell if there was any blood on the red carpet so I had no idea if he
was wounded or not.  Not slowing at the top, I stumbled onto the roof and barely
had time to register the attack coming from my right side before a vent pipe
smashed into my right arm, knocking the pistol out of my grip to skid several
feet away.

Roach lunged for the weapon, falling on it.  I was on his
back before he could pick it up, pinning his arms and rolling us away.  He
flailed and kicked as we rolled, his strength fueled by madness and panic and I
was surprised when he was able to tear an arm free and reach for the pistol.

I still had one of his arms locked back and when he tried
for the weapon I brought the heel of my free hand forward and snapped his
elbow.  The joint gave with a wet snap, Roach howling in pain a moment later.  Not
releasing the arm I dragged him twenty feet across the roof and rolled him over,
intending to wrap him up and break his neck, but he slithered out of my arms
and scrambled away from me.

Getting my feet under me I twisted and launched, driving my
shoulder into his chest and up into his chin.  He flopped back from the impact,
but I had a grip on him now that he couldn’t break, pinning his throat with my
left hand.  Swiveling, I went to a knee with my left shoulder in the middle of
his back and my hand still locked around the front of his neck.  He struggled,
trying to break free, but I wasn’t letting go. 

Reaching up with my right hand I interlaced the fingers of
both hands and jerked down with all the power in my arms and shoulders as I
lifted up with my legs.  I both felt and heard Roach’s spine snap where it contacted
my left shoulder, all movement from him immediately ceasing.  Releasing him I
pushed his body off of me where it flopped to the roof with a dull thud. 
Standing, I looked down and met his eyes.

 They were no longer filled with madness, only fear and
pain.  Without a word I bent over and grabbed the front of his shirt, lifting
his upper body off the roof as I dragged him to the edge.  Looking over I could
see the large group of infected Zemeck told me had arrived.  Dozens of females
looked up, several of them screaming when they saw me.

Wrapping my hands in the front of Roach’s shirt I lifted him
onto his useless legs, supporting his weight with his face inches from mine.

“God, please.  No.”  He said, unable to turn his head to see
the infected, but able to clearly hear them.

“God’s not here.  Only me.” I said, shoving him out over the
edge and releasing his shirt. 

Roach started to cartwheel as he fell, screaming all the way
down where he landed on the infected waiting with raised arms.  His screams
seemed to go on a long time as they tore into him with tooth and nail.

Commander McFadden stood in the missile spaces of the Alaska,
looking at the boat’s complement of Trident missiles.  The team was working on
the final missile, and once they were done he would order the submarine to
launch depth.  He wasn’t as confident as Admiral Packard that this would work. 
When he’d pressed the issue and demanded to know exactly how they were
bypassing the built in safeguards he wasn’t happy with the answer.

They weren’t using the logic built into the warheads, they
were installing newly written code that would supposedly fire the nuclear
trigger at a predetermined time after launch.  Basically the engineer had
written a virus that
could
cause a detonation.  His navigator and XO had
stared aghast at this bit of information, voicing their concerns before locking
themselves away and calculating the time to use for each missile.

They had completed their work before the engineering team
had finished loading the code into all the warheads; having two other officers
double-check their calculations.  They’d been accurate on their first attempt
and now stood watching as the time to detonation was programmed into the last
Trident.

“We’re ready, skipper.”  The weapons officer said after
double-checking the entry against a copy of the calculations.

“Very good,” McFadden said, turning and picking up the
handset of a sound powered phone that connected directly to the control room,
telling the duty officer to ascend to launch depth.

Moments later the deck tilted slightly as the boat began to
rise in the ocean, McFadden and his XO heading for the control room.  Once
there the CO listened briefly as reports flooded in.  Nothing was on sonar. 
Nothing within detection range of the Alaska’s sophisticated electronic suite
of listening gear.

“Boat’s at launch depth, Captain.  Sonar is still clear. 
Ready to open doors on your order.”  The XO said a few minutes later.

“Open missile doors,” McFadden said without hesitation.

“Open missile doors, aye, sir.”  The XO repeated the order
back, then turned and passed it on to a Petty Officer seated at a panel that
controlled the Alaska’s missiles.

“Doors are open, Captain.  We’re green across the board.” 
The XO reported a few moments later.

“Very good, XO.  Commence firing.”  McFadden ordered.

The order was repeated and a few moments later the first
Trident missile was forcefully ejected from its tube out of the top of the
Alaska’s hull by a powerful gas generator.  When the missile broke the surface
of the water its rocket motor fired and at the nose an aerodynamic spike was
deployed to reduce atmospheric drag.  Roaring skyward, the missile continued to
gain speed and altitude as it headed for a spot over the central United
States.  If the Alaska’s calculations had been correct it would detonate just
above the Earth’s atmosphere.

“Torpedos!”  The shouted alarm came from the Alaska’s young
sonar operator.

“Close missile doors!  Flank speed, emergency dive current
bearing!”  McFadden barked.

The crew in the control room responded immediately, the big
submarine vibrating as the propeller spun up to its max speed.

“Sonar, where are those fish?”  The XO shouted as he checked
on the angle of their descent. 

There wasn’t an answer and both he and the Captain rushed to
the small room where the sonar operators worked.  They stopped as one when they
saw the waterfall display a sailor was staring at in horror.  Four seconds later
two Russian Shkval, rocket assisted torpedos detonated on either side of the
Alaska. 

Less than a second later the sub’s pressure hull was crushed
between the twin concussions, rupturing and letting cold seawater flood in.  The
officers and crew were all killed by the overpressure inside the steel cylinder
before the Alaska began its descent to the bottom of the north Pacific.  They
had only gotten one missile away. 

Five years earlier the SVR had co-opted an American software
engineer who worked for the Navy contractor that provided sonar systems.  After
several payments totaling five million dollars to an offshore account, he had inserted
a few lines of code into a scheduled software patch that made the Navy’s sonar
deaf to specific acoustic signatures.  The Russian Akula class attack submarine
that had been shadowing the Alaska for over a month, undetected, closed its
torpedo tube doors and disappeared into the cold, dark depths.