Last Stand (The Survivalist Book 7) (36 page)

As Tanner approached the train, he saw the bodies of the four infected men. Samantha and Issa were nowhere to be seen.

“Sam! Issa! Where are you?”

Issa ducked her head out of the train and waved.

“We’re in here!”

Tanner rushed over and climbed aboard. He found Samantha leaning heavily on the driver’s console, her shirt torn and her ear flushed bright red. Issa stood behind her with dried blood covering her mouth and neck. Both look exhausted.

“What happened?”

“Jarvis’s blood wore off,” said Samantha, “that’s what.”

He came closer and gently touched her ear.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine.” She looked back at Issa. “Thanks to her.”

Tanner turned. “You protected her?”

Issa seemed confused. “Of course. She’s my daughter.”

He looked from Samantha to Issa and then back again. The two had made a connection, a bond formed by their shared fight for survival.

Issa came closer and leaned up against him. He looked into her black eyes, and a sadness came over him.

“I’m going to change too. You need to know that.”

She touched her fingers to his temple.

“Yes.”

“And when I do, how will you feel about me?”

She smiled, blood still covering her teeth.

“You forget. The first time I kissed you, you were one of them.”

“I know, but—”

She moved her fingers to his lips.

“There is no ‘but.’ I am yours. You are mine.” She looked down at Samantha. “We are all one now.”

Tanner glanced over at Samantha, expecting to see the roll of eyes or at the very least the gentle shake of her head. He found only a broad smile.

“You okay with having a stepmother?”

Samantha looked up at Issa. “I could do worse.”

He shrugged. “All right then, group hug.” He reached out and pulled them to him. Both groaned from the pain of their injuries, but both managed to hug him back. “Now, what do you say we get out of here?”

Samantha turned to Issa. “You’re coming with us, right? All the way to our home in the mountains?”

Issa nodded. “Of course.”

“Great!” Without waiting, Samantha started toward the driver’s compartment at the opposite end of the train. “Come on,” she said, looking back. “I, for one, am ready to see a little daylight.”

Chapter 21  

Mason walked a little slower than usual, partly because of Bowie’s injured leg and partly because they were both worn out. As with any fight, once the adrenalin had slowed, exhaustion and fatigue became the mainstay. When he came to the grate that led down into the sewer, he pushed it aside and poked his head through the hole.

“It’s all clear!”

There was no reply.

“Leila! You can come out now. The fight’s over.”

Still nothing.

Bowie pressed closer, taking a look for himself.

“They must be out of earshot.” Mason slid his legs through the hole and dropped down into the sewer.

Bowie immediately started to follow.

“Unh-unh, you stay up there. I’m not about to try to catch you.”

The dog woofed at him.

“You can gripe about it later. Right now, sit tight.”

Bowie whined and flopped down, staring at him through the open hole.

Mason turned in place, studying the tunnel. He doubted that Leila would have gone deeper into the sewer, so he started back the way they had first entered. It wasn’t long before he came across a body floating face down in a puddle of brown water. A handheld device about the size and shape of a microphone was still clutched in one hand.

He raced forward, his heart pounding. Even before seeing her face, he knew the corpse was that of President Glass. The cause of her death was also equally as obvious, a single bullet wound to the back of the head. Clean. Professional. An assassination.

He reached down and rolled her over. Glass’s face was a dark purple from the blood settling, and her cheeks had already begun to swell thanks to soaking in the filthy water. The bullet had exited through her right eye, leaving a ragged hole in its wake. Not a particularly large caliber, probably a nine-millimeter. No, not probably—definitely a nine-millimeter.

“Please no,” he said, exhaling.

Mason didn’t want to admit what he already knew to be true. It was only when he saw the folded slip of paper tucked into the President’s waistband did he accept that the truth was not going to be escaped. He gently pulled the note free and began to read. The writing was sloppy and the ink jagged from the paper having been pressed against the tunnel’s concrete wall.

My dearest Mason,

To say that I’m sorry would mean nothing at this point, but I will say it anyway. I am truly sorry for any pain that I have caused you. When I came to your country, my mission was simple. I was to determine if President Glass was responsible for the Superpox-99 outbreak. If she was, I was to take retribution for the suffering caused to millions of Israelis living half a world away. Familiar with our history, you know that we are not a nation that allows any injustice to go unanswered.

I discovered that the virus was indeed a biological weapon created by the United States. President Glass swore to me that its release was the act of a single terrorist, and I believe her. Every country has felt the bloody hand of terrorism, and I could not in good conscience hold her responsible for one man’s violent act. With that said, her crime was equally as heinous.

When she became aware of the outbreak, she did nothing to warn other nations of the threat. President Glass knew of the outbreak two full weeks before the first cases appeared in Israel. Had she simply warned the world, billions of people could have been saved—perhaps even my sister Roni. Instead, cowardice and shame drove your president to hide the threat until it was too late.

President Glass freely admitted her guilt, and in that, there was some modicum of honor. It did not, however, absolve her of her crimes. Of all people, perhaps you can understand this best. I did not take her life out of malice. In fact, I was surprised to discover that I felt no anger toward her at all. Nor was it out of revenge. No matter how hard we try, those who are dead cannot be avenged. This was about one thing, and one thing only. Justice.

I expect that you will come looking for me. For just as I acted out of duty, so must you. Understand that, should you catch up to me, I will not go peacefully. Israelis are survivors, and I will do what I must to stay alive. Until that moment when our eyes next meet and we find ourselves reaching for our guns, I wish you all the love and happiness that this Godforsaken world can provide.

Shalom, my love,

Leila Mizrahi

Mason stared at the page until the words became blurred. Pain. Anger. Confusion. All of these passed through his mind. But one thought burned above all others.

This was his fault.

The hallway was teeming with soldiers. Two men and two women stood in the thick of the confusion, talking. Both men were pushing sixty, and both were standing tall and proud. General Carr had cleaned up and changed into a pressed uniform, squared away in every sense of the word. His counterpart wore faded fatigues, a wrinkled hat, and jungle boots. As for the women, the first was lean and fit, attractive, but not flashy. The other was shorter and slightly dumpy, dressed in a pink skirt and white blouse, both now wrinkled and covered in smudges.

As Mason and Bowie approached, all four turned to face them.

When General Carr spoke, he sounded tired.

“Chappie, let me introduce you to Deputy Marshal Raines.”

Mason shook General Reed’s outstretched hand and nodded to Dr. Green and Congresswoman Lemay.

“The cadets outside tell me you’re responsible for stopping these bastards,” said Chappie. “Damn fine work.”

Mason nodded. “How are they?”

“Licking their wounds, same as the rest of us.”

Everyone turned and watched as two soldiers carried out the body of President Glass, a bloodstained sheet wrapped tightly around her. Bill Baker, Jack Fry, and Tom Pinker all followed behind, each sharing in a collective look of shock and disbelief.

“Excuse me,” Carr said, stepping away to assist.

Noticing the distraught look on Mason’s face, Chappie said, “What happened to her takes nothing away from what you did here. I hope you know that.”

Mason said nothing, but his hand instinctively moved to rest on the folded letter in his pocket. No good would come from his confessing that he had brought the killer in with him. That secret would stay between Leila and him.

“What are we going to do now, General?” asked Dr. Green. “The world needs to know what happened here.”

“And they will. My men are documenting everything on video. That along with the testimony of the survivors and prisoners, not to mention the sarin gas canisters, will be more than enough to make a compelling case.” He looked to Congresswoman Lemay. “I assume you’re onboard.”

She nodded. “Pike has been playing us all for fools. I’ll do what I can to let others know.”

“Even so,” said Green, “he won’t go quietly.”

“Good,” said Chappie.

“Good?”

“Yes, ma’am. Kent and I are going to take great pleasure in seeing that man hang. The more he screams and hollers, the tighter we’ll make the noose.”

A man could be heard shouting as he ran down the West tunnel.

“General, sir!”

Everyone turned to see a young soldier dash around the corner.

“Sir, they’re under attack!”

“Who’s under attack?” Chappie demanded, instinctively reaching for his sidearm.

“Mount Weather. We just received a radio broadcast. The entire compound is being overrun by the infected. Thousands of them are coming up from the tunnels below.”

Mason immediately thought of the massacre he had witnessed at Richmond Hill. It was a brutality he would not wish on anyone.

The soldier continued. “Sir, chain of command seems to have broken down. The airfield is awaiting orders.”

The general didn’t hesitate. “Get the birds in the air. Tell them to circle the outskirts of Mount Weather, looking for survivors.”

“Yes, sir. And what should they do with them?”

“Take them over to the New Colony in Norfolk.”

“Right away, sir.” The soldier tried a handheld radio, and when reception failed, he turned and began running back the way he had come.

“We’re abandoning Mount Weather?” said Green.

“Let’s call it a strategic evacuation.”

“But there are families there,” objected Lemay.

“Yes, ma’am, and if they’re fleet of foot, they’ll get out in time.”

“And if they’re not?”

“That’s outside our control. The best we can do is try to help with the evacuation.”

Seeing the commotion, General Carr hurried over.

“What’s happening?”

“Mount Weather’s been lost. We’re evacuating the survivors.”

It was akin to hearing that Washington had been nuked.

“What does that mean for the nation?”

“We can sort out the continuity of government once we see what’s left. Right now, we need to save as many as we can.”

“My God, this is it, isn’t it? The end of what we call the United States of America.”

Chappie shrugged. “All I know for sure is that in two minutes, Dr. Green, Congresswoman Lemay, and I will be back in the air.” He looked over at the women, and both offered a quick nod. “What about you, Kent? Are you coming?”

“I assume you have room for Fry and the others?”

“We’ll make room.”

“And President Glass? We’ll take her back with us as well?”

“Of course. The least we can do is give her a proper burial.”

He nodded. “All right then, I’m coming too.”

Chappie stepped away to coordinate their withdrawal from the bunker. Green and Lemay stayed a moment longer and then followed him. Only Carr, Mason, and Bowie remained behind, watching as soldiers shot their final snippets of video and gathered the personal effects of the survivors.

Without turning to face Carr, Mason said, “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to save her.”

“Son, that wasn’t your responsibility. It was mine.”

“Then I suppose we both failed her.”

“Maybe, but I doubt she would see it that way.”

Mason said nothing more. Carr was right, of course. Rosalyn Glass understood better than any of them that what mattered most was exposing Pike, and he suspected that she would gladly have sacrificed her life to do just that.

General Carr put a hand on his shoulder.

“You did the Marshal Service proud today. Don’t leave here thinking otherwise.”

Mason felt a lump in his throat, and he didn’t dare speak.

“I better get going,” said Carr. “Chappie’s an ornery old bird who would just as soon leave me behind. Keep up the good fight, Marshal Raines. Perhaps we’ll meet again one day, hopefully under better circumstances.”

Mason watched as General Carr and the last of the soldiers traversed the long West tunnel. When they had finally gone, he and Bowie stood alone in the bunker. The walls were chipped from bullets and shrapnel, and splashes of blood were everywhere. It had been a hell of a fight, one that he should feel thankful to be walking away from.