Up From the Depths (9 page)

Chapter 16

Museum of Natural History, New York City

“Sergeant, you have my sympathies,” the voice of Admiral Crockett said from the speaker in the Marine commo room. “You’re surrounded, in a world of shit, and about to be assfucked six ways from Sunday.”

Ski looked at the handset of the radio. He had just briefed the naval officer about their situation and then listened while the Admiral explained what was going to happen in a very short time.

“Sir, there are women and children here. Civilians.” There was a long pause at the other end.

“Sergeant, you have until 0850. After that, well, it’s not going to be pretty,” Crockett said. “With the amount of ordnance that’s dropping, we’re going to turn that area into glass.”

“Sir, I’d appreciate any help you could give us,” Ski said. It had taken some time to get a solid connection to Crockett’s carrier group but eventually a connection had been made through the Marine Recon unit’s commo net using their system as a signal booster.

“Sergeant, it’s out of my hands,” Crockett said. “I can’t promise anything but I’ll see what can be done. What I can do is send you all the sling wings I have and prepare the smaller vessels to meet you at the docks. If you can get there, we can extract you,” Crockett said.

“That’d be great, sir. We’ll keep you advised as events develop over here,” Ski said. “Sierra-3, out.”

Luzetski shut off the radio and leaned back in his chair. His mind raced as he tried to think of a way to get all the people inside the museum to safety. Trailing a gaggle of civilians through the city streets would be like ringing the dinner bell. There had to be a way. Maybe Doyle or one of her people had an idea.

DeMillio leaned against the doorframe of the commo section, arms crossed. He had listened to what Crockett had said and his mind had been working on some kind of solution. Between him and Doyle, it had been decided to have Luzetski make contact with the carrier group. He was already on Wiener’s shit list. Since Ski’s encounter with Wiener, the museum had become a different place. There was a palpable twinge of hope in the air. The civilians, police officers, and others that had taken refuge inside the massive museum now acted as if they had been given a new lease on life. They smiled more often and were quick to pitch in when there was work that needed to be done. Most of them had packed up their meager possessions and were eagerly awaiting some news of a possible evacuation and rescue. Wiener had remained inside his office and not spoken to anyone. Ski didn’t know if the colonel’s reaction was one of shame or anger, and frankly, he didn’t care. Luzetski’s primary focus was on how to move all these people out the path of a massive air and sea bombardment. The options were severely limited. Their fleeting euphoria would soon be smashed once those civilians realized that their evacuation options were extremely limited. They could attempt to walk all the way to the south end of Manhattan, through the clogged streets, the mined park and the massive numbers of infected. Or they could remain here at the museum and be pummeled by the bombardment that was scheduled in less than twelve hours.

“That’s some real pretty shit,” DeMillio said from the doorway. Ski looked up and over at the Marine officer.

“What do you mean?”

“We get this place relatively secure. Control the access points; lay in supplies, keep people alert and on watch. Now, we’re told that we need to displace. Not a big issue for us but we’ve got over two hundred civilians,” DeMillio said.

“That about sums it up,” Ski said. “Were there ever any plans to evacuate these people?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t privy to that information. Wiener never included me in his weekly briefings. The way I figure he saw my unit as out of sight, out of mind.”

“Nice.”

“I think Warrant Doyle had some ideas,” DeMillio said. “She always had to send her people out there and replace the mines. She was working on something that much I know. Probably should ask her.”

Ski stood up, stretched and looked around the commo room.

“Sounds like a plan,” he said as he slid past DeMillio and made his way back to the main section of the museum. As he walked through the halls, the residents nodded and smiled to him. Though still thinking of alternative ways out of the current predicament, he politely returned the nods and smiles until he reached Doyle’s office. Knocking once then opening the door, he entered her office. Doyle turned from writing on the whiteboard she had in one corner and smiled at him.

“What did you find out?” she asked.

“Good news and bad news. What do you want first?”

“Good.”

Ski blew out a breath then started speaking.

“The admiral can get us out of here. He has the aircraft and the support vessels,” Ski said.”But, there’s a catch.”

Doyle fixed him with a look. There was more to all this and she knew it.

“What’s the catch?” she asked.

“He can’t extract us from our current location. We’re too far inland and there aren’t enough helos to take us all out at once. We have to meet him at the docks to the south.”

Doyle frowned then turned to look at the map of Manhattan Island on the wall. Ski knew she was doing the same thing he had done, calculating the distance and then the number of people. He watched her nod as she came to the same conclusion he had.

“And that’s the good news?” she asked.

“Kind of. It gets better,” Ski said as he looked at his watch. “We have a little less than twelve hours before this place is leveled in an airstrike.” Ski watched Doyle’s face. She nodded a little, turned and looked back at the map, nodded again then faced him.

“Ok. We can do this,” she said.

“Do what?” Ski asked.

“I knew that continued control of this space would be tentative. Supplies are decreasing and we had to risk expanding our search circles. The water supply from the roof, the tanks that were probably installed for firefighting, gets lower each day. Without a way to refill them, it was only a matter of time before we’d have to move on,” Doyle said.

“And then each time Wiener sent us outside the wire to replace the mines, we were forced to use more and more items that were cobbled together from parts we had lying around,” she said. “I can’t tell you how many cell phones we’ve used to make devices,” she said shaking her head. “I felt, and still do, that it was only a matter of time before all the Zulu’s in the city descended on us or we were forced to find a different location due to a lack of resources. I made sure that when they do, we have some options.”

“Like what?” Ski asked.

“A contingency plan,” she said. “You know how I always plan for the worse possible outcome.”

Ski nodded, he remembered back to their training. Doyle was always planning for something to go wrong, her personal motto had been,
hope for the best, plan for the worst
.  Through that motto and her preplanning, whatever the instructors tossed at the students, she was always able to counter it.

“Care to clue me in?” Ski asked.

Doyle smiled and shook her head.

“Not yet,” she said as she brushed past him and opened her office door.

“Sergeant Winchester!” she yelled out. A few seconds later a burly soldier who looked more like a wrestler jogged up to them and stopped.

“Ma’am.”

“Bob, get Scott and Jerry and have them prepare Little Big Horn,” Doyle said.

“Yes, ma’am,” Winchester said before he jogged away.

“Little Big Horn?” Ski asked.

“Oh. You’ve heard of it?” Doyle asked.

“Who hasn’t?”

“This one has a better outcome,” Doyle said.

“Better for whom? Who’s the Indians and who’s the cavalry?”

“Wait and see,” Doyle said as she grabbed her pack and rifle from the office and walked in the same direction that Winchester had.

“Oh, one more thing,” Doyle called out before reaching the intersection of the hallways. “Let DeMillio know that we’re initiating Little Big Horn.”

Ski waved and nodded then shook his head. He was still thinking about their conversation and shaking his head as he walked back to the Marine unit’s section of the museum.

***

Chapter 17

Safeguard, New Mexico

Frank Durst sat in the Atrium reading the Art of War. Jessica Burnett had found a copy in her gear that she had brought from Cannon Air Force Base. Durst wasn’t really reading the book just staring at the pages while thinking back on what happened in Clovis. His mind replayed the scene over and over of Stone getting shot in the leg and falling to the street.
Why had he stepped on that board when everyone else had stepped over it?
The image of Stone dropping to the street amid a spray of blood and wood splinters stayed in his mind. He just couldn’t get that image out of his head. Because of his carelessness, it was likely his friend would be crippled for the rest of his life.

The thump of Stone’s cane brought him out of his reverie. Looking up, he saw Stone enter the area, make his way over to the juice bar and grab a Red Bull. Stone leaned back against the counter, popped the top and guzzled most of the beverage in one long swallow. Closing his eyes and leaning his head back, he savored the stimulant laden drink. Opening his eyes, belching loudly, he looked over and saw Durst sitting at one of the tables. Saluting him with the can in hand, he finished the drink, crumpled the can and tossed it into the garbage. Walking stiffly over to where Durst sat, Stone dropped into a chair and raised his leg up to rest on another chair. The line on the side of his face where the same bullet that had gone through his leg had scored the flesh was now pink instead of the angry, bloody red that it had been.

“Frankie, how goes it?” Stone asked.

“It goes,” Durst said.

“That it does,” Stone said.

“Hey, uh, John, I’m uh sorry for...” Durst trailed off and gestured towards Stone’s injured leg and up towards his face.

“What?” Stone asked looking at his friend then at his leg. “What do you mean?”

“It was my fault,” Durst said. Stone shook his head and looked at Durst.

“Dude, it was
not
your fault. Did you set up that trap? No. Did you know that stepping where you did would set it off? No. This…” Stone tapped his leg. “Is not your fault. It’s no one’s fault. How were we to know that something like that was even there?” Stone looked hard at Durst then shook his head. “You had no way of knowing that something like this would happen.”

“I still feel responsible. I mean, shit, I set it off,” Durst said.

“Goddamnit. You are no more responsible for this then Lyndsay Lohan forgetting to put on her underwear and flashing her spam purse to the paparazzi,” Stone said.

Durst grinned at Stone’s comment.

“Jesus, dude, get a fucking grip,” Stone said. “Shit happens. Next time, we’ll be more careful and really scope out where we’re going.”

Jessica Burnett walked into the Atrium, paused when she saw Durst and Stone talking then quietly walked over to the juice bar and grabbed a bottle of water. Durst saw her enter, caught her eye and waved her over.

“Hey guys,” Burnett said as she approached the table. “I don’t want to intrude.”

“Nah, you’re not intruding. Me and Frankie here were just discussing random events and uncontrollable outcomes,” Stone said. “Cop a squat,” he said using his cane to push out the last chair at the table. Burnett sat down and looked at both of the men as she unscrewed the top of the bottle.

“I should savor this. It’s part of the last case of Dasani water,” Burnett said. The Safeguard facility was fed by an underground river and several deep wells but the inhabitants preferred to use bottled water for drinking purposes.

“You know, I heard there’s a large grocery distribution center in this area. Some of the people in Clovis were talking about it,” Stone said. “I know where it’s at, generally. We should go take a look at it. Maybe get some of that fancy sounding water and a couple of other things. I’m really missing Cap’n Crunch.” No one said anything about the lack of milk that normally accompanied cereal.

“Really?” Durst asked.

“Oh yeah. Prime pickings from what I hear. Not sure what kind of condition it would be in after all this time but, we could always go take a look and see if there’s something there that we could use,” Stone said.

“I heard that Smith wanted to head back to Cannon,” Burnett said. “Something about looking for supplies.”

“That’d be good too,” Stone said. “We could find that airplane hospital thing you two girls came from and strip the shit out of it.”

Burnett nodded. If they could locate one of the JMAU aircraft their medical needs would be fulfilled for a very long time.

“We only have two trucks now,” Durst said.

“And the Warrior,” Stone said.

“But, the Warrior is limited. It’s more of an extreme RV,” Durst said.

“True, but you got to admit, we’d be traveling in style,” Stone said with a smile then thought for a moment. “We wouldn’t need to take it anyway. I got a truck upstairs that I was working on before all this,” he said indicating his leg. “It just needs some finishing touches and it’s ready to roll.”

“What needs to be done to it?” Durst asked, knowing that whatever truck Stone had found probably didn’t need a whole lot work done to it. In all these years, whenever Stone mentioned that something needed a finishing touch, it usually meant that there were some really minor cosmetic items that needed to be done.

“I need to finish mounting the winch and lights. Then it’s done,” Stone said.

“You up to doing that now?” Durst asked.
Yep, minor cosmetic items
, he mentally assured himself.

“Why the hell not?” Stone said, lifting his injured leg from the chair it was resting on and getting to his feet. “It’d be like old times,” he added as he made his way towards the facility’s elevator. Durst shook his head. The last time both of them worked on a vehicle together, they were in high school.

***