Zero hour part 4 survivo.., p.1
Zero Hour Part 4: Survivors, page 1
Contents
Copyright
Title Page
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
Acknowledgements
Copyright © 2015 Eamon Ambrose
All Rights Reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or in any means – by electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without prior written permission.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
ZERO HOUR 4: SURVIVORS
Eamon Ambrose
Edited by Ellen C. Campbell
CHAPTER ONE
What now?
Truth is, we have no idea what to do now. In the space of a few minutes we’ve gone from being freedom fighters to survivors.
We’re refugees.
Because she did it. The plan worked, just like he said.
Davis roughly grabs the scope from Brasco, wiping the eyepiece with his shirt and pushing him aside. The idiot looked at the initial blast through it and the flash almost blinded him.
“Jesus Brasco, do you have to blub all over the scope?”
He focuses it and stares through the tiny aperture drilled through the concrete. The field of vision isn’t very effective, but it’s enough to see what’s happened.
“Can it, Davis,” I bark.
“Yes Sir,” he spits back, emphasising the “Sir” in the most derogatory tone possible.
I’ve got a feeling our problems are just beginning. This asshole’s going to be trouble, I know it, but what can I do? He’s already forming his own clique within the group, the weak, easily led ones of course—Brasco, Mills, Murphy and possibly more. I don’t know what goes on when my back is turned. I hate that he has this control over us. I hate myself for not being able to control him. I wish he was gone. It would solve so many problems, but part of me knows we’re going to need him if we’re going to survive—but at what cost?
We both go back to our scopes, watching the plumes of smoke billowing from the Tower.
She’s gone.
I can’t believe she’s gone.
Part of me feels so guilty. We sent her to her death, thinking we were all dead, thinking she’d murdered every single one of us. I try to imagine the confusion and fear she must have felt in her final moments. Did she know what we did, how we colluded with the AI? I hope not. I should be happy, but how can I be? I betrayed my oldest friend, and the only reward is a slim chance of survival for a tiny pocket of humanity. For all I know we’re all that’s left.
Davis raises his arms as if he’s just scored a goal in some long forgotten sporting event. “We did it!”
“She did it, Davis. She did it. You just sat back and watched.”
He eyes me with disgust, picks Brasco up off the floor and grabs Mills and Murphy.
“We all did. Let’s go boys—time to go up top.”
I say no, we have to wait, but he’s not listening. There’s no point in trying to reason with him right now. They run down the narrow hallway to the blast door. He turns the rusted wheel, the hiss of compressed air escaping as he steps through and walks to the exit stairway carved into the rock. The railings have rusted away over the years in the dampness so it’s a precarious climb if you’re not careful. In his haste, Davis slips on the second step, falling forward and slamming his shoulder on the cold rock. As he picks himself up, Brasco bursts into laughter, until Davis punches him in the gut.
“Davis—enough!” I bellow as loudly as I can. My voice has faded to gravel tones, it ends up sounding tired and vulnerable, and he knows it.
He ignores me and resumes his climb, more carefully this time. He reaches the hatch and opens it, raising it cautiously as the camouflage falls away and climbs outside, followed by Mills and Murphy, with Brasco trailing behind, holding his stomach in considerable pain.
Myself and some of the others follow, standing on the harsh wasteland, looking at thick black smoke billowing from the blazing building in the distance, almost half of it obliterated instantly in the explosion, the rest crumbling under the searing heat. Murphy pulls out a scanner and raises it into the air.
“The network—it’s failing. She really did it!”
He runs away from us whooping with joy, arms raised in the air, dancing around like an idiot. After about a hundred feet he turns around to face us, still whooping.
“What’s that noise?”
A strange whirring, whistling sound that seems like it’s coming from nowhere begins, quickly getting louder, until I realise where it’s actually coming from.
“Everybody back inside—NOW!” I scream. Everyone but Murphy heeds and sprints to the hatch, jumping inside clumsily in panic. Murphy realises too late what is happening and looks up at the sky, then to me. He starts to run towards me, terror now replacing the joy that he felt just moments ago.
Run, Murphy. Run!
I wait at the hatch, holding it open, willing him to run faster. Time seems to slow down.
He’s almost here.
With only fifty feet to go, he trips. I have to go get him. I run as hard as I can, my exhausted limbs recharged with adrenalin. He’s on his knees.
Get up, Murphy. Get up.
Halfway there, I realise I’m too late. Murphy looks up, frozen in terror, and covers his head with his arms hopelessly to shield himself as a huge Nemesis drone the size of a car falls from the sky, crushing him. The sound he makes as it hits him will never leave me. I can’t even describe it. Never in all the years of fighting have I seen someone die like this.
Others start to drop around me. I turn back to the hatch and run with all my strength. My lungs feel like they’re going to explode. I’m not dying like this—no way. I finally reach the hatch and dive inside as another, smaller drone hits just inches from me, the dying spins of its fractured rotor blades spitting dirt in the air. I bypass the short ladder, falling through the hatch, sliding on the cold, wet steps as I land, scrambling desperately to stop myself, but it’s no use. The broken railing sends me toppling over the edge of the forty-foot stairway. Someone grabs my arm to stop me, dragging me back so hard it almost pulls it out of its socket.
Davis.
He holds me there for longer than I’m comfortable with, looking me in the eye with that sick grin of his. He could drop me right now and no one would know. He could just say he lost his grip, and I know by the look on his face that he’s considering the idea. It seems like an age before he reconsiders and hauls me back up, patting the dust from my shoulders a lot harder than he should.
“That’s another one you owe me, Alex.”
I stare at him, looking him straight in the eye, my entire body shaking with a mixture of anger, fear and relief. He’ll never see me as his equal, much less his leader. He’s just a sociopathic juggernaut of testosterone and machismo. How could anyone be so driven, yet so mindless? A little voice inside tells me to smash his smug face in, but I need to find another way. He’s waiting for me to make a move. He wants me to, but I’m not giving in to him that easily, not after everything we’ve been through. I shoulder past him and descend the stairs, ordering everyone into the meeting hall. Time to get out of this damned cave.
CHAPTER TWO
Everyone crowds into the cramped meeting room, the unbearable collective stink of body odour souring the air. We’ve all been down here too long with no proper facilities or ventilation. If we stay here we’ll be dead within weeks.
I stand at the makeshift lectern, tugging my tattered uniform in an attempt to make it look vaguely tidy. It doesn’t work. The entire room is buzzing, and not just from the smell. Multiple conversations flit in all directions, the tone mostly one of excitement and hope, but there are things that need to be discussed.
“Attention everybody!”
Davis stands front and centre, and salutes loudly.
“Yes Sir!”
I hear sniggering from the back of the room. I need to control this crowd now. I step away from the lectern and walk into the crowd, and in what has probably been not only one of the most anticipated, but insanely well-timed moments in my life, I land a swift punch full force on Davis’ unsuspecting jaw. It connects perfectly, sending him reeling backwards and to the ground with a soft thump. He’s out for the count.
The realisation of what just happened is sinking in. A sharp pain shoots through my arm down to my knuckles and I try to resist the urge to cradle my fist. With one hand on my firearm, I wait for a reaction as Davis’ cronies run forward to his assistance. I hear shuffling and look to see a crowd gathering behind me. Sides are drawn—everyone’s had enough. Brasco and Mills look around, expecting others to join them, but no one does. They sheepishly pick up Davis’ limp body by each arm and take him outside, his feet dragging behind as they struggle to move his muscular frame.
“Back to business, people!” I holler, clapping my hands and returning to the lectern.
“As of 09.00 this morning, the Tower has been destroyed. This was part of a secret mission involving Captain Ford and the AI who ran the systems there. Sadly, we can only assume that she was KIA, given the nature of the mission. We are confident that recovery is not an option. This has resulted in Bentley’s network be
Brady steps forward, her face and uniform covered in grease. She’s been trying to get the few vehicles we have in some sort of condition to travel. “Sir, something has to be done about him. None of us feel safe. It’s a matter of time before he makes a power play, and I’d hate to think about what would happen if he succeeded.”
She’s right. There’s only one answer. We can’t banish him, he would only come back. I look around the room at every face—all concerned, all frightened, all angry that we’ve beaten the odds and still have to deal with a threat from within our own group.
“I think we all know what has to be done, but if you want this, you must all be prepared for the consequences. All those in favour raise your hand.”
The vote is unanimous.
“Who’s going to do it?” someone pipes up from the back of the room.
“He’s my responsibility, I’ll do it. It’s only fair.”
For the third time today, someone’s going to die because of me. I hope it’s the last. Army protocol has disappeared at this stage—now we’re just winging it. We stopped being soldiers a long time ago; our main goal now is just to live, and to guarantee that, we have to kill someone.
I have to kill someone.
I take a deep breath, my knuckles stinging like crazy from the punch, and draw my pistol. It has to happen now, no more waiting. The crowd stands aside, forming a human corridor around me as I walk slowly forward, checking the clip to make sure it’s fully loaded. I’m on my own here, this is what is expected of me. No turning back now.
I need the element of surprise. The other two will fall in line once it’s done, I know it. They’re just weak. My heartbeat increases as anticipation gets the better of me and the adrenalin begins to flow once again.
Keep it cool, you can do this. You can kill a man in cold blood.
Safety off, I cup the gun in both hands, keeping it aimed at the floor. I stop at the doorway and prepare to swing around to the right once I enter the hallway. The others begin to follow as I exit, raising the pistol to aim, ready to see the target in my sights, ready to fire, ready to do the deed.
But he’s gone. They’re all gone.
Too late, I hear the sound of an engine revving and burst into a desperate dash to the end of the long corridor, screaming Davis’ name as loud as my failing voice will allow. I didn’t expect this, not even from him. I brace my shoulder as it hits the twin metal doors leading to the vehicle bay and see the truck drive up the ramp as I burst through, fully laden with virtually all our supplies, Brasco and Mills hanging from each door, whooping like the idiots they are. I raise my gun and fire several shots, none hitting their mark, several striking the truck’s armour, spitting sparks as they ascend into the daylight streaming in from the ramp entrance. I run to the two remaining transports and jump in to one, turning the key frantically.
Nothing.
I jump out and see the hood has been opened, and raise it slightly to reveal a mess of tangled and cut wires. I slam the hood down and kick the tyres in frustration. I should have killed him when I had the chance.
The others enter the bay, staring in shock at the open ramp, and then at me kicking the shit out of an inanimate object and screaming like a maniac. I stop and fall to the ground, head in hands. I’ve had enough.
Just let me sleep. Please. Sleep, and not wake up.
Brady approaches and surveys the damage, tutting and whistling ominously like every mechanic since the automobile was invented. “This’ll take a while.”
The rest of the group pours into the bay, equally flabbergasted by Davis’ escape.
All eyes on me.
I collect myself and stand. No point wallowing in self pity now. There’s a job to do.
I can fix this.
“I don’t care what it takes, Brady. Get this vehicle running as quickly as possible or we’re all dead. It’s that simple,” I look around at my captive audience. “As soon as it’s ready I’m taking a team to retrieve the truck. Get to work on the second one as soon as we’re gone. We’re done here, I want everybody ready to leave as soon as we return.”
Another voice shouts from the back. I’m pretty sure it’s the same one from the meeting room.
“What if you don’t?”
“Then someone shove a cross in the ground for me up top and write on it—
In memory of Alex Spencer. He tried.
After that, get the hell out of here and try to find somewhere to live that won’t kill you in two weeks, because that’s what happens if you stay here.”
The ATV is a hybrid based on an early pre-war Russian design called the Sherp, with huge wheels and an impossibly small engine backed up by solar cells that give it a pretty good range—if we get a lucky break in the clouds, that is. It’s not as fast as the truck, but I’m hoping we can cover the rougher terrain better to get ahead and beat a shortcut to them. It’ll carry six people, but I need to keep the weight down and I can’t afford to leave the others defenceless, so I’m taking two. Three are already stepping forward.
“Wilkins, Sheppard—you’re with me. Hoffman, I need you to stay here and supervise the evac.”
Hoffman looks disappointed. He’s my friend, but he’s also one of the few I can really trust to get it done if things go wrong. He suggested getting rid of Davis long ago. I should have listened to him.
I jog back to my quarters and pack for the journey. We need to travel light, which isn’t that hard considering Davis has taken practically everything of value to us. I shoulder my weapon and collect the remaining two boxes of ammo and a couple of grenades, and throw on the rest of my uniform, grabbing my dust mask. Prolonged exposure isn’t safe, and these masks are by no means the best protection, but better than nothing. If we stay in the vehicle as much as possible we should be okay. The air filters should help. I take one last look around the cramped, damp room I’ve spent the last six months in, collect the few trinkets I have left of my personal effects, and close the door behind me for the last time. Whatever happens, I can’t say I’ll miss it.
I almost bump into Wilkins as he careens around the corner, breathless and perspiring through every pore in his body it seems. He looks unwell, and I wonder if I’m making a mistake bringing him along.
“Sir, she’s got the vehicle running.”
I smile a rare smile and pat him gently on the shoulder.
“Let’s move. Time to finish what I started.”
The three of us pile into the ATV and fire it up, Sheppard taking the wheel. Extra cans of fuel hang from the outside, should be enough to get us there and back with a little luck. Brady throws the switch for the ramp and it lowers, letting the dust and daylight in as it opens. The sun is out for a change, so at least we can get a solar charge. Hoffman stands at the rear door as I reach to close it. He doesn’t say anything, and he doesn’t need to. He nods approvingly and salutes. I reciprocate and shut the door, hopeful that we’ll see each other again. The ramp hits the stone floor with a ferocious clank and Sheppard accelerates, spinning the huge steering wheel as effortlessly as if she was driving a cab. This thing wasn’t built for comfort. The interior is dark and sparse, with hard metal seats and tiny slits for windows, except for the thickened bulletproof glass windshield. We climb the ramp slowly, and get our bearings from the still-smoking Tower, trying to figure out the best course to intercept. It’s inevitable that Davis went to the Tower first, he couldn’t resist it.
We drive, the tiny diesel engine bravely dragging this huge-wheeled monstrosity forward with all its strength, with a steady, tapping purr as it begins to navigate the ever-roughening terrain. I see the huge mounds of debris in the distance, one with a crashed airliner lying against it. To the west, the smaller hills look a little more manageable so we head in that direction. Davis would have initially taken this direction too, but the truck wouldn’t be able to handle the terrain, so they would have no option but to go around.
