Carlie Simmons (Book 5): One Final Mission Read online

  One Final Mission

  Volume Five in the Carlie Simmons

  Post-Apocalyptic Series

  By JT Sawyer

  Copyright November 2015 by JT Sawyer

  No part of this book may be transmitted in any form whether electronic, recording, mechanical, photocopying, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction and the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, incidents, or events is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Prologue

  Osaka, Japan, the First Day of the Pandemic

  Shiro Hatsumi knew that if he walked into the other room more people would die. His leathery hands were already sore from an earlier battle. Sunrise had brought enough bloodshed. He just needed a simple answer to the question that had been searing into his psyche like a flaming arrow, then the soiled tanto blade concealed in his coat sleeve would remain dormant.

  The petite secretary walked to the door of her boss’s office and leaned inside, keeping it only slightly ajar. “Mr. Takamura, there is someone here to see you. He says he knows you. His name is Hatsumi.”

  Shiro could hear the man stand and remove something from a nearby rack before sitting back in his squeaky chair. “Have him come in.”

  The woman opened the door all the way and smiled at Hatsumi, indicating with a sweeping motion of her hand to enter. Shiro strode inside with quiet confidence before locking the deadbolt, a tattooed image of his Yakuza clan showing slightly from under his sleeve. He strode to the front of the desk, his arms by the sides of his black leather jacket which had a few droplets of dried blood near the right cuff. He noticed that the vintage wakizashi sword was missing from its resting place on the bookcase to the left. The stout man before him sat like a stuffed carnival bear, the horizon of sixty written across his doughy face. Stacked neatly on the left side of the walnut desk were piles of currency arranged in thousand yen bundles.

  The older man nodded his head, a bead of sweat already building up between his eyebrows. “Hatsumi, why don’t you sit?”

  Shiro remained still, glancing at the semi-open drawer of the desk, the man’s hands, and the large window to his right, taking in the security systems in the place and knowing he only had a few minutes.

  “You know why I’m here.”

  “Your little brother has yet to pay what is owed. Until he does, he will have to continue working it off,” Takamura said, his lower lip quivering. “You…you know the arrangement. If you take this last assignment abroad for the boss then your brother goes free. ”

  Shiro ground his teeth and then spoke. “I’ve just taken care of that problem by permanently removing our employer.”

  The fat man’s face drained of color and he slid his hand inside the drawer slightly, his arm trembling. Shiro remained motionless, his senses taking in every nuance of the man’s figure and the immediate surroundings. He could hear the secretary behind the door nervously mumbling on the phone.

  “I should’ve come here first because, from what I was told earlier this morning by the last bodyguard, you are apparently the only one who knows where Takumi is.”

  The man withdrew his empty hand from the drawer, the trembling lessening as he heard his guards moving up the stairs in the lobby. “If I tell you then you will run me through. I know you all too well—you’re as reasonable as a rabid tiger. That’s why we were going to cut you loose after this—that and your self-righteousness, always needing to adhere to some code of honor. Despite your once-great standing in this clan, you’ll always be a pathetic fisherman’s son.” The fat man leaned back, tilting his chin up. “Do you miss the stink of fish on your hands, Shiro?”

  Shiro felt his facial muscles tighten as his mind drifted momentarily to another place. He could barely recall the image of the boy that Takamura was speaking about. His childhood had been swept away in one night when his father lost their fishing boat in a drunken gambling spree with the Yakuza. His destitute father offered up his fifteen-year-old son instead. The next day, Shiro was yanked away from the desperate arms of his sobbing mother while his little brother ferociously clung to her robe. Over the next fifteen years, he had endured countless brutalities and an apprenticeship in pain within the criminal organization that ran most of Osaka. Initially, it was only his sheer willpower and the strength he had acquired from his austere lifestyle as a fisherman that enabled him to survive. Over the years, he rose up through the ranks from being an enforcer to being one of the most skilled streetfighters in his clan until the naïve fisherman’s son was pounded out like soft steel under an unyielding hammer. Eventually his boss sent him abroad to oversee their organizations in America where his charismatic nature would pose less of a threat to the Osaka clan leadership that was passed down along family lines. During a recent visit back to Japan, his employer requested that Shiro kill the wife and young daughters of a rival Yakuza boss. Knowing he might refuse, they had abducted his brother Takumi and held him for collateral. Shiro knew both their days were numbered so he opted for killing his boss instead and bringing down the Osaka clan.

  Shiro heard the rumble of many feet shuffling in the waiting room, whispered voices discussing their options for entering the office. “Tell me the location and you walk away from here along with your goons outside.”

  Takamura leaned forward, his belly pressing against the desk as he rested his arms on the edge, his men waiting on the other side of the door having bolstered his confidence. “Alright, just for the sake of entertainment—he’s at the Nara Textile Factory just a few kilometers from here, at the north end of the prefecture.”

  Shiro slid the phone with force towards Takamura. “Make the call to have him released. Once I know he is safe, then I will be on my way.” He canted his head slightly, hearing the deadbolt being worked from the other side.

  Takamura lifted the phone to his ear and dialed the number and then stared at the oaken door ahead like it led to another world. Shiro moved up alongside him, his left wrist ready to unfurl the spring-loaded blade in his sleeve. Shiro reached up with his right hand and pressed the speaker button on the handset.

  Takamura spoke abruptly into the phone, then repeated the same request with greater fervor. “What do you mean people are attacking each other?” The sound of screaming in the background drowned out the frightened man’s voice on the other end…there was gurgling like someone was being strangled and then the stampede of feet followed by the shattering of glass.

  Shiro’s eyes went wide, his heart racing as the phone went silent. Out on the streets below, he heard vehicles slamming into each other and could see people running, followed by a tsunami of other humans ferociously tackling the slower ones. His mind shot back to his surroundings as the door to the office broke open and five heavily tattooed goons rushed through, their large blades and clubs extended.

  Shiro saw Takamura reach into his desk drawer for the small sword but before he could withdraw it, Shiro’s blade was already wedged between his ribs, piercing his heart. Shiro shoved the podgy man on his rolling chair into two of the bodyguards, slowing their advance while he went for the others near the door. Shiro rushed forward, feinting high with his blade then dropping low for a cut across the abdomen of the first thug. He narrowly dodged a crushing blow from the baton of the next man, sidestepping then uppercutting his blade into the man’s lower jaw while gashing the third guard across the right quadriceps muscle. The man went down on one knee screaming as the other two bodyguards bolted towards Shiro, but he was already heading down the hallway right on the heels of the secretary, who was also f
leeing.

  As he neared the landing, he saw a rush of saggy-faced people, their bloody jaws snapping wildly as they overwhelmed the dainty woman like a flood sweeping through a side canyon. Shiro grabbed the metal railing to stop his momentum then pivoted around and ran back towards the office. As he rounded the corner, he clotheslined one of the approaching goons under the throat and shoulder-slammed the other into the door. Rushing up to Takamura’s slumped figure, he got behind the chair and ran towards the floor-to-ceiling window, driving the four-wheeled pudgy battering ram through the plate glass. The dead man’s body plummeted five stories into the artificial lake below.

  He looked at the savage horde in the hallway tearing through the soft flesh of the bodyguards’ faces and wondered if he had entered some alternate reality. Was he in a nightmare or some kind of self-made purgatory constructed to atone for his many sins over the years? What was happening? Were these the goryo—the evil spirits coming for revenge for all the lives he had taken over the years? His mind raced back to the view below and he thought of his brother, Takumi. He was the only family Shiro had left and all that mattered in this moment. He had to get to him. As the maniacal ghouls rushed towards him, he tucked the spring-loaded blade into his sleeve and pushed off from the jagged window frame, plunging towards the murky waters below.

  Chapter 1

  Fort Lewis, Present Day, August 24

  The summer winds off the Pacific had rolled in along Fort Lewis, bringing with them a pleasant dappling of warm rain. It had been six months since the battles at the Grand Coulee Dam and Fort Lewis. The last procurement flights along the west coast had stopped a month earlier since fuel resources were stretched thin and Pavel’s work on a vaccine was nearing completion. Dozens of rhesus monkeys had been obtained on a long-range mission to a small research facility in Florida that Duncan had made contact with. These provided Pavel with the necessary test subjects for the antidote and allowed him and his tireless team of researchers to make rapid progress and begin the first human trials.

  The mood in the air at the base was a mix of anticipation wrought with underlying tension. Several new waves of survivors from outlying communities had sought refuge within the walls of Lewis and the already meager food supplies wouldn’t last through the end of autumn. Most of the distant cities had been combed for dried and canned goods long ago and helo missions to explore other states were out of the question with the diminished fuel supplies. Carlie and the other elite teams took turns rotating in and out of sentry duties on the perimeter around Fort Lewis and the dam but other than keeping members of the base current on their training, they were getting restless from being grounded for so long.

  With their basic needs of shelter, water, and protection met, Duncan now sought to focus all of their efforts on food procurement. He had divided people into groups based upon experience. The largest group consisted of those with backgrounds in farming, botany, and horticulture. The next group contained people who had worked in the Pacific fishing industry on small trawlers or had experience with the salmon runs in the Columbia River gorge. Fishing was the most viable alternative given their proximity to the coast, the number of skilled fishermen in the group, and the existing fishing fleet in the harbor around Seattle. Not to mention, it was the safest method for avoiding encounters with the undead.

  The last and smallest group comprised those with extensive hunting or trapping skills. However, this was deemed the riskiest undertaking as it involved taking to the open forests of the Olympic Peninsula in the west where there were still unknown numbers of creatures roaming about.

  Duncan had previously had teams in bulldozers tear up the concrete along the distant sections of the airbase for planting crops. They started with two hundred acres and high-yield vegetables like potatoes, carrots, lettuce, and squash. With the summer rains and warm temperatures, these crops were doing well but wouldn’t be ready for harvest for another month. In addition, all the rooftops on the different wings on base were covered with container gardens and they had even converted the indoor pool in the rec center into a hydroponics center. However, it was protein that was the most challenging area to provide for and all efforts were put into harvesting fish and aquatic life from the bays and inlets west of Seattle.

  With most of the sailboats and fishing fleet still intact around the bays, the eight teams of experienced fishermen led by seasoned boat captains would head out on two-day rotations. Once they had reached their limit, they would radio in for a truck to meet them at one of the more isolated harbors to haul out their catch and drive it back to Lewis.

  With the veneer of comfort from supermarkets, stocked provisions, and the just-in-time economy stripped away after the arrival of the pandemic, the daily quest for sustenance became the driving force once more in human existence.

  ***

  The sun had broken through the clouds and was alighting on Carlie’s tan shoulders as she and twenty others worked on the first section of the two-hundred-acre garden outside of C-Wing adjacent to the airfield. Her gray tank top was already drenched with sweat as she worked the hoe through the aromatic earth at her feet. She gripped the weathered handle with vigor, marveling at the feeling of doing something with her hands that didn’t involve maiming or killing. It had been eleven days since she had shot a zombie—the longest she had gone since the pandemic began. Eleven glorious days of staying put and not being in a helicopter in another godforsaken burnt-out city. Staring hypnotically at the tilled ground almost made her forget where she was until she stopped to adjust her baseball cap and looked up at the hundreds of undead gathered around the half-mile of razor wire fences lining the rear entrance gate in the distance.

  It wasn’t required that she work in the garden but she had longed for a break from the monotony of sentry duty and usually spent an hour working the fields in between indoor teaching duties in the combatives gym.

  She was about to plunge her tool back into the ground when she heard familiar footsteps behind her. She turned just in time to thrust the handle of the hoe between her and Shane.

  “Whoa, take it easy there, Joan Deere.” Shane looked at her and then around at the others who seemed oblivious to his arrival. He leaned forward slightly and whispered, “So, did you actually volunteer for this Johnny Appleseed detail or did Duncan get pissed at you for something and this is your community service?”

  She frowned and blew a strand of blond hair off her nose, walking with him to the shady overhang of a nearby building. “You coming down here to contribute or just cause trouble?”

  “A little of both. Just wanted to see if you could slip away for a short break. Plus, I’d like to talk with you about something.”

  She swung the hoe to her right side and then moved up, grabbing his tan shirt and pulling him close while she kissed him. “I suppose I could pull away for a bit.” She noticed his hesitation and wondered why he had been distant for the past few days. He kept shrugging off her inquiries, saying that Duncan had him working on a new undertaking, but he was keeping it close to his vest.

  He moved back a foot and playfully brushed the grime off his shirt. “Carlie Simmons—I never thought I’d see the day when you would relish being a farm girl.”

  “I thought you liked a dirty woman.”

  “No—nasty, not dirty,” said Shane with a grin.

  “Oh, get out of here.” She brushed a fleck of dry clay off her fingers, flinging it onto him.

  Carlie took his hand and led him over to a nearby utility building where they could stand under the shade of the overhang away from the prying eyes of others. Shane’s radio crackled and he reached down to pull it off his belt without taking his gaze off of Carlie. She leaned in towards him and whispered in his ear, “If that’s Duncan, tell him you’re busy.”

  He tilted his chin up and cracked a partial smile. “Listen to you—what happened to Ms. Punctuality? You know, now that you’re a little wood nymph you ought to let your hair grow out so you can put it in pigtails.”

>   She shoved him back against the wall as he laughed and put the radio up to his mouth.

  They both heard Duncan’s voice come over the speaker. “I need all team leaders to report to the briefing room in A-Wing. And if you get a hold of Carlie, inform her of the same. I can’t reach her.”

  “Copy that—on my way.”

  He returned the radio to his belt while she slid her hands around Shane’s waist, pulling him in close while they embraced. “You’ve got a hold of me alright and you better not let go.” She leaned the hoe against the wall and wrapped both her arms around his neck, kissing him deeply. Carlie’s heart was racing and she wanted to pull him into the storage room in the corner. Shane responded with several faint kisses and then paused to look at her. He brushed her hair back off her ear and then sighed while resuming his hug. She stood still, trying to read his body language, unsure what was holding back his interest.

  She heard someone clearing their throat and turned slightly to her right to see Matias standing a few feet away. Carlie pulled back, biting her lower lip in surprise.

  “Yeah, uhm, pardon the interruption but Duncan is looking for you,” Matias said while putting his hands behind his back and shooting his glance up at the eaves of the building then turning to walk away. “Don’t you two see enough of each other in that little ten-by-twelve room you share?” He shook his head while muttering sarcastically, “Now I’m gonna be stuck with this image of my two best friends acting like schoolkids under the bleachers.”

  Carlie and Shane pulled back from each other with chuckles and then trotted up alongside Matias who was heading across the airfield towards A-Wing.

  “So what’s on today’s agenda with Duncan,” said Carlie.

  “I don’t have all the details. But what I can tell you is that the good news is that Pavel’s human trials are complete,” said Matias. “The bad news is that we need to obtain a serum replication device because the one we had suffered a meltdown from incompatible software.”