Carlie Simmons (Book 5): One Final Mission Page 5

  He yelled at the others to get in as he stood with his metal pipe leveled against the first wave of ravenous abominations rushing at him. He struck the first one with a vicious overhand blow, collapsing the skull, then he sidestepped and swung his weapon like a baseball bat, unhinging the head of another, driving it back into two others. As he turned to run, another creature plowed ahead of the others and grabbed the sleeve of his jacket. Shiro slammed the butt end of the pipe into its eyes socket, causing it to recoil back, letting go of him. Shiro swept low, the pipe making contact with the cyclops’ knee in an angular blow that crushed the joint. Shiro spun around and leapt into the boat as it was beginning to move forward.

  “Go,” he yelled at Nora, who slammed her palm on the metallic accelerator. Three creatures had already climbed onto the rear diving platform of the boat but were beaten back into the water by the improvised weapons of the adrenaline-soaked survivors. The jet boat swung out into Osaka Bay, slicing through floating bodies and flailing arms as Nora piloted their escape vessel into the murky waves ahead.

  Chapter 10

  “This is going to be a bumpy thirteen-hour flight across the Pacific. With the time difference between sunset and sunrise, we should arrive there sometime in the early morning. Before you all settle in, I want to go over the plan one more time and discuss everyone’s roles,” said Shane. He momentarily reflected back on previous missions with the SEALs, recalling how they usually strung up hammocks in the belly of the massive transport planes and popped an Ambien for the long trip to some Middle-Eastern or African sandbox. An uneasy feeling shot along his spine as he realized once more that there would be no combat search-and-rescue team mounted if they were in trouble and no back-up airstrike to radio in. The world felt immense, as if it were conspiring to swallow him and his team. He forced himself to focus on the outcome of the mission and their triumphant return to the submarine. Hope coupled with raw determination and the comfort of having such skilled operatives and friends allowed him to thrust his fear back down though he was uncertain how or if he’d be able to patch the rift between him and Carlie. He narrowed his vision and then let out a deep exhale while taking in the familiar faces around him that were highlighted by the red glow of the cabin lights.

  “When we land at the small airfield on the bay, we will all head as one group to the hangar and recon the area. If everything looks good, we’ll split into our respective units. My team will provide cover for Carlie’s team who will head to the docks where Jared will hopefully work his magic and provide us with a suitable boat. Duncan identified several there that should work but our satellite intel is a few weeks old so we may have to adjust accordingly.” He leaned forward, his hand holding onto an overhead leather strap to cope with the turbulence of the plane. “Once we’ve secured a ride, we will proceed down to Kitano hospital, two miles north. Once we secure the package, we’ll rendezvous back at the riverfront park adjacent to the hospital grounds and extract from there on the boat. After that, the USS Olympia will rendezvous with us in Osaka Bay and then we’re homeward bound.”

  “Sounds easy enough,” said Jared with a smirk. “Just keep in mind that many of those jet boats have been sitting for close to a year and the gas may be foul in the tank. If I can’t obtain one that works, and the gas we brought along won’t fix the problem, then we’ll have to search for a sailboat or rope together a flotilla of dolphins.”

  “Any more intel on the undead on the ground or any potential survivors?” said Matias, who was sitting on the bench opposite Shane.

  Carlie raised her chin up. “The place is overrun by zombies, maybe more so than any other region we’ve been to. Seems like they got hit hard there which is why we’ve only had intermittent radio reports from Japan since the pandemic began. There are going to be far more creatures on the ground than we’ve ever had to contend with before.”

  The group was silent, glancing at each other and then back to the front of the plane at the moonlight filtering in through the cockpit windows. “That’s why we’ve brought more firepower than usual plus plenty of rocket launchers and C4,” said Shane, looking back at the extra rifles, ammo crates, and munitions lining the side walls. “I want this to be a quick snatch-and-grab mission but do whatever you have to do to make sure you and your team are not placed in a compromising position.”

  “What if we run across other survivors?” said Eliza, who was sitting beside Carlie. “Say, a lot of them.”

  Shane ground his teeth for a second, shooting a sideways glance at Eliza before answering. “Our primary objective is the vaccine replication hardware. After that is secured and we’re all safely back on the sub, then we can discuss further options for rescuing others.”

  Carlie knew Shane had a lot of hard decisions to make and would probably face even more before this was over. They all would. The entire mission was a crapshoot with too many variables to predict. If this was pre-pandemic, this op would’ve already been shelved due to the overbearing risks and the lack of real-world intel. She had been in many death-defying situations but this precarious undertaking shook her to the core. She understood that the plan seemed cut-and-dried but she also had a gut feeling that they were about to leap off an already rickety diving board into a black abyss. With each bump from an air pocket, she tried to submerge her feelings and temper her gnawing uncertainty with the fact that there was no other option but to plunge ahead. Carlie took a deep breath and narrowed her eyes, preparing herself for what was to come and making sure to present a steely exterior to the others looking to her for guidance, including Shane, however aloof he seemed.

  Chapter 11

  USS Olympia SSN 17, Fast-Attack Submarine

  Sitting in his small room in the officers’ section of the Olympia, Commander Matthew Ellis, the last remaining sub commander of the Pacific Fleet, had just finished his journal entry for the day, the whiskey on his breath rolling out from his heavy exhalation. He closed the leather book and slid it back in the desk drawer then peered at his bewhiskered image in the circular mirror on the wall opposite him. “Hmm…should shave,” he muttered while rubbing the stubble on his chin. He looked at his haggard appearance and then down at the photo of him on the wall from when he was first commissioned as commander of the submarine six years ago. He was dressed in his officer’s uniform, standing beside a brunette woman and a young girl in pigtails outside his two-story house in Honolulu. The clean-cut, proud image of the figure in the photograph hardly resembled the gaunt man in the mirror. Should look more presentable than this today. The crew deserves better.

  The last eleven months had seem him taking his rag-tag bunch of navy personnel and rescued civilians to numerous ports around the north and south Pacific in search of the other submarines. He was originally tasked by President Huntington with deactivating the nuclear cores in the subs he found which were idle at various ports around the Pacific—six in all. However it was the other nine that had disappeared into the murky depths of the ocean that made him lose sleep each night—knowing they would eventually succumb to time or the wrenching pressure of their watery graves. These missions to far-flung regions had cost him eighteen personnel, most of whom were his closest colleagues and friends. After Sec-Def Lavine’s demise, he curtailed their grueling quest and planned to temporarily refocus on cross-training his ad-hoc crew, searching for survivors around the western coastline of the U.S. His original crew of fourteen officers and one-hundred twenty-four enlisted personnel had been eroded away by the virus in the early weeks of the pandemic. He was barely able to get out of their home port in Honolulu, operating on a skeleton crew but picking up survivors during the ensuing months. These were hastily trained in the minor functions of the vessel while his remaining senior members were stretched thin holding together the critical day-to-day operations.

  The three-hundred sixty-two-foot submarine was powered by a nuclear core which required refueling every thirty years, making it a nearly inexhaustible water taxi. They had to put in to a new port every t
wenty-five days to replenish their food supplies and clean out the saltwater desalination filters but, otherwise, they were self-sustaining.

  Ellis glanced at himself in the mirror again, trying to see beyond the haze in his eyes and instead diverting his attention to the streaks of gray hair on the side of his head. At fifty-three, he was the oldest member on board. During the past year of travel, he could count on one hand the number of people over the half-century mark that he had seen alive. He glanced at the notes scrawled on a sheet of paper next to a partially empty bottle of Jack Daniels. His mind sifted over the coordinates that were handwritten on the map of Japan beside some notes. August 25, Osaka Bay, 2100 hours, extract eight personnel from Fort Lewis. He started to reach for the bottle but heard a knock on the door and instead swung his hand over to the map and picked it up. “Enter,” he said, turning to face the entrance.

  Master Chief Petty Officer Nicholas Degan, a stocky man in his mid-thirties, walked inside and closed the door. “Skipper, we just received radio contact from Fort Lewis. Sergeant Major Duncan said the team departed on time and we are a GO for rendezvous with them in Osaka Bay as planned.”

  “Very good, very good, indeed,” Ellis replied, trying to make sure his words weren’t slurred while keeping half of his face hidden behind the map. “I’ll be on the bridge shortly. Just have to finish reviewing my notes here and finalizing our plan for inserting into the bay.”

  Degan nodded and then turned, pausing in mid-reach for the door handle. “Sir, there’s talk amongst the crew about the cure. People wanting to know when they’ll be able to get vaccinated and if they can return for good to the coast.”

  “I know as much as you do, lad. Duncan and his people have apparently made the breakthrough on this goddamned virus. Now, we just have to get that team and the device out of Tokyo and we may have a shot at turning things around.”

  “You mean Osaka, don’t you, sir?”

  “Yes, Osaka, right. Osaka—my mistake.” Ellis cleared his throat a few times as if he had something stuck there impeding his judgment. “Carry on, Degan. I’ll be up there shortly.”

  After the door closed, Ellis rested his elbows on the table and sunk his head into his palms. “Osaka, for Christ’s sake! What the hell is wrong with you, you old bastard?” He ran his fingers through his scraggly hair and glanced down at the elixir before him then at the crumpled map, staring at the hospital location. Can this nightmare possibly have an end? He reached for the bottle, squeezing it like a desperate mountaineer hanging onto the last crag on a crumbling ledge. Just one sip to see me through the day then I’m done for good. He pressed the rim to his lips and swigged down a mouthful. Then he fumbled around for his razor and began shaving, continually glancing sideways at the haunting figures of his family in the old photo.

  Chapter 12

  The flight over the Pacific had leveled out and the ride was smoother. Eliza sat with her eyes transfixed on a metal bolt on the floor, her mind drifting back to her previous life in Tucson, nearly twelve months ago.

  “Hey, you hypnotized or just daydreaming?” said Amy, who was sitting next to her.

  “Just thinking about this little café I used to eat at on Speedway, off campus.”

  “You mean the Roadrunner?”

  “Yeah, actually. You’d been there?”

  “A few times. My friends and I on the ambulance crew would go there after a late-night shift sometimes.”

  “Hard to believe I was sitting in a booth in that diner highlighting terms in my biology book for a test. It was a year ago, August 25, this very day.”

  “While I was stuck in the company Suburban outside the Roadrunner, profiling potential bad guys and eating fast food,” said Carlie, who shouted from the bench across from them.

  Amy leaned forward, resting her forearms across her knees. “And I was getting ready to teach my first class to a bunch of new EMTs and then going shopping for a new Subaru.”

  Jared slid over in his seat, moving up closer to Amy. “And I had just gotten done casing a few upscale homes in north Tucson…you know, the kind with the Spanish-tiled roofs and kidney-shaped pools in the backyard.” He interlaced his fingers into hers, staring into her eyes. “But I found a real treasure with this fine young maiden,” he said in a sonorous voice while issuing a half-grin.

  The two women frowned and shot their smirks back at Jared while trying to contain their chuckles.

  “Shane, where were you?” said Eliza.

  He looked up from his notebook and peered at Eliza then floated his gaze over to Carlie. “Finishing up a desert op and then having my ass handed to me the next day by a female shooter that I’ll never forget.” Carlie folded her arms and looked out the window, her face taut.

  Amy saw Matias sitting quietly on the bench on the other side of Jared. “What about you—what were you up to last year on this day?”

  “Finishing up a deployment along the border with Shane. I was getting ready to head home to Phoenix to spend a few weeks with my wife and two kids.” Matias averted his eyes and looked down at his tan hands then flexed his right fist, staring at his wedding band.

  As the plane continued its voyage west over the Pacific Ocean, the cabin grew silent inside as each person’s thoughts probed the alcoves of their souls, reflecting on the memories of their old lives and the new world that had since emerged.

  Chapter 13

  Osaka, Japan

  During the eleventh month after the virus arrived in Japan and when the fruits on the cherry trees in August emerged, the city of Osaka was still silent. Gone were the rush of crowds, the street vendors, and the blare of trains. Now the only things that stirred were the millions of soulless creatures roaming the roads in search of prey. There were no other humans left other than small, desperate bands of survivors spread around the country. The Legionnaires’ Disease epidemic that had swept through the nation prior to the global pandemic had further ravaged the population once it was left unchecked and Japan had suffered far more greatly than other nations. Within a week of the outbreak, the country was fractured and thrust into third-world living conditions; within a month the entire social fabric had collapsed and the cities went dark. But the priorities of life hadn’t changed. It still revolved around staying warm, dry, fed, rested, and safe from predators.

  With the vast die-off, there had been no shortage of canned goods, dried rice, and other staples but protein was sorely lacking. From their hideout in the Shinsekai Aquatics Center across the bay from downtown Osaka, Shiro and his tiny band of ten fighters used small boats which they put into the bay for a few days each month to net fish that they would then pickle and preserve. Nora’s experience working catamarans in younger days on the Atlantic had served them well and provided her, the sole geijin, with a means of contributing to their tight-lipped group.

  Early radio reports from around the globe indicated that there were large clusters of survivors in some countries. Intermittent broadcasts from Copenhagen, Seoul, Halifax, and an army base near Seattle had reported refugee camps that had sprung up, their walls fortified by the vestiges of the military.

  Occasionally, at night, there was a faint white glow from the mainland to their south where the last nuclear reactor was located, which increased their concern that another location away from the mainland would be in their best interest. Most of their days were spent in the aquatics center with bi-monthly resupply trips to Osaka, using the extensive maze of underground tunnels to avoid the abominable creatures above. The aquatics center’s hot springs provided fresh water, and an array of solar panels on the roof enabled them to have a few hours of electricity each night.

  Every few weeks or so, a couple of them ventured across the bay at night to an isolated dock near the subway exit. Once inside they made their way through utility corridors and snaked through an abandoned power station until they arrived at the service passageway that paralleled the central tracks. Most nocturnal excursions involved them repeating the same travel route until they
were underneath a derelict grocery distribution center. There they obtained more canned goods, Soba noodles, medical items, pediatric supplies, batteries, and sometimes even spent a few hours longingly scanning the streets for any survivors.

  ***

  The two nearly silent Yamasaki motorcycles sped along the subway tunnel, the headlights providing some respite from the darkness. Shiro was in the lead with Yoshi trailing slightly behind to his right. The two men had outfitted six motorcycles procured from the streets above and kept a pair stored in different locations throughout the tunnels. Each was equipped with an array of weapons, spare fuel and parts, and trauma kits. Shiro had welded four-foot sections of angled rebar onto the front wheel frames which acted as lances for any creature in their way. Tucked into the sides of the bikes were several Samurai swords, lead pipes, and spear guns along with a bamboo quiver of spare darts. Yoshi had fitted the mufflers of each with sound-dampening devices made from improvised grass-cutter mufflers he had obtained from a golf course. In addition, they had fixed up a small railway cart used by maintenance workers. This was hand-operated and the size of a van but with a flat bed. The cart allowed them to haul large quantities of supplies along the vast network of the subway utility routes beneath the main terminals. The see-saw lever in the middle of the cart was laborious to operate so they only used it for bulky items.

  Shiro took a deep breath of the musty air and exhaled. He was counting down the days until the end of August, when the trade winds would be in their favor and Nora could sail the group to one of the distant islands in the Pacific to see if they could locate something that would provide them with a fresh start. Then he could be free of the goryo—the evil that roamed the land. Shiro thought the creatures were the embodiment of malicious spirits that had returned for revenge. In past conversations, he mentioned to the group that it was only the powerful spirits of the mountain yamabushi that could put the evil to rest but most of the less traditional members of his group just nodded respectfully at his beliefs.