Sergeant Wood asked, “You sure?”
“Yes, Sergeant,” the private answered.
“Okay. Let’s go.”
The gunfire grew louder and Hannah knew that the soldier had picked the correct route. “They’re trying to leave!” Sergeant Wood shouted, pointing at his radio. “Come on. Come on.”
The new information added an urgency to their pace as everyone tore through the facility at breakneck speed. Unsecured paperwork flew from bags that hadn’t been tied off, causing Hannah to wonder how much precious data they were losing in the process. Anything was better than nothing though.
They emerged into the bright South American sun. The sounds of M-4s firing was loud as it echoed into the loading dock where they stood. The big propellers on the C-130 were spinning and the plane was moving slowly down the short runway.
“Fuck! Let’s go!” somebody shouted, taking off running.
They all followed suit, sprinting as if their lives depended on it. In truth, they probably did depend on making it to that plane before they were left behind. As she ran, clutching the laptop to her chest, Hannah’s mind processed the fact that there were still men firing somewhere up ahead, so they weren’t being abandoned, but it sure as hell felt like it in that moment.
The team burst past the final row of shipping containers. Men fired into the jungle from beside the tarmac. Shapes moved in the darkness of the rain forest, indistinct and menacing. The crew chief from the C-130 stood on the ramp, motioning for them to hurry. Two or three soldiers stood by the end of the ramp shooting off beyond her line of sight.
When her boots thudded against the C-130’s ramp, an overwhelming sense of relief washed over Hannah. They’d made it back. They’d made it to—
The plane shuddered violently and a mass of dark red liquid covered the windows along the port side. They’d hit something with a propeller. Would that engine work now? Would they have enough thrust to take off from the shortened runway?
Around her, men shouted incoherently, pushing her forward into the bowels of the plane. She fell into a passenger seat as more men pressed inside the plane. She watched in horror as men fired their rifles from inside the plane, point-blank into the crazies attempting to board the plane. The infected were everywhere, their faces twisted in rage, screaming incoherently. The ramp rose too slowly. It wasn’t going to be enough.
The crew chief fired his puny 9mm pistol through the narrowing gaps between the ramp and the fuselage as the plane began to roll. There was still a solid twelve inches of daylight showing from the top of the ramp when the pilots pushed the thrust all the way forward, sending men and equipment tumbling toward the back of the plane.
There was a tense few moments as the big engines roared. Hannah used her fingers to plug her ears. The sound was deafening as the men and women in the cockpit struggled for control during the combat takeoff. Then, she felt the shift as the front wheels left the tarmac, followed quickly by the rear wheels.
They were airborne. All around her, men cheered. She allowed herself to smile, letting the moment take her.
The elation at their escape was quickly replaced by leadership getting headcounts and hearing the numbers of men lost in the operation. Medics went through the group, checking everyone for bite and scratch marks. Through it all, Hannah clung to the laptop she’d taken. This was the device that had been plugged in, recording the final moments of the facility’s security system. The answers to her questions about Grady’s fate were on the laptop. She just knew it.
25
MANHATTAN, NEW YORK CITY, NEW YORK
MARCH 7TH
The house smelled of unwashed bodies and blood. Grady crinkled his nose, making him wince in pain. He probably looked a mess after getting beat up and then Scorpion punched him a few times, ruining his face. He flexed his fingers around the heavy wooden closet rod that he held up high, ready to strike a blow to someone’s head. He’d broken the end of the rod off, giving him a jagged side for stabbing and a blunt end to use as a club. It was a modern rendition of one of the oldest weapons in history.
He heard soft slapping of skin on skin and a deep moan of pleasure from the bedroom next to the one he’d been held in. He crept down the hallway. He’d expected the guard to be right outside the door, but he wasn’t. What kind of shitshow operation were these guys running? Pieces and parts of the previous night’s hunt came back to him. It’d been easy killing the undisciplined mob. Now would be no different, assuming he could stay awake.
The door to the bedroom was open. Grady started to peek around the doorframe, but saw a dresser with a mirror mounted on top across the room. He angled himself so he could ascertain the situation in the mirror’s reflection. Two men were on the bed, both naked. One of them was on all fours, facing away from the door while the other was behind him. The two guards that Scorpion had posted outside his door were busy getting busy while he was supposed to be fucking the whores. At least they’d go out doing what they enjoyed.
Grady rushed into the room and wrapped a hand around the upright man’s mouth as he twisted him to the side. The blunt end of the closet rod fell wickedly onto the back of the other man’s head. He crumpled like a sack of shit.
Pain erupted through Grady’s hand as the man he’d gagged bit
