"Nope."

"Those things are already thrashing on the door we used to come in."

"f.u.c.kin' relentless. Think any of them are hot, Billy?"

"One in ten in this area, according to intel."

Doc listened to the radio crypto sync in. "I'll have the genny up in a sec, man; we got an eighth of a tank of fuel, though. Recommend we run it only a couple hours a day, at least until we find more," Hawse reported.

"Agreed. The marines left us a sketch of the area with the few locations worth checking. We're gonna need to s.n.a.t.c.h a tanker, or at least figure out a way to move some fuel here."

Doc could hear Hawse switching the main breaker off and priming the generator; the sound traveled down the steel corridors as if Hawse was in the room next door.

Hawse cut in again. "Found the checklist, beginning the sequence."

The battery must have held enough charge since the evacuation; it cranked the generator to life on the first attempt. The pungent fumes filled the s.p.a.ces until positive pressure took over and sucked the exhaust aboveground through the ventilation ducts. Doc heard the main breaker actuate again.

"We're good, Doc," Hawse yelled down the corridor.

"Okay, bringing up the mainframe."

They all returned to the control room to observe the systems as they came online, one by one.

Doc started the half-hour process of waking the facility in priority order. The mission would be a failure if he could not restore the mainframe and connect with the aircraft carrier. Every pa.s.sword had been memorized by all four men and also written down in a waterproof notebook as extra insurance. The system was synched and encrypted to the previous commander's common access card. Doc removed the card from the protective sealed case and looked at it for the first time. A navy lieutenant? He had been told the man was a commander. He had heard of some spot promotions here and there since this started.

He rubbed the gold chip at the bottom of the card with his thumb to make sure it was clean before inserting it into the reader. A log-in screen flashed, requesting a pin. Doc had it memorized but still consulted the notes to be sure. Too many unsuccessful log-ins would result in system lockdown. He carefully keyed 7270110727. He could hear the system's RAID drives spinning in response. The pin was accepted and the mission systems status began to display.

Although they didn't need the card for most facility functions, the card gave the team full access. Doc clicked on the security icon. A display of eight screens appeared on the desktop. Only five were operational. The screens marked SE, SILO, and ENTRY B were blacked out. The others appeared operational as he could see dark outlines of terrain and fence lines. Doc clicked the icon to change the operational cameras to night-vision mode and then to thermal mode. The camera labeled MAIN DOOR failed the thermal test but functioned under night vision without issue.

Billy glanced down at his watch. "Boss, sun is up in two hours. We're gonna need comms."

"Disco, make it happen, I'll watch you here. Hawse, go with him. No one is alone outside the wire."

As the designated communications officer, Disco was charged with humping the medium-sized pelican case from the drop zone all the way here. Before the undead walked, SOF teams used this particular system to establish a covert communications station deep behind enemy lines. When closed, it was a typical hard composite case. When opened, a small high-gain antenna was released via b.u.t.ton mechanism and the low observable black solar charging panels were then exposed under the lid. The transmitter device connected via encrypted and cloaked 802.11n Wi-Fi signal to the laptop in the facility control room, wired to an existing surface antenna.

When properly deployed, the device was weatherproof, self-contained, and durable, and would provide secure two-way text and file-burst communication with the command node elements...o...b..ard the aircraft carrier. It was also resistant to RF interference as the transceiver hopped frequencies ten times per second. Designed to thwart savvy first-world hostile-signals intelligence collection, this type of security was overkill, meant for a more civilized and technologically advanced enemy.

Hawse brushed past Disco in the pa.s.sageway and looked back over his shoulder, saying, "I'm on point."

"I was hoping you'd say that. Have fun with the salesmen at the door."

"s.h.i.t, I forgot about that. I'll pull, you shoot?"

"That works. They'll have to walk past you to get to me."

The men rounded the corner. Their boots clicked on the tile floor. The sound was gradually dampened by the increasing sounds of the undead thrashing against the steel door outside.

"This could be bad."

"I know, point man."

Hawse went over the plan with his trademark absurdity. "Okay, I'm gonna tie this line around the wheel. When I spin the wheel and pull, you start sprayin'."

"Hawse, why don't we go dark? Lights off, gogs on. They can't see in the dark, idiot."

"I was gonna say that. It goes without sayin'."

"Whatever, let's get this over with so we can get back inside. I don't want to be up there in the dark one second longer than need be."

The men doused the lights and pulled down their NODs. The darkness seemed to intensify the thrashing and howling sounds of the creatures. The undead noises competed against sounds of slapped mags, carbine press checks, nervous breathing, and heartbeats. Disco imagined what pure evil might walk beyond the heavy steel barrier at this moment. He prayed to himself it wouldn't be enough to rip the door from its vault-like frame.

Hawse tied the line securely to the door.

"Ready?" Hawse yelled.

"Spin it!"

Hawse hit the wheel, disengaging the heavy door leading to the savage and unforgiving world beyond.

7.

Three loud raps on the bulkhead broke the silence.

"Come in."

A young enlisted man parted the curtain leading to Kil and Saien's makeshift stateroom and entered. "Sir, the intelligence officer will see you now. Please follow me."

"What about my friend here?" Kil said, gesturing at Saien.

"Sorry, sir, I was ordered to bring you to the N2, no one else."

"He's coming or I'm not going."

Nervously, the petty officer agreed to let his superiors sort it out, and all three departed for the ship's sensitive compartmented information facility, known to most onboard as simply the SCIF.

As they moved through the submarine, Kil took notice of the details. Pa.s.sing an exercise area with treadmills and other machinery, he saw that all the equipment was mounted on rubber shocks. The same was true with the pipes that riddled the overhead. Nothing was permitted to rattle onboard, no erroneous sounds to give away their acoustic position to the Sino or Russian frenemies of days gone by.

Tapping Kil on the shoulder, Saien asked, "Where are the nukes?"

"No nukes here, Saien; this is a fast-attack boat. No idea where the nearest boomer might be or if there are even any left on patrol."

Frame after frame pa.s.sed by as they marched aft. After some snaking through very tight pa.s.sageways they arrived at what the escorting petty officer dubbed as the green door.

The young man picked up the phone and waited a few seconds. It rang audibly through the handset; an answer came after three rings.

"Sir, I have them both at the green door and-"

The yelling from the obnoxiously loud handset blasted across the pa.s.sageway.

"Yes, sir. He insists that they both-yes, sir."

After replacing the handset the scorned petty officer said, "A SCIF escort will be here shortly, sir. Sorry to leave you here in the pa.s.sageway but I'll need to be on watch in two hours and I haven't slept in twenty-four."

"No problem, hit the rack and have a good watch," Kil said, mostly to send the young man off on a positive note.

"Aye, aye, sir. Thanks."

Just as the man left their field of view, Saien asked, "What's aye, aye mean?"

"It means . . ."

The green door flew open and out of it sprang an older man wearing thick birth-control gla.s.ses, tennis shoes, and a blue set of coveralls with navy commander rank on his collar. His nametape said Monday.

I hate Mondays, Kil thought.

The man approached Kil nearly toe to toe and seemed to scan him with his ma.s.sive convex lenses.

"What's this I hear about you insisting your foreign national friend come with you into my SCIF for mission briefing?"

"Sir, Admiral Goettleman allowed me one partner from the USS George Washington for this mission. I chose Saien and if I'm going to potentially trust my life to him, I d.a.m.n sure want him to know the score. Besides, I'm going to tell him what you tell me anyway, so what's the difference?"

Monday chewed on that for a second. "I figured you'd say that. I was ordered by Captain La.r.s.en to read you and your man into what we are up against. Knowing what you are about to be exposed to, I wanted to see if I could somehow persuade you to come here alone. It just goes against my grain having him inside the SCIF. I'm sure you understand."

"Saien, would you mind stepping around the corner for a minute?"

"Sure, Kil. Don't be long, I have a ma.s.sage appointment."

Kil laughed and then proceeded to use his best diplomatic candor to express his point to Monday. "Yeah, I understand, but you gotta understand, too. I've vetted him. True, he's a foreigner, but he's come through for me, and he's the only one on this ship I trust at this point."

"Okay, Commander. We're square. I just want you to understand the sensitivity and the severity of what you are about to hear after we go through that door. The four operators you arrived with are also waiting inside and about to be briefed. It's never pleasant to reveal information of this nature."

Skeptically, Kil blurted, "How G.o.dd.a.m.n crazy can it be? The dead started walking last winter and now they try to eat anything that moves."

Monday replied rhetorically, "How far down the rabbit hole can you fit?"

Saien returned to the hallway and stood alongside Kil.

Monday continued his sermon. "This s.h.i.t is heavy. This is far beyond flying around in your little spy plane during the war, listening to enemy phone s.e.x and making up SIGINT reports. Before I go on, I gotta ask you both one final question."

Both Kil and Saien said almost simultaneously, "What?"

Licking his lips, eyes squinting behind his Hubble gla.s.ses, Monday began, "Once we go through that door and I tell you two what I'm about to tell you, I can't un-tell you. Is that clear? We don't have Men in Black mind erasers. It will affect you for the rest of your lives."

"I'm ready," said Kil.

"Me too," muttered Saien, although not sounding as cavalier.

"Okay, gentlemen. Follow me."

Monday turned to the green door leading into the SCIF and reached his hand into the cipher lock housing that covered the keys. Five b.u.t.ton clicks resonated. After a brief pause the sound of magnetic locks releasing cued Monday to push the green door into another world of possibility. All three men walked through and from there things became more and more curious.

8.

"Was that you?"

"Me what?

"Did you throw something?"

"No, what's wrong with you?"

"Never mind, probably flies."

"Not this far out, not this time of year."

A chorus of giggles resonated from the pa.s.sageway outside the ship's combat control center.

"Those f.u.c.king kids. I want to throw them over the side. You wanna scare them straight or should I?" said one of the men sitting at his radar operator chair.

"It's my turn, let me do it," his colleague replied, grinning. Reaching into a cardboard box near his radar terminal, the sailor removed a gruesome Halloween mask, resembling the face of a corpse. He placed it over his head, adjusting the fit so that he could see through the mask's small eye openings.

"Watch this!"

He stepped over to the open door and jumped through the threshold, roaring like a banshee. The small group of children screamed for their lives and began to scatter . . . all but one.

A swift front kick from the child to the radar operator's groin brought the man crashing to the floor. The other radar operator broke out in hysterical laughter that was cut short as the child advanced, moving with a visible intent to kick the man's head in with all his small might. Just in time, an older woman with curly red hair entered the s.p.a.ce, drawn by the screams and the commotion.

"What is going on in here, Danny?" the woman asked with authority.

"Granny Dean, I thought he was a . . ."