Pandemic Page 165

The Situation Room’s main monitor showed the next step in mankind’s downward spiral: nuclear first-strike options against China. Porter wanted to launch. Albertson wasn’t putting up much resistance. No hydras, nuclear war about to erupt — Murray realized it was all over.

The Converted had won.

He jumped a little when his cell phone buzzed. That was the one on his inside left pocket … the direct line to Clarence Otto.

He answered. “Otto?”

“Yes sir, Director,” Otto said. “We’ve got Cooper Mitch.e.l.l. He’s alive.”

Murray felt a slight pain in his chest.

“How the f.u.c.k did you get out of there? I saw Predator footage, they were all over you.”

“Never mind that,” Otto said. “We have Cooper and we can still get him out of the city. To do that, we need to call in an air strike from the B2. We need it right now. Can you make that happen?”

“You bet your a.s.s I can. Hold on.”

He lowered the phone.

“Porter! Put those nukes back in your pants for a minute, we’ve still got a chance.”

ANTIc.i.p.aTION

Cooper Mitch.e.l.l knew he was going to die.

No way this would work. But it wasn’t like he had a choice, and maybe he’d get to see some of those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds die before he found out if there was an afterlife.

The SEALs all crouched down low behind the tea shop’s counter, waiting for the boom.

“It’s going to be a powerful explosion,” Klimas said. “It’ll probably knock us silly for a bit, but you have to get up fast and be ready to go.”

Klimas was pretty bada.s.s. Cooper knew that all SEALs were bada.s.s, but this guy didn’t seem fazed that his unit had been hacked to pieces and — probably — eaten.

“We go straight through their lines, and we stay together,” Klimas said. “If you get separated, the rally point is First St. Paul’s Lutheran Church, at LaSalle Boulevard and Goethe, seven blocks north. Everyone clear?”

Cooper saw the SEALs take cover behind anything solid that stood between them and the impending bomb.

Feely was trembling. Dude looked scared as h.e.l.l. Cooper was scared, too, had been for days, but better a bomb or a bullet than a barbecue.

They ain’t gonna eat me, Sofia.

Klimas looked at Cooper, and at Feely.

“You two boys stay with me,” the SEAL said. “Visibility is going to be s.h.i.t. Whatever it takes, do not fall behind. This is our one chance. Don’t f.u.c.k it up.”

Nine faces looked upward simultaneously, ears all responding to the same thing: a faint whistling sound, rapidly growing in intensity.

“Incoming,” Klimas said. He tucked into a fetal position, laced his fingers behind his head and pressed his arms tightly against his ears.

Cooper did the same.

INTO THE BREACH

Tim Feely’s world shook; it roared.

Gla.s.s and brick flew into the tea shop, smashing into shelves and tearing the walls to pieces. Big chunks of masonry pounded into the counter, cracking wood and splintering tile. Dust and smoke drove into his lungs. He coughed, screamed for help only to realize his voice sounded impossibly small and faraway.

He blinked, tried to see through the swirling haze.

A hand grabbed his collar.

“Get your a.s.s up, Feely! Move!”

Klimas. His voice sounded distant, but it was a beacon.

Tim heard Klimas screaming at Cooper. Something collapsed from the ceiling and crashed into the floor. Tim stumbled toward the shattered window … they had to go north, they didn’t have long.

“Move-move-move! Out the window!”

Tim stepped over the low sill and onto the sidewalk, out of the tea shop and into an apocalypse. The winter wind swirled up clouds of thick dust, cutting visibility to just a few feet. He heard things crashing, things falling, pieces of building crumbling and dropping to the street below.

Gunfire.

He stooped, tried to get low. His hands found a car. No, part of a car. He started to kneel down behind it when that iron-grip hand grabbed him again.

“Up,” Klimas said. “Stay behind me.”

Another SEAL fell in next to Klimas — Tim didn’t know which one. They moved, he followed. They ran half crouched, rifles at their shoulders, turning left and right to fire while never breaking stride.

Tim saw a man on his right: Cooper Mitch.e.l.l.

Something exploded off to the left, kicking up a fresh wave of dust and dirt. Tim shielded his face and kept moving.

People screaming.

Guns firing.

The snap of small explosions.

He looked forward, saw Klimas’s back — but the other SEAL wasn’t there anymore.

Klimas stopped at a red Prius that seemed to be embedded in some kind of cracked, fluid-looking masonry. He waved Tim forward.

“We’re going over the top, let’s move!”

Tim realized the car was part of a wall, a good six feet high, that stretched out both left and right. He threw himself at it, hands grabbing at anything he could grip. Broken gla.s.s and metal shards sliced into his skin but he didn’t stop. Up and up he went until he reached the top.

He heard an automatic weapon firing, then the blast of a shotgun. He slipped and fell, tumbled down the hard wall’s far side. Something whacked his left calf, knocking it cold and numb.

Clarence ran by, Margaret bouncing on his shoulder like a gagged rag doll.

“Keep going, Feely! Move!”

Clarence vanished into the swirling dust.

Tim’s chest drew in panicked breaths of dirty, icy air. He felt a knife in his lungs, cutting and tearing. He was going to throw up.