5

 

 

MILLER BROKE THROUGH the compound barrier and shot down two guards behind the gate without hesitation. The massive submachine gun in his arms felt heavy and was difficult to maneuver, but the mere sight of it rendered some of the guards dumbstruck. They gawked in pure terror as he showered the entrance with rounds.

Sandbag bunkers had been constructed in a ring around the compound gate. Each foxhole was manned with a handful of the stunned soldiers, as well as a gunner behind either an M203 submachine gun or a rocket launcher. Some returned fire, but the majority of the men did not, stunned by the onrushing swarm. The Exiles, Infected, and parasitic animals poured through the gate like a flood of destruction, climbing over the sandbags and swallowing the area like a disease.

Several of Harris’s men ran. Others took aim, but with too many targets and no apparent leadership, they were quickly overpowered and consumed by the horde of bodies.

Du Trieux was to Miller’s left with the other commandeered exoskeleton gun. She wasn’t hesitating at all. Laying waste to anyone who crossed her path, she mowed down the stunned bunkers, screaming in a mix of fury and anguish.

The other two members of Cobalt pushed past him with a body of Northwind troops, making a mad dash toward the refugee storage facility. It was only then that du Trieux released the trigger of her gun and tossed the empty weapon to the ground to follow.

With plans of his own, Miller dove through the multitude and pushed his way toward the cove. On his left were the abandoned shanties and camps, desolate and swarming with wasps. On his right, a chain-linked fence surrounded an area full to the brim with Exiles from inside the compound.

The mindless bodies of former Schaeffer-Yeager employees and city refugees hammered and crowded around the flimsy barrier, straining to break free of the barricade. It held for now, but it was a matter of time before they broke through and added to the mayhem.

Picking up speed, he ran down 27th Avenue, then sprinted to the right up 9th. Ahead, the darkened cove sat quiet and ominous. Many of the windows had been boarded and blocked by corrugated steel or overcome by fungal blooms. A small band of guards stood at the front entrance behind sandbags, watching Miller approach. They debated among themselves and two ran off. A third shot at Miller and grazed his arm, sending him back a few steps but only slowing him for a moment.

As Miller’s legs picked up speed, he carefully activated the submachine gun’s drum loader and injected a grenade into the chamber. Barely slowing his steps, he launched the shell at the building’s entryway.

The guards took off running, deserting their post. The blast hit, sending sand and debris in all directions. Miraculously, no one was hurt.

The doorway was wide open. Faced with no opposition, Miller ran forward, hurdled over what was left of the sandbags, and entered the cove unabated.

Inside the darkened entry hall, two groups of Shank soldiers stood in clusters, jumbled and in disarray around the elevator and stairwell. They stopped shouting at each other long enough to stare at Miller.

“The compound’s lost,” Miller barked at them. “Get the survivors to the ships. Go!”

A handful ran past him, back out the door. Two others stood in a state of befuddlement, still uncertain what to do. Miller raised his submachine gun at them and took aim, waiting only a heartbeat for them to decide. They ran after the others.

Once satisfied that the entry was clear, Miller dropped the submachine gun in the corner and yanked open the door to the stairwell. Bounding up the steps, his breath echoing through the gas mask and reverberating off the walls in his own ears, he snapped a fresh magazine into his M27 and unlatched the safety on his Gallican, sliding a round into the chamber.

Thankfully, the wasps were scarce in the building. Miller yanked down his mask and huffed his way up four flights, his lungs burning. When he reached the landing— gasping, choking—he had no choice but to grip the wall and wait for the dizziness to clear.

Adrenaline could only take a person so far. He’d been on starvation rations for weeks, and had burned out to the point of collapse. He had no energy left to give. Once the black spots cleared from his vision, Miller found what strength he had and pulled open the door in the stairwell, entering the fourth floor and forcing his eyes to focus.

The hallway was dark. Down the corridor and past several empty offices, Miller rounded the bend and came up to the corner suite. No guards stood at the door.

He twisted the knob and entered Gray’s office, then immediately bent to the side and got to one knee, his rifle raised to his chest.

Those in the room froze. The kids, James and Helen, sat beside the makings of a homemade fireplace, built out of chunks of cement and cinderblock. A make-shift chimney led up and out the side panel of the large window. They blinked at Miller through tired eyes, their faces lighting up at the sight of him.

Gray and his ex-wife were on the other side of the room. Barbara sat up from a pile of blankets that had been tossed over sofa cushions on the floor. She opened her mouth as if so say something, but instead looked to Gray, who sat slumped in his office chair behind his desk, as if he still had a kingdom to rule over.

Gray’s drooped eyes squinted at Miller through the smoky office. “Alex?”

“My god, you look like hell,” someone said in a drawling English accent.

There were two guards in the room. Behind Gray, leaning casually against the wall, stood Doyle and one other—one of Harris’s men. Doyle had his arms crossed over his chest, but the other guard had his rifle in his hands. Neither one of them moved—yet.

For a brief moment, Miller and Doyle only stared at one another. Then the other guard’s face contorted, his mouth opened in abject rage. “It’s Miller!” he cried, raising his rifle to his shoulder

A shot rang out.

Almost every person in the room, including Miller, jolted.

The soldier dropped to his left, gripping his ribs with a bloody palm, aghast. His mouth gaped, “What the—what the…”

Doyle pulled his crossed arms apart and revealed a handgun in his right hand.

He reached down, disarmed the wounded soldier, then nodded at Miller. “I’ve been waiting for you, boss.”

Miller lowered the tip of his rifle and got to his feet. “Is that right?”

“And by the way, the Tartarus Protocol was bollocks.”

“So I heard.”

“Thank God, Miller,” Gray huffed, standing from his desk with effort. “Have you taken control of the compound?”

Miller balked for a moment, then shook his head. “No one has control of the compound, sir. I’m here to evacuate you.”

“But…”

“What’s the plan?” Doyle asked, crossing the room and helping James and Helen to their feet.

Helen gave Miller a look beyond her fourteen years. “I knew you’d come for us.”

James eyed Miller’s bloody arm and frowned. “You’re hit.”

“Just a scratch.” He shook the boy’s hand, working hard to hide his grimace, and turned his attention back to Doyle. “Take them all to the ships. Du Trieux, Morland, Lewis, and Hsiung are evacuating the survivors. Launch as soon as they’re aboard.”

“But what about the compound?” Gray asked.

Miller felt something inside him break. Heat flooded his face. “Staying here was a mistake,” he said. Gray opened his mouth to protest but Miller put up his hand, stopping him mid-breath. “We should have left the moment the ships arrived. The super-wasp hasn’t stopped the parasite from spreading. On the contrary, it’s done nothing but make it worse, no matter what Harris intended. And he’s turned the company into a twisted dystopian monster. Breeding programs, Gray? What the fuck?”

“We could rebuild…” Gray offered. “Surely there are enough survivors. We have power, water… The infrastructure of the compound is still sound. Isn’t it?”

Miller gritted his teeth. “Look out the window. What survivors? There are hardly any. And those promises Harris made about the refugees getting treatment after they were exposed to the super-wasps? Total horseshit. The wasps are eating people’s brains inside out. You should see them, Gray. There’s no treatment for that. They’re fucking zombies.”

“For now,” Gray admitted. “But if we just did some research, surely we could come up with something…”

“You want to experiment?” Miller burst out, losing all patience. “On people?”

Barbara’s face twisted in pained revulsion. “Oh, Gray.”

“You’d be no better than Harris!” Miller shouted.

Gray’s face went pale. He gripped the back of his office chair, his eyes rimmed in red. “All that work that went into securing this position, our survival. And you just want to run away? To where? There’s nowhere left to go!” He squared his bony shoulders. “I’m still the leader of this facility…”

“The hell you are,” Miller barked. Coming forward, he pointed a sharp finger at Gray’s chest. “I hate to break it to you, but nobody runs anything in New York City. The wasps rule. We’ve lost. Your ‘leadership,’” he sneered, “is a fucking joke.”

“Hey, I’ve made mistakes, but we can’t just—”

Miller threw his hands in the air, all patience lost. “Admitting you’ve fucked up doesn’t mean you can take us further down the wrong path.” He inhaled, making a concerted effort to calm himself. His blood was pumping so hard, he could hear his heartbeat echoing in his ears. “We disembark within the hour with whomever we can save,” he told Gray. “End of story.”

Stunned into silence, Gray blinked at him, his face pale.

Miller almost felt sorry for him. He’d been a good leader, once. He’d believed he was doing the right thing—even if he had been completely wrong. Somehow, somewhere along the way, Gray had gotten lost and managed to pull the whole of New York’s humanity with him. It was a hefty price. Ultimately, he’d been outsmarted by Harris. But a good leader relied on those he led as much as they relied on him, and it was time for Gray to trust Miller. It was something he’d had to learn himself from hard-won experience. Miller couldn’t be a leader without du Trieux, Doyle, Hsiung, and Morland. And Gray couldn’t be a good leader without him.

He saved the speech, though. It wasn’t the time or place.

Instead, he raised his rifle back to his chest and turned to Doyle and the others. “Gather your things. Stay clear of the Infected, and get to the ship. Now!”

He turned to leave. With one hand on the door, Doyle shouted after him. “Where are you going?”

He shot his words over his shoulder while he exited Gray’s office. “I’ve got one last thing to do.”