Pandemic Page 156

That couldn’t be true, couldn’t be; there had to be hostiles in the building.

“You guys got it all wrong,” Clarence said. “Margaret didn’t kill anyone.”

“Get your ass up,” Bosh said.

Clarence stood.

Ramierez’s aim didn’t waver. He seethed with visible fury — if Clarence gave him a reason, he knew Ramierez would put him down.

Bosh pushed Clarence down the hall.

“Move,” Bosh said. “See for yourself.”

Clarence felt so lost, so disoriented. He didn’t resist.

Another push on his back as he stumbled into Room 1812.

Clarence saw two bodies: the bloated thing that Cooper had hid beneath and, sprawled on top of it, Bogdana. A small hole in his CBRN suit, right at the back of his head, told the story.

“Point blank,” Bosh said. “Bogdana’s a SEAL, asshole — you think one of those gibbering idiots could have gotten that close to him?”

Clarence shook his head. No … not Margaret … she was immune, Clarence had seen her take the tests.

“We have to find her,” he said. “She … she’s in danger.”

The words rang hollow, even to him.

Bosh tossed Clarence’s pistol onto the bed.

“Ram and I are going to the fifth floor,” he said. “Setting up a sniper position. Look for her if you want. But when you see her, if you don’t shoot first, it was real nice knowing you.”

The two SEALs ran off down the hall.

Clarence thumbed his “talk” button.

“Margaret, answer me.”

He waited. No response.

“Margaret, please, please answer me!”

Nothing.

Clarence stared at Bogdana.

Bosh was right. Tim was right.

Margaret had done this.

She was infected.

The brutal reality hit home. He leaned against the wall. His wife, his love, the mother of his child … she was one of them.

The noise of the battle seemed to hit him all at once, the sounds of gunfire filtering up from the street. And not that far off, the pounding of helicopter rotors.

Why had she revealed herself now? Had she known this attack was coming, somehow? More of that infected telepathy, their hive-mind making them all move as one? Or was it simply because she realized that Tim had discovered her secret, that he was about to out her? But if that was the case, Margaret could have denied it — she tested negative, Tim would have had no proof.

Clarence looked at Bogdana. Had Margaret killed the man so she could slip away and join her kind?

The mission … the package … he had to focus on that. If he didn’t concentrate on saving Cooper Mitchell, on making all of this worthwhile, he knew he’d go insane.

Clarence grabbed his weapon, turned, and ran for the elevator.

COCKTAIL PARTY

Flames soared from cars, trucks, delivery vans and buses, destroying any night-vision capability. Heat from a dozen fires chased away the winter night’s chill. This wasn’t a couple of indigs hucking a bottle to pretend they could fight back against the oppressors: this was a concentrated, planned, sustained attack.

From the north, south, east and west, men called for backup.

Paulius had no backup to send.

The Converted stayed behind their cover of burned-out cars and trucks, providing few targets to hit. When heads did pop up, the SEALs and the Rangers took them out. His overwatch had mowed down most of the enemy’s high positions and were now picking off anything that moved.

The Molotov barrage had slowed since the attack began five minutes earlier, but still the bombs poured in, a constant symphony of breaking glass and billowing flame. The Converted had to be using a sling of some kind, something to hurl the gas-filled bottles farther than any man could possibly throw.

He clicked his “talk” button.

“This is Klimas, can anyone up top see what they’re using to launch those Molotovs?”

“Negative, Commander,” came back Roth’s voice. “The bad guys put burning tires in front of their perimeter wall, too much smoke to see what’s going on.”

Through the flames and the constant gunfire, Paulius heard the roar of approaching helicopters. Apaches, lining up an attack run — these local yokels were about to get a rude awakening courtesy of chain-gun music.

He peeked out under the bumper of a delivery truck, looked east along Chicago Avenue. Many Molotovs had fallen short and crashed into the pavement. The flickering flames made the air waver and warp. Through that, Paulius saw bits of movement about thirty meters out, heads peeking above cars, shadows sliding from vehicle to vehicle.

Heads … and something else, something smaller, lower to the ground.

Roth’s deep voice again: “This is East Overlook, we have large numbers of enemy infantry advancing on us from the east, on Chicago Avenue. Holy shit, boys, looks like thousands of them. Mixed units, people and those hatchling things.”

Klimas switched to the Ranger channel. “SEAL commander to Captain Dundee. SEAL commander to Captain Dundee.”

The Ranger commander answered instantly. “Dundee here, go.”

“We have a battalion-sized force of infantry attacking from the east.”

“Same from the north, south and west,” Dundee said. “Drone video confirms.”

“Weapons free,” Paulius said. “Shoot anything that isn’t us and maintain our perimeter.”

“Roger that, Dundee, out.”

Paulius switched back to the SEAL channel as a nearby Ranger opened up with a long burst from a 240.

Chapter end