Melt | Book 10 | Chase Read online

  Alice had never thought about South America being in the Soviet Union’s sights. If Bill had taken the children that far south, they might still be in danger. It was a new worry, one to add to her mountain of worries.

  “Look, their propaganda is all about these ‘icebreakers’ and their capacity to break ice ‘as thick as three meters,’ but what it means is their nuclear fleet is all over the Arctic. Sure, they care about the commercial exploitation of mineral, oil and gas, but cruising in and under the Barents means they have access to the shortest route from Europe to East Asia. This is about world domination, with a nuclear backing.”

  The doors opened and the guard deposited a second bottle inside the doors.

  “That’s what I’m talking about.” Michael offered Jan a drink, but the Norwegian waved him away and returned to his meditation. “Professor Baxter?” He remained the regulation twelve feet away from his colleague, but she barely turned to hiss at him before returning to her screen. Alice could see no image on the computer, but Christine didn’t stop staring no matter what was going on around her.

  The new bottle was already open. Alice helped herself to a glass, not because she wanted a drink, but because she wanted Michael to slow down. “Mind if I join you?”

  “My pleasure.” He filled her glass to the brim and poured two more. He made no pretense of offering them to their colleagues, downing one in a gulp and the other in two. “So, we have the land to land missiles, bristling to go. We have the land-to-air, the sea-to-air, the new Borei-class nuclear-powered ballistic-missile submarine added to their fleet…” He wasn’t glassy-eyed, but he was slowing. “Where’s the captain? We’re going to need more…”

  The doors open. Michael whooped, but stopped abruptly. Several guards, decked out in ludicrous, bulky suits, boots, helmets, and breathing apparatus ushered Colonel Livio in through the doorway. The Colonel had on long, rubber gloves and a gas mask. Improvised PPE for the win.

  “Thank you!” She raised a glass. “The war’s not over, but the battle is won.”

  “What happened?” Alice stepped forward but was shifted back by a guard with a pole.

  “Good old ‘mutually assured destruction!’”

  “If we still have nuclear capabilities…” Michael drained the end of the third bottle. “I’m Samwise Gamgee.”

  Way to self-aggrandize there, Michael.

  “The Minutemen ICBMs remain at the 90th Missile Wing at F.E. Warren AFB, Wyoming; the 341st Missile Wing at Malmstrom AFB, Montana; and the 91st Missile Wing at Minot AFB, North Dakota.” The Colonel either knew her missiles or had rehearsed her answer. Alice put her money on the latter.

  “You make my point for me, Colonel. The Minutemen were designed as a retaliatory measure, not first strike—”

  “On the contrary, Dr. Rayton. You make my point. The Russians always knew we had the firepower. With the government relocated and working out of Cheyenne Mountain we were able to demonstrate, with a short volley into the Kerch Strait off the Crimea, that we were serious about retaliating with force should the Russians fire on us.”

  “How long’s the cease fire?” Even New Alice with all her shiny hopes for the future wasn’t so naive as to believe that the Russians would stand down forever.

  “We have six months to fix this, Mrs. Everlee. The clock starts tomorrow. We’ll be working together—hand in glove—to unravel the stranglehold Klean & Pure Industries’ MELT has on the world. My people will be at your disposal, though your team will lead the fight.”

  For the first times since she’d left Wolfjaw Ridge, Alice Everlee felt good about the future.

  CHAPTER TWO

  ABBIE PROSSER, WOLFJAW RIDGE.

  Abbie Prosser was, first and foremost, a mother but the moment someone threatened her babies, she was a damned warrior. Didn’t matter who brought the fight, she was going to end it.

  They’d planned for at least a few days of chaos when they opened the doors to Wolfjaw Down, but what she hadn’t planned on was listening to her ex-friend, Jacinta Baule, beg her to open the doors to the sickbay to allow her back inside their underground home.

  Jacinta hammered on the inner door to Down. “Hmmmm… mmmm…” The words weren’t distinct, but the emotion was. The woman was in fear for her life.

  Triple-H—Hunter Hensworth Higgs to those who didn’t know him—leapt from the train car that connected them to Wolfjaw Down—his fiancé Charise’s blood still streaming down his shirtfront. She’d come out of surgery, but she had a long road ahead of her. Triple-H handed Abbie an axe. “Not a lot of choices, I’m afraid. Jeff Steckle and his merry crew have hidden their cache of weapons, so we’re down to whatever Charise and I had available.”

  “Charise had weapons?” The grade school teacher didn’t seem like someone who’d stash knives and swords and axes.

  “Okay, Triple-H had some sharpened iron stashed about his place but he’s willing to share with Abbie Prosser in the name of liberating their former leader.” Triple-H had a scythe which, oddly, wasn’t out of character. If asked, Abbie might even have gone as far as saying it gave her some comfort.

  “The plan remains the same, you distract them, I haul Jacinta inside?”

  “Once again, Triple-H is of one accord with the redoubtable Abbie…”

  “Hunter?” Abbie tapped her axe on the wall. “You’re not fooling me. I know who you are. I know you’re not… this…”

  He winked and took a bow. “Indeed, but that doesn’t mean those idiots out there know and it’s served me well, all these years, this persona of mine. So if you don’t mind, I’ll continue to use it. Always let the enemy think they’re stronger than you and have the upper hand. You’d be shocked how often playing the fool has won the day.”

  The chain that brought the train up and down the steep incline clanked to life. “What now?” She didn’t want to open the doors if there were civilians in play. Neither did she want the rebels at her back. Jeff Steckle might be under lock and key or he could already be roaming the halls. The man had reach and influence. He could bribe or blackmail his way out of a complete complement of Houdini chains.

  The traincar door opened and her eldest son, Theo, leapt out, a carving knife in one hand and a serving fork in the other.

  “Absolutely not.” Abbie pushed him back toward the transport. “No son of mine is going through those doors. Get back on that train, take yourself downstairs, and help Felix with the baby.”

  “Felix is on top of it, Mother.” Theo’s face was set. He looked so like his father when his dander was up, it was hard to resist him. “Graham’s had a bottle and is sleeping.”

  “Not the point.” What lay behind the doors was nothing short of mayhem. It was no place for a teenager.

  “The worst that will happen is Felix will convince everyone else to call the baby ‘Crackers’ while we’re gone.” He was trying to be cute, invoking the nickname her middle son had given their youngest, but she wasn’t falling for it. Felix might very well insist everyone call his baby brother ‘Crackers’ but it wasn’t going to catch on. The baby’s name was Graham and that was all there was to it.

  Damnit. He’s got me thinking about something that’s precisely not the point I’m trying to make.

  “Back down… No talking back. I’m serious, Theo, your father would never allow it.” Paul Prosser had been locked outside with the other twenty-four poor souls when they’d declared sanctuary and soldered the seams shut. It was one of the great hardships of Abbie’s life, but she never discussed it with anyone; never complained, never compared her pain to anyone else’s, never brought it into the debate over whether to open the doors or not. Of course her heart wanted to let him back in, but they’d made an agreement when they first had Theo, “The children come first. Before us as individuals or as a couple. We put them first.” It wasn’t easy, particularly not in the months he’d been outside, but it was a code of behavior and she was glad of it. “He’d say what I’m saying: back downstairs. Now.”

&n
bsp; “Dad would tell me to step up and do my duty.” Theo wasn’t yielding, which was very like him. “He’d tell me to stand with you, not hide behind you, and help end this thing.”

  “Triple-H, back me up.” She needed the support of another adult.

  “Triple-H is saying nothing on the matter. Triple-H is a big fan of Theo Prosser and his bravery. But H is also a believer in him fighting his own corner.”

  “And a mother’s authority?! We agree that’s important?” Abbie had to laugh, even though their situation was so dire. The thumping and screaming the other side of the door hadn’t let up. There was still a mighty battle ahead.

  “I want to do this, Mother. Let me come and find Dad with you.”

  That hadn’t been part of the plan, but now he’d thrown it in the mix, she didn’t have the heart to tell him that his father needed to stay outside with the rest of the Downers. The quarantine period was non-negotiable, even if it broke her heart. “Fine. But you do as I say. To the letter. Do you hear me?”

  Theo grinned.

  “Say it. Say, ‘I will do what you tell me, nothing more, nothing less.’” She’d gotten used to Theo’s smarts and logic. The kid could argue rings around most adults. If she didn’t word it correctly, he’d hold her feet to the fire to get his own way.

  “I will do only that which you tell me to do, Mother. Scouts honor.”

  She gave him a quick hug. Nothing too demonstrative, he was a teenager after all. But she was proud of her boy and she wanted him to know it.

  “The plan is simple. Triple-H is going to go through the doors, cycling like a windmill and screaming like a crazy person, then we’re going to grab Jacinta and get her inside. That’s it. Nothing fancy. No heroics. She’ll go directly into isolation…”

  “And Dad. We bring Dad in, too.”

  Abbie wasn’t prepared to lie to her son, but she didn’t want him doing something foolish, like milling around with the infected, so she kept her mouth shut.

  “Triple-H is ready to do his impersonation of a cyclone.”

  “On my count…” Abbie had the bolt in hand, ready to draw it back. “Three…”

  Theo held his knife over his head.

  “Two…”

  Triple-H brandished his scythe and wedged himself as close to the door as he could. He was a big man. They were going to need to open the door wider than a few inches.

  “One!” She drew the bolts and squeezed behind Triple-H as he roared into the corridor adjacent to the sick bay.

  Nothing went as planned. Jacinta wasn’t screaming for her life, though she had been doing the screaming; Liam Bradstone, their engineer, stood off to one side at the door to the surgery; but the shocker that stopped her in her tracks was the sight of Alistair Lewk, founder and leader of Wolfjaw Down, presumed dead of a knife to the gut, or heart, or lungs, she didn’t remember.

  Abbie didn’t hold with zombies or supernatural creatures or the like, but the sight of her former boss—his flesh gray and pitted with sores—put the heebie-jeebies up her.

  Theo backed up against the door, screaming. “Lock it! Lock it behind us! Someone! Come up and lock it.” Given that the rest of the Downers were deep underground, no one would be able to hear him, but it was a valiant effort and she loved him for it.

  Abbie was jolted out of her shock and into action. “Step back, Alistair! I mean it. You need to back up, right now.” She chopped the air with her axe. “I don’t know what’s going on here, but you’re not getting through those doors.”

  Alistair had his arm around Jacinta’s throat. “Let us in or she gets it.”

  He would never harm his faithful dog. Not even Alistair was that callous or stupid. If he injured Jacinta he’d never recruit another follower as long as he lived. You can take out your enemies. You can even take out your frenemies. But you can never kill the dog. Every idiot knew that and Alistair was no idiot.

  “Triple-H demands you back into the main room.” He had the physical presence Abbie lacked. And no one doubted that he was insane enough to use a weapon if provoked.

  Alistair took a step back. Jacinta stumbled, her injured arm swinging useless at her side. No wonder she hadn’t been able to make it to the second set of doors before they were closed and bolted; she was winged. Alistair righted his captive, hitching her up his side and wrapping her closer. Jacinta whimpered.

  “Nice and slow.” Abbie kept Theo behind her as they crept along the corridor. “We’re all doing fine. There we go. Few more steps.”

  The sick bay wasn’t huge, and the ceiling wasn’t that much higher than the one in the corridor, but the sudden space felt palatial. Alistair’s arm relaxed, Jacinta sighed, and Abbie found herself nodding in time with Liam Bradstone. At least one of them was on her side.

  “We’re all going to put down our tools…”

  “No.” Triple-H contradicted her immediately. “Triple-H asks that Abbie and Theo Prosser do not lay down their weapons. There are a great many people not accounted for and we cannot know where they are, what they carry, or what their intentions are.”

  “What do you want, Alistair?” Abbie got straight to it. No point beating about the bush.

  “We want to come back into Down.” Alistair’s breath was so rank she could smell the rot from where she stood.

  “What do you think all this was about?” She pointed at the tattered WELCOME banner that hung from the ceiling. “We left you food, water, a stove, meds. The instructions were clear. Wait it out and when we’re sure you’re not carrying, you can come back into Down.”

  “I’m dying.” Alistair released Jacinta and took a step toward Abbie.

  Triple-H used his body to block the move. “No farther. That’s close enough.”

  “We can’t do any more for you in Down than we could here in the sick bay.” Abbie was dumbfounded that their erstwhile leader could be foolish enough to think there was anything for him at the end of the train tracks. Or that they’d let him in without some kind of screening protocol. Heck, the man had virtually invented barriers to entry.

  “If we might examine the Downers?” Triple-H was already onto Phase Two of the plan they’d never discussed: how to organize reentry to Down at a very practical level.

  “They’re tired. Hungry. Pissed off.”

  That wasn’t a surprise.

  “They want to come home.” Liam’s voice didn’t have the same trace of strain that’s Alistair’s did. “That’s all.”

  “We want them to come home, too.” Abbie let her arm drop. “But we need to be sensible about how we go about this.”

  “Triple-H recommends we repair to the Great Hall for further discussion.”

  Abbie’s heart leapt. She hadn’t seen the sun for so long she barely remembered what the sky looked like, but going outside was a double-edged sword. There might be sun, but there’d almost certainly be contaminants. But there was no going backwards, only forwards. She gave the nod and before she could second guess herself the little clutch of captor, prisoner, and negotiators headed for the reinforced steel doors of Wolfjaw Down.

  The sun blazed down into the courtyard, momentarily blinding her. The air was spring-sweet, morning-fresh, and evergreen-sharp. The Downers crept from the eaves of the remaining buildings, greasy and grimy, though few of them seemed as compromised as Alistair. She didn’t see Paul among their number, but she held out hope that her husband was just around the next corner. Or the next.

  The roof tiles stacked by the door of the Great Hall told a tale.

  “Winter storms rolled through, as they do, and we had no one willing to climb up there to repair her.” Alistair filled the gap.

  Abbie stood aside while her former friends and colleagues streamed past her.

  “Good to see you.” Triple-H was the self-designated welcome party. “Mrs. Heebner-Davies, it’s been a while.” No one returned his greeting, but he didn’t let that deter him. “Phil! My good man. It’s been too long…”

  Phil shot Triple-H a look that
would have felled a stone statue.

  “As you wish. Triple-H hears what you’re saying.”

  Still no Paul Prosser to be seen.

  When the last straggler finally made it inside, Triple-H turned to face Abbie. “We let them talk first. We spend as little time up here as we can. We lead them to a sensible conclusion, then we head back into our home.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Don’t know about you, but Triple-H smells trouble.”

  “That’ll be the latrines.” Theo was bursting with energy, hopping from one foot to the other. “I bet they haven’t been able to maintain them.”

  “Do as Triple-H says, Theo. Stay close. Keep your mouth shut. Don’t touch anything.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” But he was already reaching for a roof tile and she had to smack his hand away and repeat her instructions. It was a mistake to allow him to tag along, but a mistake she was going to have to live with.

  “An hour, no more.” The infection-to-exposure calculator was already running in her mind. How long could they stay above ground without risking their own necks? Which way was the wind blowing? Where was MELT? She followed Triple-H into the Great Hall, a prayer in her heart, and a knot in her stomach. God willing they’d find Paul, work their way through this impasse, and get back to Down before anyone else got sick.