Precipice: V Plague Book 9 (22 page)

Colonel
Crawford and Igor moved out of the trees and onto the runway when the second
Chinook helicopter was no longer within hearing range.  Dog trailing in
their footsteps, they walked to where Scott’s body had been left by the
Russians.

“This is not
how we do things,” Igor said in his native tongue as they stood looking at
their dead team mate.

“Seems like
it is now,” Crawford answered, stepping forward.

Bending
over, he worked his hands under the body and with Igor’s help lifted it up and
into his arms.  He turned and carried the younger man into the forest,
Igor and Dog walking on either side.  Fifty yards beyond the tree line he
found a small clearing and gently lowered Scott to the ground.

They didn’t
have a shovel, so both men knelt in the middle of the open space and began
stabbing their knives into the ground to loosen the soil.  After several
minutes they used their bare hands to scoop out the dirt they had turned over,
then went back to work with the blades. 

It was slow
going, the soil turning rocky after they had gone no more than six
inches.  Neither man spoke, each lost in his own thoughts as they dug the
grave.  Dog sat to the side, close to Scott’s corpse, watching them and
keeping an eye on the surrounding forest.

Four hours
later they paused to drink and each took a moment to rub their aching
shoulders.  Their hands were torn and bleeding from scraping out dirt and
prying free rocks.  A large mound was forming next to the hole, and after
a five minute break they continued to work.

It was
mid-afternoon before Crawford called a halt.  They had excavated four feet
down and with the large pile of rocks that could cover the body, he was
confident that was deep enough to protect it from scavengers.  Neither man
had stood for hours and when they climbed out of the hole both of them were
moving stiffly as knees and backs cracked in protest.

Together
they lifted Scott and gently lowered him into the ground.  Standing at the
head and foot of the grave, the Colonel looked up and met Igor’s eyes.

“I don’t
know what to say,” Igor said.

“He was a
good man.  He gave his life for his team mates.  Nothing more could
be asked and nothing more could be given.  Rest in peace, fallen
warrior.”  Colonel Crawford spoke first in Russian for Igor’s benefit,
then repeated himself in English.

When he was
done, he and Igor bent and began filling the grave.  The dirt went in
first, then all the rocks they had pried out one at a time.  It took them
another hour.  When they were done, Scott’s final resting place had a neatly
arranged mound of rocks that protected the burial site.

They moved
away from the grave, through the trees and back to the edge of the runway.

“What do we
do now?”  Igor asked after several minutes of silence from the Colonel.

“I’m going
to walk down the side of these mountains to Seattle, and I’m going to kill as
many Russians as I can find,” Crawford said, staring up at the grey layer of
clouds that hid the sun.  “I’ll understand if you don’t want to come with
me.”

They were
quiet for a long time, only the sound of Igor’s fingers scratching Dog’s head
breaking the silence.  Neither of them had consciously noticed that there
wasn’t a single bird to be seen or heard in the dense forest.

“I cannot go
with you,” Igor said after several minutes.  “I have already killed too
many of my countrymen.”

Crawford
nodded without taking his attention off the clouds.  “I didn’t expect you
would.  What are you going to do?”

“I do not
know.  I cannot go home.  I am sure the GRU knows what I have done
and will shoot me on sight.  Perhaps I will find a small town with no
infected.  You Americans have such big houses; it will be an adventure
living in one of them.”

“Do you have
family back in Russia?”  Crawford asked.

“My parents
died many years ago and I was an only child.  The military was my life and
I never married.  Very fortunate with the events.  If I did have any,
they would have been arrested when I defected.”

Crawford
finally looked away from the sky and met Igor’s eyes.

“Not much
different than the old Soviet Union,” he observed.

“In many
ways, it is worse.  At least then we didn’t pretend to be something we
weren’t.  Every citizen understood what would or would not get them
arrested.  Now there is no standard.  Laws are not applied equally or
fairly.  The younger generation wants to rebel, but they do not know
how.   Dissidents are becoming more common, but the ones who talk the
loudest and begin to gather a following disappear in the middle of the
night.  That part is like the Soviets, and maybe you are right that it is
not all that different.”

“What do you
think the Russian troops and people would do if they knew the truth?  That
Barinov orchestrated the attacks on the US and is ultimately responsible for
the deaths or infection of nearly seven billion people.”  Crawford dropped
his pack to the tarmac and dug through in search of a cigarette.

“What did
the German people do during the Great War?”  Igor asked.  “They
weren’t bad people, but they were afraid of the lunatic and his followers who
ruled the country.  In Russia?  There would be outrage, of
course.  If you are asking me if there would be a rebellion, then I would
say the answer to that is no.  Russians are more like the Germans
were.  Very different from you Americans.  We are conditioned from
birth to be careful what we say and do, and to respect if not fear our
government. 

“Where
Americans might have marched on the White House if the roles were reversed,
most Russians will not do more than shake their heads before being thankful
they are safe because of the vaccine.  I have had this conversation with
Captain Vostov.  Americans mistrust their government.  Russians fear
their government.”  Igor said the last with a wry expression on his face.

Colonel
Crawford nodded in understanding as he smoked the cigarette he’d found.

“You should
take Dog with you when you go to find your town,” he said, looking at Dog. 
“He seems to like you and there’s no point in him going with me on a one-way
trip.”

“Yes, I
would like that,” Igor said.  “But what do you really think you can
do?  Killing a few soldiers before they hunt you down will not change
anything.  Only a strike that removes President Barinov from power will
stop the madness.”

“If the
roles were reversed and we were standing in Russia having this conversation,
what would you be doing?”  Crawford asked.

“Looking for
as many Americans to kill as I could find,” Igor conceded the point.  “But
I would like to think I would listen to wise advice.”

They
remained standing where they were, neither man moving.  The Colonel took a
last drag off the cigarette and dropped it to the pavement where he crushed it
out under the toe of his boot.

“Guess I’d
better get moving before I lose the light,” he said, hoisting the heavy pack
onto his back. 

“Do you
think there will be towns between here and Seattle?”  Igor asked.

“I believe
there’s a good chance there will be, yes.”  Crawford nodded, smiling at
Igor.

“Then Dog
and I will walk with you until we find our new home,” Igor smiled back.

Colonel
Crawford and Igor wanted to move through the forest to lessen the risk of being
spotted by a passing aircraft, but soon gave up and settled for the grassy
shoulder of Interstate 90.  The trees and undergrowth were so dense and
the terrain so rugged they spent two hours to cover barely a mile before
acknowledging the need to take the risk of walking in the open.  They
hugged the tree line as they made their way west, ready to dash under cover in
the woods if they heard any human sounds.

They
encountered the occasional infected, Dog warning them in advance each time with
a low growl.  So far it had only been males, many of them in horrible
physical condition, but they were expecting a screaming attack from a female at
any moment.  They didn’t bother to kill the males, the pitiful creatures
unable to present any real threat as they stumbled blindly along and hissed at
the three travelers.

After an
hour of walking on the open ground they had covered four miles.  Igor had
been looking behind them more and more frequently for the past fifteen minutes
and finally stopped and turned to the rear.  Crawford also stopped and
turned, immediately seeing what Igor was concerned about.

Close to
thirty males were trailing along behind them.  The infected were stretched
out into a long, ragged line that disappeared around a curve, many of them
walking down the middle of the westbound lanes of the Interstate.  If a
patrol flew over they might be able to hide in the woods, but the long line of
infected would be like a big arrow pointing them out to an observer who knew
anything about their behavior.

“Shit,”
Crawford muttered.  Igor nodded, not needing a translation for a
universally used English word.  Switching to Russian, “We should save our
ammo.”

Igor smiled
and drew his bayonet.  Crawford pulled out his Ka-Bar and they headed
forward to meet the infected.  Dog started to move in front of them, but
Igor called him back.  He was still limping slightly as he healed and
there was no need for him to get involved.  It was clear that Dog wasn’t
happy, but he complied.

It took them
forty-five minutes to kill all of the males.  Not that there were that
many, but they were strung out for half a mile.  Extra time was spent
dragging each body off the road and into the edge of the trees.  Leaving a
bunch of dead infected lying on the pavement would be another sign for any
patrols that there was somebody running around that they should take a look at.

When they
were finished they moved a dozen yards into the forest and found a fallen tree
to use for a seat.  Sharing an MRE, neither felt much like
conversing.  Killing the infected up close and personal then disposing of
the bodies hadn’t been a pleasant experience and both men were lost in their
own internal reflections.  Crawford tossed the last bite of his meal to
Dog, who snatched it out of the air and swallowed without chewing, then stood
to step behind a tree.  Igor dug a small hole with his knife and buried
their trash, covering the spot with dead leaves and pine needles.

Crawford was
returning, preparing to hoist his pack off the ground when Dog stood up and
looked to the west.  He didn’t growl, but both soldiers snapped their
rifles up in the direction he was looking and dropped to the forest
floor.  They expected infected, but after several moments of not seeing or
hearing anything, the Colonel realized that Dog hadn’t growled.  He always
growled at infected.

Fifteen more
seconds passed, and still not detecting anything he looked over at Igor. 
The big Russian glanced back and shrugged his shoulders.  Then Crawford
heard the faint sound of a motor.  Catching Igor’s eyes, he pointed to the
west then to his ear.  Igor nodded, and they quickly moved behind the log
they had sat on to eat their meal.

The engine
noise steadily grew in volume, approaching.  Soon it was obvious this
wasn’t a heavy military vehicle.  The sound was too harsh and buzzy. 
Motorcycle?

“Were any
motorcycles brought over for your troops?”  Crawford mumbled.

“Not that I
know of.”

The vehicle
kept approaching, the sound apparently traveling a long distance in the clear,
mountain air.  Crawford signaled to Igor who moved twenty yards to the
right, spreading them out in case they needed to fight.  Dog stayed with
the Colonel, hunkered down behind the thick log.

After what
seemed a long time of listening to it approach, the sound of the motor suddenly
dropped as the rider slowed.  What had been a harsh, buzzy snarl of
exhaust transitioned to a rough idle.  Crawford thoroughly checked the
forest behind and to either side to make sure they weren’t about to be attacked
while distracted by the motorcycle.  Nothing was moving and Dog was alert
but still and calm, so he returned his attention to the direction of the road.

The rider
killed the engine, the sudden silence almost deafening.  The Colonel
shifted his head back and forth slightly, trying to see through the dense
foliage.  He was able to catch glimpses of movement, but no details of who
had stopped.  He checked on Igor and the Spetsnaz soldier was behind solid
cover and ready to fight.

“Colonel
Crawford,” an American accented voice shouted.  “I’m Lieutenant Sam. 
United States Navy.”

What the
hell?  What was the Navy doing here and how had they found him?  Then
he remembered the satellite orbiting above and the system operator in
Hawaii.  He hadn’t been able to communicate with her since leaving his sat
phone behind and hadn’t thought that she might still be watching and working on
a way to help.

Not that
this couldn’t be a ruse by the Russians, but they had no way of knowing who he
was.  Besides, they wouldn’t stand on the side of the road and call his
name.  They’d show up in a helicopter and use the canon or a few rockets
to ruin his day.  Signaling for Igor to hold fire he waited for an
acknowledgement before responding.

“Come
forward,” he shouted.  “Slow and easy with your hands in sight.  I’ve
got a Russian defector with me.  Do not reach for a weapon when you see
him or you will be fired upon.”

“Coming in,”
the man shouted back.

Almost
immediately there was the sound of someone moving through the brush and they
weren’t trying to be quiet.  In fact, Crawford realized, the man was doing
everything he could to make as much racket as possible.  Stepping on
branches and kicking leaves and rocks.  Making sure they knew exactly
where he was.  Catching Igor’s eye, he signed for the Russian to watch
their backs, just in case.

The sounds
grew closer and more frequent glimpses of movement resolved into a young, black
man that stepped into the edge of the clearing with his hands empty and held
out to his side.  He was heavily armed, but his weapons were slung. 
He carefully looked around the area, spotting the Colonel and the rifle that
was aimed at his head.

“Petty
Officer Simmons from Pearl Harbor says to say hello, sir.”  He said.

The man
definitely appeared to be what he said he was, and he knew the right thing to
say.  But Crawford hadn’t survived thirty years as an operator by taking
things at face value.

“Come on in
to the clearing and keep your hands in sight,” the Colonel said, standing and
stepping around the end of the log. 

Dog followed
and together they walked to within six feet of the new arrival and stopped,
looking him over.  The man wasn’t in uniform, but that was to be
expected.  He had the right weapons, but that meant nothing.

“Tell me
something to convince me you’re not a Russian.”

The man
grinned, “Well, how about we’ve been waiting for you to show up at the Allen
Institute with the immune man you found in Oklahoma?  I took charge of Dr.
Kanger when he arrived and have been babysitting him and another man named Joe
Revard.  I believe you’re the one that sent Dr. Kanger to us from
Tinker?  And he’s an arrogant, pain in the ass, by the way.  Sir.”

Crawford
finally relaxed and lowered his weapon.  He hadn’t really believed this
man was a Russian, but was glad he knew the right things.

“Thanks,
Lieutenant.  Can’t be too careful these days,” he said.

“No sir, you
can’t.  Is that why the Russian still has his rifle pointed at my heart?”

The Colonel
smiled and signed to Igor that everything was fine.  A few moments later
the big Russian joined them in the middle of the clearing, weapon not exactly
pointed at the Lieutenant, but not exactly pointed away from him either. 
Sam nodded a greeting and turned his attention back to Crawford.

“Petty
Officer Simmons has been keeping a close eye on you.  Unfortunately, the
whole west coast from San Francisco to Seattle is crawling with Russians and we
haven’t been able to send any help.”

“How did you
get here without being seen?”  Crawford asked.

“I walked a
good way.  Had to get out of Seattle and across a big lake.  Once I made
it into the suburbs I found a dirt bike that I rode the past forty miles or
so.  The Petty Officer has kept an eye on me and given me a heads up
whenever there’s a patrol or a CAP flyover and I just play dead until they move
on.  There’s bodies everywhere.  As long as I wasn’t moving when they
passed by, they didn’t even notice me.”

“So what
brings you here?  I don’t think the two of us and a dog are going to fit
on a dirt bike with you.”

“Your ride’s
on the way,” Sam grinned.  “One of my men found a four seat UTV at a house
near where I found the dirt bike.  It’s a little too obvious to have it
out on the roads so he’s taking trails through the forest and having to move
slower than I could.  He should be here in about an hour.”

“Then what?”

“Unless you
have other plans I was going to take you to Seattle, sir.”

“I think
that will work just fine,” Crawford said, finally accepting the man as genuine and
relaxing.  Slinging his rifle, he lit a cigarette and peered at the young
Lieutenant through the smoke.  “Now, while we’re waiting, what can you
tell me about the women that the Russians took from us?”