Part 27 (1/2)

Kil transited aft inside the large submarine, thinking about what La.r.s.en had said. He was going to pay Rex and Rico a little visit. Kil knocked on their door; he didn't like intruding into the berthing s.p.a.ces unless absolutely necessary.

”Who is it?” Kil recognized Rex's voice from behind the door.

”Kil.”

”Don't you mean Commander Kil?”

”Yeah, whatever.”

”Sorry, no officers in the clubhouse.”

Kil decided to walk in anyway. ”Listen, the captain tells me that you guys are a go tomorrow. We're gonna have overhead support starting at ten hundred GMT,” said Kil.

Rex stood, taking the weight off his overstuffed bunk. ”What about you?”

”What do you mean?”

Rico slid open the blue curtain on his rack, entering the conversation. ”La.r.s.en said this morning that you've decided to come with us. That true?” he asked.

”That son of a b.i.t.c.h,” Kil said, shaking his head and balling his fist.

”Don't worry, we know. La.r.s.en is playing both of us,” Rex said. ”We sure could use your help though. We have a full load out here, check it out.” Rex pulled back an empty rack curtain and gestured to the pile of battle rifles. ”After the s.h.i.+t hit the fan, scavenger units raided the various military a.r.s.enals around the states. Most of those government guns were complete s.h.i.+t. Some of our friends helped us out in one of the last mainland supply raids. They took a couple helicopters and looted a civilian manufacturer's factory in Central Texas and found these.” Rex pointed at the pile of black rifles, grabbing one and tossing it to Kil. ”That's a LaRue 7.62 with an eighteen-inch barrel. It'll bloom heads at nine hundred meters if the right shooter is behind it.”

The feel of the battle rifle in Kil's hands brought back something that had hibernated just under the surface for what seemed like years, since his exile in the Texas badlands of the undead. The weight of the weapon in his hands brought back his feelings of rugged individualism. He reluctantly handed it back to Rex.

”Kil, I can see the wheels turning. Go talk to your friend. Your man is pretty handy with the long gun-don't think me and Rico didn't notice in Hawaii.”

”f.u.c.k, yeah! That dude is a downtown killer,” Rico shouted from his rack, wearing one earbud, snapping his fingers to some tune. ”Besides, we know you survived in the s.h.i.+t for months. We read all about it, so don't go giving us some story about not being trained for this. They didn't go over Zombies 101 in BUD/S or any s.h.i.+t like that, so I think we're 'bout even.”

Kil stood like a statue for a while before speaking, carefully choosing his words. ”We need to start mission planning tonight.”

”f.u.c.k, yeah! I told you, Rex, that he'd be down!” Rico yelled.

Rex tossed the battle rifle back across the room; Kil caught it without blinking. ”What are you gonna name her, Kil?”

”I'll let you know when we get back,” Kil stated without expression. Kil was shocked at his decision, but understood that his choice had been made long before today.

”You sure you want that one? Only twenty round mags and she's heavy.”

”Let me put it to you this way-about one in six of those things I shot in the dome with my M-4 kept coming at me. If you do the math, you're only five shots down with the .308 and I'll guarand.a.m.n-tee you that this will put them down. I've seen Saien put them to sleep at eight hundred meters. Worth the ammo penalty and the weight if you ask me.”

”Yeah, me and Rico saw that during the Kunia exfil. Some of our rounds skirted the skull; the things stumbled and fell but got back up and kept coming. Not cool.”

Kil turned for the door. ”I'm gonna go talk to Saien. Meet me in the SCIF at twenty hundred so we can put this thing on paper and see what it looks like.”

”Sounds good. Have a good 'un,” Rex said as Kil ducked out the doorway.

52.

Hotel 23-Southeast Texas ”Welcome back, a.s.sholes,” Hawse said by way of greeting as Doc, Billy, and Disco returned from the C-130 crash site.

Doc carried something large and orange strapped to his ruck. ”Did they tell you what we got, Hawse?”

”Yeah, your relay worked. The A-10 guys are running out of folks, but they pa.s.sed your comms. The carrier sent a file to the burst laptop that can pull the GPS coords from that box. They said there should be a USB port underneath the outer sh.e.l.l.”

”Okay, let's get on it. I wanna know where these motherf.u.c.kers are hiding,” Doc said.

”One more thing, boss. I lost comms with the carrier.”

”What? I thought you told me they sent you the black box program.”

”Yeah, but I haven't been able to hail them since. No response on primary, alternate, or tertiary channels.”

”Just fix it, Hawse. I don't know what the big picture is, but I know that something is going down soon. They briefed us that we should be ready around the new year before we jumped into this s.h.i.+t box.”

”I'll do my best, man. Our gear is working fine, known good. All bit checks are green, full connectivity with the bird. It's on their end, man,” said Hawse.

”G.o.d, I hope not. They're our ride outta here,” Disco said, looking over at Billy sharpening his tomahawk. ”What do you think of all this, Billy Boy?”

”I think we should focus on what we can change.”

”Yeah,” Doc said. ”Keep on those comms, Hawse. I'm about to go to work on that box with a pry bar and hammer.”

Layers of carbon fiber, steel, aluminum, and other composites protected the guts of the box from crash impact and fire. Doc began carefully prying the sh.e.l.l away from the frame.

The sound of Billy Boy's tomahawk sliding against a smooth sandstone rock marked the time. Doc watched as Billy shaved part of his face stubble with the crude weapon, indicating its razor sharpness.

”Billy, Hammer never kept that thing as sharp as you do. How long are you going to carry it around?”

”Until I kill a hundred with it.”

After an hour of cursing and b.l.o.o.d.y knuckles, the USB port was finally exposed.

”Hawse, grab the cord.”

”Uh, okay. I'll be back in a few weeks. Headed to Best Buy. Wait, I better call ahead to see if they're open twenty-four hours.”

”You've gotta be f.u.c.king kidding me. No USB cord in this entire facility, with all these computers?”

”Most of this stuff is way low tech. Like nineties-style low tech. Early nineties even-freaking parallel ports. I think-well, never mind.”