Whatever It Takes Page 21

  “Fine. You’re right.” The second speaker sounded years younger than the first. “Relay’s more secure too and we need to check in.”

  If they were so brazenly speaking it meant a couple different things: no zombies were near the house, and they didn’t expect anyone else to be nearby. Percival held his breath and crept slowly away from the generator. He slid the M16 forward, just in case.

  “Think we really should be in all that big of a hurry to check in, Mark?” the gruff voice called as heavy footsteps started down the stairs.

  “Better we tell the Major about our loss sooner rather than later,” Mark answered.

  “Military?” Sarah mouthed silently.

  Percival shrugged. He couldn’t tell for certain; though the mention of a lost member and ranks led him to believe so.

  “Sure. Gonna miss Finnen. She was quite the firecracker,” gruff’s feet hit the bottom stair. A flashlight clicked on before he rounded the corner. “Who do you think kneecapped her and left her to be zombie chow?”

  Percival expected something different from this interaction. Some sort of emotional attachment, but this sounded more like the pair was discussing the evening news rather than a fallen ally.

  “How should I fuckin’ know? She was out on her own when she wasn’t s’posed to be and got herself shot. Maybe by the same group we saw yesterday.” Mark’s tone started off annoyed and quickly escalated to outright pissed off. It was the sort of tone Percival had expected.

  “Alright, alright.” Gruff’s flashlight swung back toward the top of the stairs. “Take it easy, man.”

  “Cut the chatter. Greyson, get the generator back on,” a third voice cut through the air and provided a name for gruff. “Mark, get the computer up and running while he does. Less time we spend in this shithole, the better.”

  “Yes, sir,” Greyson grumbled, barely loud enough to be heard in the basement. Percival doubted the officer upstairs heard it. The flashlight swung in an arc as Greyson stepped into the basement proper. The beam swept, by pure chance, across Percival’s eyes, blinding him.

  He jerked his hand up to intercept the beam of light as everything flashed white.

  “Shit!” Greyson shouted. His stumbled steps receding up the stairs before Percival had blinked his vision clear or his friends fired a shot. “Contact! Maybe multiple!”

  “Where?” the officer shouted. The rumble of feet above them echoed through the basement. “Where Greyson? How many?”

  “One, maybe two, or three. But definitely one. Down in the basement near the generator. They’re hiding down there,” Greyson answered. “Sir.”

  “Shit,” Sarah said quietly. She looked toward Percival. “What do we do?”

  “I don’t know,” he muttered. He blinked the last of the spots out of his vision. “It sounds like they’ve a lot more people up there than we’ve got down here, and they know we’re here.”

  “I don’t think there’s another way out of the basement either,” Carlos said quietly.

  “Are they friendly?” the officer asked upstairs.

  “Maybe they’re not the shoot first ask questions never types,” Percival said. While they might not be that sort, someone among them had shot Andrina without the intent of ever asking questions. Just the thought alone drove him to want to light up anyone who came down the staircase.

  Regardless of whether or not they deserved it.

  He took a deep breath.

  “I’m not gonna hold my breath,” Sarah said at the same time that Greyson answered with: “Contact had a big gun pointed at me.”

  The sound of shuffling feet coursed down the stairwell. Percival could imagine the troops upstairs positioning themselves to rain lead down the stairwell.

  “To the individual or individuals in the basement of 4431 Pacific Way, this is First Lieutenant Elias Proxies of the United States Army. Please identify yourselves in a peaceful manner or we’ll be forced to take your trespassing as hostile,” The officer called down from the top of the stairs.

  Sarah looked at Percival for guidance. The thing was, he didn’t trust the men above them. They were discovered, that much was obvious, but the Army men didn’t know just how many of them were down there. Certainly Greyson had seen Percival, but not necessarily Sarah or Carlos.

  And the last time they’d trusted strangers hadn’t exactly ended up the best either. Outside of Carlos, who had proven himself to be a valuable asset and ally, the last group of military, even pseudo-military, hadn’t had everyone’s best interests in mind.

  And if Percival could give himself up with hopes that the other two would go undiscovered, but that would only last as long as it took for Greyson, or someone else, to come down into the basement to restart the generator.

  There simply wasn’t enough space or obstacles down there to hide behind and provide cover or concealment. If Percival was caught in a lie, it might make it worse for them as a whole. Percival hated being leader sometimes. It outright sucked. He looked between Sarah and Carlos.

  “We need an answer, please. No need to make this unpleasant for everyone. We will be forced to use force.”

  Percival lowered the M16 and stood up straight. Even though the men shouting down at him couldn’t see, the gesture made him feel better.

  “I’m Percival Polz. I’m here with two others, Sarah Josephewitz, and Carlos Redmont. We’re armed, but not hostile. We weren’t aware of your base here.” Percival shut up after that. Sarah had already followed his lead, standing up and lowering her weapon. After a few seconds, Carlos did the same thing.

  “I’m glad you chose to be cooperative, Mister Polz,” Proxies said. “Lay down your arms where we can see them at the base of the stairs and we’ll escort you safely from this region.”

  Sarah shook her head vehemently no. “Bad idea. Really bad idea,” she said quietly.

  Not for the first time, Percival agreed with her.

  “Not meaning to be rude, or disrespectful of your generous offer, Lieutenant, but we prefer to keep our weapons.” He had a sinking feeling that if he released any weapon into this Army-asshat’s hands he’d never see it again. And that it’d leave him next to defenseless against people who may well be far better trained than him in hand-to-hand combat.

  He did only have two semesters of Judo under his belt. Something he wasn’t quick to forget, but also not something he wanted to overestimate. It wasn’t as though he were a 7th Don capable of taking on seasoned masters. And Judo was primarily a throwing art, rather than a striking art, meaning he’d need to get in close and endure possible punches and kicks that could be debilitating in their own right.

  “Just as I know you can understand my plight with not having you disarmed before we come down there,” Proxies said. “Look, neither of us wants to see bloodshed today. If you just look at it from this direction…”

  “How about we’ll sling our weapons and come out with our hands up?” Percival asked.

  “That doesn’t leave us in much of a better situation than turning our guns in,” Carlos said hurriedly.

  “No go,” Proxies said. “We’ve got protocol we have to follow up here.”

  Percival looked around the darkened basement desperately hoping to have overlooked something that would help them out of the predicament they now found themselves in. “Can I have a moment to talk it over with my companions?”

  “Of course, Mister Polz,” Proxies said. “We’ll give you five minutes. But I think you’ll come to our side of thinking well before that time’s up.”

  Percival frowned looked between Sarah and Carlos. His two remaining teammates and allies. His lover and unexpected friend. “What do you two think?”

  “It’s a load of horseshit,” Carlos said quietly. “If they’re operating under some sort of SOP that has them shooting civilians, it’s not an SOP I want to be underneath.”

  Percival nodded. “Sarah?”

  “We go into this guns blazing and it guarantees that they’ll return fire. I don’t lik
e the prospect of turning my guns and crowbar and knife over to them, but,” she said.

  “But?” Percival prompted.

  “But if they’re operating under orders to escort people out of a combat zone provided they’re harmless, might be our way out. We do have more supplies at the Humvee.”

  “And if they’re just trying to get us to disarm before shooting us?” Carlos demanded, his voice rising an octave. “Bitch in Roy Joy’s house shot first and never asked questions.”

  “One of them did say she was off on her own,” Percival said. “She might have been a rogue member or outlier of some sort.”

  “Three more minutes, Mister Polz. Then we need an answer,” Proxies said.

  “And she’s missed regardless of whether or not she was an ‘outlier,’” Carlos said. “And you’ve got her tags. How much do you want to bet they’ll search you before they let us go?”

  Percival frowned again. He’d taken the tags with the intention of returning them to whatever military faction she’d come from. He just hadn’t counted on that faction to be overtly hostile.

  “You took her tags?” Sarah asked. Disbelief ran rampant in her voice. “Her gun and ammo I can understand. But, her tags?”

  “I had intended to return them to whomever she’d been working with,” Percival explained. “So they would know what happened to her. Not knowing is sometimes worse and… They wouldn’t have had to know that she met her demise at my hands.”

  Sarah shook her head.

  “Sixty seconds.”

  “Just a minute more,” Percival shouted back.

  “Non-negotiable,” Proxies said.

  “Or what?”

  “You’re wasting time, Mister Polz. We’re not here to hurt you, but we can’t be unsafe in this matter either.”

  Percival agreed wholeheartedly with half of that statement. He wondered if his face would ever get out of the frown he was letting it creep into. He slowly unslung the M16. “Do we have much of a choice? There’s at least three of them up there, likely more given the foot traffic we’ve heard. And we don’t know what sort of armament they’re toting.”

  “We can assume at least what Finnen had. So an automatic rifle and spare ammunition. Maybe a military shotgun, grenades, explosives, a turret, powered armor?” Carlos said. His grim tone accented the frustration lying beneath his words.

  “Sarah?”

  “Time’s up, Mister Polz. Decision time. We’re coming down there regardless and you get to dictate how pleasant it is.”

  “I’ll follow your lead. Always have,” Sarah said. Percival wished he couldn’t hear the defeat in her voice.

  Perhaps he should have been more steadfast against coming back to this god-forsaken suburb. “I don’t want to lose anyone else.”

  He finally accepted that Roy Joy was gone; vanished into the haze of the zombie apocalypse. But he had the opportunity to possibly walk those who were still with him out the front door and onto a path toward home.

  “We’re unloading. Give us a sec,” he shouted.

  Carlos shook his head. “Dun think this is a good idea.” He slid his rifle over his shoulder anyways.

  Percival crossed the basement, laid the M16, his M4, and pistol down. A moment later he added the machete to the small pile. He wished he’d had taken the time to clean the blade recently as he was certain the gore spattered across would hardly make a good impression. He backed away as Sarah stepped forward to add her weapons to the pile at the base of the stairs without revealing any target larger than her hand. Carlos followed suit.

  One of the soldiers from the top of the stairs gave a low whistle. “Armed to the teeth, and they call us nuts.”

  “Thank you,” Proxies said. “Now, back away from the stairs some so we can come to collect and escort you out. You’ll understand that we have to remain vigilant and cautious in these trying times.”

  The man’s voice dripped with an overt friendliness that made Percival’s skin crawl.

  “When will we get them back?” Percival asked. He stood a couple steps away from the base of the stairs. He was just far enough to not, in his opinion, be considered a threat, yet close enough to rush the person closest to the stairs if things got ugly.

  His question went unanswered as a soft murmur, he assumed orders being given, drifted down the stairs. While he could hear the words, they were too soft for him to make out.

  The soldiers tromped down the stairs, making no effort to disguise their approach. They were confident to a fault, if Percival had to say. He maintained his position, waiting for someone to round the corner. A large part of him wanted to lash out and jump the first man to appear.

  There was a pause in the footsteps approaching and a black-gloved hand collected the weapons piled up at the base of the stairs one item at a time. Seconds dragged by, the weaponry disappeared, handed back up the stairs.

  “No sudden movements, Mister Polz,” Proxies said. “We wouldn’t want any accidents to happen down here.”

  Percival gritted his teeth. He didn’t like the officer, nor the way he was addressing Percival’s team. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. It wouldn’t do well to lose his cool and cause a ruckus in the tight quarters of the basement.

  The first of the soldiers rounded the corner of the basement landing. He was a big man, taller than Percival and wider as well, wearing the same digital camo uniform that Finnen wore. He also wore a similarly decorated helmet. Greyson was stenciled in black over his left breast. His M16 rifle was up and leveled at Percival. The flashlight attached to the bottom made it more than obvious where he was pointing it: Percival’s face.

  Percival raised a hand to shield his eyes and lowered the visor on his helmet. “Get that out of my face.”

  “Ain’t gonna happen,” Greyson said. He took a couple more steps into the basement, allowing another soldier to enter. The next soldier was shorter with a slighter build than Greyson, but still bulkier and taller than Percival. Across his left breast was Bloku. He leveled his rifle at Sarah. She folded her arms across her chest.

  The third soldier was tall and lanky. His uniform looked as though it barely fit him, hanging off his frame like a set of curtains. His name, Yeltz, was stenciled across his left breast. His rifle came to be pointed at Carlos. A smaller man stepped off the stairs behind them. He wore the same uniform as the others, though he didn’t wear a helmet. His head was shaved with a handful of day’s blonde growth to it. Stenciled over his breast was ‘Proxies.’

  Percival studied the four soldiers. He held his breath for a moment, waiting for someone to make a move.

  “Hands up, please. And helmet off. I like to be able to see those I’m dealing with.” Proxies stepped between Greyson and Bloku. He spat a thick line of tobacco juice toward Percival’s foot.

  “Hands up, guys,” Percival said. He didn’t bother trying to mask the irritation in his voice. He slowly lifted his hands to his helmet and took it off, letting it dangle from his hand as he raised them above his head. He considered, briefly, springing across the room and driving the helmet into the nose of Greyson before crashing it across Proxies’s jaw.

  A fifth soldier, an overweight fellow that stretched his uniform to the limit, lumbered into view. He, too, lacked a helmet and had shaggy brown hair with a scruffy three-day’s grown on his chin. He bore no name, merely a patch where someone would attach a piece of Velcro, over his left breast.

  “Turn around and make this easy,” Proxies said.

  “Only if you explain exactly what’s going to go down,” Percival responded.

  “For your safety, and ours, you’re going to be handcuffed. We’ll escort you to a safe place and release you,” Proxies explained as though he’d said it a thousand times before. And perhaps he had.

  Percival frowned.

  “I don’t like this,” Sarah said.

  The large man drew out a small handful of zip ties. Percival locked eyes with Proxies.

  “Hey, it’s just protocol for safely
handling survivors of this tragic event. You know?” Proxies shifted the wad of tobacco in his lip. “Sooner you comply, sooner we can all be done with this.”

  Percival slowly lowered his hands and turned. He didn’t trust this group of people in the slightest, but he didn’t have many good viable options either. He could resist and be shot, or go along with what they, Proxies, wanted and potentially get what he wanted out of the deal as well. He locked eyes with Sarah as he turned and put his hands behind him.

  She gave a shake of her head and took a step forward just before everything went black.

  Chapter 18

  Percival’s world returned to light with a stab of pain. From the base of his head radiated a stinging headache. He could taste blood on his lips and his nose hurt. His wrists felt raw, and his hands had the beginnings of pins and needles. As his senses evolved past a basic damage report, he became aware of his position in space. Time was still a foreigner to his mind, but for the moment he was simply okay to know that he was seated.

  His wrists were lashed to something behind his back, the chair frame if he had to guess. Cautiously he moved his feet and found that those were still free. He opened his mouth and let a tongue that felt far too long for his head loll out. He gingerly licked his lips, finding a split in the lower one and a pair of trails of dried blood from his nose.

  Slowly he opened his eyes, staring at his lap for a moment. He didn’t know if he was being actively observed and didn’t want to give anyone the overt impression he’d come back to consciousness just yet. There were bloody spots on his jeans. Whoever’d attached him to the chair apparently hadn’t bothered to staunch the blood flow from his nose and mouth when doing so.

  He did his best to learn of his surroundings from his peripheral vision. He could see the edge of a bed and part of Optimus Prime’s foot. He was in a child’s bedroom. The cotton in his head cleared enough to recall the child’s bedroom from the house they were in when…

  The military. Percival jerked his head up, spiking more pain from his head. He blinked black spots away and he looked around the room. Where was Sarah? What’d happened? He whipped his head around, felt something catch in his neck, and took the room in.