“Who is this?” he asked the two men. “Is he one of ours?”
“I don’t think so, Sir,” one of them replied.
What the bloody hell were those four survivors playing at? Had they guessed that he would access the drones, and switched the body of the woman they called Jax for this unknown man? The victory he had felt at outsmarting those hooligans faded when he realized he might have been outsmarted himself.
No, there was no way they would go to the trouble of burying a body that was unimportant. There was something more going on here than met the eye.
“Right,” he told the lance corporals. “Get this in the chopper. I want the scientists to have a look at it.”
“Yes, Sir,” they said in unison. They picked up the body and hurried to the Chinook.
Gordon followed them at a leisurely pace, not wanting to get on board the damned chopper just yet.
Ten minutes later, he could hesitate no longer. He ordered the guards onto the Chinook and strapped himself into his seat. He looked over at the body, which was now wrapped in a blanket and lying at the rear of the aircraft.
He was going to order a full investigation of that corpse in the lab.
If it held any secrets, it would soon give them up to the scientists.
EPILOGUE
OFFICER GARY RAMIREZ stepped out of his patrol car and into the cold night air. He’d been about to finish his shift and go home when he’d received the call telling him to get his ass to the docks. Someone had called in a disturbance and he was the closest unit.
He didn’t really mind that he was going home late. It wasn’t as if there was anyone there waiting for him.
It had been almost two months since Lydia had gone and ever since the day she’d walked out, most of his evenings were lost to binge-watching cop shows on TV, during which he would laugh at the inconsistencies between real cop work and TV cop work, and binge-drinking Coors, during which he would eventually pass out.
Everything looked quiet at the docks. Ramirez made his way between the shipping crates, wondering where the stevedores were. Every other time he had come down here, the place had been bustling with activity. Now, it was dead.
He could see ships and hear activity in other areas of the harbor but the area he was standing in, the area where someone had called in a disturbance, was as quiet as the grave.
Disturbance my ass, he thought. Probably a crank call.
But the hairs on the back of his neck were rising, as if there was something here that he was sensing but not seeing.
He suddenly wanted to return to his car. A night of TV cop shows and Coors held more appeal right now than it had a couple of minutes ago.
“Don’t get spooked,” he told himself.
He drew his gun, a Glock 19, from its holster and decided to proceed along the dock despite the fear that was gnawing at his gut.
He saw a boat that looked like it had crashed into the dock up ahead. The craft was listing to one side and its hull was torn open. Was this the disturbance someone had called in? A crashed boat?
Ramirez walked up to the vessel and admired it. This was the type of boat that belonged to rich families who spent their weekends cruising on the Atlantic. He checked the name painted on the hull in swirling black and gold letters. The Broken Promise.
He looked around. The dock was deserted so who the hell had called 911 about a disturbance?
“Hello?’ he called out. “Is anyone on board?”
No answer. He shook his head. This was crazy. Where was the Port Authority? Wasn’t this their problem?
Should he go on board and check it out?
He stood, looking at the boat, undecided about what to do. Maybe he should call for backup. But if this turned out to be nothing but a damaged boat, the guys at the station would never let him live it down.
He was about to step onto The Broken Promise when he heard a noise behind him. He whirled around, Glock coming up to firing position. He saw a figure running between the shipping crates. Ramirez had to blink twice to make sure he wasn’t seeing things because he was sure it had been a naked woman.
“Really?’ he asked himself. “Did I really just see a naked woman running along the dock?” Hell, why not? He had seen crazier things during his thirteen years on the force.
She looked like she was covered in tattoos. Some sort of dark vine design, maybe.
Where had she come from?
Leaving the boat, he walked back along the dock to where the woman had appeared. A warehouse door was open. Ramirez took his flashlight and shone it into the darkness beyond the doorway.
He saw many faces staring back at him.
And all of them had hateful yellow eyes.
MAILING LIST
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BOOKS IN THIS SERIES
STORM: Survival in the Land of the Dead
LIGHTNING: Fighting the Living Dead
WILDFIRE: Destruction of the Dead
Copyright
Copyright © 2015 Shaun Harbinger
All rights reserved.