Chapter 39

From behind the wheel of the Deuce, Charmagne led the convoy through the FreshVale Foods distribution center’s west entrance. Mike sat next to her, wearing body armor and a helmet, manning the 240. Adrián gave him a crash course on handing the weapon three days earlier, but Mike was certain he’d already forgotten half of what he’d been taught. Hopefully, he remembered the important half.

Fifty yards back, Eric hauled an empty forty-foot shipping container behind the Peterbilt. Theresa and Rachel followed next in the Morgan Creek police cruiser, its emergency lights flashing, with Fulton and Adrián covering their rear in the Beast, with the fuel trailer in tow.

The twelve former residents of the FreshVale Foods distribution center sat huddled together in the middle of the cement parking lot with their hands on top of their heads. While Theresa and Eric slowed to a stop a safe distance away, Fulton pulled around the convoy and stopped the Beast thirty yards away from the group. He dismounted with his M16 and took aim from behind the cover of the armored door. Charmagne stopped the Deuce next to him and did the same, standing on the cab’s narrow side step.

“Which one of you is Jaime?” she shouted.

A Hispanic man with short, salt-and-pepper hair raised his hand. “Don’t shoot!”

“Ain’t no one gonna get shot as long as you follow my orders! Is anyone armed?”

“No! We do what you ask!”

“Alright then, Jaime! I want you to sit tight for a second! Mike.”

He turned his head.

“I want you to keep that weapon trained on the center of that group. Any of them makes a run for it, you take them out. All of them.”

His face fell. “All of them?”

“Listen to me, Mike. We got one shot at this. One shot. And we ain’t got no margin for error here. Everything else you got planned depends on this mission being a success. I know killing ain’t your way, but I need you to do what you do best, and think about the bigger picture right now. Remember, it’s us or them. Now, can you handle it, or do I need to bring Draper up here to cover my ass?”

Mike clenched his jaw and nodded, then turned back to the group and firmed up his grip on the machine gun with a grim, determined visage. “Don’t worry. I got your ass,” he said, then paused. “You know what I mean.”

“Damn right you got my ass,” she said with a smile, then turned back to the group. “Jaime! Stand up and approach the vehicles! Move nice and slow, and keep your hands on top of your head! Everyone else, stay seated and don’t move! We’re gonna clear you, one at a time!”

After each person was thoroughly searched, Eric bound them with flex cuffs from the police station and sat them in a line. When the last one was seated, Charmagne stood before them with her M16 at the low ready.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen next. Not that I don’t trust you folks or nothing. I’m sure you’re all fine, law-abiding citizens, but we can’t take any chances. That means we’re gonna have to clear that DC from one end to the other, just to make sure no one else is in there, and that’s gonna take a while.

“For the time being, we’re gonna move you all into that truck garage over there to keep you outta the sun, and you’re gonna sit tight for a while. Specialist Draper, and Privates Messina, Stafford, and Rosen here are gonna keep you company. Anyone needs anything, like water or to use the bathroom, just let them know and they’ll help you out. Everyone clear? Good. Now, on your feet!”

Charmagne led the twelve detainees to the truck garage on foot, while Fulton and Eric backed the Beast and the Deuce inside the large, steel building, with the two machine guns pointed toward the open door.

When the captives were seated again against the wall, Charmagne, Fulton, and Adrián prepared to clear the facility. They attached night vision goggles to their helmets and connected their radios to their headsets. “Comms check,” they said back and forth, giving each other thumbs up. When they were set, Charmagne gathered the troops together, both the real ones and the fakes, out of earshot of the others.

“Listen up,” she said, looking directly at Mike. “Draper will be manning the 240 in the Deuce while we’re gone. Anything goes wrong in there today, I’ve given him orders to get all of you in the Deuce and hightail it the fuck back to the school. None of you is to come in there after us. That’s a direct fucking order. I already left orders with Sergeant Sayavong. She’ll assume leadership of the squad if I don’t make it back.”

The hairs on the back of Mike’s neck stood up.

“I don’t expect nothing to happen in there,” she said, noting his concerned look. “Chapman and Ibarra scouted this place three nights in a row, and those twelve were the only ones they seen. We’re gonna be in radio contact the whole time. If we do get into any trouble, the plan is to retreat back here and exfil in the Beast. Everyone clear?”

“Yes, Staff Sergeant,” the guardsmen said.

“Are you clear on my orders, Mike?” she asked him when he didn’t respond. “I need to hear you say it.”

He looked into her eyes and nodded. “Yeah, I’m clear.”

“Good man. Chapman, Ibarra, form up on me. Let’s move.”

The wait would have been unbearable were it not for the radios. Mike listened intently through his own headset to their heavy breathing and whispered conversation as Charmagne and her two-man squad cleared one point six million square feet of warehouses and offices. Against Chapman’s prediction, the FreshVale Twelve did not barricade the refrigerated warehouses, which meant they had to painstakingly move through acres of rotting meat and vegetables to ensure no one was hiding out.

Mike felt like a pretender wearing the tactical gear and holding the M4. He’d handled plenty of firearms during his special effects days, and was well versed in their handling and safety, but this was somehow different. Those had been props. Real guns modified to make them harmless to the cast and crew. The one in his hands had real bullets, intended to kill whoever he fired them at.

However ridiculous he may have felt, poor Theresa looked positively comical. She frequently swung the barrel around until Eric took her behind the Deuce and showed her how to cradle the weapon in the crook of her arm. Rachel, on the other hand, took to soldiering like it was second nature. With her mirrored sunglasses and strong posture, she looked positively badass. He wondered if she’d been getting training from Charmagne during their Team Defense meetups.

“Hey,” one of the Twelve said when Mike wandered close. It was the man who retrieved the container for their group.

“Help you with something, sir?” Mike asked, trying a little too hard to sound like a hard ass.

“What’s your name, man? My name’s Harold. Harold Steadman.”

“Mike. Private Mike. Private Messina.” Fuck.

“Nice to meet you, Mike. So, what’s going on out there, man? Are we really at war, or what?”

Operational security wasn’t Mike’s strong suit. He could keep a secret, of course. He’d certainly kept plenty of his own. But he kept those secrets for a variety of personal reasons. In all other aspects of his life, he believed strongly in the free flow of information. He shared information with anyone who asked reflexively. As a matter of course. He was a teacher, after all, and the sharing of information was fundamental to his essence. So, he told the guy.

“No, sir. We’re not at war. There was no bomb.”

“What do you mean there wasn’t a bomb? Of course there was. Everyone saw it.”

“That wasn’t a bomb they saw. It was an exploding star.”

“Messina,” Eric said in a terse tone. “Get over here.”

“A star?” Harold asked, his face contorted into a skeptical scowl.

“That’s right. A gamma-ray burst, actually.”

“A what?”

“Messina!”

“I have to go,” Mike said. “We’ll talk later.”

After a stern reminder from Eric that this wasn’t a fucking game, and to shut the fuck up, he abruptly changed the subject.

“Hey, Mike. I just wanted to let you know that I never believed for a second any of those things Linda said about you. I know a couple of the others did at first, but not me, man. You’re a solid guy. I just thought you should know.”

As surprised as he was by Eric’s odd timing, Mike was grateful to hear it. “Thanks, Eric. I appreciate you saying that. It’s been tough.”

“Yeah, I can imagine. Anyway, that’s it. Just wanted to let you know that I’ve always got your back, bro.”

Mike smiled at him and nodded, giving him a thumbs up before he turned away.

“Me and Haylee are together!” Eric blurted, and Mike turned back around. “We’re a couple. I haven’t told anyone else yet. You’re the first to know.”

Mike’s face lit up and he gave Eric’s shoulder a friendly squeeze. “Right on man! That’s awesome! Congrats!”

“Yeah, thanks,” he said with an embarrassed smile. “We’re really happy together.” His smile faded. “You know, like, really, really happy.”

“For sure, for sure. I’m happy for you, buddy,” he said, and the tension in Eric’s shoulder eased. “She’s insanely hot too, so good job on that. Seriously, good for you.”

The tension immediately returned. “I’m in love with her, Mike. You know what I’m saying?” Mike’s eyebrows inched together as he started to choke up. “I think she’s, like, my soulmate. We have this really deep connection that’s just...”

“Alright, man...,” Mike said cautiously. “No, I hear you. When you know, you know.” He clapped him on the shoulder and Eric pointed at him.

“Thanks, Mike. You’re the best. Appreciate it.”

“Sure thing, man. Don’t mention it.”

For the remainder of the operation, Mike kept his distance from the captives, and Eric. He still observed the Twelve from afar, though, and his keen, analytical mind began to process what he saw. The group comprised seven women and four men, plus a young boy. With the exception of the boy, they all looked to be between fifteen and fifty.

Fulton and Adrián had reported similar demographic ratios during their numerous scouting missions, and Mike wondered at the cause. Luck certainly played a central role in determining who got zapped by Asterius that fateful Sunday afternoon, and who didn’t. But it seemed that, for whatever reason, men were dying off in slightly greater numbers than women, as were young children and the elderly.

He wasn’t sure of the significance of this demographic tilt, if any. He’d have to get with Marcus when he returned to model the data and see what emerged. In the meantime, he returned his attention to the ongoing operation happening inside the DC. After ninety long, tense minutes, Charmagne’s distorted, hissing voice came over the radio to signal the all clear, using the call sign Mike had chosen for himself.

“ ... Daydlush ... Daedalus ... Thish iz ... Iron Val ... kree ... We r statush gree ... Repeat, weer ... statush green!”

The FreshVale Twelve rubbed their wrists, many of them sporting annoyed expressions, as Eric went down the line to cut them free of the flex cuffs. Everyone had been relocated inside the cavernous dry warehouse, including the vehicles, which they drove straight in using one of the loading ramps. All except the Peterbilt, which they left parked outside. Using the vehicles’ spot lights and headlamps, they were able to provide a small amount of illumination while the roll up doors remained closed.

Once more, Charmagne addressed the Twelve.

“Alright, I need all of you to pay close attention, because I’m only gonna say this once. For the time being, you’re all gonna remain under detention. I’ve ordered your restraints removed, but that don’t mean you’re free to go just yet.”

She pointed to her right. “Take note of Sgt. Chapman over there, guarding them doors by the dispatch center, and Cpl. Ibarra, way down on the other side, guarding them doors leading to the admin offices. Way in the back, I got Specialist Draper guarding the rear doors.

“You’re not to approach those soldiers, or the doors they’re guarding. They’ve been given orders to raise their weapon if you approach and issue a single warning for you to retreat. If you don’t, then you’ll be shot and killed. None of you is to leave this warehouse until it’s time to transport you to your new home.

“In a moment, I’m gonna start opening up those roll up doors behind me to let some light in here. Again, you’re not to approach those doors, or attempt to leave. I’m gonna be guarding them doors myself, and I don’t give warnings. If you try to run, I’m just gonna shoot you, so don’t do that, because I don’t wanna have to kill you today if I don’t gotta.

“Now comes the fun part. You’re all gonna start gathering up your food. You’re gonna completely fill this empty trailer here from nose to tail. That should be enough food to last you for two years. Then we’re gonna haul both it and you across the street, and drop you all outside that church. After that, you’ll be free to go about the rest of your lives. Any questions?”

“What about our guns and ammo?” a gruff looking, middle-aged man asked.

“Your weapons will be sealed inside the trailer with your food. You can get them after we leave. Any other questions?”

“Why do we need two years of food?” Harold Steadman asked, directing his question to Mike as much as Charmagne.

“Because that’s what the governor’s science advisors are recommending,” Charmagne said, growing visibly annoyed. “Do you fucking want it or not?”

“We do, ma’am! We do.” Jaime said, then turned to his overly inquisitive companion. “Leave it alone, Harold.”

“Alright, then. If we’re done playing twenty fucking questions...”

Harold didn’t take the hint. “That soldier there. I think you said your name was Mike, right? Anyway, he said there wasn’t a bomb and we’re not at war. He said something about an exploding star. Is that true?”

Charmagne slowly turned to face Mike, her eyes narrowed and her lips pressed together in a thin line. “Mike, huh?”

“Yeah,” Harold said, refusing to shut up. “He said something about a burst. A, uh, gamma burst or something. What was it you said, Mike?”

“Harold!” Jaime shouted, picking up on Charmagne’s displeasure. “That’s enough! Let’s just get our food and go.”

“We need to tell them,” Mike said. “They deserve to know what they’re facing.”

That got everyone’s attention, and other questions began to float from the crowd. Tell us what? Wait, what are we facing? What’s happening? What aren’t you telling us? Charmagne fumed at Mike, but he refused to back down.

“Knowing the truth will give them a better chance to survive,” he said, then lowered his voice. “If you were in their shoes, wouldn’t you want to know?”

She looked into his eyes and her expression softened. She slowly nodded. “Not now,” she said under her breath. “After. We gotta keep this operation moving. Alright?”

Mike nodded his agreement. Charmagne turned to address the murmuring crowd.

“Alright, shut the fuck up!” she shouted, silencing them, then gestured to Mike. “Mike here is one of them egghead science advisors I was telling you all about. There probably ain’t no one alive for a hundred miles that knows more about what’s going on than him. Once we got you set up in your new home, Mike here will brief you on the, uh, science of the matter. Save all your fucking questions till then.

“You all got a lot of work to do, and daylight’s burning. Jaime, why don’t you come over here for a minute. I wanna talk to you a little bit. The rest of you, start gathering up your food.”

As the crowd disbursed, Jaime carefully approached Charmagne and held out his hand to her.

“Jaime Guttierez, ma’am.”

She took it and nearly shook his arm off. “Staff Sergeant Charmagne Pollard. Nice to meet you finally. Sorry about earlier. You can’t be too careful these days.”

“No ma’am, you can’t,” he said, rescuing his hand from her grip. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

“Based on our intelligence, we gathered one of your group either works here, or used to work here. That wouldn’t be you, would it?”

“Yes, I work here. Right here in this warehouse.”

“What did you do here, Jaime?” Mike asked.

“I driving the forklifts. Picking pallets and loading trucks mostly.”