Rend, p.28
Rend, page 28
Asher was on dangerous ground. He didn’t want to offend her and create a hostile environment in the neighborhood, yet he had to let her know that sleeping with her was off the table. “You know what, I’d love to go out to dinner with you and Jim one night,” he countered. “I can bring my girlfriend and you can repay me by buying me a drink and saving a dance for me.”
She smiled sweetly and said, “That sounds like a good time. I’ll see if Jim is free and we can set something up.”
“Good. Lookin’ forward to it.” He made a show of remembering about the beer mixture in his garage and said, “Geez, I forgot all about the beer in the garage. I’m making a batch of homebrew and I should get back to it.”
“Of course,” Rachel replied with downcast eyes. “Last offer. Are you sure?”
He extracted his arm from her grasp and said, “I’m sure, Rachel. You’re an amazing woman and Jim is a very lucky man.”
Rachel smiled again, but the pain in her face was evident as she mumbled low enough that Asher could barely hear, “I wish he knew that.”
His neighbor wiped away a tear from her cheek with an embarrassed flick of her wrist and leaned in for a hug. She squeezed him tightly and whispered in his ear, “Thank you, Asher. You’re a special guy, you know that?”
“Thanks,” he replied uneasily and returned the hug. What the hell is that about? Once he broke contact with her he high-tailed it toward his house. Allyson should have been done with the raid and writing up paperwork on the operation by now. She’d probably called already to check in and he’d stupidly left his phone sitting on the couch.
As he walked in the garage, he checked the stopper on the beer. It looked fine to him, but he really had no idea what he was doing except following the instruction sheet. He tapped the button to close the garage door and walked inside.
Asher noticed the blinking red new message indicator light right away and quickly washed his hands in the kitchen sink. He dried his hands and then hit the unlock button on his phone. “Shit,” he muttered as he saw that there were ten missed calls. None of them had left a voicemail though, so he checked his text messages and saw that there was an unread message. He tapped the message app and read the simple message that the deputy director had left him.
ASHER, CALL ME ASAP—RESTON
Hmm, that’s unusual, he thought as he scrolled back to the missed calls and returned the call from the last missed Virginia number.
Reston picked up after two rings, “FBI Quantico, this is Reston.”
“Alistair, its Asher. I got your message to call you. What’s up?”
“Good afternoon, Asher. Where are you right now?”
“I’m at home, why?” he asked cautiously. Something wasn’t right.
“I just wanted to make sure that you weren’t out driving or working with power tools or anything.”
“What happened to Allyson?”
“She… I, uh…”
“I’ve been doing this a long time, Reston. I can handle it.”
“I’m sorry, Asher. Allyson died in a shootout during the Marchione raid this morning.”
The world dropped away and he saw red as anger surged into every fiber of his body. “What happened?” he demanded.
“The SWAT team was clearing the first floor and Tony Marchione’s bodyguard jumped out onto the balcony firing an M-16 on full automatic. Allyson was hit twice in the head. She died instantly and didn’t feel any pain. I’m sorry.”
His mind recreated the scene with a clarity born of personal experience in the same type of situation. “Is the shooter alive?” Asher asked.
“What? Um, no. He was shot and killed by a SWAT sniper.”
“Good. That saves me from going to jail for killing a prisoner.”
“Both Marchione and his bodyguard were killed. Asher, I’m sorry. Allyson was a special woman.”
He was silent for a moment as he contemplated what to do. What could he do? The shooter was dead so there was no one to seek out for revenge. “Thank you for telling me. I know that you didn’t have to call me since I’m just her boyfriend…”
“Asher, if you need to talk to anyone, we have people you can talk to. I can have them there in a couple of hours,” Reston offered.
“I’ve got a shrink because of all the shit I saw in the Company. I’m good. Listen, I’m gonna go. I’ll call you back in a little while.”
He could hear Reston protesting as he hit the call end button. His vision continued to be tinted red and he carefully set his phone down so he wouldn’t throw it across the room and then be out of contact with the Bureau for funeral details.
Asher walked numbly out onto his back patio where a heavy bag hung from the ceiling. He threw a right cross into the bag and followed it up with a right elbow strike combo with a left uppercut and then a knee. He began to really work the bag and go all out in anger and frustration. This is what he needed to do. Talking to a shrink wouldn’t help. In fact, all this time that he’d spent talking to her was nothing but a joke. He’d beat the emotions out of himself.
He continued pounding away at the leather and thought about how stupid he’d been to think Allyson would stay out of harm’s way because he asked her to. She was a trained field agent working the biggest case of her career; she’d never intended to stay back. He couldn’t blame her, he’d have done the same thing, but it was all so… pointless. Sure, the Marchiones were dead and gone, but there’d always be more to fill their spot and the zombies still infested the region encircled by The Wall. Nothing had changed except Allyson was dead and he was alone once again.
The time flew by and he felt his body rapidly dehydrating in the North Carolina summer afternoon, but he didn’t cease his assault on the bag for a drink. He heard and ignored several phone calls and his hands began to swell from the non-stop abuse. The workout had moved beyond the healthy, cathartic ventilation of anger to a sadistic need to feel pain himself. His mind continually focused on Allyson’s beautiful features and the way her auburn hair seemed to frame her face perfectly. Each time he imagined her face he would renew his attack with vigor.
Eventually, his body gave up on him and he collapsed. He’d been through extreme physical pain and endurance as a SEAL and as a member of the CIA’s Special Operations Group. He’d been through Hell and back as part of their selection and training process, but he’d never taken himself so far that his body absolutely refused to work.
He lay in a puddle of sweat and blood, staring at the concrete below him. Slowly his eyes began to focus and he realized that the shadows were at the wrong angle for the time of day. He checked his watch in a daze and realized that he’d abused his body for almost five hours. Asher’s eyes focused on the mess around him. Sand mixed with his body fluids and had scattered everywhere across the concrete. Vaguely, he realized that he’d punched and kicked the bag enough to burst it.
Then, he became aware of an overwhelming thirst and staggered to his feet. He grimaced as the muscles in his legs cramped up and limped weakly into the house. He drank a large glass of water quickly before forcing himself to slow down. Drinking water too fast after extreme physical exertion could lead to liver or kidney failure because of hyponatremia, which was drinking too much water without having sufficient sodium in your blood from not eating. Normal people were usually fine, but Asher knew that what he’d just put his body through was not normal.
His vision began to funnel and he knew that he needed salty food, so he threw open the pantry and grabbed a bag of beef jerky. After that disappeared, he ate several saltine crackers and a banana. He felt his body move past the very dangerous place that he’d taken it to and now he needed to get cleaned up so he could prepare for what was to come.
Asher limped down the hallway toward his bedroom. His right hip didn’t seem to want to work properly, but he ignored the pain. He turned on the shower and stripped his clothes off. That’s when he saw the damage he’d done to himself.
The entire lower half of his right leg was a mass of purple and blue. He must have been doing Mauy Thai shin kicks and not even realized it. His left hand refused to open more than a half-clench and he could definitely see the knucklebone protruding through the mess of shredded skin and coagulated blood. Both elbows were oozing plasma from where he’d burned away the skin with elbow blows to the bag. Even his forehead showed signs that he’d head-butted the goddamned bag.
He hated himself for losing control like that. Allyson wouldn’t have approved and his body sure as hell didn’t like him for it. Asher grimaced in pain as he stepped gingerly into the shower and the hot water splashed across his battered body.
*****
10 July, 1308 hrs local
Monticello Memory Gardens
Charlottesville, Virginia
Allyson’s funeral service was exactly as Asher imagined she’d want it. They’d never reached a point in their relationship where they discussed death or where they wanted to be buried, but her parents had stepped in and executed the plan that she’d worked out with them years ago, which was a relief.
The night before at the memorial service was the first time that he had met her parents, Ben and Whitney Harper. Her mother took to Asher immediately, telling him that Allyson had told her all about him, but Mr. Harper was standoffish and quickly found an excuse to go talk to other mourners in attendance.
Mrs. Harper pulled him over to a couch and made him look through old picture albums of Allyson as a child and young adult. It seemed a little awkward to him to be such an intimate part of Allyson’s mother’s healing process, but he understood that she needed it and in some way he did too. He was the last person who’d interacted with her daughter on a regular basis. Most of their time was spent grinning at the old pictures and making the appropriate comments when required. He’d only known Allyson for five months, her mother had had her for thirty-seven years and she needed the time to mourn with him.
He’d finally been able to pull away when Mrs. Harper’s sister arrived from Los Angeles. He made his way through the thick crowd and found himself staring at a closed flag-draped casket. He’d seen the same scene too many times over the years, but this one was different. He’d buried brothers, comrades, subordinates and leaders, but never a lover. He thought the pain he’d felt at the other services had been hard, but he felt truly miserable at Allyson’s memorial. Alone.
The Bureau had done an outstanding job getting everything set up. The funeral home looked incredible and alive with all the flowers and greenery that had been brought in. They’d used her official FBI photograph for the display beside the casket, though. It made her look professional and almost cold like most corporate photographs tended to do. But he’d known her to be a caring and compassionate person who could light up a room with her smile and laughter. There was a twinge of guilt in his stomach. He felt like he’d gotten her killed because he didn’t demand that she stay off the mission.
It was a stupid thought, but it wouldn’t go away. Asher felt someone walk up beside him and stand there in silence staring at the casket. He glanced over and saw Reston standing next to him with his head bowed in prayer. He’d never been a religious person, but he knew enough about it that when someone was praying, you didn’t interrupt them.
After a few seconds, the deputy director looked up and offered his apologies to Asher. “I never should have let her go on that operation,” he said.
“It’s not your fault, Alistair. She wanted to go on that mission and she died doing what she loved.” It was an interesting role reversal for Asher to offer comfort to Reston instead of the other way around.
They’d had a full Catholic service before the short trip to the gravesite for the burial this morning. Asher felt out of place sitting beside Mrs. Harper as the priest talked about loss and redemption. It was even more awkward for him when everyone went up front and the priest fed them crackers and gave them wine to drink. He didn’t know what to do, but he took his cues from Reston, who also sat beside him for the service.
At the graveside, Asher had hung back in the crowd while Mr. and Mrs. Harper sat at the hole where their daughter would forever lay. He watched the family members jerk in shock each time a rifle cracked during the ceremonial honor reserved for those who died in the line of duty. Mrs. Harper broke down into uncontrolled sobs as a fully uniformed member of the Bureau knelt in front of her to present the flag of service that had rested across the casket since her daughter’s death.
Asher watched stoically as they lowered the casket into the ground and groundskeepers placed a green blanket over the hole while the family was still there. He shook everyone’s hand and hugged Mrs. Harper as the family filed away from the humid graveyard. He even promised Allyson’s mother that he’d stay in touch and would write often. It was the right thing to do, even if he knew that he probably wouldn’t ever do so.
He stood for a long time until he was all alone except for the groundskeepers who watched him nervously from their air-conditioned truck. After what seemed like an eternity of just staring blankly at the box where the body of the most amazing woman he’d ever met rested, he pulled a scratched and tarnished golden Trident from his pocket. It had been with him for almost thirty years. As a SEAL, this particular Trident had ridden in his pocket on every mission. As a Special Skills Operator for the Agency, it had been either on his person or in his secured luggage, depending upon the nature of the operation. He kissed the Budweiser pin that had been with him since BUD/S and bent down to drop it gently onto the lid of Allyson’s casket.
“You were an amazing woman Allyson Harper,” he said confidently into the gentle breeze. “Loyal, courageous, loving and a true warrior. I only knew you for a little while, but you changed my life profoundly. I will never forget you.”
And then he finally let himself cry.
EPILOGUE
14 September, 0523 hrs local
Samantha O’Connor’s Residence
Elkton, Maryland
The creature knew that this was the most critical time for its kind. It had collaborated with the others and they were determined to succeed. To do so, they would need to leave the walls on both sides of the water. They’d divided their followers between those who were too far decayed to assist with the breakout and those that could make it through the journey and be kept under control long enough to create new followers without being discovered.
They had planned to use the holes the humans had cut in the water gates and then travel underwater in both directions for two days before they attacked. The followers still trapped would attack the humans on the walls while those who were free would find a large city and begin creating as many followers as possible, in secret, while the humans fought the attack on the walls. Those new followers would then create more followers and so on until there would be a tipping point where the Chosen outnumbered the humans. Then they’d be in control and would own the entire world.
It had waited a long time to be free of that hated city with the constant fog and closed-in walls. Each day that passed inside the cage was another day closer to when the humans would return to try and kill them all as they’d done time and again. Now it was their turn to rule. They’d moved beyond the physical limitations of the humans. The Chosen no longer worried about sickness or death. They shrugged off injuries that would have incapacitated or killed a human without even a grunt of pain. They were the next step in evolution and it was their turn to wipe out the previous generation.
The leader had brought a large group of followers with him for this stage. It was hard to keep them all in control as the sights and sounds of the human world overwhelmed their senses, but it had done so. They bypassed several small homes when they first emerged from the water and headed toward the bright lights on the horizon. It remembered, from before, that the farther they traveled from their prison the individual towns became one massive city that stretched as far as the eye could see. Once they reached that point without discovery, there would be no stopping them.
There was still a ways to go before it could unleash the followers to annihilate the pathetic human existence and it was almost daybreak. They needed a place to hide from the eyes in the sky for one more night before they would make it to the city. A home sat by itself, barely illuminated by the little light attached to the side of the house. The leader surveyed the scene carefully from the wood line and decided that this place would do nicely. They were far enough removed from the other homes that no one would hear the occupants scream in pain as they were turned into followers.
*****
14 September, 0529 hrs local
Samantha O’Connor’s Residence
Elkton, Maryland
Something woke her up. Samantha wasn’t sure what it was, but she sat straight upright in her bed and fumbled for her glasses. “Oh good lord, Whiskers!” she muttered into the darkness. Her cat had obviously knocked something off of the counter in the kitchen. Her hand rested on the frame of her glasses and she opened them up. The hazy night became a little clearer as she slid the arms over her ears and settled them across her nose.
She could make out the clock now. The red numbers blazed angrily at her that she still had two hours to sleep until she had to wake up and get ready for work. “You darned cat!” she scolded the unseen animal as she swung her legs over the side of her bed to see what it had broken this time. Whiskers was the clumsiest cat she’d ever seen and she had the misfortune of picking him from the breeder’s litter of kittens.
Just as she slipped her feet into her slippers, the cat gave out a yelp from the next room and bolted past her legs under the bed. “What in the world is wrong with you?” Samantha asked as the cat growled and hissed from the safety of the bedframe.
