The Deep State Trilogy by D. C. Alden

Author:D. C. Alden [Alden, D. C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Double Tap Press
Published: 2019-10-06T06:00:00+00:00

Roth led them out of the shadows and crossed the open ground towards Main Street. There was enough ambient light to operate with the naked eye, something all of his guys were used to, and tactically their NVGs were a little restrictive. Right now, they needed eyes in the back of their heads.

Roth pulled a Gerber from his vest and cut the security tape that surrounded the commissary. They filed out onto Main Street, moving as quietly as possible. The Chancery was three hundred metres away, a straight shot. A few more minutes, that’s all they needed.

Their formation was loose and staggered, their weapons trained outwards, giving them an all-round defensive posture. They passed between the commissary and the State Department blocks, moving like ghosts through a canyon of darkness. Red-dot optics probed shadows and doorways. A hundred and fifty metres ahead the ground opened up. That’s where Roth wanted to be. In the meantime, he moved slow and quiet, red-dotting the black corners and dead ground between the buildings.

He stepped out of the column and waved his men through, keeping a sharp eye on their six. Costello stopped by his side.

“You hear that?” he whispered.

“Hold position,” Roth ordered over the radio. His team crouched on the road, eyes and gun barrels sweeping the terrain. Roth cocked his head.

“What is that?”

“It’s coming from the east.” Costello lifted his rifle, checked his optics. “I’ve got nothing.”

But Roth could feel it through his Merrells. A faint tremor. “Another structural collapse, maybe?”

Looking east, Roth couldn’t see much beyond the flames of the burning building. The explosion had punched out the ground-floor wall, bringing down several tons of rubble and blocking Main Street.

Then, in the darkness beyond, Roth thought he saw something.

Movement.

“Give me your scope.” Costello pulled it from his vest and passed it to him. Roth held it to his eye.

And swore.

They spilled over the rubble like a wave, hundreds of people, men, women, clothed, naked, all scrambling amongst the debris, drawn by the flames. Roth watched them as they clawed at the air, at each other, a horde that pushed and shoved and screamed like animals. The noise was chilling. Roth felt the hairs on his neck stand on end.

“Nobody move,” he whispered across the radio net. “Delta Three-Three, Hitman One, are you seeing this?”

“Roger,” came Drake’s reply. “We can hear them too. You’re deep in the ink so hold your position.”

Roth did the calculation. The infected were maybe a hundred and fifty metres away, most of them transfixed by the flames, but it wasn’t them he was worried about. It was the others who’d pushed on, probing ahead, their bodies hunched, arms held wide, like apes. More like cavemen, Roth realised. They scuttled forward, then stopped. Scuttle, stop, scuttle, stop. Getting closer, peering into the dark.

Right at Roth and his team.

“Nobody. Fucking. Move,” he repeated.

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