"Silence." A new voice, harsh, older. More forbidding. Damn.
"Could I get some water?" Nothing. Selah waited then tried again. "Hello? I'm thirsty. Could I have some water please?" Still nothing. She licked her dry lips and shifted her weight. "How are things going outside--" And then flinched as the bars over her head clanged shockingly.
"Shut your pie hole. No talking." Footsteps as they returned to their post.
Gritting her teeth, Selah forced herself to relax, to lean back against the bars. She took a deep, careful breath within the hood and fought the prickling of tears, unable to wipe at her face.
She had given up on hoping for fairness a long time ago, but to have fought through all of Miami, to have survived LA, and to have undone Sawiskera's curse only to end up in the hands of an uncaring military was a particularly bitter twist. Worse, alone in the confines of her hood, unable to hide from her thoughts and guilt, she couldn't convince herself that this wasn't a deserved fate; she
had
killed Colonel Caldwell. The image of her nails raking through his throat flickered before her mind's eye, no matter how she tried to turn away from it. No matter the justifications, the excuses, nor the fact that he had been a heinous drug dealer who was poisoning millions. His blood was on her hands. Shouldn't she pay the price?
Other faces passed before her mind's eye, faces of those she had killed. That drug dealer who had refused to take her to Louis, who had threatened to leave her and Cloud behind. The numerous
Culebras
she had brutalized for Armando as she had sought to drive them back. The soldiers who had been escorting her convoy. Padrino Machado as she had tossed him through the window. Countless vampires. Who was she to argue her innocence?
Conflicted, distraught, exhausted, and terrified, she finally fell asleep. Somehow she drifted off, though her sleep was plagued with nightmares. She awoke often, shifting about to ease the pain in her shoulders and the compact numbness of her ass, listening for a moment to some pre-recorded message blaring out of the speakers before lowering her head once more and closing her eyes.
Voices woke Selah. She stirred and sat up. Her body was a cacophony of aches and pains, so she leaned forward to stretch out her hips. She was exhausted, her eyes gritty, her mouth tacky and foul. New soldiers had arrived. Or
a
new soldier. The guard was being changed. She listened carefully, hoping to eavesdrop on an exchange of news, but they kept it professional. Sighing, she sagged back, resigned to wait.
It was the longest day of her life. Between the pain, the dark, cloying claustrophobia of the hood, and waiting for some word as to her fate, she felt each minute crawl by with slow agony. She tried walking back and forth, tried working her body through a limited series of stretches. Tried working slowly through her favorite movies, or imagining what was happening to each and every person she loved. But her thoughts rebelled. Inevitably, they came swirling back to her predicament, to futile speculation on what was going to happen next, to what she could have said differently to the Sergeant.
She was brought lunch, and for a glorious twenty minutes was allowed to remove the hood so as to eat. She examined the room around her, studying it hungrily as she spooned the mush into her mouth. Beige-painted bars rose from the cement floor to the ceiling overhead. A literal cage. The floor was painted a dull gray, gleaming wetly in the heavy lights, and the room outside the cage wasn't much larger and was without adornment. A large communications panel was set in the wall by the door, and the two soldiers stood next to it staring impassively at her as she ate, waiting for her to finish before demanding she slide the tray back out through a slot in the bars and then turn so the hood could be replaced.
More agonized waiting. Finally, the door to the outer room opened and Selah heard the soldier on guard bolt to his feet. She rose to hers unsteadily. Change of the guard?
Footsteps marched slowly up to the bars. A lighter tread. "Your case has drawn a lot of attention." It was McKnight. She sounded different. Quieter, pensive. "I've been receiving conflicting orders as to your fate. For a while, it looked like you were going to be transported to the USAMRIID in Colorado."
You Sam Rid?
"A number of highly ranked officers seem to put a lot of weight behind your version of the events." Selah held her breath. McKnight continued, "But that faction has been overruled. You have been found guilty of Colonel Caldwell's murder, as well as a long list of suspected atrocities committed while under the name of Arachne. I wanted to tell you in person that your execution is slated for tomorrow morning at oh-nine-hundred hours."
Selah felt the blood drain from her face. She desperately wished she could see McKnight, read her expression. "Wait. You can't do that. If you kill me, you destroy the vaccine."
"If ordered to, I will. I've ... this has been a very irregular case." She paused and Selah heard a strange hesitancy in her voice. "I'm sorry."
"No." Selah shivered with anger. "You don't understand. We need to test my blood. Just test it. Please. Ask for more time. Ask to review my evidence. They're asking for me to be transported to Colorado because they know what my blood can do. You can't do this!"
Silence. "I'm sorry. I have my orders."
Selah could only shake her head in despair. Footsteps sounded as the Sergeant walked away, and then the door opened and closed and she heard the soldier sit down once more.
She sat bonelessly. So that was it. Tomorrow morning, General Adams be damned. She felt empty, gutted. Hollowed out by how casually somebody was ordering her death. Was it Plessy? Some insane General? She rolled out onto her side and rested her head against the floor. It was too much. She stared at the black nylon mesh, and then closed her eyes and succumbed to a deep sleep.
Another change of the guard. Selah awoke, stiff, sore, bitter. The two men spoke briefly and she recognized the voice of the first man she had spoken with, nasal and sounding as weary as she felt. The door opened, there were footsteps, and then the door closed. A familiar creak as he sat down on the cheap metallic chair.
Selah counted to a hundred and twenty, and then fought for a casual tone as she said, "Good evening."
"Evening." Another yawn. "And please don't talk."
She nodded, wriggled around a little more to face him. "Long day?"
"Are we going to do this again?"
"No. It's just that you sound pretty tired. You been out on patrol?"
"Yeah." A beat. She could imagine him rubbing his face. She tried to picture him. A long face, and narrow, she thought. Curly brown hair, big Adam's apple, skin a pasty white from too much time spent under fluorescents. "It's ... yeah. Things are rough outside."
Selah nodded again and tried to wait. To not push the conversation too hard. Casually, "What's going on out there?"
His chair squeaked. "Silence, all right?"
She stared stonily at where she thought he sat. An oppressive anger settled around her shoulders. "You heard about my verdict? I'm going to be executed tomorrow morning. I've got maybe, what, another ten hours left? You can at least talk to me like a human being."
An awkward silence greeted those words. Finally, "Shit. Well..." He cleared his throat. "Yeah, things outside are FUBAR. Last night was... I don't even know. We lost an entire platoon and five squads." She could hear the fear under his words, the weariness. It cut through her own anger and grief.
"And ... the people? Are they still running?"
"Yeah. What a nightmare. I don't know where they think they're going. We've had to call in major reinforcements from 29 Palms out in the desert. So many people are already dead. Huge riots everywhere. We're almost in as much danger from civilians as we are from the fucking vamps. As if we can do anything overnight. Shit."
She absorbed this. It was strange to think that while she had been sitting here in silence, the world had been going mad outside. "What are the vampires trying to do? You think they just want chaos?"
The soldier laughed. "Me? I'm not paid to think. I'm just paid to go out there and kick ass. If it will sit still long enough for my boot to connect. Shit." A drawn out pause, and then in a quieter tone, "I don't know. Last night was pretty insane. The vampires were everywhere. It was like a hundred foxes in the world's biggest hen house. You ever actually see that happen? I did. Back home, in Ohio. Heard this awful racket from the chickens, so my brother and I went back there with our shotguns. Opened the door and we couldn't see for all the feathers in the air. All the hens were going ape shit, and in the middle of it all was this fox. Just killing and tearing heads off. We tried to shoot it, but ended up just killing chickens. Damn thing got away."
Selah listened intently, and it was the wonder in his voice when he spoke next that chilled her more than anything. "That's what it's like out there. But instead of one fox, it's thousands. And the chickens have nowhere to go."
They sat in silence. She tried to imagine the crowds outside, the ocean of faces as they trudged along the interstates, fleeing the rotten heart of LA. The hundreds of thousands that had no doubt burst out of the Core. Everybody abandoning their homes, their neighborhoods, and trying to get the hell out. She could almost hear the children crying, sense the terror. She shook her head.
"We've got serious reinforcements en route. And our Base isn't going anywhere. It'll take more than a handful of vampires to mess with an entire infantry battalion."
She didn't respond. They sat in silence. Time passed. Out of nowhere, a pre-recorded voice came over the speakers. "The time is 19:35. The sun has set. THREATCOM CHARLIE is in effect."
"Threatcom Charlie?"
"Yeah. It means we're ready for a possible terrorist or vampire attack."
"Why Charlie? Why not Threatcom Vampire?"
The soldier snorted. "Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, Delta. Those are the different levels of threat conditions. If we get to Delta, you know shit is going down."
"Oh. Is that going to happen?"
"It could if a couple of vamps decide to try our perimeter. That would be suicide on their part though."
"Oh." She lowered her chin. Silence. She sat still and waited. If she could only get him to send a message to General Adams. It was a delicate thing. If she pushed too hard, their connection might break. Yet, if she didn't push enough, the night would pass and tomorrow morning she would die.
A siren split the air, the sound jarring, abrasive. Selah jolted up, turning her hooded head from side to side. The sound was terrible, blaring, penetrating.
WHAA. WHAA. WHAA.
It went on and on and on.
"What's happening?" She struggled to her feet.
"Somebody's triggered the perimeter. They've entered the demilitarized zone, at least. Must have set off one of the IDS." The siren blared ceaselessly.
"IDS?"
"Sensors. Nothing can get through the militarized zone, not even a vampire, without triggering something--near-infrared trip wires or the microwave radar. Something's trying to get through." She could almost hear him grin. "Good fucking luck. If the claymores don't get 'em, the electrified fence and concertina wire will stop them cold while the guards in the tower waste them."
"Oh." Selah tried to take comfort from that. The alarm abruptly cut. The silence seemed to throb. "Why did it stop? Is the attack over?"
"No. The alarm never runs for more than thirty seconds. Shit's still going down."
They both stood, listening. Selah's breath was deafening within the hood. She tried to hold it, to listen for anything. Was that a faint
whoomp
kind of noise? Had she felt a tremor through the ground? She shifted around. "Can't you tell what's happening?"
"I know what's happening." Defensive and annoyed at once. "The Quick Response Force is mopping shit up right now."
Selah licked her dry lips. She wanted to tear off the hood. It felt like a parasite latched onto her face. She stepped forward till she reached the bars and pressed her forehead into the space between two of them. Allowed the cold metal to cool her damp brow through the nylon. One mad vampire? Ten of them? She tried to picture what was happening, but didn't even know where to start.
Another alarm broke the silence. Three short blasts. A pause. Then it repeated. The soldier cursed.
"What? What does that mean?"
"Full-scale assault. That means everybody's got to lock and load and get going."
"Full-scale assault?"
"Yeah." The soldier's voice was grim. All annoyance gone. "Massive attack. It means somebody's trying to roll us. Stupid fuckers."
Selah rose to the balls of her feet and then lowered back down again. Swallowed. The three blasts were still sounding. Short and vicious, like the barking of a junkyard dog, and then that pause. Over and over. "Does this mean the Quick Response Team didn't stop them?"
"Quick Response Force," he corrected. She could hear him tapping buttons. "Not necessarily. It means the Observation Post has reported a huge attack." More buttons tapped.
The alarm cut. Silence again. A silence so huge Selah felt as if she were standing in an auditorium, as if vast spaces were aching around her. She could hear it now. Sounds from outside. The muffled chatter of machine gun fire. The occasional soft thump of an explosion. She paced carefully from one side of the cell to the other.
"Shouldn't you be out there? Helping?"
"No." His voice was curt. "This is my post until I'm told otherwise."
"Oh." She could tell he didn't want her talking, but she had nothing else to do. She listened. The sound of gunfire continued. Was it growing louder? The sound of her footsteps echoed in the concrete chamber. She tried to count to sixty, but didn't get past thirty before giving up.
"What happens to me if you guys have to drop back?"
"We're not dropping back. This is a US Forward Operating Base. We have a whole fucking battalion here. These fuckers don't know what they're dealing with. We've probably rolled out the armored Humvees with mounted .50 cals and the M117s. The vampires are dealing with hardened fighting positions near the gates and bunkers throughout the base with the best soldiers in the world manning turreted .50 cals. By now, all three companies on base are engaging. Half our force is out in the city, but that's still about six hundred of the toughest assholes on the planet on base packing grenade launchers, M4s, SAWS, M203s..."