“Sergeant Jeffries!” he shouted, turning around. “Congratulations. You’re a mustang lieutenant.”
“Thank you, sir!” said a broad-shouldered man of twenty-five.
“Put two men on guard inside at the basement door then meet me in the command trailer. Do not let them go into the basement!”
“Yes, sir.”
“Edelstein, come with me. We have a puzzle to solve, you and I.” They went to the command trailer, where Moriarty dropped into a chair. The interior of the trailer was warm because they still had fuel for their generators, but it smelled like a pigsty. A bevy of malnourished women sat huddled together at the back of the trailer on the floor with their hands shackled behind their backs.
Moriarty told Edelstein exactly what had taken place in the basement. “So tell me this,” he said. “How do they know when to squeeze the trigger on us?”
Edelstein lifted his eyebrows. “That’s a good question.”
“That’s the key question,” Moriarty said. “Because if we can’t disable those flame throwers we’re never getting in.” He smashed his fist against the table. “Bastards think they’re pretty smart. Probably down there laughing their asses off.”
“Cameras,” Edelstein said suddenly. “Maybe they’re watching us.”
The obviousness of the idea hit Moriarty like a truck. “Son of a bitch!” he hissed. “I never even considered that possibility. My brain must be addled.”
“It’s the lack of nutrition,” Edelstein said. “It’s affecting us all, Major.”
“Get out there and tell the men to tear that house apart. If they do find cameras, I don’t want them destroyed. I want them covered with tape. Understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
When Edelstein was gone, Moriarty walked to the back of the trailer, squatting to look the women over, his face pitiless and his eyes flat like those of a reptile. “Now which one of you ladies wants to improve my mood?”
Fifty-One
No one heard a sound within the complex when blast door number one was blown out of its casement, but there was a subtle trembling that quivered through the facility, making everyone within the civilian population aware that they had taken damage. Forrest immediately went on the air to announce that blast door number one had been breached but that the situation was in hand and not to worry. A short time later they barbecued the demolitions team and watched the monitor as the blast blew the tunnel clean. They waited patiently for the enemy to come back down, and when they were certain no more than one man was reentering the tunnel, they barbecued him as well.
“They won’t likely be back for a while.” Forrest fired up a smoke.
“We should sneak into the house now,” Vasquez said. “Take a few of them out and retreat back inside.”
“There’s no need to expose ourselves. We still hold every advantage.”
Kane stepped into the room and offered Forrest a cup of coffee. “Baby’s comin’ pretty soon,” he told Ulrich. “Erin asked me to send you in.”
“Yeah, that’s just what Shannon wants,” Ulrich said. “Me in there staring at her snatch. Message received but I’ll take a pass. Thanks.”
“What’s up with the ventilators?” Forrest asked, sipping his coffee.
“We’re fine so far,” Kane said. “The nonreturn valves we installed worked just like they were supposed to, but we can’t draw fresh air until that damn fuel burns off. And they’ll probably just pour more down.”
“Which means we’ve got as much air as we’re going to get until this is over,” Forrest muttered. He turned to the dozens of tomato plants resting on the shelves against the wall. “Breathe, you little bastards.”
Michael chuckled sardonically. “Has anyone got any idea how many plants it would take to—”
“Three hundred plants per person,” Ulrich said. “Roughly. And we’ve got about fifty total.”
“So how long do we have before we start to suffocate down here?”
“It’s tough to quantify,” Ulrich said. “But for the sake of argument, let’s say about four days.”
“Hey, guys,” Vasquez said, sitting up in his chair to point at one of the monitors. “I think maybe they’re looking for our cameras.”
“Well, that didn’t take long,” Ulrich said.
“Shit, they’ve got the one in the living room.”
The view on the monitor seemed to swing wildly about the living room as the airman pulled the fiber-optic wire from the smoke detector.
“The only camera that matters now is the one in the tunnel,” Forrest said. “And they need Superman to get at that one.”
“I don’t know,” Ulrich said, watching the enemy fan out through the house. “I don’t like the idea not being able to see what they’re up to.”
“There goes the kitchen cam,” Vasquez said. “Front porch too.”
“The aboveground cameras were always a bonus,” Forrest said.
“There go the bedroom cams.”
“Besides, we’ve still got the camera on the antenna array if we get into a pinch.”
“Which is a onetime deal,” Ulrich said. “They’ll snuff that motherfucker the second we extend it.”
Forrest leaned forward to use the P.A., calling Danzig into Launch Control.
“Linus,” he said upon Danzig’s arrival. “It looks like we’re going to need someone on guard in the cargo bay from now on. We’re about to go blind down here. Work out a schedule with Sullivan and Marty, will you? Put those two on the same shift. Kane, you take a shift too. I don’t think any of us are going to be getting any sleep for a while.”
“Okay, honey, you’re doing fine,” West said, his hands resting on Emory’s knees. “I can see the baby’s head now. You’re crowning beautifully.”
“Shit!” Emory gasped, gripping the edges of the mattress. “It feels like I’m shitting a bowling ball!”
Erin smiled, wiping the sweat from Emory’s forehead with a damp cloth. “You’re doing great.”
Marty stood in the doorway watching.
“Get in here and hold my hand, Marty. What the fuck, I’m dying in here!”
Marty crossed to the bed and took her hand.
“Okay,” West said. “With this next contraction I need you to push for me, Shannon.”
The contraction came and Emory pushed as hard as she could, screaming at the top of her voice.
“Good girl!” West said. “Almost there. One more time, honey.”
Emory waited and pushed one last time, feeling the baby squirt free of her body and groaning aloud.
“It’s a girl!” Erin said, beginning to cry. “It’s a girl, Shannon!”
“Thank God that’s fucking over!” Emory said, her voice trembling.
“Almost,” West said with chuckle, handing the baby to Dr. Wilmington so he could tie off and cut the umbilical. The infant began to cry a few seconds later, and after a short while the afterbirth was delivered, allowing West to clean Emory up. Dr. Wilmington cleaned the baby girl and swaddled her in a green cotton Army towel, carrying her over to rest her on Emory’s chest. But Emory closed her eyes and turned her head as if some foul-smelling food had been placed before her.
“Marty, who does she look like?”
“You,” he said softly, looking adoringly at the infant. “She looks like you.”
Emory turned her head slowly and looked at her daughter, at last lifting her arms to touch her. “Hey, you little shithead.”
Erin’s face was covered with tears.
“Pick her up,” Emory told her. “She’s yours now.”