Isolation & Fear (Damned of the 2/19th Book Seven)

I Still Did It, Bitch

Central Facility Command
War Fighter Tunnels
Secure Area
Alfenwehr, Western Germany
11 January, 1988
2200 Hours

The preggos were gathered up in the Egg, ignoring the stench of blood and death. Babies were wrapped carefully in blankets to keep them warm. The preggos were wrapped carefully, as were the nursing mothers.

Groom looked at me, holding the M-16 tight. Her face was grim and her body language tense. Quintin, who had almost bled out on my table, was being supported by another one of the women. I couldn't tell who, everyone but Groom and I were wearing extreme cold weather masks. They were bulky in the gear, none of them carrying weapons, armor, or equipment, just extreme cold weather gear to protect them from the weather.

"Are you sure we can get out?" Groom asked me, her voice tight.

I nodded. "One way or another, I'll get us out," I promised, reaching up and clicking on the flashlight I'd clipped to the right strap of my LBE.

...never make promises you can't keep, Heather my love...

I know, Grammy

The preggos and new mothers all nodded. One of the babies snuffled, almost worked itself up to crying, then went back to sleep. I'd squirted infant Tylenol in their mouths and had their mothers feed them so they'd stay asleep and wouldn't squirm.

I was going to Hell for that, I knew.

"Let's go," I told them, turning toward the egress tunnel.

"Thought you said this was blocked," Groom said softly as we walked down the corridor.

I just shrugged. Either it was or it wasn't. I doubted it was.

Just a gut feeling.

I waved Groom and the women ahead of me, not bothering to draw my pistol. I had an overwhelming urge to stay, to have everyone go back to their rooms, to clean up the bodies and act like nothing happened.

But that was stupid.

The winter had been let in and blood had been spilled.

Staying in the War Fighter Tunnels would be suicide.

I looked over my shoulder once as I walked into the tunnel, right before we turned the corner.

Half the lights in the Egg were out, and a computer screen imploded in a shower of sparks and plume of blackish greasy smoke.

The facility was dying.

The preggos kept popping chemlights, and Groom was leading the way, a pair of NVG's hidden under her parka where it would stay warm. The circuitry had checked out, she had several sets of fully charged batteries wrapped in paper and tinfoil in her pocket, she just had to keep it all warm so it worked.

Part of me was terrified the ice was still there, still keeping us from getting to the doors, but I doubted that. It had served its purpose by keeping us here until the blood lust and hunger for human meat had overwhelmed the survivors of 32nd FSB. The ice and snow had pinned us in place, making us feel frightened, vulnerable, and the darkness that filled Alfenwehr had been given time to fester inside of Basset and her troops.

They'd been contaminated, and I'd missed it until after they'd eaten two of my men.

My memory replayed the way Dansen had been drooling staring at the baby in the MRE box.

We had to get out.

We were farther into the tunnel than my single sojourn had allowed. The tunnel was ice cold, light frost on the walls, nothing like what I'd seen when I'd tried to check the egress previously.