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Sneak Preview: Up From the Depths Book 2: The Journey Home
Title: UP FROM THE DEPTHS BOOK 2: The Journey Home Sneak Preview
Author: SLASH MARAUD
Rating: 18+
Disclaimer: Purely a concept derived from my demented imagination and too many Romero films
Summary: This story is written for mature readers given the content, violence and language issues therein contained. This story does contain some harsh adult language not just for the sake of typing it but to get the reader into the perspective of how tense the situation is as well as add credibility to the characters. Hardened soldiers, especially Special Forces or Naval Special Operators or soldiers in general sure don’t use words like ’golly’, ‘gosh darn it’ or ‘dag nabbit’. There are some depictions of graphic violence and gore. Again this was not done in any attempt to gross out the reader but merely as a plot device to show how deadly the infected humans had become or how severe the situation is from the character’s perspective. There is no sexual content, although it might be hinted at. This is only a sneak preview of Book 2.
FOR YOUR READING PLEASURE, THE FINAL ACTS OF UP FROM THE DEPTHS:
“Sir, the rescue bird is moving to the harbor.” Spears’ brow creased as he heard the news. Odd. The center was closer. The comm tech was waiting further instructions.
“Very well. Maintain monitoring and let me know any further changes.” Spears was about to elaborate when several alarms began going off followed by the deep heavy boom echoing through the complex signaling the blast doors closing.
Brandon and Hannaberry sat on the center troop bench, surreptitiously holding hands. The survivors were happy to be out of the factory and on their way to solid food and a warm shower. Jimbo looked between the two pilots and saw several gray ships in the harbor. He looked at his sister and smiled, they were going to be all right.
Inside the federal center, one minute it was calm and relaxed then the next all hell broke loose. Sirens, alarm claxons and flashing lights erupted from every level, echoing down every corridor and illuminating the normally semi-darkened facility. General Spears was trying to restore order amid the chaos of alarms, sirens and flashing alert lights. The entire operations room now bathed in combat red, with flashes of blue and orange as different alarms systems continued to sound. Personnel were running back and forth across the operations room. Panicked voices shouted out for assistance with more shouting out orders.
“Sir! Reactor at capacity! I can’t get it to shut off!”
“SCRAM the reactor! Do it now!” Spears bellowed out.
“Sir! Blast doors closing on all levels! Override not responding!” As if to punctuate that report, the heavy blast door closed with a thump, sealing off operations from the rest of the complex.
“SCRAM failed! Trying to shunt to auxiliary power!” No, no this can’t be happening. Spears thought. All my hard work, all those years of being overlooked and shuffled off to some armpit of the world, stuck in some musty overlooked office in the Pentagon. It can’t end like this. His body shivered as a cold sweat covered him as if a block of ice had formed inside him. He looked around the room as technicians and engineers tried to control the complex that was resisting their efforts.
“Coolant levels decreasing! Reactor going hot!”
“Find a way to pump the reserve water into the coolant chamber! Do it! Do it now!” Spears commanded. The reactor engineer worked feverishly at his console, trying anything to stop the overload.
“General! Reactor reaching critical mass! We’re going to get a meltdown!” He yelled out. The room was suddenly quiet as all heads turned towards him then to Spears for direction.
“General sir what do we do?”
“Sir, tell us what to do!”
The voices called to him, he stood there, his mind unable to react to the moment. Finally, he was galvanized into action.
“Evac! Everyone out now!” Spears commanded.
The rush to the door was a stampede. Someone tried the controls for the blast door but nothing happened. In frustration, people began beating on the heavy door. Spears watched as what was his staff but now a panicked mob attempted to leave the room. He stood there, slowly turning a circle in the center of the room looking around at the deserted consoles, the flashing lights, overturned chairs, papers on the floor, the screaming of the staff faded from his hearing. His slow circle brought him to face his office door. Ignoring the pleas of the desperate as they beat themselves against the unyielding metal, he walked to his office, closed and locked the door. Still facing the door, he leaned his head against it and sighed as only a tired old man can do.
“Bad day at the office Frankie?” Spears turned and saw Quintana at his desk, feet propped on the blotter, a small tumbler of amber liquid in his hand.
“Major? What are you doing here?” Spears asked incredulous at the blatant act of disrespect before him. Quintana took a sip from his glass before answering, savoring the warmth in his throat as the single malt scotch went down smooth. He looked at Spears sweaty face and slightly disheveled appearance.
“Glad you could join me Frank in these last moments.” Quintana took another drink, watching Spears reaction. “Care for a drink? I’m toasting to the end of your command and the beginning of a new world.” Quintana said, as he held up his glass to Spears in a mock salute.
“What? Are you mad? My command isn’t ending. I’ll have you shot for your insubordination.” Spears took a hesitant step towards Quintana, his hand moving to his sidearm. The major remained calm, a humorless smile on his face, watching him through hooded eyes.
“Oh I’m afraid not Frank. Your command is over right about now.” Quintana pulled up his sidearm that had been on his lap out of view from Spears and fired twice, a double tap into the center of Spears chest. The general staggered back at the impacts, looked down at the two bloody holes in his chest, up at Quintana, took a half step forward before his eyes rolled up and he fell flat on his face, dead. Quintana /Cicero placed his sidearm on the desk, a satisfied grin on his face as he finished his drink. Bringing the empty glass to his lap, he clasped it with both hands, tilted his head back and closed his eyes.
“Vampire! Vampire! Multiple inbound missile tracks!” the CIC tech called out. Greerson directed the ships in his meager fleet to take defensive postures then ordered all the fuel and supply vessels to make for the mouth of the harbor and open seas at best speed.
“Launch the alert fighters! Give them tracking updates, see if they can shoot down some of those inbounds.” Greerson realized that without an AEGIS frigate their defensive capabilities were not excellent.
“How many inbounds?”
The tech used his finger to start counting.
“Over forty sir.” Greerson and Winslow looked at the man, Winslow’s eyes got a little big.
“Verify that count son.” Greerson ordered quietly. A senior officer stepped over, leaned over the tech and counted himself.
“Forty two sir with an additional twenty four targeted at the refinery.” Greerson lowered his head and shook it. Damn it.
“Send a message to all ground units to evacuate the refinery and port facilities. Bring the fleet to battle stations.” Greerson ordered. “Send a flash message to Admiral Crockett that we are under attack from an unknown enemy and request assistance ASAP.”
Winslow leaned closer to Greerson and spoke quietly. “ We’re going to get bloody on this one sir.” Greerson nodded agreement as he searched his pockets for a cigar.
“Clear all non tactical aircraft out of the airspace. Arm the CIWS.” Greerson watched the inbound tracks get closer and merge with the icons of his aircraft.
“Sir, Trap Leader reports twelve destroyed. Trap flight turning to engage.” Greerson took in the news, pondered a course of action.
“Tell Trap Flight to break off. Activate the CIWS, launch chaff rockets, begin defensive maneuvers.” The fleet started changing positions within the confines of the harbor, trying to mask the movements of the supply ships from the inbound missiles. The two fast frigates moved into a covering position, launching chaff rockets, one presenting a larger broadside radar image for the cruise missiles.
---
Every normal man must be tempted at times to spit upon his hands, hoist the black flag and begin slitting throats... -H.L. Mencken
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Aug/9/2008, 10:44 pm
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