William Johnstone - The Doomsday Bunker

Charlotte just had time to wonder about something—wouldn’t they be shooting blind because of the flares, too?—when Nelson tossed them out, and a hellish red glare erupted and seemed to swallow the whole world.

Larkin saw the bundle of taped cylinders come flying out of the elevator to bounce along the short hall and out into Corridor Two. He thought they were explosives and yelled, “Everybody down!”

A huge fear for Jill’s safety filled his heart.

But then instead of blowing up, the bundle seemed to turn into the flaming heart of the sun instead, and Larkin knew he’d been wrong. They were highway flares, and they were so bright he couldn’t see anything else.

He knew what was going to happen, though, so he shoved the .45 around the corner and began pulling the trigger as fast as he could while he swung the barrel from left to right. Slugs sprayed through the hallway, but a deathstorm of lead came right back at him. He sensed the bullets flying through the air as much as heard them.

There were too many of the invaders. Some of them had to be down, but others took their place. Larkin didn’t know if the other security forces could hear him, but he bellowed, “Fall back, fall back!”

His eyes had squeezed shut as he was emptying the Colt. Now he opened them to tiny slits as he turned and ran away from the hall. His vision had adjusted a little, so he was able to see where he was going, even though the red glare lingered along his optic nerves and in his brain. There was a small common area not too far away, where residents of Corridor Two could get together. Larkin stumbled into it and dropped behind one of the benches to use it for cover.

The survivors from the surface were boiling out of the corridor now, firing pistols, rifles, and shotguns. Some of them howled like wild animals, others shouted curses or just yelled incoherently. As they swarmed past the still-burning bundle of flares, they blocked the hellish light, so Larkin began to be able to see better. He rammed home a loaded magazine into the Colt and aimed over the back of the bench.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

The evenly spaced shots took down three of the attackers, spilling them limply to the floor. They drew attention, though, and Larkin had to duck as slugs and buckshot hammered the bench. More of the crazed intruders charged toward him, firing as they came. He knew his position would be overrun within seconds.

Then another figure leaped through the haze of gunsmoke that was tinted red by the flares. Shots spurted from the Glock Jill held and drove some of the attackers off their feet. She burst through their ranks, spinning and firing as she whirled through the air. A man’s head jerked as blood and brains flew from it. Another twisted around from the impact of a slug in his chest. Larkin rose up and fired past Jill, his bullets shredding another of the attackers.

She leaped behind another bench and crouched there, breathing hard as she looked over at her father. Larkin nodded in thanks.

Gunfire roared along the corridor as the people from the surface scattered in their murderous rampage and the residents fought back. Larkin raised his voice over the racket and called over to Jill, “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, Dad. Look!”

Larkin turned back to the elevator hallway in time to see Charlotte and Nelson Ruskin dart out of it and run in the other direction, toward the Command Center. So those two had been reunited, just as he’d thought, and now they were on their way to cause even more trouble. If they reached the Command Center, there was no limit to the damage they might do. They might wreck enough equipment to put the whole project in danger.

“Son of a bitch !” Larkin said as he surged to his feet. “We’ve got to stop ’em!”

He took off running after the Ruskins. He knew without looking that Jill was right behind him.

Charlotte panted as she tried to keep up with Nelson. He had grabbed up a rifle that one of the other men had dropped, a military-looking weapon—Charlotte didn’t know what they were called—and held it in front of him at a slant across his chest.

“What are we… going to do?” she managed to ask.

“I remember the Command Center from the tour we took. Moultrie will be there. If we can get our hands on him, we can force the bastard to do whatever we want.”

“We should kill him! He locked you out!”

“That would be a waste. Look out!”

Two men in the red vests of the security force had popped into sight in front of them. Both men were armed and tried to raise the pistols they held. Nelson skidded to a stop and brought up the rifle, firing three swift shots before the guards could get off even a single round. They both flopped backward as the bullets tore through them.

Nelson grabbed Charlotte’s hand and tugged her on. They ran past the dying men, who were gasping out their last breaths.

“What about the people who came down here with you?”

Nelson shook his head. “They’re on their own. They knew it might be a losing battle. But they’re getting to strike back, and that’s all they care about. I want to take over this place so we can bring down even more of them and wipe out everybody! That’s why I need to get my hands on Moultrie.”

He was insane with hatred, Charlotte thought—but she felt her lips curving in a savage grin right along with his.

In this world, what was left but madness and revenge and death?

“There’s the entrance to the Command Center,” she told him, “straight ahead!”

Threadgill tried to push himself up from Trahn’s chair. All the surveillance cameras were down, along with the computers, so he couldn’t see what was going on out in the project, but he could hear the rattle of gunfire and knew hell was breaking loose. He needed to be there, doing what he could to help.

He had lost enough blood, though, that he was too weak to stand. His muscles simply refused to obey him.

“Trahn,” he mumbled. “How’re the computers doin’?”

“They crashed again,” Trahn said as he hovered over a keyboard. “I forced another restart. Maybe they’ll reboot this time.”

“They damned well… better,” Threadgill said.

“Oh, my God!” Trahn exclaimed. “Mr. Moultrie!”

Graham Moultrie, clad in hastily pulled-on jeans and T-shirt, shouldered Trahn aside and reached for the keyboard. He stopped before he did anything and stared at the monitor.

“Five minutes,” he muttered.

“Sir?” Trahn said.

“It’ll take at least five minutes for the computers to be up again. How many reboots is this?”

“It’s the second one.”

Moultrie nodded. His face was drawn and tense, but he seemed composed. “Let’s hope that does it,” he said. “The electrical grid is intact and emergency systems are running. That’ll hold us until the system is fully functional again.”

Trahn heaved a sigh of obvious relief. He said, “I knew you’d be prepared for any contingency, sir.”

Moultrie smiled grimly. “Don’t count on that yet. We’re under attack from the surface.”

“What?” Threadgill again tried to stand up. “I gotta go help—”

Moultrie put a hand on his shoulder. “You’re hurt, Adam. You’ve done enough already.” He glanced at the body on the floor. “Is that Jeff Greer?”

“Yeah. When I got here to see what the alarm was about, he shot me. I didn’t have any choice but to kill him.”

“Was Charlotte Ruskin with him?”

Threadgill found the strength to shake his head. “Didn’t see her. How about you, Trahn?”

“She… she was here,” the technician said. “She and Greer forced me to open the hatch at the top of the elevator shaft. They had an access card for the override.”