"Jesus . . ." Carlos tore his gaze from Damali to look at the team that had spread out in the pews.
"Yeah," she said, opening her eyes. "They went after Ayana. Mom Delores almost didn't make it. The Weinsteins are trapped in the safe house tunnel system . . . Rabbi went down with the key to open the other end around his neck ... in the panic he wasn't thinking about all that. There's no time left to get them out. What are we gonna tell Dan?"
Sweating, nauseous, he pulled his wife behind him with one hand and held the heavy flashlight with the other, running. The sound of flesh being torn away from bone was far behind them, but the pants of their breaths and the smell of their humanity in the tight confines made him know it wouldn't be long before the ravenous hordes sought them out.
The door in sight was their only salvation and he kept his blurred vision trained on that. Frank Weinstein turned and caught his wife as she stumbled, grabbing her by her arm and her shirt to urge her forward. He couldn't expend energy on words. They had to move. He could hear the squeaking mass starting to move. Survival depended on staying ahead of the rats.
He reached the panic bar on the door, thrusting his body against it with all his might. But the heavy steel door didn't budge. His wife covered her head with her arms and released a wail of despair as she sank to the damp ground. He tried again, throwing his body against metal and concrete until he heard a rib crack. Then his fists bore out his frustration as he banged and yelled into the nothingness, the flashlight dropping to his feet to reveal what was headed toward them--a crawling river of plague-carrying death.
His wife's screams made him sob. If she had at least made it. If she weren't there. If he weren't impotent to protect her or his son! Why was God punishing his family?
As Frank gathered his wife into his arms, the couple huddled against the locked door. He put his body between her and the onslaught, hoping to buy her a few moments more while also praying that she'd have a heart attack before they ate out her eyes.
"Yo! Yo! Anybody down there?" a strong male voice bellowed into the abyss.
"Help us--the rats are coming!" A collective wail greeted the question as the Weinsteins began banging on the door with open palms.
"Get back from the door--we gotta blow it!"
The couple scampered backward, falling against the rocky surface as they monitored the oncoming, writhing threat.
A sudden blast deafened them as they covered their heads and bright lights and dust stung their eyes.
"Get those people outta there!" a loud voice yelled.
"Yo, Phat G--flamethrowers, man!" another voice hollered.
Strong arms pulled the dazed couple from the tunnel.
"Go, go, go!"
Chaos surrounded the Weinsteins. People in military fatigues and weapons. Flamethrowers. Their ears rang, their vision was blurred. Their bodies were being pulled and shoved to safety. Sewer water sloshed in their shoes and the stench filled their noses and mouths. Gunfire report and the heat from flamethrowers gave them the strength to climb up an iron ladder. A strong soldier flipped open a street manhole and brandished a weapon. They watched as he quickly drew himself out and then turned around to pull them into the fresh air.
Using a machine-gun barrel, the soldier motioned toward a covered military truck. "Get in and get your head down."
There was no time for questions. If they'd been abducted by the government, it was still survival. The couple looked at each other and then complied, running toward the vehicle. Women in fatigues with hard eyes and toting weapons pulled them into the truck and gathered a tarp.
"Listen," a tall African-American woman with braids in her hair said. "We're the New York squad, all right. We got Monk Lin's SOS. We're friends of your son, and gonna get you somewhere safe."
"I'm Carmen, that's Adrienne with the braids, and Roshida-- ex-cop and sure shot--and Chantay--from up south . . . South Carolina, who's gonna get us through the mountains," another shorter woman replied, handing the Weinsteins a bottle of water.
"Glad we got to you in time, was literally a monster getting up here from Harlem," the soldier pointed out, as Roshida said. Carmen nodded. "No lie. But we want you to know that we're not some terrorists kidnapping you--that's why we're giving you names. We don't want you afraid of us, all right? We lost a lotta good men trying to get to you to help you."
The couple looked up from where they sat on the truck floor, uncertain, eyes wide with terror, but nodded in agreement nonetheless.
Adrienne gave the other female Guardians a look. "They're gonna be all right. Just need time." . "Yeah," Carmen said quickly, and then looked at the Weinsteins, trying to get through to them. "Lisa was the little chick on the flamethrower that got the rats. Nyya was on your six keeping back demons in the sewer till we could get topside. Phat G blew the door, and my boys the Professor and Rene will be driving. If you haven't noticed, the world has gone crazy. Me, Phat G, and the rest of the squad got your backs. We've gotta go through a coupla military checkpoints and pass through like we're military--hiding in plain sight. That's why you've gotta go under the tarp. Don't panic, Mr. and Mrs. Weinstein . . . we're not gonna hurt you. We're trying to save your lives, cool?"
As the back flap of the truck opened, and more soldiers piled in, the diesel engine engaged, lurching the truck forward.
"All clear. Move out!" a bulky soldier with dreadlocks shouted.
Carmen pounded on the truck frame and repeated the command. "Yo, Professor--Phat G said to move out!" She looked at the couple on the floor and handed them the tarp. "You all cool? You know what to do?"
The Weinsteins looked around, dazed, and simply nodded, still shaken as they guzzled the offered water and then hid.
Cordell left the safe house in Georgetown, not caring what his fellow Guardians had to say. The darkside had killed his Dougie, his protege ... a young Guardian that was more like a son to him than anything in the world. What else could they do to him? Death would be an honorable conclusion. DC. had gone insane.
Troops in jeeps, Humvees, and armored vehicles crisscrossed the city grid, sweeping the terrain with flamethrowers to exterminate rats, stray rabid dogs, anything that didn't seem normal. Tanks rolled down Sixteenth Street and guarded bridges. Black Hawk helicopters nearly blotted out the sun. The occasional F-16 fighter jets soared in formation overhead.