Omega Days (Volume 1) - By John L. Campbell Page 0,46

of the city alive, knowing the man wouldn’t make it. The list of people Xavier had failed just added three more names.

A small shadow emerged onto the far sidewalk, and there was a glimmer of fire. A second later there was a whoosh as the Molotov cocktail sailed through the fog, away from the street light. Flames spreading across the hood of a car got the dead moving in that direction, an eerie keening rising from the shuffling figures. Within minutes the street was clear, and the two men hustled back to their group. There were smiles of relief all around.

“I’m sorry it took so long,” Snake said, grinning at the priest. “I forgot that you guys had the Zippo, and I had to dig through the counter back there to find another lighter.”

Xavier shook the boy’s hand. “You did great.” He hefted one of the gym bags, and Pulaski showed them the shotgun. “We all did. We’ll figure out the weapons later. Right now we should get out of here, find a place to hole up until morning.” He dug a few magazines out of the bag and shoved them in his pockets, then slipped the Russian assault rifle off his shoulder.

Pulaski pointed his chin at it. “You know how to use that?”

The priest inserted the magazine, snapped back the arming bolt and thumbed the weapon to safe. His face turned grim. “Yes.” Then he led them out the back.

FOURTEEN

Berkeley

It was close to midnight by the time they finished up, and Skye thought she might just collapse right where she was and sleep on the tar roof. Everything ached; her knees and thighs burned from holding the same position for hours, her right shoulder felt like someone had been hitting it with a hammer, and her arms were iron bars. Were it not for the soft, yellow ear protectors Taylor had given her, she knew she would also be deaf.

“You did well for a first-timer,” Sgt. Postman said. “It’s about repetition and discipline, but talent plays a part. You’re not afraid to pull the trigger, and that’s important. And you listen, even more important. Practice will make you better.”

Skye smiled, gathering from Taylor’s expression that the sergeant didn’t hand out many compliments.

“We’re almost done,” Postman said.

“Almost?” Was he kidding?

“You’re not finished until you clean your weapon, lady.” Postman produced a cleaning kit, informing her it was an extra and hers to keep. Apparently he had been planning this for a while. Then the two soldiers spent an hour teaching her how to break down the M4, and how to clean, oil and reassemble the weapon so that it was ready for action. This was all done by the glow of a flashlight.

“I’ll clean the sniper tonight,” Postman said, “but only this once.” He threw her a wink.

Taylor walked with her to the other side of the roof, where he had spread a poncho out on the tar. “Use your pack for a pillow.”

She eyed the lumpy, camouflage backpack, filled with MREs and spare magazines. It sure wasn’t the pile of down pillows on her bed back in Reno.

Taylor chuckled. “You’ll be asleep so fast you won’t even notice it.”

But she wasn’t. Her tired body was loaded with adrenalin from the evening’s shooting, and now that she had time to sit and really look around, she was too awed by what she saw to close her eyes. Berkeley lay in darkness, vast stretches of black punctuated by tiny pockets of light, generators or perhaps patches of the power grid which hadn’t gone down yet. None were close to them. Fires burned in the night, some as small as a lone, burning vehicle, others wild infernos as entire blocks burned unchecked. The air reeked of smoke.

The bay was a flat black field with only the occasional pinpoint of light, a small boat maybe, or buoys, and the great city beyond was burning. The Bay Bridge, normally a ribbon of light, was nothing but a silhouette, and she couldn’t even see the Golden Gate. Some aircraft flew high above, their blinking lights no different than on any other night, and there were helicopters buzzing over San Francisco, though less than had been there when the sun was up. Nothing flew over Berkeley. A light fog was coming in, and soon the city across the water would be masked.

A ghost town, she thought.

She watched Taylor and Postman break down their own weapons and begin cleaning them, hands moving with practiced efficiency. She had