Wasteland in Red Square (Hell Gate Book 2) Read online

  “Viele dank.” Werner rose from the chair.

  “I have a question,” said Jason.

  Werner paused and sat back down.

  “You’ve been part of Gruber’s team protecting the town for almost six months. And you’ve gone above and beyond by joining the mission to Geneva. I know Gruber could use you. Why do you want to go with us?”

  “I’m a soldier,” said Werner. “If the Hell Spawn had ever reached here, I would have died defending this place. That’s not going to happen now. If I stay behind, I’ll be nothing more than a glorified policeman. My place is out there fighting those things.” The German hesitated for a moment as if deciding to speak his mind. When he spoke, his voice had lowered a few octaves. “Besides, I don’t like some of the changes that are going on around here.”

  Jason understood. “We’re glad to have you.”

  ***

  Jason had never seen this man before, so he assumed him to be one of the thousands of survivors who had sought refuge in the tourist hotels and campgrounds surrounding the town. Jason studied him, attempting to determine what skills he brought to the team. Nothing about him suggested he had military or police training. He was of average height and build, with short cut blonde hair already graying around the brows, and soft facial features. Rather than concentrate on those whom he needed to impress, he checked out the dining hall, taking in all the features.

  “We’re ready if you are,” said Jason.

  “I’m ready, mate.” The man focused his attention back on those seated at the table. Several seconds passed.

  “And you are?” Jason asked.

  “Ian Taylor.” Another pause.

  “Why are you volunteering to go with us?”

  “This trip promises to be one of the greatest scientific discoveries in all of history, and I want to be a part of it.”

  “So you’re a scientist?” Jason asked.

  “Yes.”

  Murmurs of discontent could be heard up and down the table. Neal leaned forward and raised his eyebrows, pleading to give Ian a chance.

  “You sound Australian,” said Jason.

  “I am. Born in the Outback and raised in Sydney.”

  “You’re a long way from home,” said Jason.

  “Tell me about it. I was supposed to be attending a symposium in Paris, but luckily I stopped off in London for a few days first to see some old college mates, otherwise I would have been at Ground Zero when those demonic wankers broke onto the scene. When everything went dead, I was on a train in the Chunnel.”

  “Do you have any military training?”

  “Nope.”

  “Can you handle a weapon?”

  “Nope.”

  “Do you have skills that can be useful on a trip like this?”

  “Not unless you count a few years in the Scouts.”

  “I’m sorry, Ian.” Jason leaned back against his chair. “There’s nothing we—”

  “Wait a minute,” interrupted Neal. He sat back and leaned to one side, talking behind Jeanette’s and Reinhard’s back, speaking soft enough that Jason could hardly hear him. “I could use Ian.”

  “How?”

  “I’m the only one in Mont St. Michel with any scientific background.” Neal sat forward and called out to Ian. “What’s your field of science?”

  “Evolutionary biology.”

  “Any other training?”

  “Well, I had one year of med school before . . . ” Ian thought about the proper words. “They requested I leave.”

  “What happened?” Neal asked.

  At first Ian didn’t answer, and then he shrugged. “The school caught me stealing Valium. I sold most of it to make a few extra dollars, and used the rest to lighten up on the weekend. That ended my career as a doctor, so I went into biology instead.”

  Neal switched his attention back to Jason. “We need him. He has medical experience as well as knowledge about science. I can train him to help maintain the devices.”

  “He has no training to go up against Hell Spawn,” said Jason. “Someone will have to watch out for him at all times, which could get us killed.”

  “Doc and I didn’t have any training, but you took us along.”

  “We had to.” Jason knew where this line of reasoning was heading. “You were the only two who knew how to handle the devices.”

  “And now I’m the only one who knows how to do that. If something happens to me, this whole expedition fails.” Neal let the words sink in for a few moments before switching to a more conciliatory tone. “I’ll train Ian as my backup. That’ll double our chances of success. As for his lack of military skills, it’ll be several weeks before we encounter any Hell Spawn, which should give you enough time to make him proficient in combat tactics.”

  Jason conceded. His eyes focused on the others seated at the table. “Does anyone have any objections?”

  No one did.

  “That settles it,” said Jason. “You’re part of the team.”

  “Thanks, mate. Believe it or not, this isn’t the worst job interview I’ve ever had.” Ian stood and headed for the door, then stopped and faced the table. “I know you’re taking a big chance on bringing me along. I promise you, I won’t let you down.”

  ***

  The moment the young woman stepped into the dining hall Jason recognized her as the one who had opened the door for him in Jacques’ office. She entered with her head bowed, dropped into the chair, and kept her gaze locked on the floor.

  “Good to see you again,” said Jason.

  “Thanks.” She still did not make eye contact.

  “I didn’t catch your name earlier.”

  “It’s Victoria. My friends call me Vicky.”

  “Vicky, please look at me,” Jason said it gently, making it sound more like a request than an order. When she did, Jason smiled at her. “So you’re here to volunteer for our team?”

  “Yes,” she responded quickly. “I have to . . . I mean, I want to join.”

  Jason understood.

  “What skills do you have that will be of value?” Haneef asked.

  Vicky’s eyes focused back on the floor. “None.”

  “Can you shoot a weapon?”

  “I shot a pistol once a few years ago when my brother took me to the range.”

  “That’s not much,” said Slava.

  “Do you have any survival skills?” Haneef asked.

  “No.”

  “Ever go hunting?”

  Vicky shook her head.

  “Camping?”

  Vicky cried.

  “Don’t worry,” said Jason. “You’re on the team.”

  “Why?” Haneef asked.

  “She needs to be on the team for the same reason Werner wants to be on it.”

  Haneef stared at Jason for a moment, and then his eyebrows rose. “Don’t worry. I’ll train her.”

  “Do you think Jacques will allow her to go?” asked Jeanette.

  “He said I could have whoever I wanted.”

  “But this is . . . ” Jeanette paused.

  “Difficult,” Jason agreed. Vicky stared at the floor and cried. “Vicky?”

  She sniffed. “What?”

  “Look at me.”

  Vicky raised her head and ran the back of her hand across her nose.

  “How did you become Jacques’ . . . assistant?”

  “My parents and I lived in Cherbourg when the gate opened. We were lucky. All three of us made it to the refugee camp. While Jacques’ people were taking a census of the camp they realized my folks were older and unable to farm. Jacques agreed to take care of them and set them up in their old business here in Mont St. Michel if I became his . . . his . . . ”

  “Assistant.” Jason finished the sentence for her.

  “Thanks,” said Vicky.

  “What did your parents do in Cherbourg?” asked Haneef.

  “They ran an apothecary.”

  Neal leaned forward. “I need Vicky to be my assistant medic on
this trip.”

  “I agree,” said Slava. The others around the table concurred.

  “Congratulations,” said Jason. “You’re a Hell Gater.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Jason picked up the hand-held six-barreled GAU-17A minigun and bounced it in his hands, surprised at the weight. “How heavy is this thing?”

  “Thirty-five pounds, then add another thirty pounds for the backpack of ammunition.” Haneef took the weapon from Jason and swung it from side to side as if firing at a horde of Nachzehrer. “Sasha and I pulled our weight on those missions.”

  Jason’s expression momentarily flinched as an image of her face flashed across his mind.

  “Sorry,” Haneef apologized. “I shouldn’t have brought her up.”

  “It’s okay.” Jason forced himself to be pleasant. “We’ve all lost people we’ve cared about.”

  Haneef placed the minigun back on the work bench. “Thanks for fixing it.”

  “Not a problem,” said Daniel, the chief gunsmith. “It needed some fine tuning and a good cleaning.”

  “Were you able to find ammunition for it?”

  “Not much.” Daniel stepped back, reached under the bench, and pulled out a single ammunition backpack. “I scrounged up about six thousand rounds plus three thousand shell casings that I filled by cannibalizing some smaller caliber rounds. So, you have almost a full pack. Just to let you know, once your team takes its share, it’s going to leave us short on ammunition.”

  Haneef laughed. “Jacques isn’t going to like that.”

  “I don’t plan on telling him,” said Daniel. “You guys need it where you’re going. He doesn’t need an arsenal to maintain law and order.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  “Which weapon do you want me to set you up with?” Daniel asked.

  “I’ll just be carrying my crossbow.”

  Haneef shook his head. “That’s a bad idea.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Have you forgotten what happened in Paris? You fought your way through the subway and Notre Dame with nothing but your crossbow and a machete. Given what we’re going to face on our way to Moscow, you might want to be better prepared.”

  “He makes a good point,” added Daniel.

  Jason held up his hands. “All right, you win. Fix me up with a FAMAS.”

  “I can do that.”

  “Thanks.” Jason offered his hand.

  Daniel gave it a firm shake. “Tell your guys to take whatever they need. My crew will have it ready for tomorrow morning.”

  As Daniel headed back to work, Jason and Haneef made their way through the Church of St. Peter, which had been converted into an armory. Slava had recommended that each team member arm themselves with an automatic rifle as their primary weapon, preferably the 5.56mm FAMAS F1 so that all the ammunition they carried would be interchangeable, as well as a secondary weapon such as a machete or hunting knife. The old timers checked out each weapon before selecting one that felt comfortable to them. Daniel’s staff assisted the newcomers. Jason knew his people were taking more than their fair share, especially with regards to ammunition. In the early days, anyone seeking sanctuary at Mont St. Michel had to relinquish their weapons, which not only provided the protective force with sufficient weaponry to defend the town but ensured that no armed insurrections would occur. The arrangement had been acceptable when Mont St. Michel was in imminent danger. In a post-portal world, Jason felt those weapons would be of better use on their expedition, and had told his team to take whatever they needed. He rationalized that they did this for the greater good, although he knew he overstepped his boundaries. That’s why, even though he had promised Jacques that he would provide a list of everything they requested so the town council could track their inventory, Daniel would not forward the list until after they left.

  A part of Jason felt bad for the deception because so far Jacques had been straight up with him. As promised, he had provided eighteen horses for the trip, twelve for the team members and six to carry supplies. Their supplies were limited not by any decision of the town council but by the team’s ability to carry them. Most of the allowable weight would be taken up by the five antimatter devices and their personal weapons. Next came enough food and water to last the team and the horses seven days. Rounding out their stocks were two medical kits, a limited supply of antibiotics and pain killers, maps, and other necessities. Everything beyond that would have to be scavenged along the way. Luxuries such as a change of clothes or personal belongings were foregone altogether.

  The door to the church opened. Haneef looked in that direction and huffed. “This can’t be good.”

  Bishop Fiorello entered. Jason grimaced. He despised dealing with the cleric. At least Jacques cared about those over whom he ruled, even if that concern selfishly centered on making sure his people were happy and productive to maintain the town council’s lavish life style. The cleric lacked even that modicum of empathy. The only thing that matched Bishop Fiorello’s pretension about his vaulted position in the city’s hierarchy was the pomposity of his supposed faith. Jason fantasized about feeding him to Nachzehrer but felt guilty about subjecting the demons to that.

  Bishop Fiorello scanned the interior. Upon seeing Jason, he broke into a huge grin. “I’m glad I found you.”

  “Is anything wrong?” Jason asked, forcing himself to be pleasant.

  “No.” The Bishop made his way across the rectory to Jason and Haneef. “Jacques asked me to make sure you had everything you needed, and to expedite things if there were any problems.”

  “Pass along my thanks to Jacques. Everything is coming together nicely. We’ll be set to depart tomorrow morning.”

  “Excellent.” Bishop Fiorello clapped his hands together and held them as if in prayer. His demeanor abruptly changed to one of concern. His voice grew quiet so no one else could hear. “There is one thing I wanted to bring up. Is it true you chose Victoria for your team?”

  Vicky stood ten feet behind the Bishop. At the mention of her name, her eyes widened. Jason answered Fiorello with a noncommittal, “Yes.”

  The Bishop inhaled through his teeth. “The problem is that Victoria has been quite useful around the office, and Jacques has grown fond of her. We’d hate to lose her. I hope you understand.”

  “I do.”

  Vicky went pale and trembled. Jeanette wrapped an arm around the young woman.

  Bishop Fiorello clapped his hands together again. “Excellent. Then you’ll have her report back to—”

  “The problem is I need her on my team,” interrupted Jason, speaking loud enough to be heard throughout the rectory. “Victoria has pharmaceutical skills that are vital to the success of our mission.”

  “You already have Neal and Ian.”

  “They have medical expertise, but know nothing about prescription drugs. Victoria worked in an apothecary. If we’re going to have to fend for ourselves for a year, I need her to make drugs.”

  “But . . . ”

  Jason’s tone became conciliatory. “I know it’s irresponsible of me to take a young girl such as Victoria into harm’s way, but I have no choice. Like Jacques said, we all must make sacrifices. I’ll take good care of her. And I know the town council will repay Victoria’s service by taking good care of her parents.”

  All eyes fell upon Bishop Fiorello, who squirmed in discomfort. Finally, he admitted defeat and attempted to save face. “Of course, you’re right. I didn’t realize what value she brought to your team.”

  Vicky’s expression lit up.

  “Thank you for being so understanding,” said Jason.

  “It’s my pleasure.” Bishop Fiorello walked over to Vicky, took her hands in his, and squeezed them gently. “Go with God. We’ll provide for your parents while you carry on His work.”

  “Thank you,” said Vicky, a tinge of nervousness in her voice.

  “Think nothing of it. And don’t worry. We’ll find someone one else to fill your position.”


  Vicky’s expression crumbled and tears rolled down her cheeks. If Bishop Fiorello noticed, he said nothing. Instead, he exited the church.

  “Allah has reserved a special place in Hell for people like him,” snarled Haneef.

  Jason shook his head in disagreement. “A bastard like that would just cross through one of the portals and make his way back here.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The staff of La Mere Poulard prepared a huge banquet for the team’s last dinner at Mont St. Michel, realizing it may be weeks before the members ate this well again. Jason appreciated the gesture. With everyone in town treating the Hell Gaters like celebrities, Jason had been tempering that image among his team, not wanting them to become cocky or develop a sense of entitlement. Tonight was an exception, so he allowed them their place in the spotlight. His team laughed and joked amongst themselves and with the hotel staff. Some of the young women serving food flirted with the men in his group. Even Antoine chatted amiably with Reinhard. The banquet boosted their morale. They would need to keep their spirits high in the long months that faced them.

  Jason watched his team interact with those around them, trying to get a sense for what they felt. He had begun to hone his sixth sense to detect emotions rather than merely physical presence, with varying success. He picked up a mixture of sentiments emanating from his team, mostly excitement and uncertainty about the journey ahead. He identified some anxiety and outright fear, and even a vibe of depression, which he knew came from Vicky. He saw it on her face. She had been sullen all night. Confidence dominated all other emotions, especially from those who had been to Paris. They had literally been to Hell and had survived, and felt assured they would do so on this trip. It would be up to Jason to maintain that confidence. He knew that would be the hardest task ahead of him, even more so than keeping them all alive.

  Jason stood, picked up a fork, and tapped it against his drinking glass several times until the clinking attracted his team’s attention. When all eyes were on him, Jason put down the utensil.

  “I’m not good at pep talks, so I’m not going to give one. The truth is, I don’t need to. You’re all here because you’re the best, and you believe in this as much as I do. We all know we have a long haul ahead of us. We’re going to be on the road for a year or more, and we have no idea who or what we’re going to encounter. What I do know is that we’re going to be successful. God, or fate, or whatever it is you believe in has given us the means to close the Hell Gates. Has given us the opportunity to do something few people have ever had the chance to do—to set things right with the world. We will succeed. We will close those portals. And we will rid the world of the Hell Spawn.” Jason picked up his wine glass and held it out in front of him. Everyone around the table picked up their glasses and held them aloft. “To the Hell Gaters!”