The Edge of the Knife (Surviving the Fall 8)

“I’m with him.” Jane nodded in agreement.

“Same.” Rick nodded as well. “We’ll stick to the highways where we can but we’ll divert around any large cities. They’re not worth the risk.”

“How much longer do you think it’ll take us to get there?” Jane asked.

“A couple more days, most likely. Maybe longer, though.” Rick shrugged. “It depends on the roads and if anything else happens along the way.”

“I hope not.”

“You and me both.”

Chapter 3

Somewhere over the North Pole

The Bear is cold.

Flying at an altitude of forty-five thousand feet, the modified Tupolev Tu-95—nicknamed the Bear—has a small cabin with room for two pilots and five additional crew. The thin metal separating the interior of the aircraft from the exterior does nothing to keep the cold out while the small space heater in the middle of the aircraft serves mostly as a decorative accessory. Threadbare cushions sag against the rough wood and metal seats, providing little comfort as the aircraft bumps and bucks in the turbulence. The men riding inside the aircraft are wrapped in warm clothing from head to toe but the cold still pierces through, a constant reminder that they are unwelcome strangers in the land they are passing through.

While the Bear is pressurized, the age and lack of regular maintenance of the aircraft mean that the air is not quite as thick as it should be. For the two pilots and special forces operatives who have spent the last fifteen years of their life at high altitudes, this means nothing. For the two technicians who have spent their lives in a bunker staring at computer screens it means everything. The technicians keep their oxygen bottles and masks on their laps, taking deep breaths from them every few minutes as their bodies struggle to adjust to the change.

The four men are just over five hours into their eleven-hour journey and despite their discomfort the flight is going well. One of the four engines is leaking fuel, though this was anticipated ahead of time and the external fuel tanks will be more than adequate to ensure the aircraft reaches its destination.

Spetsnaz officer Ostap Isayev, the pilot and leader of the expedition, comes over the internal communications channel of the plane. “We are less than six hours out, assuming the weather holds. At one hour out we will begin final preparations and parachute checks.”

Carl Aliyev—the co-pilot and another Spetsnaz officer—sits next to Isayev while the two technicians sit in the seats behind the pilot and co-pilot chairs. After Isayev’s announcement there is silence on the channel until Oles Belov looks at Jacob Yermakov and thumbs his microphone.

“This weather is shit, eh Jacob?”

Yermakov swallows hard, the Dramamine he had when they took off starting to lose its potency. He nods slowly and grimaces as he replies. “I don’t think I can take another six hours.”

“Just wait till we have to drop in!” Though Belov is a technician he relishes the opportunity to get out of the bunker where he was debugging lines of code. Being selected to fly across the globe and potentially save his homeland from this mysterious digital weapon is both an honor and the fulfillment of several of his long-held fantasies all at once.

Though Belov and Yermakov hadn’t met before they were taken to the bunker shortly after the event, their similar personalities and taste in music and animated television programs meant that they quickly formed a bond with each other. The pair would often work together, trying to find ways to thwart or protect against Damocles. While they—like everyone else on the planet—were unsuccessful, they still learned a great deal about certain aspects of how Damocles functioned. This knowledge, no matter how limited it was, was enough to ensure that they were the two technicians selected for the mission to America.

“I don’t think I can handle a parachute.” Yermakov swallows hard again, tasting acid in the back of his throat. He reaches for a canteen of water but grabs a wax-lined paper bag at the last second. Up front, Isayev and Aliyev glance back at the sound of the retching. They both roll their eyes at each other then turn their attention back to their tasks.

Chapter 4

Blacksburg, VA

Half of the strip mall that contained—among other things—a Chinese restaurant, a dry-cleaner, a dollar store and the First Med Walk-In Clinic was charred to a crisp. The fire had inexplicably stopped halfway through its destruction of the Panda Inn, leaving the clinic and dollar store to the left of the restaurant intact. The blackened roof and walls had collapsed inward on the restaurant while to the right of it there was nothing left of whatever businesses had been located there.

The parking lot in front of the strip mall was completely filled with scorched vehicles. Dianne thought that she might be able to get into the lot by pushing some of the wreckage out of the way but getting back out would likely prove to be impossible.

Forgoing parking directly in front of the walk-in clinic Dianne turned left, pulling off in front of what had once been an oil change service station. The beams of the truck passed over the collapsed structure, revealing that there had been two vehicles inside when the place caught fire. Dianne wondered if the vehicles themselves had been the source of the blaze as she thought back to the sight of her own SUV catching fire and exploding in front of her house.

Dianne eased to a stop in an open area between the street and the service station, keeping the lights on the truck off as she navigated by moonlight. Before leaving the house Sarah had warned Dianne about the likelihood of looters around hospitals due to the opiates and other drugs stored in those locations. Dianne wasn’t certain that there would be any substances in a walk-in clinic that people would want to loot but decided to take the cautious approach regardless.

She grabbed her flashlight and pistol and got out of the truck, crouching next to the vehicle as she scanned the clinic, dollar store and the rest of the surrounding area. A gentle breeze drifted between the buildings, carrying the faint noise of insects from the grass and trees just outside the city. There were no signs of

movement in the area except for the brief flutter of half-burned paper and plastic sheeting that was stuck amongst the ashen ruins. Once Dianne was satisfied that she was alone she retrieved her bag and headed for the walk-in clinic.

The strip mall had obviously been in need of repair and upkeep even before the event, as evidenced by the cracks in the sidewalk, support pillars and underside of the roof. A thick layer of soot and ash lay on every surface, giving the place an unearthly look and feel. The front windows and glass doors of both the dollar store and the clinic had been smashed in and there were traces of dried blood on the ground in front of the clinic.

“Looks like somebody got themselves all cut up.” Dianne murmured to herself as she crouched down to examine the bloody shards of glass. “Not fresh though.” She looked up and pointed her flashlight at the interior of the clinic, the beam casting stark shadows from the frame of the door and the furniture that had been knocked over inside.

Dianne thumbed her pistol’s safety off as she stepped inside the clinic. She scanned the front room with her light and weapon, wincing as the glass beneath her feet cracked and crunched. After confirming that the front of the building was clear of other people she moved into the back rooms, checking each office and waiting room before moving past them. When she reached a large area with cabinets—most of which had been broken open—she stopped and slipped off her backpack and jacket.