Chapter 16: Cobalt - Part 1
Saturday Morning - Day Eight
We'd been in the ranch house for six hours when Ofelia noticed the soldier.
I was on watch, half-asleep against the window frame, when she touched my shoulder. Pointed without speaking. A figure stumbling down the street, uniform torn, no weapon visible.
Military. Alone. Either lost or running.
Daniel was beside me in seconds, shotgun raised. "Straggler."
"From the safe zone, probably." I watched the soldier weave between abandoned cars. Young, maybe twenty-two. Scared. "He's alone. No backup, no radio chatter. Either separated from his unit or..."
"Deserting."
"Yeah."
The soldier—Corporal Adams, according to his name tape—collapsed against a car two houses down. We watched him for ten minutes. No one came looking for him. No patrols, no helicopters. He was genuinely alone.
"We need information," Daniel said quietly. "About Cobalt. About what the military's planning."
"And he might have it."
"So we take him."
Madison appeared behind us. "Take him where?"
"Basement," Daniel said. "Ask him questions."
"You mean interrogate."
"I mean ask questions. Firmly."
Travis joined us, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "We can't just kidnap a soldier."
"He's not a soldier anymore," I said. "He's a survivor who happened to be wearing a uniform. And he has information we need."
"What kind of information?"
"The kind that keeps us alive." I moved toward the door. "Daniel, with me. Everyone else stay here."
We crossed the street quickly, weapons ready. Adams didn't notice us until we were five feet away. He fumbled for a sidearm that wasn't there, then just raised his hands.
"Don't shoot. Please. I'm not—I'm just trying to get home."
"Where's home?" I asked.
"Riverside. My parents—I need to make sure they're okay."
"Long walk. Sixty miles, give or take."
"I know. But I can't stay here. Can't..." He trailed off, eyes haunted.
Daniel grabbed his arm. "Come with us. We have food, water. You can rest before you continue."
Adams looked between us, desperate enough to trust strangers. "Okay. Thank you."
We brought him to the basement—furniture storage, concrete walls, one small window. Made him comfortable at first. Madison brought him water and canned soup. He ate like he hadn't seen food in days.
"When did you last eat?" she asked.
"Thursday, maybe? We were rationing. Command said supplies were coming. They never did."
"What happened to your unit?"
"Split up. Half went to the detention facility. Half stayed at the safe zone. I was supposed to guard the perimeter, but..." He stopped, hands shaking around the soup can. "Orders came down yesterday. Operation Cobalt. Lieutenant Moyers gathered us all, explained what we had to do. I couldn't. I just... I ran."
[ TIMER: 48:33:17 ]
Two days left. The pressure was building again—headaches returning, irritability increasing. But this was more important.
"What's Operation Cobalt?" I asked.
Adams looked at me. Really looked, like he was searching for judgment. "Humane termination. That's what they called it. The safe zones aren't sustainable. Too many people, not enough resources, infection spreading despite containment. So Command authorized... cleanup."
"Cleanup," Daniel repeated. His voice was very quiet.
"Everyone in the safe zones. All the civilians. We're supposed to—" He couldn't finish. Just made a gesture with his hand. Universal sign for execution.
The room went cold. Madison grabbed the doorframe for support. Travis made a sound like he'd been punched.
"When?" I asked.
"Monday. 0900 hours. Simultaneous across all Los Angeles safe zones."
"That's—" Madison checked her watch. "That's thirty-eight hours."
"Yeah."
"You were going to kill us." Daniel's voice remained quiet, which was somehow worse than shouting. "Women, children. All of us."
"I wasn't going to do anything. That's why I ran." Adams looked at his hands. "But the others... some of them saw it as mercy. Better a quick death than slow starvation or turning into those things. The Lieutenant said we were preventing suffering."
"By causing it."
"I know. I know it's wrong. That's why I left."
I believed him. Didn't make me feel better about what came next.
"Where are they keeping the sick?" I asked. "The people they took from the safe zones for 'medical treatment'?"
"Detention facility. Ten miles east. Old National Guard armory."
"Are they still alive?"
Adams hesitated. "Some of them. The ones who are too sick to move get... prioritized. Quick injection, then cremation. The ones who can walk get held until Monday."
"Why wait?"
"Efficiency. Easier to do everyone at once."
Daniel moved faster than I'd ever seen him move. One moment he was standing by the wall, the next he had Adams by the throat, slamming him back against the concrete.
"My wife. Griselda Salazar. She was taken for medical transfer. Is she alive?"
Adams struggled, hands clawing at Daniel's grip. I let it go for five seconds before intervening.
"Daniel. Let him answer."
Daniel released him. Adams gasped, rubbing his throat.
"I don't know names. They don't give us names. Just numbers on clipboards."
"Woman. Late fifties. Leg injury. Infected wound. Taken two days ago."
"If she was critical... she's probably gone. They do the worst cases first." Adams looked genuinely sorry. "I'm sorry. I really am."
Daniel's face was stone. He turned and walked upstairs without another word. Ofelia followed him, moving quickly.
Madison took over the questioning. "This detention facility. How many guards?"
"Maybe twenty. Most of the unit's deployed elsewhere. It's just a holding area, not a fortress."
"And the layout?"
"Armory building, one story, multiple rooms. Cells in the back. Medical wing on the east side. Command office at the front."
"Entrances?"
"Main entrance, service door on the north side, emergency exits on the south. Service door is usually unguarded after dark."
Travis was taking notes on a scrap of paper, hands shaking slightly. "What about the people inside? The detainees. Are they secured?"
"Locked cells. But the locks are basic. Bolt cutters would work."
I studied Adams. He was giving us everything, no resistance. Either he genuinely felt guilty or he was playing us. But the information matched what I knew from monitoring the safe zone.
"Last question," I said. "Where would they keep confiscated weapons?"
"Armory cage. Inside the main building, northeast corner. Combination lock, but it's usually open during duty hours."
"Thank you. You've been very helpful."
"Can I go now? I need to get to Riverside."
"Soon. Rest first. Eat. You're in no condition to walk sixty miles."
We left him in the basement—locked, but comfortable. Upstairs, the group had gathered. Madison explained what we'd learned. The reaction was predictable.
"They're going to kill everyone?" Alicia's voice was small. "Just... execute them?"
"That's the plan."
"We have to warn people. We have to—"
"Do what?" I interrupted. "Tell them to run? Where? The roads are blocked, the city's overrun, and we have thirty-eight hours until Cobalt begins. Anyone we warn is just another person competing for limited resources and escape routes."
"So we just let them die?"
"We save ourselves. That's all we can do."
"That's cold."
"That's survival."
Chris stood abruptly. "I can't believe you people. First we run from the military, now we're going to let them kill everyone? What happened to helping each other? What happened to being human?"
Travis grabbed his son's arm. "Chris—"
"Don't." Chris jerked away. "You're all cowards. Mom would be ashamed."
He stormed upstairs. Liza started after him, but Travis stopped her.
"Let him go. He needs time."
"We don't have time," I said. "We need to move tonight. Hit the detention facility, grab whatever supplies we can, then head for the coast."
"The coast?" Travis frowned. "Why the coast?"
"Because I know someone with a boat. Victor Strand. He has a yacht, the Abigail. If he's still alive and still has the boat, we can evacuate by water. Avoid the roads entirely."
"You've known about this boat all along?" Madison's voice carried an edge. "And you're just mentioning it now?"
"I wasn't sure Strand was alive. Wasn't sure the boat was operational. Mentioning it earlier would have given false hope."
"And now?"
"Now we're desperate enough that false hope is better than no hope."
She didn't like it, but she nodded. "When do we leave?"
"After dark. We need weapons from the armory, supplies if possible. Then we move fast for the marina."
"What about Adams?" Travis asked. "We can't just leave him locked in the basement."
"He ran from his unit. If we let him go and he gets caught, he tells them about us. If we keep him, we waste resources guarding him. If we kill him..." I trailed off, letting them fill in the blank.
"We're not killing him," Madison said firmly. "He helped us. He gave us information freely."
"Then we release him tomorrow, after we're gone. Give him enough lead time that his intel is stale."
"Agreed."
Daniel appeared at the top of the stairs. His face was controlled, but I could see the cracks. "I'm going to the detention facility. With or without you."
"I'm going too," I said. "But we do this smart. Planned. Not a suicide run."
"My wife—"
"Is probably dead. Adams said so. Going in angry and reckless won't bring her back. It'll just get you killed."
"Then I die. Ofelia survives. That's enough."
"Ofelia needs her father. Not another corpse."
He stared at me for a long moment. Then nodded once. "Tonight. We go tonight."
[ TIMER: 47:19:22 ]
We spent the afternoon preparing. Madison and Liza inventoried supplies—we were running low on food, water, medical equipment. Travis and Nick checked vehicles, siphoning gas from abandoned cars to top off our tanks. Alicia kept Chris company, trying to calm him down.
I studied maps with Daniel, planning the route to the detention facility. Ten miles through infected streets, probably a two-hour drive with detours. Hit the facility at dusk, minimal guard presence. Get in, get weapons, get out.
"You think Griselda's really dead?" Daniel asked quietly.
"Adams said anyone critical was 'prioritized.' Her wound was severe. So... yeah. Probably."
"I need to see her. To know."
"If she's there, we'll find her."
"And if she turned?"
"Then I'll handle it. You shouldn't have to."
He looked at me. "You've done this before. Killed someone you cared about."
Matt. Though I barely knew him. And Calvin, though that was different.
"Something like that."
"Does it get easier?"
"No. You just get better at functioning afterward."
"That's not comforting."
"It's not supposed to be."
Ofelia found us in the garage, bringing water and sandwiches made from stale bread and canned meat. She looked at her father with worried eyes.
"You're going after Mama."
"Yes."
"She's gone, isn't she?"
Daniel's jaw worked. Then: "Yes. I think so."
Ofelia nodded, tears streaming silently. "Then bring her home. So we can say goodbye properly."
"I will try."
She kissed his cheek and left. Daniel watched her go, something breaking in his expression that he quickly controlled.
"In El Salvador," he said slowly, "I was not always a barber."
"I figured."
"During the war, I did things. Necessary things. To survive, to protect my family. I told myself I left that man behind when we came to America. That I would be different here."
"You can't leave parts of yourself behind. They follow you."
"Yes. They do." He looked at me. "You are like I was. You do what must be done without hesitation. You make hard choices and live with them. I see it in you."
Because I'm Patient Zero. Because I have to infect people to survive. Because I've crossed lines most people don't even know exist.
"Sometimes hard choices are the only choices."
"Yes." He picked up his shotgun, checked the action. "But we should still regret them. The day we stop regretting is the day we become monsters."
"What if we're already monsters?"
"Then we try to be useful monsters. For the people we love."
We loaded up at seven PM. Three people—me, Daniel, and Madison. Everyone else stayed to guard the ranch house and prepare for immediate evacuation.
"If we're not back by midnight," I told Travis, "assume we're dead. Take everyone north to the mountains. There's a cabin—Madison has the coordinates. Hole up there until the collapse settles."
"You'll be back."
"Maybe. But have a plan anyway."
Alicia grabbed my arm as I headed for the door. "Don't die."
"Planning on it."
"Good. Because if you die, I'll have to explain to everyone why I almost trusted you."
I smiled despite everything. "Can't have that."
She released me. We drove into the gathering darkness, three people heading toward a military facility to steal weapons and find corpses.
The streets were worse than before. More walkers, more bodies, more evidence of collapse. We detoured six times around impassable roads. A National Guard convoy sat abandoned, soldiers nowhere to be seen. Probably either evacuated or dead.
The detention facility appeared at 8:45 PM. Adams had been right—old armory building, one story, chain-link fence topped with razor wire. Lights on inside, but minimal external security. Either they were confident or understaffed.
"Two guards at the main entrance," Madison whispered. "None visible at the side."
"Service entrance," Daniel confirmed. "Like Adams said."
"Then that's our entry point."
We parked three blocks away and approached on foot. The service entrance was locked but old. I picked it in under a minute—Jax's memories coming through again.
Inside, the building smelled like disinfectant and fear. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. We moved through hallways past empty offices toward the sound of voices.
The cells were in the back, just like Adams said. Maybe forty people, locked behind bars that wouldn't hold against a determined assault. They looked at us with hollow eyes—civilians, sick and scared, waiting for death.
"Jax." Madison pointed to a list on the wall. Names, dates, status codes.
I scanned it quickly. Found what I was looking for.
Salazar, Griselda. Status: Deceased. Disposition: Cremated.
Daniel saw it too. His face went blank.
"She's gone," I said quietly.
"Where?"
"Cremated. No body to recover."
"You're sure?"
"The list is official. I'm sorry."
He stood there for a moment, processing. Then he straightened. "Then we finish this. Get what we came for."
We found the armory cage in the northeast corner. Combination lock, but someone had left it open. Careless or deliberate, didn't matter. Inside: rifles, pistols, ammunition, tactical gear. Everything confiscated from civilians plus military equipment.
We grabbed armfuls—our original weapons plus extras. I found my Glock, checked the serial number to be sure. Home.
A voice behind us: "Hands where I can see them."
We turned slowly. A soldier stood in the doorway, rifle raised. Not Adams—someone older, harder.
"You're not authorized to be here."
"We're retrieving our property," Madison said calmly. "These were confiscated illegally."
"Martial law supersedes property rights. Put down the weapons."
Daniel shot him.
The report was deafening in the enclosed space. The soldier went down, clutching his leg. Alarms started blaring immediately.
"Move!" I shouted.
We ran for the service entrance, carrying what we could. Behind us, soldiers poured into the hallway. Shouts, commands, gunfire. A bullet sparked off the wall beside my head.
We burst outside into darkness. More soldiers converging. We fired back—suppressing fire, not aimed. Just enough to buy seconds.
Made it to the vehicle. Daniel drove while Madison and I returned fire through the windows. The soldiers gave chase for two blocks, then fell back. Probably didn't want to venture too far from their post this close to Cobalt.
We drove in silence for ten minutes before Madison spoke.
"We just attacked military personnel."
"They were going to execute everyone in the safe zones," I countered. "I'd say we're even."
"That's not how they'll see it."
"Doesn't matter. In thirty-six hours, there won't be anyone left to prosecute us."
Daniel pulled over suddenly. Sat gripping the steering wheel, breathing hard.
"She's really gone."
"Yeah."
"I never said goodbye. Never told her—" His voice broke. "Never finished."
Madison reached forward, touched his shoulder. "She knew. Whatever you didn't say, she knew."
He nodded slowly. Then started driving again.
We reached the ranch house at 11 PM. Everyone was waiting, weapons ready. When they saw us alive, relief flooded the room.
"We got weapons," I announced, unloading the haul. "And information. Griselda's confirmed dead. I'm sorry, Ofelia."
She collapsed into her father's arms, sobbing. He held her, face carved from granite.
"We need to leave," I continued. "Now. Tonight. The marina is thirty miles west. We get there, find Strand's yacht, evacuate by water before Cobalt begins."
"Who's Strand?" Travis asked.
"Man I know. Has a boat called the Abigail. If he's alive, he's our ticket out."
"And if he's not?"
"Then we find another boat. The marina will have dozens."
We spent the next hour packing. Everything essential went into the three vehicles. Everything else got abandoned. Personal items, photos, mementos—all left behind for a future that wouldn't exist.
Adams was still in the basement. I went down to release him.
"We're leaving," I said, unlocking the door. "You should too. Operation Cobalt starts Monday morning. If you're in the city when it begins, you're dead."
"Where will you go?"
"Away. That's all you need to know."
"Thank you. For not killing me."
"Don't make me regret it."
He left through the back door. I watched him disappear into the night, then went upstairs.
The convoy assembled at midnight. Three vehicles, nine people, everything we could carry.
Daniel stood in the garage, Griselda's rosary in his hands. Ofelia beside him, her own rosary matching her mother's. They prayed quietly in Spanish—words I didn't understand but recognized as grief.
When they finished, Daniel looked at me. "You knew. About the executions. About Cobalt. You knew before we captured Adams."
"I suspected. Adams confirmed it."
"How?"
"Pattern recognition. Military behavior. The way they were removing people. It all pointed to elimination, not salvation."
"You see the future."
"I see patterns. That's all."
He studied me. "One day, you will tell me your real secret. But not today. Today, we survive."
"Yeah. We do."
At 12:15 AM, the convoy pulled out. Behind us, Los Angeles burned. Ahead, the marina waited. And beyond that, the ocean—vast, dark, and offering the only escape left.
[ TIMER: 45:47:11 ]
Less than two days. I'd need to infect someone soon. But first, we needed to reach the Abigail.
First, we needed to survive.
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