“That’s fair,” Foster said. “Don’t worry, Doc. I plan on holding you to that commitment.” He flashed a quick boyish grin.
“And I look forward to you holding me to that commitment,” Amanda said. She leaned over, give him a quick kiss on the cheek, and then made a shooing motion. “Now, go on. Sams is probably leaning against the door right now, trying to listen.”
“Really? You think he’d be that childish and immature?”
Amanda gave him a knowing look. “Well, we can’t rule it out either, can we?”
Foster sighed. “Fine. I’m going. Talk to you soon, Amanda.”
“You, too, Malcolm.”
Foster stepped out of the room and began heading toward the kitchen where he had left Sams. He had managed to take a few steps before he heard someone else calling his name.
“Hold up for a minute,” Walker said. “If you don’t mind.” From the look on the former Ranger’s face, it was obvious he wasn’t making a request.
Foster took a slow, deep breath before asking, “What’s on your mind, Nick?”
“Derrick tells me you and Amanda are getting close.”
“And?”
“She's a great gal,” Walker said. “Treat her right, and we won’t have any problems.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“She’s my wife’s best friend. Don’t make me have to choose sides.”
“Then stay the hell out of my business, and you won’t need to pick a side at all.”
“It’s not that easy.” Walker growled. “You’re talking about my wife’s best friend.”
“You think I don’t know that?”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I,” Foster countered. “Not that it’s any of your business, but Amanda already suggested we put anything that might be developing between us on hold.”
“She did? Good,” Walker said. His shoulders visibly relaxed. “Because you know, we got plenty of other shit to worry about right now.”
“Yeah. So if you don’t mind, I’m going to grab Sams and go on one last scavenging run.”
“Sounds good. And Foster?”
“Yeah?”
“Sorry if I was getting a little heated.”
“I get it, man. Amanda is a great gal.”
“Yeah.” Walker sighed. “Hey, be safe. I’ll see you guys when you get back.”
President Vickers stared across her desk at Rasheed Weindahl. The military man looked visibly uncomfortable, and she decided to proceed anyway with this last-minute meeting.
“General, I called you here to get an update on Operation Poison Arrow,” she began. “Preferably something more than ‘we’re working on it.’”
“Of course,” General Weindahl replied. “We’re still moving assets into position, ma’am. We expect to be ready to launch in approximately eight hours.”
“Do you have some way of guaranteeing that you’re hitting a nest of Reapers?”
“We’ve actually come up with an idea in terms of that.”
“Go on.”
“Well, it appears the creatures are highly susceptible to noise,” Weindahl said. “We’re going to drop a public announcement system in the center of the town square.”
“We’re going to kill them with an announcement? By what? Boring the hell out of them?”
Weindahl chuckled. “Not exactly. We’ll remotely use the system to broadcast a taped conversation of people talking. The noise should draw the monsters to us at that location.”
“And once they’re there, you can hit them with the attack.”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Great. I like it,” Vickers said. “Do we need to worry about any of them figuring out that it’s not actually real people?”
“We don’t anticipate them knowing what’s being said. But we’re thinking we could broadcast a message that if you’re human, you need to vacate the area.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” Vickers pointed out. “What if they do understand it?”
The general fidgeted uncomfortably in place. “Based on the Reaper behavior we’ve seen so far,” he said, “I believe it’s highly unlikely they’ll know what the recording is saying.”
“Any chance that actual humans go and investigate the noise?”
“I suppose there’s also a chance of civilians having an overwhelming sense of curiosity.”
“Which might get them killed.”
“I’m afraid so, Weindahl said. “With all respect, we’ve run through several different scenarios. In each one, there is still a risk of loss of human life. This plan is the one with the lowest chances of collateral damage.”
“Let’s hope any people in the area hear the recording and head for someplace safer. Zero civilian casualties would be ideal.”
“I couldn’t agree more, Madam President.”
“Okay, what about the rest of the plan?”
“Of course, Madam President. Operation Poison Arrow involves the use of a M55 Missile System,” Weindahl answered. “It’s a land-based system for short to medium range targets.”
“And the ordinance used?”
“VX.”
Vickers felt her breath catch in her chest. “You’re talking about using a chemical biological weapon. One which, if my memory serves me right, was previously outlawed.”
“That is correct, Madam President. Since that Chemical Weapons Convention treaty was signed, we have slowly been disposing of our stockpile.”
“Because it’s hard to dispose of? Or because it’s expensive to do so?”
“Both, actually,” Weindahl admitted. “We’ve incurred multiple cost overruns and time delays as well. We’re fortunate that this particular base in Kentucky is nearly two years behind schedule.”
“In other words, the government running behind on something actually works in our favor.” Vickers chuckled. “I’ll count that as a lucky break.”
“Indeed.”
“Where’s the target?”
“With all due respect, I’ve already mentioned we’re luring the Reapers in with a recorded message being broadcasted.”
“Let me rephrase the question. What town are we luring the hostiles into?”
“Richmond, Kentucky, Madam President. It was chosen based on the VX’s current location. The town is just over five miles from the base.”
“Wait. Five miles? Isn’t that kind of short for a missile strike?”
“It is,” Weindahl answered. He nervously shifted the papers in front of him.
Vickers studied the man in front of her, who was no longer making eye contact. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“Well, the thing is, these missiles have never been fired in a combat situation.”
“Wait, what?”
“Just in test cases and experimental simulations. There’s never been a need for the U.S. military to launch these missiles at an actual enemy combatant.”
“So there’s a chance these missiles could blow up in the middle of the operation?”
“A low probability one,” Weindahl admitted. “We’re sending a Blackhawk to drop off an Army squad and a bioweapons specialist at the base. The soldiers will provide protective detail while the specialist inspects, primes, and fires the missile system. Once the weapon is fired, the soldiers will call for an immediate exfil.”
“Couldn’t you just land the copter so they don’t have to wait for extraction?”
“We considered that, but we’re worried about the noise.”
“Because it might draw the Reapers to the base?”
“Correct, Madam President,” Weindahl answered. “We’re thinking if we can fast rope the soldiers and the specialist down, the chopper will only be in the area for a minute or two before heading off. The pilot could also take their flight path away from the base to act as a decoy.”
“Hmm, okay. What are the odds of success?”
“We believe the mission has a very high probability.”
“I�
�m looking for a number, General, not a pep talk.”
“Close to 100 percent. But, there’s no one there monitoring and maintaining these weapon systems,” Weindahl said. “If there’s a problem with the missile guidance system or with the missiles themselves, then we may have to scrap the mission.”
“In which case you’ve got to get your boys out of there in a hurry?”
“Indeed.”
“Well, fingers crossed that they don’t run into anything they can’t handle. Thanks for the update, General.”
“It’s my pleasure, Madam President.”
The General began to rise from his chair and head for the door.
“Rasheed? Just one more thing.”
Weindahl froze in place and turned slowly toward the Commander in Chief.
“Yes, Madam President?”
“What did the doctor say about your leg?”
“He gave me some ibuprofen.”
“That’s not what I asked you.”
“He was busy with other patients, and I didn’t want to interrupt him. So I asked the nurse for some medicine.”
Vickers threw her hands up in frustration. “You’re unbelievable. What am I going to do with you? You disobeyed a direct order.”
“I think delayed acting on it would be more accurate,” Weindahl countered. “I will still make an appointment with the doctor about my leg. But it needs to wait until after Operation Poison Arrow has been completed.”
“I’m going to hold you to that, Rasheed,” Vickers warned. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m concerned about you.”
“I’ve noticed, ma’am.” Weindahl smiled. “And I promise I’ll go the doctor. But not until after this mission.”
Vickers shook her head. “Are all men this pig-headed stubborn?”
“I prefer persistent, ma’am. It better represents the fighting spirit of our military.”
“I can’t argue that,” Vickers said softly. “Let’s hope this operation makes the battle much easier for everyone. Meeting’s adjourned.”
Weindahl saluted sharply and left.
Vickers watched the door close behind the general. She hoped he wasn’t in a lot of pain with his leg. If this mission was successful, then she could justify Rasheed taking a long break to get it treated properly. But in the meantime, their country needed Weindahl to gut it out and keep leading what was left of their armed forces.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Back at Guardian headquarters, Silas was furious. Worse, he felt completely humiliated. How the hell could a bunch of women have won a gunfight against his Guardians? He looked at the men surrounding him. Pathetic. These men were a sorry excuse for a group of so-called fighters.
“Does anybody have anything to say for themselves?” Silas said aloud. “Anyone?”
One of the men shifted nervously from one foot the other. “I’m not sure what you want us to say,” he said carefully. “Sir.”
“What's that? Cat got your tongue?” Silas said. He drew the Bowie knife on his hip and brought it up.
“That’s not going to help,” somebody behind him muttered.
Silas spun around, looking for the person. “Who said that?” His eyes fell on Carl, and he immediately recognized him as the mystery speaker. “You got something to say, best say it to my face.”
“This isn’t helping,” Carl said. “We didn’t know how many of them were up there.”
“It was a bunch of women and kids,” Silas said. “And somehow they kicked your asses!”
“That’s what you told us,” Carl challenged. “But what if you’re wrong? What if they had a bunch of trained shooters at the top of those stairs just waiting to unload on us? I think we should tell Ezekiel—”
“Oh, so now you’re thinking, huh?” Silas interrupted. He drew his knife and began gesturing with it. “Are you an educated man, Carl?”
“What the hell are you talking about, man?”
“Are you one of those hoity-toity college boys?” Silas demanded. “One of those limp-dicked pussies who left home and got all educated and smart-like?”
“You got no right to call anyone names. It’s your fault that—”
Silas slammed the Bowie into the man’s arm in mid-sentence, and Carl immediately howled in pain. The wounded Guardian instinctively reached for the knife. But before his fingers could enclose it, Silas ripped the weapon away from his grasp. There was an immediate arterial spray, and Carl screamed as he clutched his mangled arm.
“Boy, I asked you a question,” Silas scolded. “You better answer me.” He shifted his grip on the Bowie and stabbed it into the back of the man’s exposed hamstring. Carl screamed and crumpled to the floor. The man instinctively reached for the knife embedded in his injured leg with his damaged arm, but froze in mid-movement. The man curled into a protective ball, continuing to whimper in pain.
“Any other smart boys here?” Silas demanded. “Any of you wanna tell me how to run this crew?” He glared at each remaining man, daring them to challenge his authority. Every single one looked away uncomfortably.
Silas turned his attention back to the downed Guardian. He bent down, grabbed the Bowie still embedded in Carl’s leg, and gave the knife a sharp twist.
Carl shrieked in pain again.
“I can’t hear you,” Silas cooed. “Carl, I need you to remind everyone who’s in charge.” He twisted the knife a bit more in the opposite direction.
“You!” the man shrieked.
“Anybody else got a problem with that?” Silas challenged. “No? Then it’s settled.” He yanked the knife out, and Carl let out a whimper before mercifully losing consciousness.
“This boy is a bleeder,” Silas announced. “Get him out of here, before he makes a mess of this place.”
One of the men stepped forward. He tried to lift Carl by himself, lost his grip, and accidentally dropped the injured man. Carl landed hard and yelped in pain.
Silas pointed toward one of the men standing and watching the exchange. “You there,” he said. “What’s your name?”
“It’s Will,” the man stammered. “You’re in charge, boss.”
“Glad to hear you didn’t forget that,” Silas answered. “Help him get that piece of shit out of here. I want both of you to come back then and join us.”
Will nodded eagerly and hustled over to the Guardian standing by Carl’s body. The two of them silently grabbed the unconscious man and began carrying him out of the room.
Silas scanned the faces of the remaining men. They looked spooked, scared. None of them would make eye contact with him. Good. They know who’s still in charge.
They were his to lead. Unquestioned. And unopposed.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Angel bounded easily alongside her pack mates, weaving in and around the tall structures. A small voice in the back of her head told her they were called buildings. She silently thanked it for helping her remember the difficult word. Her mind was frequently a jumble of voices and thoughts, which confused her even more. The small voice in the back of her head told her it hadn’t always been that way. And if the voice was right, it would help explain why now, more than ever, she felt so confused. She had this creature who answered to the name Beeks that kept insisting she was family. But that little voice in her head kept telling her he was lying.
So far the only thing Beeks had said that seemed to make any sense was her name.
Angel.
A small voice in her head had told her it really was her name. If she was being honest, it was why she had embraced being called that name.
She’d resisted their efforts to eat what they had been offered. That small voice in her head had warned her there was something wrong with the meat. But then a louder voice had gone off in her head like a firing cannon. It insisted the meat was fine, and it wouldn’t make her sick.
The voices had taken to arguing with each other in her head, and it was jarring to say the least. When Angel was alone, she’d find herself pleading with the v
oices to stop fighting.
Was she going crazy? She wasn’t sure. It would help if she had someone else that she could talk to. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that she couldn’t completely trust those around her. And that lack of trust made it feel right to refuse whatever food they offered. Maybe finding her own food would help her feel better.
The front of the pack had begun to slow down, and Angel followed suit. She looked around, saw they were stopped in front of one of the structures. There were pieces of wood at seemingly random places. The wood didn’t cover what was behind it completely, and Angel could see some type of clear material behind it. The substance didn’t do a thing to stop her from seeing inside. Angel couldn’t help but wonder why someone had tried to cover it up with pieces of wood.
Suddenly, there was a series of nearby loud noises and explosions. Angel instinctively stopped and started looking for a place to hide as small pieces of metal began flying through the air. One of them struck her in the leg and she howled in pain, her voice sounding like a wounded animal. Angel staggered backward and leaned against a tree. She risked a look at her lower leg and saw blood rushing out of a fresh wound. Her blood.
You’ve been shot by a bullet. Don’t worry, a loud voice said in her mind.
Angel shook her head in disbelief. Why shouldn’t she worry? There was something wrong with her leg.
She looked back at her injured limb, and as she did, something weird began to happen. The piece of metal was slowly being pushed out of her body. A moment later, the foreign object exited her skin and fell harmlessly onto the ground. Angel felt her lower leg muscles begin to reknit themselves. A moment later, her leg felt as good as new.
It didn’t make any sense to her. Was this something only she could do? Angel turned her attention back to her surroundings. As she panned her vision from her left to right, she saw a number of her pack mates getting struck by flying metal, too. Most of them seemed to immediately heal from the wound. But as she watched, one of her pack mates was struck in the head by a piece of flying metal. The male dropped to the ground, seemingly lifeless. Angel watched his body for any signs of recovery, but there was none.
The Wretched Series | Book 4 | Wretched Aftermath Page 17