“Rasheed, do I need to make it an executive order? Quit dragging your feet, and get your ass someplace off-shore.”
Weindahl sighed loudly. “No, ma'am. You do not. I will make arrangements to move to another location before the end of today.”
“Okay, let's not waste any more time. Shall we get on to our meeting?”
“Of course, Madam President.”
“How are we proceeding with Operation Flashpoint?”
“It’s still in the planning stages, ma'am,” Weindahl said. “Based on our available personnel, we're not going to be able to hit every Reaper location at once.”
“Why the hell not?”
“To be honest, ma'am, we're fighting this thing on multiple fronts all at once. We have other cities reporting Reaper attacks.”
“What cities?”
“The latest ones are Houston, Salt Lake City, and San Jose. There's reports of Reapers approaching Seattle and Los Angeles as well.”
“Jesus, our boys are stretched thin.”
“Paper thin, ma’am,” Weindahl answered. “Our military effectiveness has dropped dramatically. Quite frankly, we're trying to stop them from spreading any further through the rest of the country of possible.”
“You didn't mention Hawaii or Alaska yet,” Vickers asked. “Are they still safe spots?”
“For now.”
“Care to elaborate?”
“Of course. Hawaii is probably going to stay safe for the foreseeable future. The key will be to block anyone else coming onto the islands.”
“You mean to avoid potential infected that haven’t turned yet?”
“Yes, that’s right. Alaska can try to do the same thing, but if the Reapers manage to work their way through Canada, they could eventually reach Alaska. Of course, we don’t know how resistant these things are to cold weather.”
“Alaska’s idea of cold weather is vastly different than ours.”
“Indeed.”
“I still don't understand how they could’ve spread as quickly as they did in some areas.”
“I’m not sure I understand your question.”
“If the Reapers are traveling on foot, then how did they reach some parts of the country faster than others? I mean, it's not like these things hopped on a train or plane to go cross-country.”
Weindahl frowned. “Not intentionally,” he said slowly. “But we're finding that the rate of infection varies from person to person. We're not sure why. It may have to do with the size of the individual or the strength of their immune system. The key point is not everybody turns right after they're bitten.”
“Wait, what?”
“Let me try phrasing it a bit differently. Some people turn in a matter of minutes. For others, it takes them hours to succumb. It’s possible that someone who could have been bitten by a Reaper got on a plane or in the car and traveled to another area before they started to turn.”
“This is a nightmare.”
“Indeed. We believe that's how this infestation has leapfrogged to some parts of the country rather than following a gradual progressive trail.”
“Did Marshall shut down mass transportation?”
“No, ma'am. There were certain parts of the country that were locked down as they reported, but President Marshall failed to give that official announcement in time.”
“Any idea why?”
“I’m not sure, ma’am. This infestation happened extremely fast. President Marshall didn’t have much information to make his decisions on,” Weindahl said. “We still don’t know much about these things. But I did take the liberty of shutting down the airports in the reported outbreak areas myself after the president’s demise.”
“That's a good start. I think we should also shut down all modes of public transportation nationwide. All public airways, too.”
“Even the areas where no outbreaks have been reported?”
“Absolutely. We need to get ahead of the Reaper outbreaks. If it hasn’t already been done, declare a national emergency. If you feel the American public needs to hear it directly from me, then I’ll do it.”
“With all due respect, we believe these Reapers have some type of intelligent higher command. Someone who’s giving direction as to where they should go and what they should do next,” Weindahl said. “They've already gone after President Marshall. If you were to identify yourself as the new commander-in-chief, then that would make you a target for them.”
“It feels like I'm hiding like a coward.”
“Consider it a strategic retreat, Madame President. We can still do a public service announcement on any remaining radio stations, television stations.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course. We will get the word out. We can contact the major transportation agencies and give them the order to halt service.”
“People aren't going to like it.”
“Americans have bigger things to worry about right now, Madam President.”
“How are we doing with panicking and looting?”
“Not well. National Guard has been fully deployed in most areas and is struggling to maintain peace and order. They've had some defections, but those numbers are better than originally expected, under the circumstances.”
“Well, that’s something which might resemble good news,” Vickers said in an exasperated voice. “Do we have any idea how this infection works? How they're controlled?”
“I’m not sure I understand the question.”
“Quit stalling, General. Is anything other than what's in these action reports? Any ideas on how to stop the Reapers?”
“Not at this time, ma'am.”
“Do we have anyone who can look into their biology?”
“I'm not sure I understand what you're asking me, ma'am.”
“A weakness,” Vickers demanded. “I want to find a weakness for these bastards besides a bullet in the head. Do we have anyone looking at a tissue sample or blood sample of these Reapers and figuring out what makes them tick?”
“Well, ma'am, not exactly.”
“That's unacceptable. I have a second priority mission for you. Tell your staff to find a secure location that has biomedical staff and equipment. Someplace off-shore, where these things can’t get to. I want them working on determining how these Reapers are created.”
“We already know how they were created,” Weindahl said. “It was Project Dionysus.”
“One project created tens of millions of them?”
Weindahl said nothing.
“I get that Doctor Bergstrom created the initial Reapers. A patient zero. But what the hell happened after that? How do we stop the infestation from continuing to spread? Do they have a weakness we can target? Or something that we can develop that will make our personnel resistant to their attacks?”
“Like a vaccination?”
“Yes, exactly.”
“With all due respect, ma'am, I'm not sure that the smartest scientists in the world could come up with one in time.”
“It's worth a try.”
“Even if they did, it wouldn't keep the monsters from mortally wounding or killing our soldiers in close combat situations.”
“In other words, you could be immune to being turned into a Reaper, but if you get your throat ripped out, you're going to bleed to death instead.”
“I’m afraid so.”
“But at least it would stop our soldiers from being turned into enemy combatants. We still need to try, General.”
“I agree, ma'am.”
“We also need to see what kind of armoring we can give our soldiers to better protect them.”
“We could try existing materials, like body armor, riot gear, and Kevlar.”
“My thoughts exactly. It’s best if our soldiers can kill these things with a bullet to the head. But if things get up close and personal, our men need a better shot of winning in hand-to-hand combat. Some kind of body protection might help level the field.”
“The results ha
ven't been favorable in hand-to-hand combat situations,” Weindahl said carefully. “Reapers are enhanced former humans. They are bigger, stronger, faster. Likely faster reflexes, too. We're starting to get reports that some Reapers have developed some type of armoring on their bodies.”
“What?”
“Some type of natural protective shell on a backside of their bodies.”
“What exactly was Bergstrom messing with in his laboratory?”
“I wish I knew, ma'am.”
“Well, have your own team of eggheads figure that out.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“And get me a better game plan.”
“We expect Operation Flashpoint will deliver heavy enemy casualties.”
“Do we know for a fact that burning these things will kill them?”
“They’re living, breathing organic things,” Weindahl answered. “I’m confident they’ll burn to death.”
“Uh-huh. Let’s say Operation Flashpoint doesn’t kill 100 percent of the enemy. How do we kill the surviving ones faster and safer from there? Especially without taking every inch of our country and burning it to a crisp?”
“I don’t have an answer for you on that yet, Madam President.”
“I’d like you to find one.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And General?” Vickers said. “I want a list of the cities we’re going to hit first before the end of today.”
“As you wish, Madam President.”
Chapter Eight
As Foster drove into Rehoboth Beach, he saw the northbound side of the road had several vehicles blocking it. It was a stark difference from the southbound lanes, which were completely clear. Foster shifted his eyes back to the roadway ahead. He was surprised by how normal-looking it seemed.
“No car wrecks or dead bodies,” Sams muttered. “Weird, huh?”
“It's almost like nothing has changed much here,” Foster said. “Very strange, indeed.” Foster led the rest of his group slowly down Route 1, taking note of the different stores and landmarks. A number of the resort town’s stores appeared to be open. Foster finally bit the bullet and pulled into one shopping center near a twenty-four-hour Wawa. He headed to the opposite end of the retail strip and parked in front of the end store, which proudly announced they sold beef jerky.
“Why are you stopping here?” Sams asked.
“I have a feeling we're missing something,” Foster said. “We need more information. Tell the rest of the group to hang back. If you want to come in with me, that would be great.”
“Copy that.” Foster heard Sams repeat their plan over the walkie to the rest of their group. Foster stepped out of the Suburban, closing it carefully to keep the noise to a minimum.
“I’m not sure how much of the group is beef jerky fans,” Sams said. “Personally, I could take it or leave it.”
“I’m shopping for information, not food,” Foster said softly. “Just follow my lead, and don't correct me on anything I might say. Got it?”
“Uh, why is it your lead?” Sams asked. “Why isn't it my lead? In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m more of a people person than you.”
“Simple. Cops are used to lying, especially when questioning suspects. Soldiers are used to telling the truth. We need to gather information, not share it.”
“Gotcha,” Sam said. “Well, then you go right ahead and take the lead, Mr. Professional Liar.”
Foster chuckled softly and moved toward the store’s entrance.
The two men walked into the beef jerky store, and as they opened the door, a small bell announced their presence. A thin middle-aged man stood behind the counter and greeted them with a warm smile.
“Oh, newcomers. Welcome,” the man said. “My name is Craig McCullers. I’m the owner of this establishment.”
“Nice to meet you, Mr. McCullers.”
“Oh, please. My daddy was Mister McCullers. Call me Craig.”
“Right,” Foster said carefully. “Craig, how did you know that we're new?”
“When you have been here as long as I have, you get to know most of the people,” Craig said. “Especially in the off season.”
“Gotcha,” Foster said. “We’re just kind of wondering what’s going on here?”
“Where are you boys from?”
“Further north,” Foster said. “We’re headed toward Virginia and decided to stop here for food and fuel.”
“With everything going on out there, I’m afraid we don’t have much in the way of fuel. It's been difficult to get fuel trucks and other supply trucks here,” Craig said. “I suppose you still can get a good meal, though. As long as you don't mind things like eggs and bacon.”
“No bother at all. You’re talking about some of my favorite foods,” Foster said with a smile. “I noticed the northbound lanes have a bunch of debris on them, but southbound doesn't.”
“We've had some volunteers who have worked on keeping at least one part of the road clear,” Craig said. “But like I said, with fuel being hard to come by, most folks aren't driving if they don't need to. To be honest, it's quite easy to get around Rehoboth on bike or by foot.”
“Good point,” Foster said. “But haven’t you had any problems with the Reapers?”
“Reapers?”
“The monsters that some people are getting turned into,” Foster said slowly. “Maybe you seen them on the news?”
“Oh, right. Those things. Nope, they’ve been no trouble at all here.”
Foster felt his jaw go slack. “Really?”
“Yes, really,” Craig replied. “We've had no problems with those Reapers whatsoever.”
“How is that possible?”
“Well, the credit should go to the Disciples of the Divine.”
“I’m sorry,” Foster said. “I’m afraid since I’m not from this area, I’m not familiar with them. Who are they?”
“A group that God has directly spoken to. They’re led by a wonderful man, Ezekiel Morgan, who has the ability to communicate with these things. He’s able to direct them and control them.”
“That sounds pretty amazing,” Foster said. “Any idea how he does it?”
“He doesn’t do anything. It’s God's divine power at work. Ezekiel is a man of great faith. A good number of people that have seen his abilities have decided to follow him.”
“Sorry, I must be a little slow,” Sams said. “Why would they follow him?”
“It’s simple, really,” Craig said. “Ezekiel and his Disciples help to control the monsters and keep them from attacking our citizens. You know, the Disciples of the Divine have a prayer circle later tonight. Perhaps you'd like to attend and learn more?”
“Maybe,” Foster said. “To be honest, we're kind of bushed from being on the road all day. We're hoping to find someplace to grab some sleep.”
“Of course,” Craig said. He looked disappointed but quickly flashed a smile before saying, “I recommend the Cutler Inn. It's kept clean, and it’s part of this area the Disciples of the Divine help keep safe.”
“Sounds perfect,” Foster said. “Where is it?”
“Well, you go down about three blocks, hang a right, and it’s about two blocks further down. You can't miss the big sign near the street.”
“Great. Thanks for the information,” Foster said. “With all that has happened recently, it’s nice to see folks who treat strangers kindly.”
“It’s the right thing to do.” Craig beamed. “My daddy taught me to always treat others proper. Enjoy your evening, gentlemen.”
“Same to you,” Sams added. He moved to the front door, opened it, and let Foster step outside before closing the door behind him. As soon as the door closed, he said in a low voice, “You're not planning on going to that hotel, are you?”
Foster motioned for Sams to wait until they got back in the vehicle.
The two men climbed back into the Suburban.
Sams waited until both doors closed to blurt out, “Please tell me you're not think
ing about staying at this Cutler Inn.”
“No chance in hell,” Foster said. “At least, not without a lot of backup.”
“Man, I’m so glad to hear you say that. That guy was giving me the creeps. I bet that hotel is nothing but a trap. Probably grab naive travelers and brainwash them.”
“Could be,” Foster said. “Besides, we already have a place to stay. I just didn't want to tip off our hand.”
“Well played, Deputy Donuts,” Sams said. “You might have a bright future as a professional liar.”
“Uh-huh. So, when we were in the store, did you notice anything out of the ordinary?”
“Besides the obvious cult love fest old Craig has?”
“Besides that.”
“What about a beef jerky store having absolutely nothing on the shelves?” Sams answered. “Or the fact the owner didn’t even try to sell us anything?”
“Yeah, it seemed a little weird to me, too.”
“Dude, that was beyond strange. I’m just glad you didn’t keep talking with the guy. He was starting to creep me out talking about these Disciple characters.”
“Me too.” Foster chuckled. “Come on, let’s get going before it gets any darker.”
Chapter Nine
Captain Angel “Vas” Vasquez of the 134th Fighter Squadron and the “Green Mountain Boys” fame, banked her F-35 Lightning II and did another pass over the battleground below her.
Based out of Burlington, Vermont, she’d been providing air support to Fort Devens in Massachusetts for nearly twelve hours now. It was far longer than she probably should have been in the air, but that was a moot point. They were in the fight of their lives against the Reapers, and from what she could see from overhead, it wasn’t going well. She’d run her GAU-22/A, a four-barrel version of the 25 mm GAU-12 Equalizer cannon, until it was dry. Of course, 182 rounds of ammunition didn’t go far in trying to kill the hundreds of Reapers that were attacking Fort Devens. The military base acted as an armed forces training center for approximately 650 Army Reserve, National Guard soldiers, and Marines. If it fell, the U.S. military would lose hundreds of badly needed soldiers and another active base.
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