After what seemed like a few minutes without a shot fired, a member of the Terrace force stood. “I think we must have got ‘em!”
“Careful, careful…” one of his buddies called out, but when others began to stand, he joined them.
“Keep your eyes open, keep them—”
The silence was broken by a burst of controlled fire from each side and just in front. The last of the Terrace soldiers fell not at the hands of foamers, but fellow humans because one man had convinced them of the need to attack.
The four soldiers from the market reloaded and then, after checking for any survivors, took up a defensive stance just outside of the building at the edge of the parking lot. They kept their eyes on the Sandspit airport ahead for any more foamers. Unless the foamers began coming from the sea, there was no need to worry about their ‘six. With the sun about to emerge, it would be doubtful, but it didn’t hurt to be prepared. It was overcast, but there was enough light for the soldiers to see. That was then they heard the roar of the boat engine in the harbor.
* * *
When the counterattack began, Holmes was still aboard the main boat. He didn’t know why at the time, but he told the soldier at the controls not to beach it. He was now glad he did. His force were sitting ducks out in the open.
He hit the deck when the first volley hit the soldiers on the beach. He lay there until the shooting stopped, and he prayed a search of the boats wouldn’t be conducted. After five minutes with no indication of such an event, he popped his head up for a look and saw four men in camouflage take cover in the parking lot. He wasted no time and started the cruiser. He reversed it for a short distance before he spun it around and took off in the direction of the mainland—back to the old drawing board. His plans ruined, he would have to build anew.
By the time the four armed men got into position to see the boat, it was out of range for all practical purposes. They had no idea who was in the boat but would have tried to sink it if they had.
* * *
Back inside the fish market, no celebrations took place. The man responsible for keeping many of them alive lay unconscious in one room while Sergeant Morris worked to stem the flow of blood. The woman he loved—and who loved him—lay unconscious in another after collapsing from shock.
Elliot, who held the Tall Man is such esteem, was devastated. A blood transfusion was considered, but because the Tall Man’s blood type wasn’t known, Morris advised against it. Bandages and other medical supplies were brought in from the catamaran once it was determined they were no longer under attack, but the bandages alone could only slow the blood loss, not stop it.
At last, it seemed, they were safe and free from the foamer menace, but without the Tall Man to share in the victory, it was hollow. Elliot cast a forlorn figure as he went outside to sit on a rock by the edge of the water. Cindy, though reluctant, let him go; she knew he needed to be alone. For the first time since his mother passed, he cried.
He wasn’t the only one.
Epilogue
Elliot sat, his chin in the palm of his left hand and the elbow attached to that hand nestled against his knee. He occasionally picked a pebble from the ground and tossed it into the water. The harbor prevented any waves from coming in. He sat for over an hour thinking, just thinking. He thought of the incredible journey he had been on and the great people he had experienced it with, but mostly he thought about his buddy, his friend: Charles “Chuck” Black.
He was aware of footsteps as they approached, but didn’t show any concern. He was beyond that.
“Hey, Elliot,” Bob Charles called softly from behind him. “Mind if I join you for a bit?” Bob leaned against a wood rail next to Elliot. “He’s holding, he’s a tough one.”
This news made Elliot take notice. “You sure, you sure?”
“I wouldn’t lie to you on this, Elliot.”
“Can I see him?”
“Not much to see at the moment, Elliot, and I think the sergeant would appreciate the space, y’know.”
Elliot did, but damn. He wanted to go and see, see what he could do, but he knew he couldn’t perform miracles, and that’s what was needed.
“Sir? A moment?” Tom Transky approached from the market, his face glum.
Elliot found it hard to swallow as he feared the worst.
“Sir, we have a situation that needs to be addressed. I know this is a bad—”
“Is this about Chuck? If not, perhaps it could wait, Tom?”
“Sir, it’s not about Chuck, and it can’t wait.” There was an urgent edge in Tom’s voice.
“Okay, then go ahead.”
“Sir, as your chief of staff, I made it my duty to stay informed as best I could, but—”
“Get to the point, Tom, please.”
“Sir, you are aware of the Dead Hand nuclear retaliation system in place in the former Soviet Union, which is believed to be still in operation today. We employ a similar system, referred to as the ‘spoilsport’ retaliatory system. It has no official designation that I know of, and—”
“This is the first I’ve heard of it.”
“It was decided in a meeting two administrations ago that the president didn’t need to know.”
“Then how the hell do you know, and why didn’t you inform me?”
“Sir, I was never meant to know, either, but in my pursuit of information on Richard Holmes, I came across it. There have been other matters that have occupied my mind of late, Sir.”
Elliot stood and walked toward Tom. The sound of Tom’s voice and the mention of a retaliatory system had Elliot’s attention, as it did that of the former president.
“Sorry Tom, I … I should have known better. Go on.”
“Sir, the core of the matter is this. The spoilsport system was put in place to retaliate after a first wave of nuclear devices has fallen across the country. It’s an automatic response. No human control is necessary for the launch to go ahead. Basically, the system assumes that everyone in the country has perished.”
“Why would anyone devise such a diabolical system?”
“When this was developed back in the sixties, it was the belief of the military that if we—Americans—were no longer in control of our country, then we wanted to be damn sure no one else would be.”
“That’s a childlike mentality.”
“You’ve described the military mindset to a T, Elliot.”
Elliot looked at Bob. He didn’t have a smirk on his face—he was completely serious.
“What prevented it from launching before, then?”
“The system activates when we reach DEFCON 3, and during the heated debates in the Situation Room and the PEOC over this crisis, our alert level went to DEFCON 3. General Stodge was left in charge and was to override the system. But the speed with which the collapse occurred—the spread of this plague and the foamers—there is no guarantee he managed to do it. If it were me and there was a choice between switching off the system or getting out alive, I would choose the latter.”
“And where is the override switch exactly?” Bob pressed ahead, urgency in his voice.
“The Pentagon, sir.”
Former President Charles exchanged a glance with Elliot. Neither was under any illusion about the importance of this information.
“How do you propose we get back to the fucking Pentagon? It’s taken us days just to get from Twin Falls to here!”
“I know, Elliot, but it only took us hours to get from Washington to Prince George, and we have to do the same thing. Find a plane, fuel it, and go. Even a small plane. We don’t need to take too many.”
“Hang on, hang on. You said it would go into action sometime after the first wave of nuclear weapons fell on the country, right? There’s been no nuclear attack, so we—”
“Elliot, it becomes active at DEFCON 3, but it’s not operational. To prevent the system from going operational, a code has to be entered every day or it begins the countdown process. The override can stop the countdown.”
“Did you happen to discover how long that takes?”
“Anywhere between two and ten days, sir.”
* * *
That was it, then. Events once again had decided the fate of Elliot and his group, at a time when they had thought the running had come to an end. There was no choice. A party would have to be selected to head back to the Pentagon to find the override switch.
What if the place is overrun with foamers, or the plague has become airborne and the air can’t be breathed? Or, what if the Russian or Chinese systems haven’t been disabled, or…
Elliot’s thoughts ran wild with scenarios, none of them good.
Heaviest on his mind was his friend, Charles Black—the Tall Man—and how they (how he) really needed him. Now more than ever.
The End - Craig A. McDonough January 2016.
Also by the author
* * *
The Brink Series:
Toward the Brink 1
Toward the Brink 2
Horror at Pine Ridge Series:
A Grave Matter
A Grave Undertaking
One Step from the Grave (coming)
A Return to the Grave (coming)
Short Story:
She Said - Curiosity Killed More Than Just the Cat.
Find these and other news at:
www.craigmcdonough.com
Toward the Brink (Book 3) Page 18