Flashpoint Box Set, Vol. 1 | Books 1-3

by Ellis, Tara

  “Do you trust me?” Tom whispered to Grace, and was rewarded by another wet kiss on his chin.

  Chapter 6

  GENERAL MONTGOMERY

  Cheyenne Mountain, Colorado

  The plip-plop of water echoed off the cavern walls and added to the cacophony of sounds in the large underground chamber. General Montgomery watched stoically from the platform as two officers rowed a small boat toward him across the small lake.

  “All clear, sir.”

  The general simply nodded and stepped aside so the men could climb out and onto the dock. The air was damp and much cooler near the subterranean lake, but he made an effort not to show that it bothered him. Appearing impervious was part of the job.

  After an awkward moment he glanced over at the lieutenant hovering close to his elbow. “That will be all!” he barked. “I expect a complete report before dinner.”

  “Yes, sir!” The clatter of the men’s retreating footsteps clapped against the metal walkway and then the rock floor as they hurried away. General Montgomery closed his eyes against the noise. While most of his radiation symptoms had dissipated, he still suffered from a sensitivity to sound and light, although he wasn’t convinced it wasn’t from being underground for so long.

  A new set of familiar footfalls grew in volume and the general sighed. “What is it, Colonel Walsh?”

  The colonel’s head appeared above the edge of the dock. He had a perplexed expression that seemed to be the normal state for him lately. “I didn’t expect you to personally oversee the inspection of the reservoir, sir.”

  General Montgomery chuckled. “Neither did the men you assigned.” He watched as Colonel Walsh climbed onto the dock next to him and he grew serious again. “I’ve been assured that everything is in order. It’s an impressive setup.” He waved a hand to encompass the natural, spring-fed lake. “Four-point-five million gallons of pure, fresh water. Delivered straight from Mother Nature herself.”

  Walsh was nodding. “We have nothing to worry about when it comes to the security here, sir. It’s tighter than Fort Knox. Though, I wouldn’t want to be down here if the power went out.”

  “Have you ever seen it before?” the general asked, intentionally ignoring the suggestion of being plunged into unfathomable darkness. He crossed his arms back over his chest in an attempt to retain some body heat. He really should have put his jacket on.

  “I was here once, several months ago,” Walsh explained. “It was part of a tour I went on. You were invited, too, sir, but you…um, declined.”

  The general remembered. He’d never liked being underground. He had seen no reason to take part in what he’d considered a publicity stunt and attempt to sway a couple of votes for funding. “Did you come down here to tell me something?”

  Walsh was staring out at the dark water, and he turned then to face the general. “Yes, sir. We just heard back from the inspection team you sent to the reservoir in Utah. They confirmed the initial reports. It was most likely a single charge, set at a precise spot for optimum results. This is based on eye-witness accounts, as well as evidence at the site. Whoever it was, he knew what he was doing when he destroyed the dam.”

  “They.”

  “Excuse me, sir?” Walsh had that same, confused look again.

  Montgomery sighed, wishing that sometimes he didn’t have to explain so many things he considered blatantly obvious. “This wasn’t one person, Kelly. It was an act of terrorism most likely carried out by one of several different known anarchist groups.”

  Walsh squinted and rubbed at his chin, a mannerism he saved for when he was thinking hard about something. “Perhaps. Or, it could have been someone just taking an opportunity to destroy something. There’s a lot of that going on right now.”

  “Either way, I allowed myself to become distracted,” Montgomery countered.

  “You can’t possibly blame yourself for this,” Kelly said, shaking his head. “There’s no way we could have expected it. And we already had military personnel en route. They were just a day or two late.”

  “Exactly!” the general shouted, his voice echoing back at them sharply and making Kelly jump. “I was so concerned about keeping everyone from killing each other, that I failed to consider the importance of our remaining infrastructure as soon as I should have. That was the largest reservoir in four states, Kelly. Four states. Billions of gallons of water gone, not to mention the dozens of lives lost and valuable farmland wiped out in the valley below it.”

  The colonel remained silent. There wasn’t anything to be said.

  “I want you to issue new orders to the team I sent,” Montgomery barked as he began to walk across the dock. “I want them to look into any anarchist groups in the region, and interview the locals with any known affiliation. I want names.”

  “I’ll contact them immediately,” Walsh said, rushing to keep up. “I left their full report of the dam investigation on your desk.”

  General Montgomery paused at the edge of the platform, looking back at the lake. It was their greatest source of sustainable resource for the mountain. It faded into a darkness so absolute that the lights scattered around the cave couldn’t penetrate it. Much like the intentions of his new adversary, Montgomery was unable to see it, but he knew it was there. He vowed then to never let his guard down again, and to remember that there was a darkness lingering and waiting to take advantage of any weakness.

  “…Mount Weather.”

  “What?” The general realized Kelly was talking to him. “What about Mount Weather?”

  The two men walked down the stairs from the dock and began the trek back to the living quarters area of the mountain. “It’s the other reason I came looking for you. I just got word from the communications chief that Master Sergeant Campbell checked in from the mountain.”

  Montgomery paused at the entrance to one of the many side tunnels and turned to face Walsh. “And?”

  “It was understandably brief,” Walsh said. “He confirmed that the mission objective was a success.”

  The general made a fist and allowed himself a rare display of emotion as he briefly shook it in the air triumphantly. “And the list?”

  Walsh glanced down the length of the tunnel, confirming they were alone. “I’m having the sergeant deliver it to you personally, sir. I expect it to take another day for him to reach Cheyenne Mountain.”

  “Excellent.” General Montgomery began walking again, his spirits lifted by the news. “I’d like a transcript of the conversation.”

  “Already done,” Walsh said quickly. “It’s with the other reports I left for you. Including the newest FEMA shelter updates.”

  The general’s mood faded as quickly as it had brightened. The camps had been nothing but a thorn in his side since the outset. Unfortunately, they were the best means they had at the moment to provide any sort of relief, and were a necessary step towards creating sustainable communities. “How many are operational?”

  “Ten FEMA shelters, three of them in our region. There are also thirty state shelters run jointly by federal and state guard,” Walsh explained.

  “It’s not enough,” Montgomery said without much enthusiasm. It was a tired conversation that always ended the same, with Walsh promising to make more happen.

  “Of course it isn’t enough, sir, but with all due respect, I think we’ve accomplished a lot in only a few days.” Walsh glanced sideways at the general and when he didn’t get any backlash, continued with more confidence. “In addition to the actual camps, I mean…shelters, there’s been an improvement in communication and organization of troops. You were right, there’s been some local push-back, but it’s being managed and contained.”

  “How?” the general asked and he could tell the question threw the colonel off. “What’s being done to ensure local compliance?”

  “They aren’t being given any other options,” Colonel Walsh said bluntly. “If they want any outside resources, supplies, or aid, then they agree to work under a federal comm
and structure. So far, we haven’t had to implement anything by force, but it’s only a matter of time before we do.”

  “Once we’ve established enough jurisdiction, it’ll become less appealing to challenge our authority,” General Montgomery said, more to himself than to Walsh. “The supplies at Mount Weather and Raven Rock will go a long way towards showing we still have the power everyone else wants a piece of.”

  “I’ve got a team ready to work out the logistics of moving the caches once Sergeant Campbell is back with the supply inventory,” Walsh explained.

  Montgomery’s step slowed and he looked thoughtfully at the colonel. “Have the Sergeant’s team stop at the three FEMA camps in our region on their way here.”

  “Sir?” Walsh sounded alarmed. “That will add at least another day to their trip.”

  “Make it happen,” the general said, waving a hand as he picked up the pace again. “I want a complete inspection of the sites to preempt the questions we know the Joint Chiefs are going to ask.”

  Nodding, Walsh paused and waited as a group of soldiers walked past, always acutely aware of whoever might be listening. It was one of the qualities the general admired in his aide. “And what about the survivor list, sir?”

  General Montgomery walked past Walsh and toward another side tunnel that would lead him back to the underground building housing his office. He wasn’t at liberty to discuss either the names on the list, or what he’d do once he had them. He stopped and looked back at Colonel Walsh, annoyed to see that same lost expression on his face yet again. “Just see that it reaches me, Colonel.” He walked away without waiting for an answer, or any further questions. It was getting late and he had a pile of reports waiting for him to catch up on before he could delve into what he considered his most important work of the day.

  While Mother Nature had unleashed an unforeseen weapon on the planet, another adversary had launched their first attack. The general had made the mistake of treating their situation like a search-and-rescue recovery. It wasn’t.

  It was war.

  Chapter 7

  RUSSELL

  Harriman State Park, Idaho

  Singing was what stopped Russell the evening of the tenth day since the flashpoint. He’d had no intention of spending his night sleeping anywhere other than his own tent, tucked away under a massive evergreen off the road. However, as he pedaled around the next scenic curve, the light sing-song voice of a woman gave him pause.

  Russell had recently passed a sign announcing the entrance to Harriman State Park, a region of woods near the northeast corner of Idaho. He was getting close to Montana, and the west entrance to Yellowstone. The terrain had changed dramatically over his past three days of travel, from mostly barren scrub to the kind of mountains John Denver sang about. The air was crisp even on a hot summer day, and it smelled of pine needles and loamy earth. Russell would have been happy finding a place there to settle down for a time, and he thought he might come back if Mercy turned out to be a disappointment.

  There!

  Russell tilted his head, concentrating. Yes, it was most definitely a woman singing. Some sort of sad, Celtic-sounding tune. Intrigued, he turned off the blacktop of US Route 20 and onto a graveled sideroad. A small brown sign declared it to be a campground called Cedar Creek. A parking lot near the entrance contained three cars and a truck, an indication of how many campers were there during the event.

  As expected, he encountered fewer people as he got higher and deeper into the mountains. Those he did come across were typically families or friends traveling in groups, mostly on horseback. In that particular region, there weren’t too many houses, and anyone traveling was in it for the long haul. Aside from one particular idiot demanding he hand over his bike, Russell didn’t have any issues. Although he’d wanted nothing more than to snuff the light from the thief’s eyes, he’d shown remarkable restraint and simply sped away, rightfully assuming that his assailant wouldn’t be able to throw his knife accurately enough to stop him.

  Russell wasn’t impulsive. He could control himself and he knew better than to leave a trail of bodies in his wake. He’d already done enough of that back in Wyoming and Utah. Although there was plenty of chaos at the time to mask his activities, he needed to be more calculated about it as time went on. The soldiers were a prime example of why. With a coordinated government beginning to cast its net, while communication and any sort of infrastructure was still virtually absent, the net would eventually get wider. Russell planned on staying outside of it, unless he chose to intentionally engage with them for his own purposes.

  A thicker blanket of dead needles crunched under his tires and Russell looked up at the canopy of pines. There appeared to be a clear delineation of brown towards the upper portion of some of the trees, and although he wasn’t well versed in botany, he suspected it was related to the radiation they’d all been exposed to. It was the first time he’d noticed it, and he was curious if the higher elevation had anything to do with it.

  Shrugging, Russell focused instead on the signs of habitation becoming more apparent. Wood smoke permeated the space under the lowest tree branches, the setting sun casting long ribbons of smoke-filled light across the road. Russell passed through the ribbons of ethereal haze like a prince making a grand entrance in a cathedral, approaching his queen.

  Russell chuckled at the imagery, but the feeling of wistfulness lingered as he came to a stop at the first occupied space he encountered. It was also the source of the singing and he was impressed by how far the sound had carried. She was on the back side of a large canvas tent and must have heard him approaching because the singing abruptly stopped. Aside from the cracking from the fire and an occasional bird, the woods were still and silent. No wonder he’d been able to hear her.

  “Hello,” he called out pleasantly. “I don’t mean to intrude, it’s just that I heard you from the road, and…well, it’s been some time since I’ve spoken to another person.” It was easy for Russell to lie. The irony was that it was the most trusting who were the easiest to fool.

  A woman who looked to be in her late twenties or early thirties stuck her head out from behind the tent. She had a mass of curly red hair that reached all the way to her slim waist, and her face was covered in freckles. She rubbed at her small nose and eyed Russell suspiciously. Not so easily fooled, this one.

  “My name is Mark,” he continued, pretending not to notice her apprehension. “I’m traveling to Butte where my wife and family are. I was on a business trip in Idaho. How about you? I certainly hope you aren’t alone out here.” Russell flashed a warm smile, knowing that his charming looks were enough to throw off most women.

  “Anna,” the woman said with some hesitation. She had an accent, though it was unique and not obvious as to its origin. Anna took a small step so that she was no longer concealed by the tent, exposing a pair of jeans that had been cut off into shorts, and dirty tennis shoes. She was holding a wet T-shirt in one hand and had clearly been doing laundry. The shirt was small and pink, and most likely belonged to a little girl.

  Russell took it all in. There was an axe wedged into a stump, a man’s shirt already hanging on a rope strung up between two trees off to the side of the camp, as well as a second and third tent just visible down the road. A group of families.

  He hesitated, debating whether to play out the charade or turn around and keep to his original plan. Russell’s stomach grumbled and he thought of the remaining rations at the bottom of his pack. He hadn’t been able to restock his supplies since the lake house and he was getting low. While he preferred a house to pillage, he might not have that opportunity for several more days.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Anna,” Russell said smoothly, making up his mind. He was getting ready to deliver more of the story regarding his sweet little family that he was making up as he went along, when the woman revealed her other hand. She was holding a rifle.

  “We don’t like visitors,” Anna said evenly, her eyes never leaving Russell’
s hands. She seemed to know what she was doing and Russell was further intrigued.

  His smile fading, Russell did his best to look frightened, but in reality, was instead amused. She wasn’t going to shoot him. “I didn’t mean to intrude. I’ll just be on my way, then.”

  “Stay where you are.” The booming voice belonged to a large man coming up the road from beyond the other tents. A young girl who could barely walk and boy of about ten years trailed behind him. He was holding a fishing pole in one hand and four fish on a stringer in the other. “You okay, Anna?”

  Anna gave a curt nod. “We were just having a talk, John. Says he’s passing through and feeling a little lonely.”

  “I said I hadn’t spoken with anyone for a while,” Russell countered, not wanting John to get the wrong idea. “I’m simply looking to do some bartering. Maybe for a fish?” he added, gesturing to the trout.

  John looked at the fish, then back at Russell and the large pack on his back. “Go over to the Perrys’,” he barked at the kids. As the children scampered away, two other men emerged from the farthest tent and looked in their direction.

  Russell began to feel the first stirring of slight uneasiness. This could end up being a setback if he wasn’t careful, and he didn’t like it when his plans were interfered with. “What do you say?” He directed the question to the man called John, but was watching the other two as they approached. They also appeared to be family men, not the sort to torture or maim for sport. Russell relaxed. “I have some gear you might find useful and I’d appreciate a fish.”

  “We’re not into trading.” John approached Russell as Anna trained the rifle on him. Without saying anything further, he simply took the backpack right off Russell’s back and began to rummage through it.

  Russell watched in annoyance as his belongings were either tossed onto the ground, or handed off to the other men. In less than five minutes, the last of his food, his knife, gas lantern, and tarp were piled up beside the stump with the axe in it. Next to that was a gas can, which he assumed was used for starting fires. John grunted, and Russell turned his attention back on the man who was staring at his deputy shirt and badge.