As he throttled forward for takeoff, he kept a running commentary about thrust and wind speed. As expected, he had to apply just a slight amount of rudder to keep the aircraft pointed straight down the runway, and he tilted the ailerons slightly once it left the ground to compensate for the loss of tire friction, which had helped keep it running straight down the runway.
As the large drone swept gracefully into the air, he waited until they reached a safe altitude before gently using the controls. It was a little bit more sluggish to respond than something like a Shadow but wasn’t too bad. “We’ve reached 12,000 feet. Holding altitude at heading 025.”
Trevor just grunted at him in acknowledgement. He had the same information on his screen, but he had something else as well. He was typing furiously into his computer and seemed to be getting upset. After a few minutes, he blurted out “Fucking seriously? You’ve got to be kidding me.”
He looked over at Jim. “Mission change. We’re no longer recon; this is an ordnance run.”
Chapter 37
Brent found some dark gray socks tucked away in the back of his bottom drawer. They weren’t the typical dress socks he’d wear with a suit. These were work socks made of wool. He’d switched from those high-tech, moisture-wicking socks to traditional wool years ago and never looked back. They were just better.
Working out in the hot Georgia sun in work boots could be unpleasant. The metal in the protected toe seemed to radiate heat for hours once it heated up. Brent found he had to rotate through boots pretty regularly to let them dry. The wool socks didn’t help that much, but they kept his feet from feeling slimy inside the greenhouse of his work boots.
It wasn’t much, but it was something. The wool socks were a little bit bulkier than the nylon dress socks he normally wore with his nice shoes. It was a struggle to get his feet into them. He was feeling weak, sort of lethargic. His lips were so dry and cracked, the peppermint from the lip balm stung a little bit. It was Burt’s Bees. The little yellow tube. He had plenty.
There was no pain. Brent actually felt pretty numb. He wasn’t hungry, he didn’t feel thirsty any longer. He just felt kind of heavy and weak. His body wasn’t responding like it should. It took him far more time to get dressed than he would have liked. He wanted to be down in his chair when it happened, not standing in front of the mirror trying to tie his tie.
It was frustrating. His fingers were shaky and not responding well. It took him over a dozen tries to get his tie right, and even then, he had to tuck the narrow side into his shirt to keep it from showing behind the wider side in front. It was good enough. If he untied it and started over, it could take him another dozen tries to get it right.
Brent was so tired. It didn’t feel right being this tired in the middle of the afternoon. He felt as though he should be doing something. What, he didn’t know, but something. Instead, he was exhausted. Once he was satisfied with his tie, he stood there staring at himself for a minute. He looked haggard. Something was missing.
He searched his memory for what he’d been doing. It was like looking for your car keys when they were already in your pocket. Jacket. He needed to put on the jacket. It would cover up the rope around his waist. Brent couldn’t find a belt that would work. Most of his were brown, and much too large. They seemed incongruous with the black suit. He’d found a dark-colored rope which worked fine. It didn’t have to work for much longer.
First, he went to the closet, but it wasn’t there. He had two other suits but couldn’t find his black jacket. He was growing frustrated when he turned and saw it lying on the bed. With halting steps, he turned toward the bed and retrieved his jacket and slipped it on. To button or not to button? He couldn’t decide, so he just buttoned the top. It was a compromise.
From the corner of his eye, he thought he detected movement. It was Becca, younger than he remembered, but obviously Becca. She was smiling at him sadly. He felt a pressure at his eyes, as though tears should be welling up, but he was too dehydrated. “Hi Becca. I’ve missed you.” He walked toward her as she turned and led him toward the apple tree in the backyard. Always just out of reach.
When he tried to touch her, she changed positions. First on his left, then on his right, never where he thought. “I’ll be with you soon, honey. I love you so much.” Realizing she wasn’t solid, he settled into his chair, still welcoming her presence. The veil was lifting. He was close, now.
In front of him, his Becca, now a little older, sadly shook her head. The words entered his mind, but he wasn’t hearing them. It was almost as if they were sharing thoughts instead. “Not yet, dear. Not yet.”
Brent was confused, wasn’t she happy to see him? Wasn’t she happy he was on the way?
“Oh, my foolish man. You don’t get to choose this. Not now. I won’t let you.”
Brent felt a sense of loss and rejection. Was she turning him away? He had made his choice. He would be with Rebecca and Jack again.
He felt soft hands at his temples and tried to reach for them, but his arms wouldn’t respond the way he wanted. They just raised a little bit before dropping back into his lap. “No, dearest, I want you here, but not yet. You still have something to do.”
Brent let his head lean into the soft hands. He just wanted to sleep. When he woke up, he’d be with Rebecca again. He felt cool water touch his lips. No, this wasn’t what he wanted. The soft hands supported his head and pushed it back to let water trickle down his parched throat. He could see Rebecca moving away.
She made a little heart symbol with her hands. The tips of her thumbs and the tips of her fingers were pressed together. “I’ll wait, Brent. Today is the same as tomorrow. Tomorrow is the same as always. Don’t trouble yourself with time.”
Rebecca faded from his vision. Brent squinted and tried to find her again. There, to his right. Rebecca looked concerned, holding a bottle of water and talking to him. He couldn’t hear her words.
No, it wasn’t Rebecca. This woman had red hair.
Chapter 38
Madison found the lever on the side of Brent’s armchair and pulled it as she pushed back on the top of the seat. With Brent in a reclining position, his emaciated state was even more obvious. His lips were cracked, and he was extremely pale.
She felt his neck for a pulse. It was weak and fluttery, but it was there. She couldn’t find one in his wrist. His blood pressure must be terribly low. Madison was afraid to give him any more water while he was unresponsive. She didn’t know what else to do.
She hadn’t seen Brent in months, not since they had left the encampment on the mountain after Montana was killed and his body left out in the rain. He’d lost a lot of weight. She didn’t want to think the obvious, but it looked like he was trying to kill himself. Why else would he be wearing a suit sitting next to his wife’s grave?
Was she even right to try to save him? Their eyes had met when she walked into the backyard, but it was like he wasn’t even seeing her. She watched his arms move feebly as a hoarse noise came from his throat. Had he been asking for help? Asking her to go away? She didn’t know.
The only thing she could do was wait. She knelt beside him and talked to him, water bottle at the ready in case he woke up again. She loosened his tie. He didn’t feel warm. In fact, he felt cool to the touch. Even under the shade of the apple tree he should have been warm in the suit jacket.
That was something she could do. She could warm him up. Madison went into the house in search of a blanket. The back door was standing wide open. She went first into the master bedroom, but there were only sheets on the bed. In another room, which must have been Jack’s, she found a blanket folded over the top of a chair.
When she returned with the blanket, Brent’s eyes were fluttering open now and then, as though he was struggling to awaken. She spoke to him soothingly and put the bottle to his lips. He eagerly drank, but she was careful to limit how much he got. She didn’t want him getting sick.
Brent appeared to go back to sleep, so she hurried down the
street to get Krystin. They had been friends since they first escaped Dahlonega as the fires approached. Over the preceding months, Krystin had evolved before her eyes. First, breaking Charlie’s jaw with a rock when he tried to force himself on her in South Carolina, then cutting her hair short and working out regularly.
Krystin wasn’t going to be some wilting flower despite her petite size. As a paralegal, she’d had male lawyers hitting on her regularly, or bossing her around like a servant. She had put up with it to keep her job because it never went too far. She didn’t know what too far was, but she’d know it if it happened. As the days and weeks passed, she seemed to find some inner confidence that was missing before.
Madison was the more athletic of the two. She still ran a couple miles each day to stay in shape. Not without carrying a gun, of course. She’d been on one of her daily runs when she noticed movement in Brent’s window. When she finished, she cleaned up and grabbed her water bottle to head back there to say hi.
She called several times with no response before going into the backyard and finding him there. Initially, she thought he was dead, but then he started to make low noises as though he were trying to talk. When she put her hands on his head, he tried to raise his arms, but failed.
Another hour and he definitely would have been gone. As it was, she didn’t know if they’d be able to save him. Krystin would probably know, though. She was smart; crazy smart. If she’d had the right degree, she would have made an amazing lawyer. As it was, she knew the law better than most lawyers, but without a Juris Doctor degree, she was stuck working as a paralegal.
That was then. Now she was the brains behind the town. Madison wasn’t entirely sure how Krystin would react to Brent’s return. They hadn’t parted on the best of terms. Brent had chosen to stay with a suspected murderer back on a mountain, while Krystin had taken a group east into South Carolina until they were confident the fires had died down. They had come back to Dahlonega months ago.
In the intervening months, more and more people had arrived, afraid of the possibility of radiation from the fallout near Atlanta. The town had almost a thousand people now, and Krystin was calling the shots. They had power, water, crops, even a police officer. Krystin was the judge and mayor.
Now Brent was back. Would Krystin feel threatened? Would she even help? The only way to find out was to ask.
Madison hurried even faster.
Chapter 39
In front of Jensen, the road seemed to stretch on forever with little cover. Behind him, he could see the ramps of the Canids starting to lower. The Soldiers they’d met were already dead. The huge Oshkosh truck started to move just as he cleared it. He narrowly avoided being crushed by the rear wheels. It looked like their only cover was going to make a run for it.
Instead, the driver turned the huge truck toward the oncoming armored vehicles. It was certain suicide. The move also made the gunners from the tub and the Canids focus on the immediate threat. They directed their fire toward the cab of the Oshkosh and not at the four running away from the fight. It wouldn’t buy them much time, but every second was another second to keep breathing.
When the roar of the engine suddenly grew larger and then trailed off, Jensen suspected the driver had been hit. The clock was ticking now. He looked desperately for cover and dove toward the left side of the road. It wasn’t much, but at least the trees would make them more difficult to see. Ahead of him, he could see the other three doing the same thing. Daniel was shouting something, but he couldn’t make out what.
The strike teams from the Canids spread out, with several moving immediately into the woods. They would probably try to flank them while the armored vehicles covered the roads. Behind him, he could hear a mighty crash. He didn’t dare look, just ran for all he was worth.
In the woods to his left, he heard a rifle chatter briefly, then several more roaring in response before all became quiet again. Were they fighting amongst themselves?
Jensen angled toward his right, hoping to join up with his friends. As he ran, he held his rifle in his right hand and used his left to slap away low hanging branches and redirect himself by pushing off of tree trunks. This was a little bit different from last time. Before, he had been in an armored tub with titanium shielding.
Now he was the hunted. And he only had small arms to protect himself.
It was only seconds more before he emerged onto a small road. He instinctively started to follow it to gain distance before he realized it angled back toward the main highway. Cursing, he angled left into the trees again. He could hear diesel engines straining behind him and to his right. The Canids were moving forward.
He had no idea where the tubs were. He’d caught a glimpse of a second one as he disappeared into the trees. Those fuckers were so quiet. No wonder they were so effective. He expected a high explosive shell to land near him at any second, and he ignored the stitch in his side, running as fast as he could through the trees.
Jensen had no idea where his friends were in relation to his path anymore. He was just trying to create distance and make himself a harder target. There were men on foot behind him, at least one Canid off to his right, and two tubs which were out there somewhere, but he didn’t know where.
He heard a couple shots behind him. He didn’t think they could see him, but he didn’t dare look back. This was an unwinnable fight. They had armor, mounted weapons, and numbers. He had a little pistol and a rifle which wasn’t set up for short-range work. It was almost useless in the dense tree cover.
Over the sound of his labored breathing, he heard another, deeper sound. He could feel it in his chest as it rose in volume. It was a helicopter. If they had a helicopter, he might as well just stop. There was no escape from that sort of firepower. Ground troops, armor, and a helicopter? Why not throw in a B-52 or an A-10?
Jensen tensed his shoulders up as the noise thundered over him at treetop level. He couldn’t see the helo through the branches, but it was close. As the sound retreated behind him, another one thundered directly overhead and seemed to hang in the air. It was an Apache. He was as good as dead.
As he looked up, rockets and missiles left the pods under the stubby wings, but they weren’t directed toward him. They were directed back toward the roadblock. Seconds later, he felt the blasts and heard ear shattering explosions. He kept running.
The helicopter repositioned over the road and fired again. The whooshing noise was barely audible over the thunder of the rotors. Then the nose gun started up and the helicopter moved away. They clearly weren’t with the Senator’s men. These folks were Army.
Jensen clipped a tree trunk and fell to the ground. As he stretched out his arms, he let go of the rifle to keep his fingers from getting crushed as he hit the ground. It slid forward several feet on the dead leaves as he broke his fall. His right wrist bent back and seered with pain as his hand hit a tree root.
Whether from the pain or the run, Jensen started to vomit into the dry leaves. He was left gasping for breath as a thin brown fluid came out of his nose and mouth. Caramel? Chocolate? Something. The only thing in his stomach was the Snickers bar.
Jensen leaned back against the tree with his right wrist in his left hand and tried to breathe. The stitch in his side felt like some organ had ruptured just beneath his rib cage. Where was his rifle? His eyes scanned the ground quickly and found the long rifle partially covered by leaves. As he reached forward to grab it, a voice called out, “Don’t!”
“Leave the rifle where it is and put your hands on your head.”
Jensen looked up to see two men with rifles pointed at him. Both were wearing OCPs and vests. He slowly raised his hands to his head and winced when his right hand touched his head. He raised it slightly to keep it from touching anything.
“Stay on your knees.” The man who was speaking motioned the second man forward. As he approached, he moved behind Jensen and let his weapon dangle from the single point sling. He put his hands over Jensen’s and pushed him forward, causi
ng Jensen to scream with pain as his wrist seemed to be filled with shards of glass.
“Sorry about that,” the man said. He released Jensen’s right wrist. “Keep your hands on the ground. Flat.” Jensen felt almost thankful as he laid down on the ground with his chest heaving. The wrist was probably broken. He could feel the man behind him feeling up his legs as he searched for weapons. He could feel the Ruger as it was pulled from his thigh holster. The loss of less than two pounds of weight on his thigh made him feel naked. He hadn’t been unarmed in a long time.
The Soldier doing the search was satisfied there were no more weapons. He pulled up on Jensen’s vest to help him get to his feet, then recovered Jensen’s rifle. “I know your wrist is hurt, but I need you to walk forward with your hands on your head.” Jensen complied, but with each step it felt like a nail was being driven into his wrist. He gritted his teeth and put one foot in front of the other.
He had a lot of questions, but now was not the time to ask. They were moving away from the mercenaries and toward the Army. That was as much as he could ask for at the moment.
Chapter 40
When Trevor asked for the authorization codes from someone, Jim knew his wishes weren’t going to be granted. GBU 82s didn’t need authorization codes for release. The bird was carrying nuclear weapons, and it was now an ordnance run.
They wanted him to drop nuclear weapons on America.
He wasn’t going to do that. Jim still had a little bit of time to plan. Even guided bombs needed to be generally over a location before they were dropped. The bird was over South Carolina, just east of Tallulah Falls. Before long, it would be over mostly unpopulated area. In fact, he was going to fly almost directly over the mountain the Senator had dropped munitions on only the week before.
Tomorrow's Dawn (Book 3): Escape and Evade Page 16