The End Time Saga (Book 5): The Holding

by Greene, Daniel

  Haley coughed, her chest rattling, and swallowed the medicine. Gwen exhaled forcefully as they let Haley back down. Becky went about tucking the blankets around her child neatly as if she were playing house with a doll.

  Gwen’s little phantom boy stood near the edge of the bed. He wore a little knit red hat with tassels that hung past his shoulders. He watched his cousin with grave concern as if he couldn’t fathom why she couldn’t play.

  “I came as fast as I could.”

  Becky didn’t acknowledge Gwen but stroked the hair off Haley’s forehead. She bent over and dunked a washcloth in a shallow washbasin and placed the cloth back on the tiny girl’s head. “You’ve always been there for us.” She paused as she stared at her little girl lying on the edge of death. “But there are others.”

  Like hard candy she’d swallowed whole, Gwen had to digest her decision to trust Tess and abandon her search for medicine. She had chosen the option that got her back the fastest. It was a decision others would die for if she was wrong. It was a decision she would have to live with.

  She stroked the little girl’s hand for a moment. “We have more medicine.” She stood with authority and anger, wanting to yell. It’s been here all along! But she held her tongue, not wanting to cause Becky even more stress than she already was under.

  Gwen left the room, and Steele followed her like a shadow down the steps. People had begun to congregate outside the house, mostly the Chosen but many others. They knew her mission, and word quickly spread of her return.

  “There’s something that I need to tell you.”

  Steele muttered behind her, “I don’t like surprises.”

  Stopping in the foyer, she took a deep breath. “I don’t like this either.” She shook her head unknowing a better way to say it. “Thunder’s been hoarding medicine. I don’t know why, but he has.”

  Steele’s eyes turned stormy. “What are you talking about?”

  “Tess told me. She said you wouldn’t listen to her.”

  His lips twisted a bit in irritation. “What do you mean Tess told you?”

  “She found me in Farmington and told me about Thunder’s treachery.”

  “She was gone?” Steele looked back into the parlor. “Where is she?”

  Tess’s voice called out, “I’m here.” She emerged from the parlor. Her battered face visibly shook him.

  “Jesus, what happened?”

  “Ran into some of Jackson’s finest on the road.” She brought a finger to her nose. “Don’t suppose Dr. Miller can set it? Otherwise, it’ll be crooked forever.”

  Steele rubbed the scar atop his head. “Of course he will. What is this business with Thunder?”

  “I tried to tell you, but you wouldn’t hear it. He’s been pulling one over on us like I said. Got medicine and plenty of it. Been hoarding it underneath a floorboard in his cabin.”

  “No.” He rested a hand on his tomahawk. “I already told you once. Drop it.” His eyes avoided Tess and peered at Gwen.

  Her green eyes watered, and her jaw set in resistance. Everything depended on Tess being right. If she wasn’t, a lot more people would die. “I believe her. She wouldn’t have risked our lives and that of all these people to reach me.”

  He regarded Tess as if he could sniff deceit. The twig-like woman stared back unafraid.

  “Do you realize what this will do to us?” He shook his head in disgust, his beard scratching across his uniform. “He’s our greatest ally. If I accuse him and I’m wrong, we could have a war and lose them. People will die.”

  “I’m not wrong. I had it in my hands, I opened the bag and saw all its contents.”

  Steele gritted his teeth and stretched his neck. “By God, you better be sure.” His temple tensed. “You’re sure?”

  Her voice took on a snarky tone, “No, I just made it all up for some attention. Of course, I’m sure.”

  “Dammit. I never thought it would be him.”

  Reaching for him, Gwen rested a hand over his. “I know.”

  “He’s been with me the longest,” Tess said.

  His eyes darted toward the door as he formed a plan. “On the sly, grab a bunch of the Sable Pointers. Get somebody on one of the .50s but don’t fire up the Humvee until we confront them. Be quick and quiet.” He turned toward Gwen. “How many men do you have here?”

  “I have five plus the men from Farmington.”

  “You trust those men?”

  “I do.”

  “All right. This has to be a surprise. Let no one you don’t trust know. I won’t have a shootout but be ready for one. Ten minutes.”

  Gwen gulped and he pierced her with his dark ocean-blue eyes.

  “We move.”

  MARGIE

  Burlington, IA

  Red Clare’s lips curled into a crinkly smile. The corners of her mouth held creases, and her teeth were a faded brownish-yellow. She wore a black leather jacket with her club colors, seven ghost women holding swords. Her reddish hair was in a tangled mess on her shoulders. “We’ll be here if you need us.”

  “Thank you,” Margie said, glancing at the pontoon boats. “Hopefully, we’ll be back soon.” She unraveled the rope, tying her pontoon boat to the dock. They would travel the rest of the day north and link up with the Special Forces detachment on the outskirts of Davenport. After that, they would finish the journey to Clinton, joining Captain Heath’s command.

  Margie wasn’t familiar with military structure, but she knew enough to do what she was told and accomplish her task. At least she kept telling herself that. An inferiority complex wasn’t going to help her or her team. She felt overmatched by the other leaders, especially War Child, like they were supposed to be there and she wasn’t. She had to remind herself that Steele had chosen her for a reason and to do her job.

  A dense fog hovered over the river like a cold smoke. She waved at Berry, who fired up the motor, and they slowly pulled out into the open.

  “What’s with the fog?” Tony asked, eyeing it suspiciously, knowing it could hold all sorts of evil.

  “I dunno. The air freezing. Brian talked about ice fogs, river fogs, and valley fogs when we were married.” She looked down after she spoke and back at Tony. “I know, super interesting.” She didn’t like remembering him. “Sometimes in marriage, the only thing that changes is the weather.”

  Tony smiled in response. “No shame in reminiscing.”

  She didn’t like remembering that day or any of the days after as she starved alone in her bedroom, waiting for someone to find her. The frantic phone calls to her children unanswered. The crying, the hiding, the running, all formed into a distant nightmare.

  Scratches echoed off the pontoons. Tony leaned over the bow and studied the water. “It’s still water here, but what is that?” He gestured out. “It looks like a slushy.”

  Karen glanced over too. She’d been a middle-school science teacher. “It’s frazil. It forms when the river is in the first stages of freezing. The water movement interrupts crystal growth, and the crystals don’t join together to form a sheet of ice.”

  The water continued to flow even in its congested state of solidifying into lumps of white. “How do you know that?”

  “Weather and climate curriculum. “

  “You were teaching kids about frazil?” Tony smirked. “Kids nowadays. Smarter and smarter.”

  “You wouldn’t believe it,” Karen said, her eyes grinning over her scarf.

  “Can a river like this freeze?” Margie asked. Arguably, the Mississippi was a large river, and if this frazil stuff was forming, surely it could cluster enough to freeze. Those in her crew shrugged. They weren’t from this area. They didn’t know the answer.

  Karen said, “Not sure. Maybe it’s possible if the temperature drops enough for long enough.”

  “Keep an eye on it.”

  Margie hunkered down, keeping her body compact to stay warm. She waited for anything, her wood-stocked deer hunting 30-06 rifle resting across her body.


  The rumble of pontoon motors and the repetitive lap of propellers drowned out the hollow moans of the dead that tracked them unseen on the misty banks. They motored along the river for roughly thirty minutes.

  “They’re slowing down ahead,” Berry said from the captain’s chair.

  “Must be the lock,” she said. They knew they would have to traverse locks on their way north. Many locks were on the Illinois side which meant contact with the infected and it was either get the locks working or find another way.

  She stood, letting the cold wind bite at her face. The dim shape of Lieutenant Gunther’s long pontoon was getting closer.

  “Cut it back,” Margie said to Berry. He eased off the throttle and steered the pontoon with enough space to pull alongside the other boat. The boat rocked as they drifted closer. Camouflaged men stood along the railings.

  Margie cupped her mouth. “What’s going on?”

  She recognized Sergeant First Class Wade’s face among the cluster of men. “War Child’s bringing us to a stop. Said engine problem.”

  “We’ll check it out.”

  “All right,” he called back.

  Margie glanced over her shoulder. “Pull us up to War Child.” Damn. Nothing is smooth.

  Berry edged the engine carefully forward. They drifted along the flat motorized platform. A knot of War Machines moved on board their pontoon.

  “Hey!” She rested her hands on the port side of her small pontoon. “What’s wrong?”

  The bikers ignored her, continuing to gather. She could see the white-haired biker talking to his sergeant-in-arms. Margie waved in his direction, arm above her head. “War Child!”

  He made his way to the railing and grinned at her. “We’re having engine trouble. I’m thinking maybe Gunther’s boat can tug us. It’ll be slow, but I don’t see another way.”

  “Shit,” Margie swore. Nothing is ever easy. This miserable journey was about to stretch a lot longer. Just make do. “I’ll wave them up. If we don’t freeze to death first.”

  War Child lit a cigarette, the beady little ember going to his lips. “I wouldn’t worry about that.”

  Her brow crossed in confusion. “Ha. Okay.” She gave him another quizzical glance and walked to the other end of the pontoon.

  “Berry, take us back to Gunther’s boat.”

  “Got it.” He made a wide arc with the pontoon to turn them around.

  They had by far the most mobile of the three watercrafts. Picking up speed for a few seconds, he cut it when Gunther’s pontoon emerged from the foggy river. Soldiers hung over the railings waiting for more information.

  God, my hands are cold. Make this quick. Margie cupped her mouth. “War Child’s motor’s out. We’re going to have to tug them.”

  Gunther’s youthful face stared back. “Really?”

  “That’s what he says. He wants you to go on ahead and lash the two boats together.”

  “All right.” At a sluggish pace, Gunther motored forward in the mist.

  “Stay close behind them,” Margie said back at Berry. “We want to be close enough to help out if they need it.”

  “On it.” Berry followed Gunther’s boat close enough to shout at one another but far enough to not cause any issues, giving the longer more cumbersome pontoons extra space to maneuver.

  She watched them as they pulled abreast the drifting watercraft. The War Machines lined the railings.

  “Here’s a rope,” a man yelled.

  A rope unraveled, lashing the two boats. It was almost silent for a moment. Only Gunther’s motor idled, churning semisolid water.

  The fiery thunder of a .50 caliber machine gun made her jump. Her adrenaline spiked as fire erupted from War Child’s boat like a broadside of cannons between two man-of-war ships.

  “What the hell is happening?!” Margie screamed.

  Automatic weapons raged, clapping her ears. Realization forced her eyes wide. The tarp-lined sides of Gunther’s ship went flapping as they were shredded from the onslaught of lead. Bodies splashed into the water as the men fell overboard. Screams of the dying raked her eardrums. The Sable Pointers stood rigid, watching the massacre in awe.

  War Machines pivoted in their direction. Bullets screamed for them now. They dinged off metal pontoons and cracked into the sides sending plastic flying. Berry took a round through the jaw, bursting out his neck. He toppled out of the captain’s chair.

  Margie dove to the ground, but it was more of a fall atop her rifle. She clutched it in her frozen hands as the bullets sailed over her. A string of rounds took Karen in the chest, and she collapsed along a bench seat. Tony plunged over top of Margie covering her with his lean body.

  The bullets continued to pound their small boat with a fury that was unstoppable. Tony’s arms wrapped around her body. She stared into his fearful eyes behind his glasses. The bullets stopped searching for them, and a quiet hum filled the air. She breathed for what felt like the first time in minutes, her breath coming in shaky spurts. The rise and fall of men yelling reached her ears.

  His name leaked from her lips between labored breaths. “Tony.”

  He stared at her eyes still wide. Unblinking. She shook him. “Tony?”

  She disengaged from his arms and rolled him over. White feathers puffed out from his coat. She sat up and ran her hands along his back. “Wake up, baby.”

  He was silent, letting her hands search with no objections. Her hands found the indentations in his back and she raised her eyes to the sky as her heart plummeted to the hell of loss. She shook his lifeless body. “Get up.” His head jostled from side to side. Warm liquid dribbled over her hands as if his own blood were reluctant to tell her he was gone. “Please, God.” She let him rest, staring at the sticky fluid coating her palms.

  The pontoon rocked in the river. She wiped her hands into her face hard as if trying to figure out if she was still alive. The fallen Sable Pointers lay strewn where the bullets had brought them down with violent effectiveness.

  She crawled to Berry, his eyes already glazed over where he had collapsed. Her hands stuck to the floor as she reached for Karen. Margie tugged her down from her seat. The woman’s head thudded off the ground, her body lifeless.

  Random gunshots kicked off as the War Machines boarded Gunther’s boat. “They’re coming for us next,” she whispered to herself.

  Karen’s mouth hung open as if she had something to add. Crimson fluids dripped from the corner of her lips, but no words came from her mouth.

  “They’re coming.”

  Hand over hand, she scrambled to the driver’s chair. Ripping the steering wheel to the side, the boat changed course. The craft angled for the Iowan shore. Gunfire banged out in quick succession from War Child’s boat. Bullets pounded the deck of her pontoon again, and she dropped down, staying low to the rear. Without a second thought, she muscled over Karen’s body and launched herself into the icy waters.

  The water was an immediate shock to her system. She had no time to consider that a bullet could have been mercy. The air in her chest seized, squeezing any oxygen from her body. Frigid water penetrated her clothes, enveloping her skin and making every moment a struggle. Beating the water with her gloved hands, she ignored her instinct to shed clothing.

  Her head burst through the surface. She sucked in as much air as she could but couldn’t ingest enough. The water made her heavy, beckoning her downward. The shore was close, so close she could see the rocks and dead grass around it. Her hands formed into frozen cups, and she kicked and squirmed and fought against the water. Her pontoon crashed into the shore nearby, scraping over rocks into an icy shore. It found a final resting place, leaning to the right with its motor metal grinding away at the frozen land. More bullets pinged off the metal pontoons.

  She beat the water furiously and went under. The freezing water stung her skin, and her face went numb. Brian’s face flashed before her eyes. She wasn’t sure of the last time she’d taken a breath. Tony’s lifeless face appeared before her. Her min
d faded as the cold took her deep into its bowels. As Margie blinked, the men disappeared into the river depths. Her body didn’t feel anything anymore, only a general numbness inside. Maybe it was better to be numb than to ever have to feel again. No, her mind whispered.

  She burst from the water, sucking in air. Slapping the surface, her feet sank into the mud beneath the surface. She struggled to the shore. Her jaw shook. “Must get dry.” In a haze, she gripped her torso and stumbled for the trees.

  STEELE

  Camp Forge, IA

  He ran a hand over the length of his beard, smoothing it with his fingers. With a furtive eye, he watched Tess and the Sable Pointers start to assemble near the front of their barn seemingly nonchalantly. A few gazed wide-eyed near the Red Stripes cabins, guns on backs or held loosely in hands. Don’t give us away.

  “You’ll stay here,” he said to Gwen.

  She shook her head no. “I will not.” Her green eyes smoldered like witching flames. “If he held out on us, he could have killed Haley.” Her voice became softer. “He may still have.”

  He clenched his jaw. Any man would protect his woman and unborn child, but she didn’t want protection. She wanted to be right there next to him in the thick of it. His fight was her fight. “I can’t say no to you.” Is she too hot to bring to a confrontation when cooler heads may prevail? Hell, she might put a bullet in me if I don’t let her go. He slipped his tomahawk in his belt and touched the handle of his M9 Beretta 9mm. If things went south, and it could quickly, he’d need to cover Gwen’s escape.

  He took a long overcoat off a hook in the foyer and threw it on over his ACUs. Pulling down hard on his collar, he left it unzipped for easy access to his firearm.

  John stood in the kitchen with worried eyes, his quilted flannel coat on, ready for the elements. “I overheard.”

  “Stay inside, John.”

  “Not with my granddaughter in harm’s way.”

  Steele sucked in air through his nose. These people were nothing if not stubborn. He nodded at the old man and opened the door. Wintery coldness flooded inside, and he stepped on the porch.