Cade nodded to Cross and Griff when they boarded.
“Launching in one mike,” Ari said over the comms.
While Skipper was helping the other Delta shooters stow their gear, Cade was rehashing the last part of his private conversation with Nash. The part in which she ran President Clay’s very risky, yet hugely rewarding side mission by him. It was doable, that much they had agreed upon. But the onus was on him to get the consent of the other involved parties. “All of them,” Nash had said, a no-nonsense look parked on her face. Then, without breaking character, she had added, “I’m behind you one hundred per cent, Grayson. God speed to all of you.” Recalling the initial look of surprise on her face when he’d accepted the task, even with the specter of Brook’s condition weighing heavily on his shoulders, he cracked a little half-smile and shook his head in disbelief. Looking to his left, he saw Ari craning around in the right seat. “You working on a knock-knock joke of your own?” the aviator asked.
Allowing his smile to dissolve slowly, Cade said, “Not my style, Ari.”
Ari turned his attention to the switches and gauges laid out all around him. After a moment of silence, he came back on the comms and said, “That’s OK, Wyatt. I’ve got enough yuks for the two of us combined.”
Feeling the full press of gravity on his body when the fuel-laden Ghost Hawk sprang from the tarmac, Cade honored Lopez by making the sign of the cross over his chest. Finished, he settled his gaze on the hulking silhouette Pikes Peak presented and then took in the majestic breadth of the distant Rockies as the ship, once again dubbed Jedi One-One for this mission, nosed down and swung a hard one-eighty.
By the time the Jedi ride was level and tracking nearly due east, Schriever’s northern fence line was a barely visible strand of silver rippling below Cade’s window and the siren’s song of sleep was beginning to call to him.
Eden compound, 11:20 p.m. Mountain Standard Time
Brook awoke with the gauze-like remnants of a nightmare clinging to the edge of consciousness and the all-too-real startled yelp that it had produced echoing inside the RV’s confined sleeping area. Shivering hard, she searched for the missing blanket in the dark, which, inside the RV with the curtains pulled, was absolute and inky, like she imagined the bottom of the ocean must be.
Teeth chattering an eerie cadence, she finally snagged hold of a corner of the fleece blanket, drew the supple fabric up to her neck, and trapped the loose end to her chest with her chin.
Truth be told, being separated from Raven and Cade—not only by distance, but also the chasm of not knowing what Nash’s revelation presented her—was the hardest thing she’d yet to face in this new Omega-affected world.
But she wasn’t truly alone. She was wearing Cade’s Army tee shirt and Raven’s stocking cap. Both items radiated their individual scents, and though one was a hundred yards away under tons of dirt, and the other, hundreds of miles to the east of the Eden compound, in spirit they were right here in the Winnebago with her.
Eyes wide open and fixed on the ceiling she knew was there but couldn’t see, Brook revisited the after-dinner exchanges she’d had with every one of the survivors, save for Oliver, who hadn’t been seen since stalking off during her impromptu confession.
Beginning to come to her softly on the periphery of sleep, like whispers in a cavern, the conversations she had had earlier, some only a word or two in passing, most lengthy and bordering on some kind of pre-death eulogy, barged their way back into her head.
Having stuck with her at the time as genuine and heartfelt, Duncan’s offer to “do whatever is necessary” in Cade’s absence was the most important declaration echoing in her head. And second only to that delicately veiled, albeit morbid promise, what Glenda, Jamie, and Taryn had said to her in no uncertain words during a private late-night huddle, left her feeling that no matter what happened going forward, Raven would not only be safe and cared for, but most importantly, she would be loved unconditionally.
A tear ran hot and fast down her cheek. More followed, wetting her pillow.
Sobbing silently, she rolled over to her left side, drew her knees to her chest, and wrapped them up as best she could with her weakened right arm. The wind subsided for a brief two-count and she thought she heard something moving outside the trailer. There was a swishing sound, like grass being parted. Then that not too unusual noise was followed by a brief rasp of metal-on-metal. She listened hard and thought she could detect a constant clicking noise that seemed to be steadily retreating. But before she could be certain, or work the courage up to arm herself, put boots on and investigate, the wind kicked back up and whistled unabated through the motor pool, making the tarps crackle like a far off barrage of heat lightning.
During the follow-on-lull between gusts, Brook rolled to the edge of the bed abutting the wall and pressed her ear hard to the wood paneling.
Nothing.
So she felt around in the gloom atop the nightstand until her hand found the satellite phone. Clutching it near to her chest, she powered it up and bit her lip in anticipation. After a short, albeit nerve-wracking three-second wait the vibrant display came alive with color. She cycled through to the message screen and, sadly, learned that there was no voice or text message from Cade. For a half-beat she considered sending a brief SMS message to his sat-phone, but quickly decided against it. He’d undoubtedly processed the information about the suspect antiserum and was back into mission mode. Busy being frosty, and she wanted it to stay that way. Besides, though she was feeling a little under weather—and had been since being bitten and subsequently saved with a dose of antiserum—she had no reason to fear the worst. So for now, she decided grudgingly, until the final chapter was written and she was left with no other decision than to end her own life, a protocol of quarantine—with an electronic lifeline, of course—was the only way to see this play out. Whether it would last a day, week, month or more, she had no idea. Best to take it one day at a time was the mantra going through her head when the tiny screen on the phone still clutched in her left hand went dark.
She put the phone back and lay there for a moment, eyes closed and praying to her God that her new friends followed through on every one of their promises, whether spoken or tacit.
Five long minutes after being yanked from sleep by a boogie man she couldn’t put a finger on, her breathing and heartrate slowed and sleep once again took her.
Chapter 43
5:06 a.m. EST 4:06 a.m. CST 3:06 a.m. MST
Springfield, Illinois 100 miles north of St. Louis, Missouri
Cade opened his eyes and swept his gaze around the inside of the gently vibrating Ghost Hawk. Slightly disoriented after coming to all awash in muted red light, he hitched up his sleeve and triggered the light on his Suunto. Noting the time on the glowing green display, he made some mental calculations based on time elapsed since he’d dozed off over Kansas, a guesstimate at the Ghost Hawk’s maintained airspeed over that time, and, finally, after adjusting for time spent refueling, he came away thinking they were over Illinois and—much to his chagrin—he was facing at least four more hours strapped to the uncomfortable fold-down seat.
No sooner had he accepted his assumption as fact than Ari came in over the shipwide coms to say they were overflying Springfield, Illinois and, to add perspective, indicated that they were roughly seventy-five miles due north of St. Louis, Missouri. Then, yammering away in full-on Night Stalker Airways mode, he said that barring any unforeseen circumstances, they should be approaching Target Alpha in less than five hours.
Taking the bad news in stride, Cade wiped the sleep from his eyes and regarded his surroundings. Across the aisle, on the starboard side of the ship, Griff and Cross were sound asleep. Heads lolling gently against the bulkhead, both shooters were clad in MultiCam ACUs with plate carriers and MOLLE gear snugged on over top of them. All Velcro and camo, was how Brook liked to describe Cade when he was dressed similarly and loaded down with the battle rattle, or tools of the trade he used to kill bad g
uys and Zs. Propped up against the bulkhead between the former Navy SEALS were two vastly different weapons. On the seat next to Cross was his stunted H&K MP7 submachine gun. A slightly curved 40-round magazine protruded from its pistol grip, and riding picatinny rails on the suppressed weapon’s top and fore was an EOTech holographic sight and compact, combination targeting laser/infrared designator. Threaded onto the short barrel and balancing the weapon out nicely was a Rotex-II suppressor.
Griff, on the other hand, had come away from the armorer’s shack with a cleaned and oiled H&K 416 identical to the weapon his Team 6 brethren had used to pop Bin Laden. Also suppressed, this CQB (close quarters battle) rifle was equipped with a drop down fore grip, holographic sight with deployable 3x magnifier, and similar targeting laser/infrared designator as on Cross’s weapon. Chambered in 5.56 x 45mm like the M4 he favored, Cade knew Griff’s weapon had reliable stopping power, but not the same concealability and rate of fire its little brother, the MP7, possessed.
To Cade’s right, the affable Nigel Axelrod was slumped in the forward-facing seat Lopez liked to refer to as the “bitch seat.” His desert tan tactical bump helmet was on the vacant seat next to him. The sand-colored beret he’d been wearing when they boarded was now canted at an angle on his upturned face, easily covering most of its narrow expanse.
Finally, finishing off his visual sweep of the passenger cabin, Cade settled his gaze on Skipper. Seemingly oblivious to the fact he was being scrutinized, the always vigilant crew chief wore a pair of the newest four-tube night vision goggles clipped to his helmet and was scanning the darkened countryside outside his window with them.
Unsure if the other aircraft were still keeping pace with the high-flying Ghost Hawk or had already gone on ahead as planned in order to secure the only road in and out of the target area, Cade shifted in his seat and craned to see out his port-side window.
The crescent moon was behind high cloud cover and did little to illuminate the ground scrolling by nor anything airborne in the lead craft’s general vicinity.
“You pick up Jedi One-Two yet?” Skipper asked. “She’s out there. Your ten o’clock. Stacked two discs left off our six.”
Cade squinted and probed the night sky for the gen-3 twin-rotor SOAR bird carrying the Army Rangers, but saw nothing. Knowing the crew chief could see him clear as day, he shook his head. “I’ll take your word for it, though.”
“One-Three is on starboard. Same position.”
Cade dipped his head and tried to find an angle past Axe.
“She’s there, mate,” Axelrod assured Cade. He removed the beret from his face and peered out the window to his immediate right. “Yep. Darth-Vader-black Chinook at my two o’clock. Maybe … one hundred fifty meters off our tail.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” Cade said to the SAS operator. “Anything else interesting?”
“Not really, mate. Just the wide open expanse of your country’s fly-over states. Isn’t that what most of your ruling class thought of middle America before middle Americans began eating them?”
“You got that right,” Cade said. “All the meddling by the powers that be in traditional military affairs was the main reason I was out of the teams before this mess started.”
“Right,” Axe said agreeably. “Our hands were tied as well. Whatever bloke thought it a good idea to let Parliament determine our ROEs needed to be out there eating sand with me and my mates.”
“It’s different now, though,” Cade said. “Gloves are off. No more haggling with lawyers and waiting for them to tell us whether we can take out an insurgent on a motorbike or not.”
Axe rolled up his beret and stuffed it in a pocket. “Different enemy, different rules.”
Cross stirred, but stayed in the same position—head back, eyes closed—he’d been in since they launched from Schriever hours ago.
“Different leadership,” Cade proffered. “In my opinion, that’s the major difference between then and now.”
“I reckon you know the blokes at the controls of this eggbeater?”
“I heard that,” Ari said over the comms. “I may be poor, but I’m not bloke.”
“Nothing wrong with your funny bone,” Cade said. “How’s the rest of Ari holding up?”
“Like a sugar cookie in Coronado surf,” he said. “I could really use another of those five-hour energy drinks Skipper’s been bogarting since the Kansas line.”
Without a word, Skipper ripped the Velcro on a pocket and fished out four of the brightly colored bottles. He handed them forward and dropped them in Haynes’ baseball mitt of a hand.
Cade remembered seeing those small pill-bottle-looking items on the counter of his local 7-Eleven. And like Tribbles of Star Trek fame, those garish-colored bottles seemed to multiply between trips there for Diet Cokes. It didn’t surprise him that Ari needed one of the pick-me-ups. The man, in fact the entire aircrew, had been incredibly quiet since they’d crossed over from Colorado into Kansas. The Auntie Em and Toto cracks went on for a couple of minutes until Cross and Griff checked out. The cockpit chatter ceased shortly thereafter. And Cade couldn’t blame them; it had been a long time since Ari had kicked the bottom of his Danners to rouse him, and nearly twelve hours since they’d lifted off from Camp Bastion.
A burst of static sounded in Cade’s headset. After that subsided he was amazed to hear someone from Scott AFB welcoming them to Illinois. He remained silent and listened to the male voice relay details pertaining to the next aerial refueling set to happen somewhere over West Virginia. He stared at the ground, trying hard to see anything that might give the base away. Runway lights. Light spill from an improperly blacked-out window. Perhaps shielded headlights of a vehicle following a patrol route.
Seeing nothing pointing to the location of the base he knew was somewhere north of their position, he leaned into the cabin and peered through the cockpit glass. Framed by Ari and Haynes, way off in the distance, was a horizontally oriented razor-thin ribbon of light. Just a hint of bluish purple bullying its way into the vast expanse of blackness all around it. Chasing dawn was always a cool thing to experience, and this wasn’t Cade’s first time going into harm’s way doing so.
Chapter 44
Chesapeake Bay, 89 Nautical Miles North by Northwest of Sewell Point, Norfolk, West Virginia - 4:09 a.m. EST
Qi focused on the night sky far off the destroyer’s starboard side where astronomic twilight was giving way to nautical twilight. Soon dawn would be mounting its glacial-paced assault on the starless black void.
He smiled at nature’s beauty, then turned his gaze to the Yulin. Fitted with air defense and anti-submarine rockets, the angular warship, though smaller than the destroyer Lanzhou, still produced an imposing silhouette when backlit by the diffuse light radiating from the distant rising sun.
The 440-foot-long Type Fifty-Four-A multi-role frigate was patrolling the waters near the mouth of Eastern Bay with its powerful Type 382 radar keeping vigilant watch over the rapidly brightening night sky. With the ability to pick up over the horizon airborne threats within a thirty-mile radius, the more maneuverable Yulin, Admiral Qi had decided, would best serve as a mobile picket of sorts. Having the pale gray frigate patrol the narrow stretch of Chesapeake while simultaneously watching out for air or land-based threats freed the admiral to give his undivided attention to the unloading of the slab-sided Kunlan Shan.
And undivided it had been. He had watched from the bridge of the Lanzhou as the amphibious transport dock eased into position, stern facing shore, and disgorged the four noisy LCAC (Landing Craft Air Cushioned) from her cavernous well deck. Always a sight to behold, the vehicle- and troop-laden hovercraft frothed the water as their humongous stern-mounted fans propelled them at high speed on cushions of air from ship to shore. It had taken the hovercraft four round-trips to ferry the entire expeditionary force to the beachhead.
Qi’s chest swelled with pride as for the first time in his life he saw Chinese boots on the shore of one of her greatest
enemies. The two countries had a history of always clashing through proxies. For as long as he could remember his desire to see this bully of a nation get her just desserts had burned strong in his belly. The calculated spread of the so-called Omega virus had been the first step in this final end game. The march to her once glorious capital would be the second. And with the information Zhen and his team were soon to extract, the third step could commence. Leaving behind manufactured evidence pointing to America’s culpability in the greatest catastrophe to befall the world since the asteroid strikes that culled the dinosaurs would serve two purposes. In the near term, once the false proof was shown to the surviving heads of state the world over, China’s humanitarian incursion into the United States mainland could hardly be argued. If all came off as planned, Qi thought, a smile parting his lips, the results of the mission would leave China looking like the savior in the eyes of history.
Qi smiled thinking of the surgical attacks the hundreds of special forces teams already spread about the country would soon be carrying out. Just like seeing the dead rise for the first time, the American dogs wouldn’t know what to do nor think when the PLA ghosts showed up unannounced on their doorsteps.
It would be akin to excising cancerous tumors from a living body, he thought. A living body that would then be ripe for repopulation. And after losing untold numbers of men and armored vehicles at the hands of only a few hundred United States Marines in California, the simple act of moving the substantial force he was looking at from shore to the nation’s former capital would go a long way toward restoring the confidence the nearly decimated PLA forces had recently lost.
Now Qi’s binoculars were trained on a sandy and treeless stretch of shoreline east of a town on the map called Huntingtown. The four amphibious landing craft were parked abreast where they had powered ashore the fourth and final time to deposit the last of the seven hundred marines, Captain Zhen’s special forces team, and their four specially modified off-road motorcycles.
District: Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse Page 25