“Over here!” Dixon shouted to Sims.
They rushed over to the injured men and examined them.
“This one has a pulse!” Sims said.
“Mine does too.” Dixon replied, checking the other man.
Sims looked at the name patch on the fallen soldier’s uniform as he assessed the damage.
“Kerns,” he said to the man. “Hey, Kerns, can you hear me?”
The soldier groaned and gazed up at Sims without focusing. His breathing was rapid and shallow, likely from shock.
A scream came from the man Dixon was examining, followed by a string of curses.
“Got a broken leg here,” Dixon shouted.
“No shit, Sherlock!” the injured soldier shouted back.
Dixon called out for Cooper. “LT, we have two injured here!”
Cooper ignored him, and after trying to get his attention three more times, Dixon ordered Sims to stay with the two injured soldiers as he jogged up the road.
“Lieutenant! We need your help to get the wounded to safety.”
“Where are they?” Cooper’s eyes darted back and forth across the devastated landscape. “This is the middle of the convoy. That’s the safest spot to be. They should be here.”
Dixon let the man rant. The lieutenant was losing it. His family was gone, and the man’s mind couldn’t allow himself to grasp that fact.
“Lieutenant, I have two injured men that need treatment.”
“What?” Cooper said.
“I said, Sims and I have two injured soldiers.”
“Then get them treated.” Cooper said, as if he was telling Dixon to go to the corner store to get more milk.
“Sir, you need to come with me.”
“I’m not leaving until I find them. Marky must be so scared. He hates loud noises.”
“Sir, I don’t think that’s a good idea. You really need to come with me.” Dixon gently grabbed Cooper’s sleeve.
The lieutenant drew his handgun and pulled his arm away from the sergeant. Waving the Berretta in front of him, Cooper began to rave.
“Damn it, you’re not listening. I have to find them. Marky needs a bath before he goes to bed. And if Marky doesn’t get to bed on time, he’s a basketcase. It’s our first night at the new apartment, and I want everything to be perfect for Nan.”
Cooper’s eyes, wild with fear and anger, stared into Dixon’s.
“You understand, don’t you? I’m not leaving here until I find my family.”
Dixon backed up a step and nodded. “Yes sir. I understand. Why don’t you put the gun down, and we’ll go look together?”
“I’m fine,” Cooper snapped. “Go help Sims.”
Cooper watched Dixon jog back to the side of the road where the injured soldiers lay on the grass. Then the lieutenant began to search the other side of the highway. The grassy median was littered with shredded clothing and metal fragments.
He tried to ignore the detritus, but one shiny object kept catching his eye. In the back of Cooper’s mind, he knew what it was. But hope kept him from examining it and without hope, he had nothing at all.
Finally, after frantically searching every other spot, he turned to the shiny metallic frame that lay bent in the bushes. As he slowly moved closer, he recognized the hinges and straps that used to hold his son’s leg together. It was Marky’s brace, but there was no Marky.
The weight of it dropped the man to his knees. He had nothing left, no tears to shed and no hope to cling to. He bowed his head and said a prayer. Then, after hugging the cold metal brace to his chest, he pulled out his handgun and put the barrel into his mouth.
As he pressed his eyelids together, Nan’s image floated in front of him.
Cooper smiled and pulled the trigger.
***
Dixon left the lieutenant and jogged back to Sims and the fallen men.
“Sergeant, my guy’s in shock. He needs help right now,” Sims said.
Dixon went to the damaged HUMVEE and pulled the corpse from the vehicle. Gently placing the dead man to the side, he jumped in and grinned savagely when the diesel engine fired up.
Dixon and Sims picked up the man with the broken leg and positioned him in the front passenger’s seat. Kearns was placed on a tarp and they dragged him to the vehicle, loading him into passenger’s rear side.
“Hop in back and keep this guy alive,” Dixon said.
“What about the LT?” Sims asked, climbing behind the driver’s side seat.
Dixon hesitated for just a moment. “He’s staying.”
Just then, they heard the muted crack of a gun.
“What was that?” Sims asked.
“The lieutenant,” Dixon sighed. “He wanted to be with his family.”
CHAPTER 18
VANDERBILT MEDICAL CENTER
NASHVILLE, TN
“The price of apathy towards public affairs is to be ruled by evil men”
—Plato
JOGGING DOWN THE SERVICE HALLWAYS of the Vanderbilt Medical center, Rachael and Claire had heard only the briefest explanation on how Billy Sims had come to the hospital. All they knew was that the convoy had been bombed by their own air force, and that the only four survivors of the attack were Sims and the three men at the loading dock.
“This way,” Rachael said, pointing down a corridor that her boyfriend had accidentally bypassed.
“Sorry,” Sims replied. “First time coming this way.”
The hallway opened onto a giant, elevated platform. The HUMVEE had been pulled through one of the three roll-up garage doors and was the lone vehicle in the bay. A soldier stood next to it, his right hand resting on a holstered sidearm, while two hospital employees sat nearby on the metal stairs that fed the top platform down to ground level.
Rachael and Claire rushed down the metal steps and assessed the injured soldiers.
“This man is in shock,” Claire pronounced. “He’s needs an abdominal and chest x-ray, stat. Probable internal injuries.”
She looked at Dixon and shook her head. “He’s got to go through the ER right now or he’ll be dead in hours.”
“Compound fracture here,” Rachael said, pointing at a piece of white bone that had pierced the man’s skin. “He’s got to go through the ER as well. Surgery and antibiotics, or he’s going to lose the leg.”
“What do we do?” Dixon asked. “We could be arrested if we bring them in through the DHS checkpoint.”
Claire thought for a moment and made a decision. “Rachael, come with me.”
“What are you two doing?” Sims asked.
“Yeah, what are we doing?”
“We’ll take them directly to a triage room from here. Get them in the system and bypass the guards at the front door.”
“Dr. Kramer, if we do that, we’ll be arrested. You know the rules.” Rachael said.
“They can’t arrest us if we aren’t here.” Claire turned to Dixon. “I assume you’re not turning yourself in.”
“No ma’am. We’re heading to Fort Campbell. They don’t know what happened yet.”
“Can you take another passenger? I can be useful,” Claire said.
“And how about a trauma nurse?” Rachael added.
“You both would be most welcome!” Dixon eagerly replied.
Claire and Rachael sped into the hospital and retrieved a gurney and wheelchair. With the help of the two employees and the loading dock’s hydraulic lift, they had both injured soldiers up on the platform and into the hospital.
They took the men to the admitting desk where they processed into the system. Within minutes, they taken to surgery where a ruptured spleen was to be removed in one man while the other had his fractured leg reset.
“Wow, that was quite a turnaround,” Rachael said as the two women hustled back to the resident’s quarters. “What made you decide to leave so suddenly?”
“I’m done helping the enemy,” Claire replied.
Arriving at their communal sleeping quarters, Claire scooped h
er clothing up and piled it into a pillow case.
“What about your stuff?” Claire asked.
“Billy brought my clothes from his place, but they’re in the wrecker back on the highway, so I’m wearing what I own now.”
“Grab some scrubs. Grab everything useful you can find.”
“There’ll be stuff at the base’s PX. Don’t worry about packing. We need to leave now.”
The two women rushed back to the loading bay, where they found the HUMVEE idling and facing the exit. The two employees, having helped move the wounded soldiers, were nowhere to be found. After they jumped in the back, the vehicle’s diesel engine roared and they sped out of the garage, leaving the medical center and the city of Nashville behind.
A fog lifted from Claire’s soul. She hadn’t recognized the stress and self-disgust she had felt working with DHS until she broke free from the hospital.
Sims drove west at first, but once they hit Highway 24, he headed north. Then he suddenly cut across the grass and tree-lined median. They were now going north in the southbound lane. Claire was going to ask him why when they crested a hill and saw the devastation on the other side of the highway.
“There it is,” Dixon said as they pulled over. The mile-long trail of destruction was not navigable, even with the four-wheel-drive of their HUMVEE. They had to skirt along the side of the carnage, stopping occasionally to call out for survivors. There were none.
The HUMVEE’s mounted spotlight swept over body parts and charred vehicles. Dixon spotted Lieutenant Dixon lying on the ground, his eyes gazing up at nothing as he clutched his son’s mangled leg brace in his hands.
Finally, they moved forward, speeding to Fort Campbell. Part of him didn’t want to reach their destination. He’d be forced to tell the Guardsmen what had happened, and that was a conversation he never wanted to have.
They need to know. The thought drove Dixon onward. They all need to hear how the government killed their families.
CHAPTER 19
SOUTHERN COMMAND
FORT KNOX, KY
EVER SINCE THEIR RETURN FROM the lake several months ago, General Lester’s two grandchildren had been sick. At first, their little bodies had been racked by vomiting and nausea. Initially, his wife thought that they had eaten something foul. Her diagnosis seemed correct because after the digestive problems went away, the kids returned to normal. Then about a month ago, they became lethargic, their symptoms much like a viral mononucleosis infection. That’s when the medical mystery began. For many more weeks, the children had endured batteries of tests while their condition slowly deteriorated.
Finally, as their white blood cell counts began to drop, radiation sickness was the diagnosis.
“Sir, it’s the only thing that makes sense. Nothing else could be causing their immune systems to shut down like that. We tested for autoimmune diseases, chemical poisoning, and anything that could affect their bone marrow. By our best estimates, your grandchildren were exposed to a high dose of radiation,” the doctor reported to the distraught grandfather.
“Watts Bar,” Lester said. “We haven’t heard from the plant in months.”
“If the nuclear piles went critical, the fallout could have caused these symptoms,” the doctor said.
“Does that mean they’re going to die?” The general’s eyes begged for hope.
“It all depends on the amount of radiation they were exposed to.”
“Well, they were never at the plant. They were at least two miles away at all times.”
The doctor scratched his chin. “Then we’re looking at fallout. That’s trickier to diagnose because there are several radioactive isotopes they may have been exposed to.”
“How can I help? Tell me what to do.”
“You need to send a CBRN team to the plant and take some readings. That would be a great start.”
General Lester’s next five minutes left no person on the base with any doubt as to what their jobs were. A CBRN team was dispatched by the end of the day and was told that he expected them to report back their findings without delay. After the doctor was dismissed, General Lester commanded his aide to hold all further calls and meetings. He sat down in one of his office’s high-backed leather chairs and began to rub his temples.
He never should have let his wife take the family to that damned lake house. No one was supposed to leave the base for any reason other than mission-related travel.
He never thought about blaming his wife, who had pressured him into the journey. Nor did he blame his daughter, who had made it clear that she needed the time away for herself. He didn’t blame the nuclear plant for spewing its poison over the land. He didn’t even blame the EMP that started the whole thing. No, he blamed himself. He had broken his own rules, and like any good leader, the buck stopped with him.
WATTS BAR NUCLEAR POWER PLANT
SPRING CITY, TENNESSEE
The M1135 Stryker Nuclear, Biological, and Chemical Reconnaissance Vehicle rolled into the front gate of the Watts Bar nuclear facility. The eight-wheel NBCRV was equipped with sensors mounted on the outside of the metal monster. Its four-man crew sat safely inside the over-pressured compartment as it rumbled down the dead plant’s access road.
The capabilities of this vehicle were too numerous to list—at least before the EMP took out most of its sensor computers. But some of its systems were hardened against an EMP, given that its purpose was to check for fallout after a nuclear attack, and the radiation detection system was one of the ones that still worked.
The readings spiked as they approached the twin towers of the plant, so much so that any exposure outside the Stryker’s protective armor would be limited to just a few minutes.
“Jesus, I’ve got almost four hundred rems,” one of the technicians reported as they drove nearer to the protective dome.
“If Fukushima is any guide,” another responded, “it could get worse if the rods have melted together.”
“It’s too hot to enter the containment dome,” the squad leader said as he unfolded a diagram of the plant. Finding what he wanted, he barked orders to his men. “Cut across the parking lot and head toward that L-shaped building.”
The driver rolled through the large parking area and over several grassy strips of land, ending up at the front of the administrative building.
“Radiation down considerably,” the technician said. “Under ten rems.”
“Let’s look for some papers,” the group leader said. “The more we know about the plant and the nuclear material it stored, the better.”
Two soldiers exited the safety of their Stryker, the positive pressure chamber spewing sterile air out of the door as they left. Helmet-mounted cameras let the squad leader and driver see their teammates’ point of view. As they worked their way into the building, the flashlights mounted to their rifles shone tight beams of light into the dark rooms.
The leader pointed at the screen. “Hold there! Carter, scan back to your left. I saw something against the left wall.”
The television monitor displayed the office, a large square space with row upon row of cubicles running the length of it.
“There! Back to your right just a bit.”
“I see it,” Carter said. “Nichols, on me.”
The other television monitor showed specialist Nichols sprinting down an aisle, joining his partner as they slowly made their way further into the room.
“I have bodies,” Carter said, his flashlight playing over three corpses that were in the advanced stages of decomposition. “Glad I’m on oxygen.”
“I’ve got a fourth,” Nichols said, moving to an adjacent cubicle.
“Carter,” the squad leader said into his microphone, “what’s that to your left. That puddle by the wall.”
“God, I don’t know,” Carter replied. “It’s dried out. I don’t have a clue.”
“Well, shit. Look at that,” Nichols said, pointing his light at the floor. Dozens of dead flies were littered on the industrial carpet.
“They’re flies,” Carter said. “And they’re on that pile as well.”
“Radiation.” The squad leader said. “These four died of radiation. Are they carrying any identification?” The two rifled through the dead men’s clothing, coming up empty.
“Over here,” Nichols said. “I’ve got three ARs and an AK.”
“I’d guess looters,” Carter said. “I found canned food, some ammo and porn magazines.”
“They picked the wrong place to loot,” the team commander said. “Keep moving. The plant manager’s office is just through those far doors. First office on the right.”
“Copy that, we’re moving.” Carter replied.
Carter and Nichols scoured the administration building. After an hour of searching, the team gathered the papers they had found and returned to the radiation-protected vehicle. A spray of liquid doused their suits before they entered the Stryker.
“It was a bust,” Carter said. “All the reports we needed were already gone. Someone must have taken them when they abandoned this place.”
“Let’s head back,” the team leader said as he looked at a map of the area. “The rear exit will take us away from the containment dome and cut off a few miles on the way to our rally point.”
The eight-wheeled vehicle easily maneuvered down the dirt road. After some off-road travel, they hit the highway that was to take them back to their rally point. With some luck, they’d be out of their monkey suits and in open air within the next thirty minutes.
About five miles away, they were startled to see a man running out of a local farmhouse, waving his hands over his head.
“Stay back!” the commander shouted over the vehicle’s loudspeakers. “This vehicle has been contaminated with radiation. It is not safe to approach. Stay back.”
“Please help me,” the man cried.
“I’m sorry, sir. This is a military mission. Please report to your local camp for help. DHS has a facility about thirty miles from here.”
Charlie's Requiem: Resistance Page 17