“Let me answer that, please, Mr. President.” Holmes stood up, buttoning his jacket as he prepared to challenge the Secretary of Defense. “Everything that’s happening in Idaho points to a near one hundred percent fatality rate. If this disease spreads across the country as forecast, it will do the same. Within a week, over three hundred million Americans will be dead or in the dead-like state of these foamers, as I believe they were being called by the National Guard. In other words, Mr. Secretary, there won’t be enough people to care or to vote or to do much of anything.”
“If that is true, Mr. Holmes,” the President said, “then a TV announcement is not going to help anyone very much, is it?”
“No, sir, I’m afraid not.”
“Then why did you say it was a good idea earlier?”
“Because you’re a man of conscience, sir. If you can’t do the right thing, you want to be seen as trying to do so.”
He was right, and everyone in the room hated to admit that Holmes could be right.
“Well, I have to go on TV and announce the reason for all the troops moving into Idaho.”
This caught Holmes off guard.
“Troops, sir? Into Idaho?”
“Yes, I’m sending in a half division of infantry and two battalions of engineers.”
“Engineers?” Holmes was at a loss.
“The infantry have been given orders to clean out the cities in Idaho. The engineers have been charged with the responsibility of building a mass grave for them.”
The President rose and thanked everyone for coming and asked that they stick to their tasks diligently.
“Troubled times, gentlemen,” he said. “Troubled times.”
# # #
The old Saturn pulled up in front of the store. Mulhaven was at the entrance.
“I told you one hour, Elliot. One fuckin’ hour!”
Elliot jumped from the car and escorted Cindy out. The Tall Man came up to Mulhaven.
“We ran into the foamers hiding in the cold room of the store. Neddy didn’t make it, and they nearly got Cindy,” he said.
Mulhaven walked into the back rooms. Elliot had put Cindy into bed and pulled the blankets up around her.
“I’m sorry, Elliot. Really sorry.” He put a hand on Elliot’s shoulder.
Elliot lifted his head up and looked at Mulhaven. “We shouldn’t stay here any longer.”
“You’re right. We need a few more things, and then we can get moving. Until then, she can use the rest.”
Elliot nodded then tucked the blankets in for Cindy.
“You should get some too, Elliot,” Mulhaven said kindly.
# # #
Military bases in California, Oregon, and Wyoming were on high alert as they prepared for the invasion of Idaho. The plan was for troops to arrive in trucks and secure various areas for helicopter landing zones. No one was going to risk flying into Idaho after what happened to the SEAL team. The President was livid when he was informed it would take at least a week before the first of these units would be ready to roll.
“A week! You need to make sure it happens faster than that!” the President told his Secretary of Defense. “We could be out of options by then!”
# # #
The Tall Man drove the Saturn around the streets of Twin Falls. Allan sat next to him. It was early afternoon, a few hours after Neddy’s death.
“Look for a recent model. We want something that’s going to last.”
“I’ll do my best. I don’t know much about cars and stuff,” Allan said before turning to the Tall Man, asking about what happened at the grocery store. “Was it bad?”
“Very,” was all the response he got.
“There.” The Tall Man pointed to a white van parked behind a store. “That’s what we want.”
A 2008 white Chevrolet Express Cargo van sat outside a shoe store.
“Do you think the owners might be inside?” Allan asked.
“Well, if they are, we’ll leave a note on the front door telling them we’re just borrowing it, okay?”
“What did those things look like?”
“Let’s just say they are fucking ugly. I’m sure you’ll see some sooner than later.”
They pulled up behind the van and gave it a quick look over. The Tall Man took a peek inside the store window. There was no sign of life in there—no natural life at least.
“There’s no one around. Let’s take it.”
Within seconds, the Tall Man had the side window smashed with a hard swing of the tire iron. There was no alarm. One thing he’d learned many years ago was how to start cars without a key. He’d become somewhat of an expert at it. Moments later, they were driving away, back to the Goodwins’ surplus store. They got back to the store as fast as they could, obeying Mulhaven’s command of, “No more than half an hour. No more!” They were surprised to see Elliot up and about. He looked worn and tired. The incident in the cold room had taken its toll on him. This wasn’t the time or place to mollycoddle anyone—as if there ever would be.
“You got a good-sized van I see,” Elliot said.
“Yeah, it should hold our supplies and the ammo Neddy and I brought from the gun store.”
“Good. The two of us are going out for one more supply run.” Elliot nodded toward Mulhaven.
“What else do we need?” the Tall Man asked.
“Medical supplies for one thing,” Elliot said.
“And a new car or truck. We can’t keep this panda for much longer,” Mulhaven added.
Elliot looked at his watch, adjusted his holster, grabbed the AR-15, and headed for the front door.
“We’ll start loading the van from the rear of the store. Have it ready before you get back,” the Tall Man said.
Elliot and Mulhaven gave a nod and left. Both were thinking how quickly he’d been accepted and trusted. It was becoming a case of “if they didn’t steal from you or puke green shit all over you, then you can trust them.”
Sixteen
A door echoed as it was slammed shut. Brian Flint had no idea where he was, but he knew he was in deep shit. Blindfolded and handcuffed to a chair in a cold room, and judging by the sounds, it was a large room. He wasn’t in the best position of his life. He was sure Richard Holmes was behind it. Tying up loose ends is what he would call it, he thought.
He had become one of those loose ends.
He heard the footsteps approaching across the concrete floor. Hard and sharp like the leather heels from expensive shoes. Holmes liked expensive things, Flint recalled. The footsteps stopped just short of where he sat. The blindfold was ripped from his head. Flint soon grasped that he was in a large room, perhaps an abandoned warehouse that was empty apart from him and his captors. He sat cuffed to a chair under a single light. There was something of a 1950’s gangster movie in this. Flint always did like his old crime movies.
“Sorry things have to be this way, Flint old man,” Holmes said.
It took time for Flint’s eyes to adjust, but he was able to make out the form of a man standing in front of him.
“That’s bullshit, Holmes. You know it, I know it. You’re tying up loose ends is what you’re doing, starting with me, you cold-hearted son of a bitch!”
“Well yes, if you want to be so matter-of-fact about it. You see, you’re a liability we cannot afford to have around. If the authorities found out in time, they might just have us executed for treason or some other nonsense. And we can’t have that, old man. Can’t have it at all, I’m sorry.”
“Who the fuck is we, Richard, you cocksucker. You mean the Chamber, don’t you? Have the guts to tell the truth. It won’t matter now, will it?”
“No, Brian, it won’t matter. And if it’s going to give you peace of mind before you die, I’ll gladly tell you.”
Holmes took a couple of steps closer to the restrained Flint and leaned over. “Yes, Flint, you chicken shit little prick, I do mean the Chamber!”
Holmes looked up and nodded. Flint didn’t see anything but he
felt a change in the air. His execution was to commence.
“Tell me why, Holmes. Why all of this, and why rope me into it?”
“Too long to explain, Flint, but you were roped in, as you say, because of your love of money and teenaged whores. We supplied you with an abundance of both, and yet you still were prepared to turn on us. Sad. So fucking sad.”
Holmes walked away, not looking back. A second set of footsteps were heard coming from behind Flint, stopping just short of him.
The bolt of the silenced .22 Ruger pistol made a metallic clang louder than the shot fired. It was a sound that Brian Flint never heard.
That’s one loose end tied up all nice and tight. Holmes afforded himself a little smile, but that went away when he thought of his next loose end. “That bastard Coltrain won’t be as easy!” he said, pushing open the door of the warehouse.
Holmes had one thing the Director of the CIA didn’t: He had the power of the Chamber behind him. If they could remove more than ninety percent of the population, they could deal with an aging CIA director. Holmes liked when he rationalized it like that. He even allowed that smile to come back.
# # #
“So you think they’re hiding up during the day?” Mulhaven asked.
“Well, it appears that way. I mean, we’ve not seen any about apart from our initial contact at the medical center.”
“Yeah, makes sense. Maybe it’s because of their red eyes. They can’t handle the glare of the sun?”
Elliot and Mulhaven had told the others back at the store they were going for medical supplies, which was true, but they also wanted to check out the situation as best they could.
“There’s a drug store the next block over.”
“I know, Elliot. You seem to forget I was—or I guess I still am—a police sergeant.”
They stopped in front of the pharmacy only to see the security grate had been fastened and padlocked. No need to waste time trying to get in there.
“Well, let’s try the next one.”
Elliot pointed to a plume of dark smoke rising ahead of them. “We better be careful here, Sarge.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
Mulhaven turned the SUV around and went toward the smoke via a parallel road. He then turned into a side street that brought them to an adjacent corner.
“Let’s get out and take a peek around the corner,” Mulhaven said.
As soon as they opened up the doors, they heard the yelling and the smashing of windows. Looters.
Edging up to the side of a building, they took a look into the street. The pharmacy they were going to check out was now on fire, its windows broken. A group of about six men and three women were roaming the street armed with an assortment of weapons that included handguns, shotguns, and rifles. All were intoxicated to one degree or another, and Mulhaven knew from his experience that booze and guns didn’t mix well.
“Better we leave this lot to themselves,” Mulhaven whispered.
Elliot nodded, and the two eased back to the SUV. Once back inside the vehicle, Elliot suggested they try Albertsons.
“They’ve got a good-sized pharmacy in there, and it’ll keep us away from this area.”
“Okay, sounds good, but we don’t want to linger. If what you say is true, then we don’t want to be out here when it gets dark.”
They drove the long way to get to Albertsons, keeping to the small side streets.
“At least we know there are some people still alive out here.”
“But for how long?” Elliot said.
As the Albertsons parking lot came into view, Mulhaven noticed the younger man lean forward, interest on his face.
“Did you see that?” Elliot asked.
“No, I’m watching the road. What was it?”
“I saw something or someone move in the car park.”
Mulhaven gave the lot a sweep over, looking for any sign of movement.
Elliot had his eyes transfixed on the area to the side of the building by the big conifers.
“Over there, near the delivery van.” He pointed.
“Let’s make this quick, Elliot. I want to get back to the others before dark!” Mulhaven was sure that Elliot wanted to get back as soon as he could, too, but he had a feeling there was a desire for revenge creeping into Elliot.
Mulhaven watched as his young partner got out and looked around, AR-15 in combat-ready position. His heart raced as he was sure Elliot’s did as he took one step after the other, one step after the other …
“C’mon, Elliot, it’s getting dark!” The tension was getting too much even for the experienced Mulhaven.
He saw Elliot wave his arm with vigor. Oops, sorry, Elliot. He knew the mistake he’d made. Mulhaven watched as Elliot approached the delivery van though he was too far away to have heard the noise from within. Mulhaven wiped his clammy hands on his red-and-black-checked hunting shirt as he watched Elliot slowly open the door of the van.
He jumped in his seat and grabbed his pistol when he saw Elliot stumble back then trip over. When he saw it was a squirrel that had knocked his pal over, Mulhaven couldn’t contain himself and burst into laughter.
“Look, look!” Mulhaven pointed.
Elliot took some time to orient himself after such an obvious scare. Mulhaven saw him raise his head and follow the direction that he was pointing. Elliot joined in the laughter when he realized it had been a squirrel. Mulhaven then saw to his horror a figure, a foamer in fact, appear from behind the van as Elliot picked himself up. He didn’t have to say anything. He knew Elliot was aware of this presence from his own expression. Mulhaven pushed on the door, but it had jammed.
That damn kid is in my direct line of fire!
“Move aside, Elliot! Move aside!” Mulhaven yelled.
From his position in the SUV, he could make out the foamer was a former Twin Falls officer, but he couldn’t tell who. He didn’t know any cops that had burning red eyes. He watched, astonished; it appeared as if Elliot was speaking to the foamer.
What, has he lost it altogether?
“Shoot it, Elliot, or get out of the fuckin’ way!” Mulhaven had a touch of the desperates.
He slammed at the door harder to no avail then saw Elliot raise the AR-15. A single shot followed, and the foamer hit the deck. He noted a somber look on Elliot’s face as he returned to the SUV, and what might have been a tear glistening on his cheek.
Was he shedding a tear for killing a foamer?
Elliot went around to the passenger side and got in.
“Let’s go,” was all he said.
Mulhaven took one last look at the foamer on the ground. It was still twitching as if an electrical current was passing through it. A haze of green would spurt up intermittently.
What was so special about that one, Mulhaven wondered as he put it into drive and drove off.
“So are you going …”
“It was Tibbuts. Rodney Tibbuts,” Elliot answered before Mulhaven finished.
Mulhaven took a deep breath, his hands gripping the steering wheel tighter.
Seventeen
The President stood outside the Oval Office. Secret Service agents were on guard all around him, though many couldn’t be seen. It was a clear night in Washington. The President was exhausted. Worry, confusion, and lack of sleep were taking their toll. The White House Chief of Staff approached from inside the office. As with the President, he had not slept a wink since becoming aware of the devastation in Idaho.
“Sir, we have reports that some population centers outside of Idaho may now be suffering from the same illness that has devastated Idaho.”
The President just looked up into the night sky. He didn’t answer; what answer could he give that would change anything?
“Sir, did you hear me?”
“Yes, yes, I heard you. What do we do about it? Do you realize I’m the first President to order troops into action on American soil and that specific action is to exterminate the population of a whole state? You realize th
at, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir. I do understand.”
“How do you think I’ll be remembered, Tom? Certainly not as a great wartime leader like Roosevelt. I’ll be crucified!” The President shook his fist.
“With all due respect, sir, if it’s going to be as bad as some of the estimations claim, then I don’t think you need to worry about how your administration is perceived.”
The President turned his head toward Tom Transky, the only Chief of Staff he’d ever had, and raised an eyebrow.
“What I mean, sir, is that there won’t be anyone left to judge you.”
The President nodded. He understood but was also annoyed at himself. The civilized world could become extinct, and he was worrying about how he would be remembered.
Petty. So petty.
“Sir, the Secretary of Defense, on advice he received from the Joint Chief, has recommended moving the ICBMs out of Great Falls, Montana. In light of the recent news of the illness spreading.”
“And move them where? To another base that will probably experience the same in a few months’ time?”
“I agree with you, sir. I don’t see the point, but the missiles do present another problem.”
“Does anybody think that any of these sick people … What is it again they’re being called?”
“Foamers, sir.”
“Right. Does anyone seriously think that these foamers are capable of operating such equipment and launching a missile?”
“No, sir. No one has suggested that at all. Perhaps we could meet halfway, sir, and have the missiles’ launching capabilities shut down.”
The President nodded while thinking it over. It was an obvious choice.
“That’s a good idea, Tom, but just let me think on it a bit, okay? Now, any news on Flint?”
“No, sir. He hasn’t been seen since the last meeting he attended, and I think as more people become aware of the full extent of the danger, we’ll see quite a few more disappearing.”
“What makes you say that, Tom?”
“Well, sir,” Tom rubbed his forefingers across his brow, “the Director of the CIA has now gone missing.”
The Beginning of the End (Book 1): Toward the Brink Page 12