There was no way to know how far he’d drifted downstream, so he’d have to make an educated guess as to where he first landed. He remembered seeing bushes with red berries lining the shoreline closest to him, and a huge boulder sticking up like a finger on the other. It even had knuckles, though they were fat and uneven.
Granted, everything would look different from ground level, but he should be able to spot those two elements. Especially together. After all, how many giant finger rocks with twin knuckles exist in nature? Not many, he decided, starting his hike upstream.
He planned to stay on the same side of the waterway as the berries. That way, they’d be the easiest to spot. A prudent plan, he decided, since the finger rock might not look the same from a downriver position.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE
Albert felt a gentle weight on his shoulder, then a light jostle, rocking his extra-large frame with each round of pressure. A voice followed a second later—a male’s voice, tone soft and inflection concerned.
When his hearing connected with his memories, a name attached itself to the words he was taking in. Albert opened his eyes to confirm the answer, seeing Dustin Brown kneeling over him.
The skin on his friend’s face was a deep red color and his eyes were energized with worry.
“You okay?” Dustin asked in a whisper, his words charged with air.
“Yeah, sort of. What happened?” Albert groaned, his body reacting to commands in slow motion.
“I don’t know exactly. When I came up here, you were out cold. At first, I thought you were dead.”
“What about the troops?”
“Never came. Burt went to find out why.”
Albert rolled to his side, needing a moment to let his body catch up to his intentions before he stood. “We gotta get moving. They’re gonna spot Burt and he’ll just lead them back to us.”
Dustin put both hands on Albert, applying light downward pressure. “You need to stay here and rest. Burt said he’d be right back.”
Albert swatted the man’s hands away. “That’s what I’m afraid of. That cement head is gonna get us all killed.”
“I really think you need to give him a chance.”
Albert couldn’t believe what he just heard. His new friend had already turned on him, joining the team of assholes led by Burt. It was hard to accept, but Albert wasn’t going to wait around and worry about it. If that’s what Dustin wanted, then fine. “Well, you can, but I’m getting the hell out of here.”
“What about our new business? We’re going to need him.”
Dustin’s choice of words stoked a glimmer of hope inside Albert. Maybe their friendship wasn’t over quite yet. He decided to give it one more chance, not willing to let all the work he’d put into Dustin go to waste.
“Not if we’re dead, Dustin. Let’s go. We’ll figure out the rest later,” Albert said, getting to his feet in a stumble. He waited a few seconds to see if Dustin would seize the opportunity to salvage their relationship, but he said nothing. Nor did he move.
I guess that’s it, Albert thought, putting his hand into his pocket, confirming the baggie filled with ice was still there. He wondered if Clearwater Red would still be a viable product now that an apparent invasion was underway.
Probably not, he decided. Everyone would be too busy defending themselves to buy his special blend of meth. If he was right, then Burt was two-hundred pounds of baggage he no longer needed. So was Dustin.
Before Albert could take a step, a crunching sound came from the bushes on the left. Both men spun to see Burt, huffing his way up the last ten yards of the hill.
“Miss me?” Burt asked in a breathy voice, looking proud of himself.
“That didn’t take long,” Dustin said, his voice cracking in the middle of the sentence.
“Like I said, I just needed to take a peek. I told you it was nothing to worry about. You guys need to chill. I got this.”
Albert flashed a penetrating stare at Dustin, realizing his fellow deputy had raised the very same concerns to Burt about getting too close to the military convoy. “Give him a chance, huh?”
Dustin didn’t answer, his eyes confirming what Albert assumed had happened.
Albert turned to Burt, wondering what revelations he’d uncovered, if any. “What did you find out?”
Burt continued his approach, stepping over a foot-tall sapling in his way, then pushing his feet through a stand of grass. “It’s the Russians. No doubt about it. They’re setting up a roadblock on the other side of Mason Bridge. But that’s not all. They’re forming a massive perimeter as far as I could see from my position. Tanks, troops, missile launchers—you name it. They brought a little bit of everything.”
Albert wasn’t ready to accept Burt’s report or his assumptions. The burly man could easily be wrong, though the term missile launchers did take Albert’s concern to an entirely new level. “Little bit of everything, huh? What for?”
Burt stood with hands on his hips, his chest working overtime to restock the air in his lungs. “To keep everyone out, obviously. It’s called a roadblock for a reason, or didn’t they teach you English in that chemistry class of yours?”
Albert let out a short chuckle. The man’s stupidity was even worse than he thought, demanding a quick retort.
“Keep everyone out of Clearwater?” Dustin asked before Albert could say anything.
Burt sucked in more air, nodding slowly. “Yep. I can’t imagine what’s going on in town right now, but I’m glad we’re here.”
“Why on Earth would the Russians care about a shit-stain of a town like Clearwater? It doesn’t make any sense, Burt. Denver or Colorado Springs would be better targets, especially NORAD.”
“The Silver King mine would be my guess. It’s the only thing of value in our neck of the woods.”
“So let me get this straight,” Albert said in a terse tone, glancing at Dustin for a moment, then turning his eyes back to Burt. “You think the Russians came all this way to invade our country and risk World War III, just to get their hands on the silver in our mine? Even a high school dropout like you has to realize they could get silver in a million other places, and do so without risking a war.”
“He’s right,” Dustin said, moving his eyes from Albert to Burt.
Burt shrugged, looking smug. “Maybe they’re after something else in those mineshafts. A by-product or something. I don’t know. But it’s the only thing we got worth something around here. So it has to be the reason.”
“Unless they’re after the people,” Dustin added. “For slaves. Or food, like in that old movie Soylent Green.”
“That’s even a dumber idea. You guys are totally reaching here,” Albert said, stunned by the absurdity forming on the ridge. There was more he could say, but he held it back, figuring the dust-filled brainpans standing with him wouldn’t understand the logic.
Burt continued, “Maybe so, but the Russians are here for a reason and they brought along a shit pile of firepower to make it happen. Whatever is going on took a lot of planning and a lot of guts to pull off. They have to be after something important.”
“And they needed to set off the EMP first,” Dustin added, nodding his head in earnest.
“Yep, to get this done, whatever this is,” Burt said.
“What do we do now? We can’t go to town with the road blocked,” Dustin asked the mechanic.
“We work our way around and take a closer look at what’s happening in town. We need more information, then we can form some tactics we can use.”
“Tactics? Really?” Albert snarled, pointing at the road below. He wanted to leave these two behind, but for some reason, he felt compelled to stay and argue. “While you stand around and talk about tactics, those professional soldiers down there practice logistics all day, every day, just waiting to unleash holy hell on anyone dumb enough to get in their way. You ever heard of the term Force Multiplier?”
Burt seemed unfazed by Albert’s perfectly worded rebuttal. The ma
n motioned to the mountain behind them. “That climb looks do-able. We should head up there. I figure we can make town by nightfall, if we hurry.”
“Then what?” Albert asked, wondering what it was going to take to get through to the brute. Dustin was obviously enamored with the man, leaving Albert to fly solo on the island of opposition.
Burt sounded sure of himself when he spoke again. “We take action, depending on what we learn. Simple enough.”
“The three of us? Take action? Are you insane? You can’t possibly think taking them on is a good idea.”
“We gotta do something. We can’t stay here.”
Albert huffed, holding back his anger. He needed to get through to Dustin; otherwise, his friend would end up dead if he followed Burt. “The smart move would be to head back to my mother’s place and stay out of sight. But we need to avoid the roads because you can bet your last dollar there are more Russians around. If they are forming a perimeter around Clearwater like Burt said, then Mason Bridge won’t be the only roadblock. They probably have heavily-armed roving patrols, too, so we need to be careful. Don’t want to find ourselves as human targets.”
“So you’re coming with us?” Dustin asked.
“Only if the plan makes sense. And right now, what Burt is suggesting is totally nuts.”
“Hey, we’re all on the same team here,” Burt said.
Yeah, the team of nut jobs, Albert thought.
“What about food, water, and supplies?” Burt asked. “I’m guessing your mom’s place isn’t exactly a prepper compound, now is it? Heading back there is a huge mistake, Jumbo. Support hose and a dresser full of fake wigs ain’t exactly gonna cut it.”
Albert didn’t respond to the obvious insults about his dead mother—the greasy jerk wasn’t worth the effort or the time. He needed to get moving and fast, with or without Dustin.
Burt continued, his words keeping Albert’s feet anchored in the soil. “We gotta be smart here and think this through. We’re gonna need guns and ammo, too.”
Dustin cleared his throat, his gaze now aimed at Albert. “You know, when we were in town before, I overheard the Sheriff talking to the Mayor about Frank Tuttle’s place. Supposedly he has a stockpile of just about everything. Maybe we should go there?”
“That’s not a bad idea. It’s about the same distance, just in a different direction,” Burt said without hesitation, looking at Albert.
Albert took a minute to run it through his mind. Dustin’s plan made sense, even though Albert didn’t want it to. And since it wasn’t Burt’s idea, he decided to consider it. “Going to Tuttle’s place has some merit, but it would be one hell of a climb to get there.”
“Yeah, we just take our time. No big deal,” Burt said without an ounce of concern in his voice. “Look, at this point, it doesn’t matter where we go. I just know we can’t stay here.”
“That much we agree on.”
“Plus, nobody should be out here alone. We have to stick together,” Dustin said.
“Then we go? Tuttle’s place?” Burt asked, his tone genuine.
Burt’s tone and his willingness to take a vote surprised Albert. Maybe there was hope after all.
Then Burt spoke again, ruining the moment. “Is everyone in agreement, or do I need to start knocking some heads together to get you guys to see the light?”
“Hey, no reason to make threats,” Dustin said.
Burt huffed, tossing his arms out to his sides. “Come on, get over yourselves. We need to make a decision already. So what’s it gonna be?”
Albert hated the idea of keeping Burt around, but Dustin was right. Going it alone was a mistake. He needed to make sure everyone was onboard and fully aware of what was needed to make this new plan work, despite his loathing of Burt. “We need to stay as far away from the Russian perimeter as we can, so we can’t take any shortcuts. That means taking the long way around.”
“What about water?” Dustin said, taking his backpack off and putting in on the ground. “We don’t exactly have a lot of it.”
Albert was in full agreement. “If we run out, we’re screwed. Maybe we need to rethink this idea. I’m not sure if you guys know, but wilderness survival comes down to the rules of three. Three minutes without air, three days without water, and three weeks without food.”
Burt shook his head. “Look, I’ve hunted in these mountains all my life, so I know them like the back of my hand. There are a couple of natural springs between here and Tuttle’s place, so we can refill our water bottles along the way. And trust me, it’s not going to take three days to get there. I know a few old logging roads we can use to shorten the time. Shouldn’t be a problem.”
Dustin locked eyes with Albert again. “Well? What do you think?”
Albert was out of objections. The idea might work as long as Burt could deliver on his promises. “Old man Tuttle’s not gonna like us showing up uninvited. I hear he shoots first and asks questions later.”
“Trust me, I can handle one crazy old man. Besides, I’ve fixed his tractor a bunch of times—usually at a discount—so I figure he owes me. Big time.”
“All right, let’s do it,” Albert said after a three-count. Even if their plan wasn’t complete or even sound, it was better than staying where they were, just waiting for the Russians to find them.
A smile appeared on Burt’s lips. “Excellent. Then it’s settled. We arm ourselves and fill our bellies at Tuttle’s, then sneak back to town to see what’s what.”
“Lead the way,” Albert said, deciding not to debate the mechanic’s last statement. There was no chance he’d agree to head back to Clearwater from Tuttle’s place, but Burt didn’t need to know that fact. The first order of business was to get everyone out of here safely and to a secure location with food, water, and shelter.
If that meant letting Burt erroneously think they were going to town after that, it was Burt’s problem. Albert couldn’t care less.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR
Mayor Buckley stood in the shadow of the towering statue of Cyrus Clearwater with his right elbow resting on the top of the blue mailbox. The first of four ATVs tore past him, each vehicle loaded with FEMA techs and a stash of MH2 inoculation equipment and supplies.
He was still having trouble reconciling the speed and efficiency of the emergency response crew. Their collective efforts were impressive to say the least, hardly speaking to each other in their Australian accents as they worked to complete each task.
“A well-oiled machine,” Buckley mumbled, thinking of his own failure to run the small town he’d grown up in. Especially during this latest emergency.
He and Sheriff Apollo had done their best thus far, but the results were less than acceptable. So many failures and the list was growing. The only reason the situation was under control was because of FEMA. Not him.
His thoughts turned to his faithful grandson, Rusty. He wondered how the kid was doing in the wilderness. Thank God Apollo and Dicky were with him, otherwise the greenhorn would’ve surely struggled with the new reality facing them all. No power, no electronics, and no transportation. Buckley just hoped FEMA would find his missing family and friends before the toxic threat reached the surrounding area.
His mind tried to turn to visions of Rusty dying a horrible, painful death if the contamination cloud found him unprotected, but Buckley quickly flushed the idea.
A layer of guilt tried to take its place, but again, he wouldn’t let it settle in and begin to fester. Mayors don’t have the time or the luxury to second-guess themselves. Or grieve, if their decisions turn out to be dead wrong after an emergency strikes.
If his current stint at the helm of Clearwater, Colorado was a prelude to an even higher office at the state level, then he needed to continue bringing his leadership skills to bear and stay sharp. Hundreds of lives were counting on it, many of whom were family and long-time friends.
He sucked in a deep breath and held it, wanting the suffocating pressure of the moment to sink in and fortif
y his determination. A second later, he let the air escape before turning and heading to the FEMA Mobile Medical Unit.
The last of the in-town citizens had worked their way through the injection station ten minutes earlier, leaving the line in front of the trailer empty. But not just empty of people—empty of worry and terrified faces. Mostly little ones.
“Day one complete,” he said, projecting out the mountain of work ahead for everyone involved, needing to finish the remaining twenty-nine days of treatment protocol. So many injections to administer. So many lives to save. All because of an EMP that took down a CDC containment facility in Denver.
For the briefest of moments, he thought about blaming the federal government for the mess they were in. But he couldn’t. Not when the same government had quickly responded and taken care of everyone in town. A town he doubted that few in the state government even knew existed. Certainly not the federal government or their respective agencies. Except FEMA. His mind still couldn’t wrap itself around that fact, not after a lifetime of assuming that every federal agency was corrupt and inept, just like he’d read about in countless newspaper articles.
If it weren’t for the Silver King Mine and annual rush of tourists seeking refuge from the blazing heat down south, Clearwater would have dried up and blown away long ago—and taken his political career with it.
He owed everything he was to this quaint little town where “nothing ever happens.” Except it did happen this week, when the residents found themselves at the mercy of some kind of coordinated attack, if he chose to support Bunker’s compelling theories.
The bustle of activity inside Charmer’s Market and Feed Store had been slow but steady, though the shelves were emptying quickly. Grace Charmer was going to need a restock soon; otherwise, the elderly widow would be hanging an Out of Business sign in the window.
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