Under a Tell-Tale Sky: Disruption - Book 1

by R. E. McDermott

  “It’s Tremble, Mr. President. I’m afraid there’s been a problem.”

  “Look, we’ve been over this. If he’s not cooperating, squeeze the kid. He’ll come around.”

  “I’m afraid Tremble … Tremble isn’t here any longer.”

  “What the hell are you talking about? What do you mean ‘not here’? Where the hell else would he be? Did you move him someplace?”

  “I’m afraid he’s … he’s escaped, Mr. President.”

  Gleason struggled to contain himself. When he spoke, his voice was full of quiet menace. “And how did that happen, Ollie?”

  “He and his son overpowered their guards, stole their uniforms, and escaped in their vehicle.”

  “So you’re telling me a paunchy fifty-year-old politician and his pimply-faced teenage son overpowered two of your overpaid FEMA troopers and escaped from what is supposed to be one of the most secure facilities in North America. Is that what you’re telling me?”

  “Tremble is far from a sedentary politician and you know it. He was an airborne officer and served in both Iraq and Afghanistan. In fact, he still holds a commission in the North Carolina—”

  “OF COURSE I KNOW THAT, YOU FRIGGIN’ IDIOT! AND SO DO YOU! SO WHY THE HELL WEREN’T YOU WATCHING HIM MORE CLOSELY?”

  Silence grew on the line in the wake of Gleason’s outburst, broken by a sigh.

  “All right, when did they escape and what are you doing to recapture them?”

  “Less than ten minutes ago. A two-man chase team is leaving now and we’re mobilizing a larger effort and preflighting the chopper in case we need it. The good news is there aren’t many roads they can take, and the better news is all the facility vehicles have trackers. We know right where they are. Right now, they’re headed north on Blue Mountain Road, at about thirty miles an hour, so we figure their car must be damaged. I’m confident we’ll have them surrounded in less than an hour, but that’s really not the reason I awakened you, Mr. President.”

  “Then what?”

  “They’re armed, and I doubt they’ll surrender willingly so …”

  “So you want permission to take them out, is that it?”

  “I don’t see any reason to risk good men—”

  “Well, let me give you one. You screwed things up with Senator Leddy completely. First you killed his wife in front of him—”

  “With respect, Mr. President, how was I to know she had a heart condition? It wasn’t in the medical record.”

  “All right, all right. It’s a damned waste, but the PR broadcasts will likely only buy us a few more weeks of calm compliance in limited areas anyway. So the preference is to take Tremble and his son alive, but take them out if you must. However, make those knuckleheads of yours understand that’s not plan A. In fact, I don’t want them taken out unless you PERSONALLY determine it’s necessary. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, Mr. President,” Crawford said.

  “And Ollie?”

  “Yes, Mr. President?”

  “It goes without saying anyone our fugitives make contact with may learn more than is good for them—or us. You take my meaning?”

  “Absolutely, Mr. President. There will be no witnesses.”

  Virginia State Road 601

  AKA Blue Ridge Mountain Road

  Near Bluemont, Virginia

  Day 17, 6:39 a.m.

  The SUV leaned right. Tremble nursed it along at thirty-five miles an hour, right side tires in the grassy verge. Of course ‘tires’ was a bit of a stretch, because the remains of the right front tire left them some miles back, its remnants spread all over the pavement behind them. The bare rim on pavement had been deafening, but worse than the noise was the incriminating evidence. Tremble had glanced in the mirror to see a line chewed in the pavement by the battered steel rim, leaving a trail a blind man could follow.

  His attempts to compensate were only partially successful. Running with the right wheels off the pavement lessened the noise and left a much less obvious track, but they were still leaving a visible trail. And the steel rim digging into the dirt of the verge made the vehicle increasingly difficult to steer. Even with power steering, he was fighting the wheel constantly, his forearms aching from the effort.

  “This is no good, Keith,” he said. “We need to ditch the car. We’re going too slow and our tracks will lead them right to us.”

  “There’s a turnoff just up ahead on the left, you think it’s a through road?”

  Tremble shook his head. “I doubt there are any before we get to Highway 7, but we’ll take it as far as it goes. We knew we’d have to take our chances on foot anyway. These woods are thick and we’ll find a place to hide.”

  Keith nodded and Tremble horsed the wheel to the left, grimacing as the bare rim clanked and chewed its way across the pavement, leaving the equivalent of a flashing neon sign pointing in the direction of their flight.

  Bear’s Den Hostel

  18393 Blue Ridge Mountain Road

  Near Bluemont, Virginia

  Day 17, 6:40 a.m.

  “That feels a LOT better,” Bill Wiggins said as he walked around the lounge area, alternating between walking and raising himself on tiptoe. “It still hurts, but not nearly as bad.”

  Tex shook her head. “Better than nothing, that’s for sure.”

  Necessity was the mother of invention, and they’d cut up the ample supply of washcloths in the hostel bathroom to pad the overly spacious toes of their work boots. It wasn’t perfect, but it would cushion their toes somewhat going downhill.

  Bill laughed. “Now if we could just figure out a way to get a couple of these mattresses in our packs, we’d have it made. That was the best sleep I ever had last night, bugs and all.”

  Tex nodded. “Me too. You ready to head out?”

  “Ready as I’ll ever be, I guess …” He stopped. “Hear that?”

  She cocked an ear. “Something heading this way, but making too much racket to be a car. What do you think it is?”

  “I don’t know,” Wiggins said, hefting his pack, “but no one we’ve met so far has been friendly, so I don’t think we should be here when whoever it is arrives. Let’s get into the woods. We can watch from there and just haul ass after we check it out.”

  Tex shouldered her pack to follow Wiggins out the door.

  They jogged the well-worn path across the clearing to the AT access point, then darted off the path at the tree line, hiding behind adjacent tree trunks. As they waited, the sound of a laboring engine grew louder, accompanied by another sound neither could identify. The vehicle lurched into view, leaning to the right, and the mystery was solved. The tireless rim of the right front wheel slung gravel into the wheel well, producing a roar that almost drowned out the engine noise. The car stopped abruptly and disgorged two uniformed men, sidearms visible even at a distance.

  “What do you make of that?” Tex asked quietly.

  “Nothing good. Let’s get the hell out of here,” Wiggins said. They melted back into the woods and started downhill toward the AT, aching toes momentarily forgotten in the adrenaline rush to put this latest threat behind them.

  ***

  Tremble got out of the car and looked around as Keith moved by his side. Their heads jerked in unison at the sound of an engine heard faintly through the dense woods.

  “Damn! Already? I figured we’d have more time.”

  Keith pointed to the path worn through the clearing and they both started down it at a run.

  “We’ll follow this and get as deep in the woods as we can. If we hear them following, then we find a place to ambush them. We have to break contact or we don’t stand a chance,” shouted Tremble as they ran. Keith nodded his understanding.

  ***

  Bill Wiggins turned back on to the AT and continued down the steep incline at a breakneck pace, his heavy pack adding to his downward momentum as he struggled to keep his feet on the rock-strewn path. His heart was pounding and he could hear Tex’s labored breathing. Well behind them
, he heard the faint sound of others crashing down the same path. They’d never outrun anyone, encumbered as they were with the heavy packs. He spotted a row of saplings lining the trail, and changed course slightly to grab the trunk of the first as he passed, clutching it momentarily to check his speed before releasing it to grab the next, bringing himself to a halt while remaining upright. Behind him, Tex followed suit, stumbling to a halt beside him. The sound of pursuit was unmistakable now.

  “Why the hell are they chasing us?”

  “I don’t think they are,” Wiggins said between labored breaths. “They can’t even know we’re here, and I’d like to keep it that way. I say we go off the trail and hide. After they get well ahead, we’ll get back on the trail. If they double back, we should hear them before they see us, and we’ll just reverse the process.”

  Wiggins nodded and they moved off the trail into the woods to once again hide behind tree trunks. Less than two minutes later the men flashed by, unencumbered by backpacks and racing downhill as if the devil were on their heels. They looked to be policemen of some sort, but why they were here was a total mystery. Not my problem, thought Wiggins, just stay the hell away from us.

  The sound faded quickly, and Wiggins waited a couple of minutes before he turned to Tex.

  “What do you think?”

  “The guidebook shows it as steep downhill for another mile or so, through Snicker’s Gap and across State Route 7. At the rate they’re moving, I’d say we can maintain a good walking pace without too much fear of running into them.”

  Wiggins nodded and they moved back toward the trail. They were almost there when he felt something wrong. “Damn!” he said, staring down at his foot. “My lace broke.”

  “Can you tie it back together?”

  “It’ll probably just break again. Levi put some paracord in our packs, I’ll just use some of that.” Wiggins shucked off his pack and sat on a fallen log.

  “I’ll wait for you on the trail,” Tex said. “I’ve given the ticks enough opportunity to crawl aboard, brushing through all this foliage.”

  Wiggins nodded absently, digging through the pack in search of the paracord, as Tex moved back on to the trail. He was pulling his improvised lace tight when a sharp command pierced the foliage.

  “Freeze! And keep your hands where I can see them.”

  He dropped off the log onto his knees and crawled toward the trail, slowly separating foliage with his hand. Tex was facing one of the uniformed men and staring into the muzzle of an M4. Where the hell did that assault rifle come from and how’d they get back up the hill without us hearing? he wondered.

  “Very slowly, turn and then drop the pack, put your hands on the back of your head, and get down on your knees,” the man said.

  Tex moved to comply. As the pack slid down her back and to the side, it tugged her shirttail over, exposing the Glock.

  “Gun!” screamed the man, rushing forward with his M4 trained on Tex to kick her hard in the back, driving her face down on the path. He squatted and thrust his gun to the side of her head. Rage boiled up in Wiggins as another man rushed into sight, his own rifle slung, and quickly tossed Tex’s Glock to the side. Wiggins heard Tex gasping for breath as the second man patted her down none too gently.

  “Clean,” said the second uniform, and the first man nodded. They dragged Tex to her feet.

  “We’re looking for two men dressed like us. Have you seen them?” the first uniform asked.

  Tex nodded, unable to speak.

  “When?”

  “A … a few minutes … they ran by …”

  “What did they say to you?”

  Tex shook her head. “No … nothing … I … I hid in the woods.”

  “Why are you armed?”

  “Pr … protection,” Tex gasped.

  The first uniform ran out of questions.

  “What the hell we gonna do with her?” the second man asked. The man’s face was heavily bruised, as if he’d been beaten.

  “She saw them, you know the orders.”

  “Yeah, I know the orders, but I’m not doing it on the strength of a verbal.”

  The first man seemed ready to explode. “Look, asshole, it’s your fault we’re on the shit list for letting Tremble and the kid escape, so don’t get us in even deeper by questioning orders! I had to do some fast talking to get them to let us head out first, and if we don’t get ‘em back, we’ll probably both be in a ‘fugee camp this time tomorrow.”

  “All right, then call it in for confirmation, and we can update Control at the same time. If they stay on the AT, they have to cross Highway 7. They can chopper a team there and we’ll drive them right into their arms.”

  The first uniform shook his head. “You just don’t get it, do you, Anderson? We do it that way and we’ll get no credit at all. If we make the collar ourselves, it’ll wipe out our screwup and we have a chance of redeeming ourselves and maybe hanging around a while—”

  “But—”

  “STOW IT! Cuff her arms around that tree over there and let’s get on with it. We’ll deal with her later.”

  Wiggins crept backwards and eased the little survival rifle out of his pack, moving soundlessly as he assembled it. He didn’t like his chances, but he sure as hell wasn’t letting them harm Tex without a fight. He slipped a magazine into the rifle and crept back through the foliage just as the two uniforms set off down the trail. He let them get out of sight then crossed the trail.

  “Are you okay?” he whispered.

  “Just peachy, except for being kicked in the middle of the back by a two-hundred-pound asshole. How are you at picking handcuff locks?”

  “Not in my skill set, I’m afraid. But we’ll figure out something. Did they take your gun?”

  She shook her head. “I think they threw it over there where they put my pack.”

  Wiggins walked over and found the Glock. He shoved it in his waistband, then came back and studied the handcuffs.

  “There’s a wire saw in the pack, maybe I could cut through the tree,” he said.

  “This damn tree is almost a foot thick, Bill. It’ll take you forever, and besides, even if you do my hands are still cuffed together.”

  “But we can find a place to hide and figure out a way to get them off. Besides, from what I overheard, it didn’t sound like having seen those mystery guys was very healthy. You can’t be here when those assholes get back.”

  Tex nodded, but Wiggins was already in the woods fishing in his pack for the wire saw. He shook it out of the little Altoids tin Levi stored it in and uncoiled it to cut a length of a one-inch-diameter branch from a nearby tree, then bent the branch and used paracord to secure the wire saw to both ends, improvising a bow saw.

  “Sit on the ground and straddle the trunk,” he said. “If I can cut it low, maybe when I weaken it enough I can push against it and snap it off.”

  Tex did as instructed, and Wiggins began sawing about six inches above the top of her head. The little saw ripped into the bark and the first inch of the tree as sawdust drifted down on Tex. Each stroke widened the cut and friction increased. Progress slowed exponentially.

  Sweat dripped from Wiggins’ forehead and his arm was already burning, but he gritted his teeth and pressed on.

  “This might take a while,” he said between labored breaths.

  “It’s not like I’m going anywhere,” Tex replied.

  ***

  In the end, their ambush site was chosen for them. Keith hurtled down the trail and landed on a loose rock, twisting his ankle to tumble head over heels down the steep slope. His father was several yards back, hard-pressed to keep up with Keith’s youthful athleticism. He pulled up, trying to halt his own headlong rush, and managed a controlled fall back on his ass in preference to a face-plant down the hill. His forward progress stopped, he scrambled over to where his son sprawled on the trail, shaken and moaning.

  “Keith, are you all right?”

  “I twisted my right ankle. It hurts like hell
.”

  Tremble raised the boy’s pant leg and pulled down his sock, eliciting a soft moan. The ankle was starting to discolor and swell, but everything looked to be lined up correctly.

  “I don’t think it’s broken, but you won’t be running on that,” Tremble said.

  “I’m sorry, Dad. I screwed up big time.”

  Tremble forced a smile and patted his son’s good leg. “No problem. We needed to set up an ambush anyway, and I guess this is as good a site as any.” He pointed to large boulders on either side of the trail. “We’ve got good cover. If we take them down fast, we can still get away.”

  Keith shook his head. “You know even if we do, there’ll be others, and we can’t move fast enough to lose them now. It’s better if I hold them off so you can build up a lead and get away. You have to let people know what’s going on.”

  “Not happening, son. If I escape, you’re just a liability. I doubt they’d even bother to take you back to Mount Weather.”

  “But, Dad—”

  “No buts. Give me your hand and I’ll get you set up behind one of these boulders. I don’t know how many of them there are, but I’ll take the left side and you take the right. Don’t fire until I do, okay?”

  “Yes, sir,” Keith said and gave his father his hand.

  ***

  Tremble was beginning to hope their pursuers had somehow missed the trail, when he heard muffled grunts of exertion uphill through the foliage. Keith nodded—he’d heard it as well. Tremble’s heart sank when he caught glimpses of their adversaries through the foliage; both were wearing body armor and carrying long guns. That meant head shots, hard enough with a rifle, much less a handgun. He took in a deep breath and exhaled, then steadied himself, his pistol in a two-handed grip, arms resting on the flat top of the boulder—and waited.

  Both men came into view and Tremble aimed at the man in the lead, firing as soon as he had a shot. He was gratified to see the man fall as Keith opened up beside him, sending a fusillade uphill and driving the second man to cover.

  “Easy, son,” Tremble called softly. “Conserve your ammo.”

  “You got one!” Keith whispered back, an elation in his voice Tremble didn’t feel, knowing the fight was far from over.