The Beginning of the End (Book 2): Toward the Brink II

by Craig A. McDonough

  Toward the Brink 2

  By Craig A. McDonough

  Toward the Brink

  The Beginning of the End 2

  © by Craig A. McDonough.

  All Rights Reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. People, places, events, and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or historical events is purely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted by any means without the author’s written permission.

  The author would like to thank the following people, without whom this book would not have been completed.

  Allen and Kat Mewes, Ray Holloway, Linda Seed. Extra special thanks to my wife Rhue McDonough.

  Get updates of the author’s latest work and planned works by visiting his website. Better still sign up for the newsletter and get your updates delivered. http://www.craigamcdonough.com/newsletter.html

  Thanks to Adrijus Guscia of http://www.rockingbookcovers.com/

  This book is dedicated to the loving memory of our horses Dejni and Cressie - “Always with us!”

  Part Two

  One

  It took Elliot over an hour to make the twenty—six-mile journey from Twin Falls to Shoshone. Under the best of conditions it was no more than a thirty-minute drive on US 93, but he and his small band had narrowly survived death at the hands of rampaging foamers, which made driving fast on a dark road with jagged nerves a poor option. The highway was littered with abandoned cars, trucks, and whatnot, which slowed them further. The occupants had either fled in panic or succumbed to the disease. With only their running lights on, they moved no faster than a snail in some sections. Slow and steady was the right approach.

  “Jesus Christ!” Elliot hit the brakes before they reached Shoshone. His nerves gave out.

  “Easy, Elliot, he can’t help you,” the Tall Man called from behind.

  “Want me to take the wheel?” Cindy asked. She was on edge from the escape, but, unlike Elliot, she hadn’t driven through a company of foamers.

  Elliot shook his head and took a few deep breaths. “I’ll be okay.”

  He cleared his head with a shake then drove the last few miles in silence to the outskirts of Shoshone.

  “We’re about to enter Shoshone. Now, don’t blink or you’ll miss it.” Mulhaven tried to ease their minds. He knew how Elliot felt—how they all felt—but they had a long way to go. There wasn’t time … now, or ever.

  “It’s just so … so quiet, isn’t it?” Elliot felt the adrenaline rise again as he drove the van onto Shoshone’s main street. “Too damn quiet.”

  “I wouldn’t pay too much attention to it, Elliot.” Mulhaven’s eyes scanned the town. “It may only be twenty-six miles from Twin Falls, but this … well, it’s a laid-back country lifestyle for sure. Be like this even if there wasn’t a breakout of undead. Well … maybe a few more street lights and a couple of drunks.”

  Allan spoke up. “The sarge is right, Elliot. I’ve been here twice to visit Roger, and this is pretty much it.”

  “I think all of your estimations are correct … one way or another,” the Tall Man commented.

  “How do you mean, Mr. … err,” Allan caught himself. “Sorry. Chuck?”

  “Small towns do look like this at this hour, but Elliot’s right as well, because we are in unusual circumstances. We know communications are down, some form of martial law has been imposed, and we have people acting in a most vicious and hostile manner. Elliot, in fact, has suggested they’re dead and want to exact vengeance upon us, the living. I haven’t seen any evidence to the contrary as yet, but whether they’re alive or dead, they’re dangerous … so let’s stay on our toes.”

  “Why us? Why do they want us?”

  “Because we’re alive, Cindy. It’s that simple.” Elliot’s voice quivered.

  Elliot felt his nerves getting the upper hand. He couldn’t continue, couldn’t put lives at risk.

  “Do you drive, Allan?”

  “Not the best at it, why?”

  “It would be faster if you drove straight to Roger’s rather than giving directions.” Elliot hoped no one could see his hands tremble in the dark.

  “Well, I can drive!” Cindy responded. “Allan can sit up front with me, okay?”

  “Yeah, it should be all right. Elliot needs a break anyway.” Mulhaven rubbed his wiry, dark hair.

  Elliot brought the van to a halt, got out far too quickly, and almost fell. His legs were like rubber. He pitched to one side before Cindy, exiting through the sliding door of the van, caught hold of him.

  “I got you’, Elliot, I got you,” she whispered in his ear.

  “Thank you, Cindy.” He squeezed her gently. He wished this would all go away and he could her longer, just like he used to.

  Elliot clambered into the back of the van next to the Tall Man, who gave him a wink not seen in the dark. He did feel the Tall Man’s large hand on the back of his shoulder and was reassured. He would become more appreciative of the Tall Man’s presence in the group over the next few days. Between the Tall Man and Mulhaven, and his own determination, they might yet have a chance.

  “Squeeze over.” Elliot called when he found himself pressed on one side. “Okay, we’re good.”

  The van kicked into life again with Cindy at the wheel and Allan beside her on lookout. They continued on with the hope of taking Roger, and his relatives, with them to Canada. If there was any one thing they needed to survive, it was hope.

  “Do you think we’ll be safe from all this once we get to Canada?”

  Mulhaven didn’t sugarcoat his answer. “That I can’t answer, Allan. But one thing’s for certain, we’re not giving up!”

  Two

  “Gentlemen.” The president addressed the exclusive group of men he—or rather, Hadlee—had called to the Situation Room to discuss the crisis. “I want you to understand why I’ve called you here at this hour rather than waiting for all of the Security Council. The situation has deteriorated to the extent that a response is urgent. Mr. Hadlee?”

  The president stood aside from the lectern to allow Hadlee to take his place. Before he spoke, Hadlee took a long look at the grim faces of those present. It was a toss of the coin as to who had the longest face: the president or Tom Transky. Hadlee brimmed with confidence. The supporters by his side added an extra charge to his already overpowered ego. General Grant Stodge, chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, and Richard Holmes of the Defense Threat Reduction Agency were the most notable. The president knew Stodge was riding Hadlee’s shirttail to power but wondered why Holmes supported him. He knew the two had reservations about each other.

  “As I speak,” Hadlee began without a greeting or a thank-you, “around-the-clock surveillance flights by drones and Air Force planes have begun. We’ll soon be able to get regular updates on the situation. The drones in particular will prove indispensable…. We won’t have to worry about the pilots crashing the damn things because of the virus.” Hadlee wasn’t known for his compassion. “National Guard troops are already on the ground in Idaho supported by the police and the sheriff’s department. We have over ten thousand soldiers from Fort Lewis, and more National Guard troops from various bases, headed for a rendezvous just this side of the Idaho border in Washington. They’ll set up a perimeter once they reach their destination. Other forces from farther away have been called into action and will be in position within two days with a further contingent to arrive by the end of the week. This will give us a strength of one hundred thousand when you take in the extra numbers l
aw enforcement will provide. More than enough to blockade the whole state.”

  “I beg your pardon, Mr. Secretary.” Tom stood from his position at the table to voice his concerns. “But, as you are well aware, we’re receiving reports from the states of Washington, Montana, Oregon, Nevada, and Utah. These reports indicate there is an increase in the number admitted to hospitals and clinics with symptoms that appear similar to those exhibited in Idaho recently. Some of the sick are reported to be National Guard troops. If this is correct, wouldn’t any attempt to form a perimeter be rendered null and void?”

  “If we continue to use forces from the affected states, yes. But as we’ve discovered, Tom, there is a six- to twelve-month incubation period after the initial complaints of stomach pains and illness before it develops into the … the green meanie disease, as I believe the troops are calling it. We could avoid this possibility with the use of troops from other states.” Hadlee’s smile was as false as his logic.

  “Which raises the question, have we learned anything more about what it is we’re faced with?” CIA Director Jarrad Conner asked. He’d been playing catch—up since his ascension to the post after the death of his predecessor.

  “All attempts to procure a specimen for analysis have failed.” Hadlee addressed Conner directly. “But now that we have regular surveillance flights, we will have a better chance to capture one of these foamers, as they’re called.”

  The president rocked back in his chair, hands folded behind his head. The phrase “to procure a specimen for analysis” sickened him. He’d read the reports, seen the pictures from Boise—“specimen” was an apt description—but it still didn’t sit well with him. “How are we to accomplish that, Mr. Hadlee? We’ve already lost one SEAL team in our attempts.”

  “Sir, with the surveillance pictures, I believe we’ll be able to pinpoint the movements of these creatures and make our target selection from there.” Hadlee looked at the president a moment before he turned back to Tom Transky.

  The man has more belief than worshippers at a tent revival, thought the president.

  “I want to take another minute to address Tom’s concern, if you will,” Hadlee continued. “We will have six months to develop a counteragent to help those with reported symptoms in hospitals outside of Idaho. An agent designed to delay the process while a search for a cure is conducted.”

  “And exactly how do we … administer this counteragent?” Hadlee was a salesman, all right, but Tom wasn’t about to buy from this silver-tongued devil.

  “Good question, Tom. Damn good question!” Hadlee said, then gestured toward Martin Higgins. “I’ll let Director Higgins from the CDC explain.”

  Higgins drank a mouthful of water then shuffled nervously to the lectern. His eyes darted left and right. He wasn’t confident in front of people, and it showed.

  “Mr. President, gentlemen.” Higgins spoke quietly. “Currently we are recording the addresses of the people in need of treatment and have registered them in a national data bank at the CDC. Once we have the most rudimentary of countermeasures available, we’ll be able to contact each and every one of them, give them the initial shot, and monitor their progress. Once stabilized, we can create antitoxins from their blood.”

  The president liked the way Higgins presented himself. There was no display of arrogance. However, he raised more questions than he answered, and he had left the president somewhat perplexed. The president wondered who knew of Holmes’s emergency evacuation plan. He would have thought Hadlee would be in the know, but after his latest proposal, he wasn’t so sure. The new directors of the CIA and the CDC also appeared oblivious to the plan. Why would they even bother to go through the motions of such a response if they knew of the evacuation? The president had seen some damn fine actors perform over the years, and if the people in this room were putting on a show, he’d just witnessed a great performance.

  “Thank you, Mr. Higgins,” the president said. Higgins wasn’t quite finished, but the president had heard enough. He was as polite as he could be given the circumstances.

  “There are a few details I’m somewhat confused about, to say the least. I’m sure one of you can set me straight.”

  “What is it you’re not sure of, Mr. President? Perhaps I can clear it up for you,” Hadlee said.

  “Well, a day or so ago, the former director of the CDC, Mr. Flint, told me this disease would take approximately two to three weeks to spread across the entire North American continent. Now you tell me of a new plan that not only could halt the spread of this disease, but might heal those already affected.” The president cast his gaze around the men at the table and locked onto Richard Holmes for a moment. “Now, besides some new faces at the helm in various offices, what else has occurred that I’m unaware of?”

  “Sir, I do believe Flint’s prognosis was correct, if … “Hadlee held up his index finger. “… one, you take into account people who came into direct contact with the discharge of the carriers, and two, if no effort at all were made to prevent it.”

  Here he goes believing again.

  The president noticed Holmes shifting forward in his chair. His interest had at last been sparked.

  “We’ve sent troops into the towns and to the state border, and many of them have fallen to the disease they’re trying to confine. Now you want to send more. Is this not sending lambs to the slaughter?” It was the first time Secretary of Defense Weisman had spoken.

  “Mr. President, if I may, I’d like to answer that,” the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff said.

  “By all means, General, go ahead.” The president waved for General Stodge to take the lectern.

  “The problem as I see it is that we used National Guardsmen and cops from Idaho in the beginning, then sent troops from the nearby states. It would be safe to assume these people have much the same diet as those in Idaho, and, therefore, became infected. As Director Hadlee stated, the incubation period is at least six months, and the troops on their way to Idaho have that time … at least. By then, we could have our counteragent.”

  “Excuse me for saying so, but you don’t seem all that confident, General.” Tom confronted him.

  “I’m not a doctor nor a scientist, Mr. Transky. I know nothing of medicines or the time it takes to produce them. I do know this … I want to put a halt to this outbreak, but I fear Idaho, and the surrounding states, are lost, and …”

  “‘Are lost’? General, you make it sound like a military campaign!” Tom didn’t care for soldiers, especially generals.

  “Damn it, son, it is a military campaign. You lose that many people in such a short time, it’s a rout. We have to stop it in its tracks right here and now!” Stodge slammed his fist into the lectern.

  The general’s actions made it quite clear to everyone in the room where his allegiance lay on this matter.

  “And how do we do that, General?” Bobbie Ziegler, from the NSA, asked.

  General Stodge took a breath, looked over at Hadlee, and when he received a nod of approval, continued.

  “We’ll put the unaffected troops in a net around the no-go areas as we are doing now … block every road, every trail. No one goes in, no one comes out. Once we are certain the area is sealed, we launch tactical missiles from nearby bases. Warren AFB in Wyoming is the contender at this point. It’s the only way we can be sure of destroying the contamination before it spreads across the whole of the country.”

  The Situation Room was left stunned. A pin would have been heard if it had fallen onto the carpeted floor. The president rose at the other end of the table, his mouth agape, and he stared at the general.

  “My God, you’re fucking serious!”

  “Yes, Mr. President. I am.”

  Three

  “There, down there. That’s it!” Allan pointed. He saw the turn for a mere second in the dim running lights of their van, but he was sure it was the right one.

  “Okay, hang on.” Cindy slowed to make a U-turn on the narrow road.

&
nbsp; “Give me one of those spotlights we brought from the store,” Allan called toward the back of the van.

  “Probably not a good idea at this stage,” the Tall Man suggested. “We don’t want to attract any more attention to ourselves than necessary.”

  “I have to agree,” Mulhaven added. “Just do your best, Allan.”

  Allan brought his window down and looked into the dark of night. He couldn’t see any lights from the road or any farmhouses to indicate life of any form. He wondered if, out there, something stared back at him … a red-eyed, green-frothing foamer that looked upon Allan as a source of food. He pushed the thought out of his mind and took in the night air.

  “Mmm, sure smells like the country, don’t you think?” he said to Cindy. “The blue spruce trees smell so fresh.”

  “I don’t know what a blue spruce is, but it does smell crisp,” Cindy agreed.

  “It’s a conifer, a type of pine. They’re quite popular,” Mulhaven informed her.

  “There’s the driveway!” Allan couldn’t hide his excitement. He’d had enough of the darkened road.

  A large sign to one side of the picket fence read, “Welcome All” but the trail to the farmhouse looked darker than the road to hell.

  Cindy came to a stop outside the gates, which had been left ajar. If there was one rule on a farm, it was “close the gate.”

  “This doesn’t look right,” Mulhaven cautioned.

  “How far up ahead is the farmhouse, Allan?” Elliot asked. The company of the Tall Man eased his trepidation.

  “About half a mile, I think … not more.”

  “Okay, we best make sure we’re fully loaded before we move on,” Mulhaven said.

  “No lights,” the Tall Man added. “Reload in the dark. If you can’t, pass your weapon to me, carefully.”