“I have bad news about your son, Madame Secretary.”
She could barely hear the XO over the sirens, and at first she hoped she’d misunderstood. Then she felt Albert’s gentle hand on her shoulder.
“Tell me,” Charlize choked out.
Marco hesitated. It was the first time she’d ever seen the eager young officer balk at following an order. “Lieutenant Dupree’s team has reached the Easterseals camp, ma’am, but they haven’t found any sign of survivors.”
***
Dupree was having a hell of a time not throwing up in his CBRN suit. He bent down to examine another body. The young woman lay face down in the dirt outside one of the lodges that served as dormitories for the campers. Her exposed skin was covered in blisters and sores. One of the blisters had recently popped, oozing out a trail of pus.
Over his career he had seen a lot of nightmarish scenes, but dead children with radiation poisoning was a new level of horror.
He bumped the comm link in the helmet to report the death to the pilots, who would relay the info to Lieutenant Marco on the USS John Stennis.
“Black 1, this is Fox 1 confirming another casualty,” Dupree said. “Still no sign of Falcon.”
“Copy that, Fox 1.”
Dupree looked over at Sharps and Emerson. The two Marines stood guard with their M4s cradled across their chests as they scanned the surrounding area for anyone that might still be alive. The odds of that were growing slimmer by the minute. They had searched the camp for an hour without locating a single survivor, and they were running out of places to look.
To the east, McCabe and Rodriguez exited another lodge. McCabe stood on the porch and motioned for Dupree to join them. He glanced down at the dead woman one more time. Leaving her out here alone seemed wrong, but they didn’t have time to bury these people.
“Clear this lodge,” Dupree said to Emerson and Sharps. The men nodded, but they didn’t look eager. The scene was taking a toll on all of them. He jogged through the central gathering area and past a large fire pit ringed with benches. Branches shifted in the warm breeze, reaching for the bluffs that flanked the camp like medieval guard towers.
“No sign of Falcon,” reported Snider over the comms.
“Have you searched those sheds we saw on the way in?” Dupree asked.
“Yes, sir,” Snider said. “Runge just cleared both of them.”
Dupree cursed. Where the hell was this kid? They had found several dead counselors and staff members over the past hour, but the numbers weren’t adding up. It appeared many of the children were missing, including Ty Montgomery.
Had someone beat his team here and evacuated the others?
He jogged the rest of the way to the other lodge, where McCabe ushered him inside.
“Sir, I think I found the kid’s bunk. Come take a look.”
Dupree jogged up the ramp that led to the cabin, and Rodriguez opened the swinging door to let them inside.
The room was furnished with about a dozen beds, some of them set up for special needs children. Toys and stuffed animals were scattered on the floor. Dupree stepped over a blanket crumpled on the floor. The mess was yet another sign of a quick and possibly chaotic evacuation.
But if these kids had been evacuated, where were they now?
McCabe walked down the aisle separating the bunks. Dupree followed him to a bed with wheelchair access and the name “Montgomery, Ty”. A model F-15 fighter jet lay on the sheets.
“Check out the inscription,” McCabe said.
Dupree picked up the model and read the bottom.
To Ty - Dream big and someday you will soar to reach your goals.
“Where the hell is this kid, LT?” McCabe asked. “And where are all the other kids?”
Dupree set the model jet back down gently. “Good question.”
They met back outside where Rodriguez was waiting. To the west, Emerson and Sharps emerged from the lodge where Dupree had found the dead woman.
“Snider, Runge, give me a SITREP,” Dupree said into his mini-mic.
“About to enter the main lodge for a second pass, sir. Stand by,” Snider said.
“The kids have to be here somewhere,” Dupree said. He wasn’t sure if he was talking to his men or himself. He waved for Sharps and Emerson to join him near the fire pit with Rodriguez and McCabe.
“Found a few dead kids back there, LT, but not our target. The kids were hiding in a closet,” Emerson said. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”
“Jesus in heaven,” McCabe said. He made the sign of the cross over his CBRN suit.
Dupree remained silent, using the time to think. A drop of rain pelted his visor as they waited. He stared out at the outside world like a fish inside of a bowl. Within minutes, the sky opened up, sending sheets of rain over the camp.
“What is this black shit?” Sharps asked, holding up a glove covered in what looked like wet ash.
“People, trees, buildings…” McCabe said.
Sharps eyes widened. “What do you mean?”
“It’s what’s left over when the world burns,” Dupree said.
“Is it toxic?” Sharps asked.
“Could be, but our suits will protect us,” McCabe said. He craned his helmet toward Dupree. “Right, sir?”
The comm link fired before Dupree could reply.
“Sir, I’ve got movement inside the cafeteria,” Snider reported. “Looks like we have a survivor!”
“On our way,” Dupree said. He jerked his chin, and his men quickly fell in behind him. They fanned out, moving slower than normal in the downpour. An armada of angry storm clouds had rolled in from the west. They bulged like overflowing garbage bags, swollen with ash and smoke from the forest fires.
He flashed hand signals to his men as they approached the main lodge, running through the camp layout he’d memorized during the long flight. There was a cafeteria and several community rooms inside this building, but nothing to indicate a shelter or basement.
“Sergeant McCabe, on me,” Dupree said. “Sharps, you and Emerson hold security outside.”
Dupree made his way up the wide stairs to the front doors. He strode into the main seating area, which looked like it had seen a stampede, not an evacuation. Chairs were upturned, and rotting food had splattered on the ground. He stepped around a paper plate cemented to the floor by what looked like mashed potatoes.
“Sir,” McCabe said, pointing toward the center of the room.
Dupree moved around a long table to find another dead camp counselor. He was curled up in a fetal position, his hands gripping his stomach, which told Dupree he had died of radiation poisoning.
McCabe approached slowly, looking up every few feet to scan the entrances to the other community rooms for contacts.
“Snider,” Dupree said. “Did you see the body in the cafeteria? Bearded guy, red hat?”
“Yes, sir. I thought I reported it already.”
“No, you didn’t,” Dupree said.
“Holy shit,” McCabe said as he bent down next to the body. “This guy was shot.”
“Shot?” Snider asked over the comm.
Dupree moved around the side of a table and saw the small pool of blood under the corpse that he hadn’t noticed before.
“Shit,” Dupree said, bending down. A sloppy grouping of three rounds to the chest had taken this man out. He stood and raised his rifle at the crack of shattering dishes in the kitchen. A flash of motion came from the entrance, and a figure limped into the mess hall. Dupree lowered his muzzle when he saw it was just a boy.
“Stop!” Snider shouted. He ran out into the mess with Runge right behind. The kid halted in the middle of the room as the Marines closed in around him. His eyes darted back and forth like an animal being surrounded by wolves.
“Stay back,” the child said. He tried to escape, but only staggered a few feet before Snider tackled him to the ground.
“Get off!” the boy screamed.
Runge bent down to hold his
legs.
“Kid, stop fighting,” Snider said. “We’re not going to hurt you.”
“Liar!” the boy yelled. He bit at Snider’s suit and clamped down on the sleeve. Snider brought a hand up to smack the kid, but Dupree caught his wrist in mid-air.
The boy, suddenly silent and lying on his back, glanced up at Dupree. Black hair matted his forehead and rashes marked his cheeks and chin. He reached up with a curled right hand.
“Get off him,” Dupree said.
Snider and Runge loosened their grips. Dupree slung the strap of his rifle over his back. He bent down, forcing a smile that the boy returned with a scowl. It wasn’t all that much different from the look Dupree’s sons gave him when he would show up late to a birthday party or sporting event—if he showed up at all.
“We’re here to help you,” Dupree said.
The boy scooted backward across the floor. “That’s what the other soldiers said.”
“Soldiers?” McCabe asked. “What other soldiers?”
Dupree waited for the boy to respond, but the kid averted his gaze.
“We’re the good guys,” Dupree said. He reached into his vest and pulled out a sealed bag containing a chocolate bar. He had brought it along just in case they found survivors and needed bait to get them to leave the camp.
The boy licked his cracked lips and held out a hand, suddenly not so scared. “I’m really hungry, but they told us not to eat anything because of the rad nation.”
“Radiation,” McCabe corrected, chuckling.
Dupree shot the sergeant a look that told him to back off.
The boy reached for the bag again, but Dupree held it just out of his reach.
“What’s your name?” Dupree asked.
“Alex Stephens.”
“My name is Lieutenant Jeff Dupree, and I’m going to help you, but first you need to tell me what happened here. Who took your friends and where did they go?”
Alex swiped the sweaty black hair from his forehead. “The soldiers said they were going to take us somewhere safe, but I could tell they were bad men so I ran. I ran and I hid.”
“Did they say where that safe place is?” Dupree asked.
Alex shook his head, and Dupree finally handed him the bag. The boy unsealed it and wolfed the chocolate bar down, eyes flitting from face to face like he still wasn’t sure if he could trust them.
“Call in our ride, Sergeant,” Dupree ordered. He helped Alex to his feet, but the boy was having a hard time walking. He was weak and sick, but it was more than that. The boy appeared to have cerebral palsy or something like it. As they crossed the room, Alex stumbled, and Dupree reached out to help.
“No touching!” Alex shrieked. Dupree quickly took his hands away from the boy.
By the time the group moved out of the building, the Black Hawk was flying over a bluff to the north. It set down in a soccer field on the edge of the camp. Sheets of rain fell across the path to the helicopter.
“Go get Alex a suit,” Dupree said.
McCabe ran to the Black Hawk while Dupree took a knee next to Alex.
“Is there anything else you can tell me about what happened? Did you see Ty Montgomery?” Dupree asked. “He would have been in a wheelchair.”
Alex lowered the bottled water they’d given him after he’d finished the chocolate. “Ty’s my best…” He staggered slightly from side to side, like he couldn’t find his balance.
Dupree reached out to grab him, but held back at the last moment. The kid did not like to be touched, and he reminded himself to be patient.
“It’s okay, buddy,” he said helplessly. As bad as he was at talking to kids, he was even worse at lying to them.
“I’m really sick, aren’t I?” His teeth chattered as he looked at Dupree.
“We’re going to give you medicine to make you feel better.”
Alex shivered and lifted his curled hand to his face.
“I know it’s hard, but can you please tell me what else you saw? Ty is counting on you, buddy,” Dupree said.
“They put him and the other kids into trucks and drove off. I wanted to help Ty, but I couldn’t…” Alex whimpered. “I couldn’t help him.”
“It’s okay, we’re going to help him,” Dupree said. “But I need to know where they went.”
Alex shivered violently. He reached up and pointed to the south with a shaky hand. “They went that way.”
“Where’s that suit?” Dupree shouted. He glanced over his shoulder and saw McCabe running back toward the building. In the split second that it took for Dupree to turn, Alex collapsed. This time, Dupree reached out and caught the boy in his arms.
— 4 —
The sound of violence echoed through Estes Park. Colton rushed out of the station to listen, but he couldn’t pinpoint the source of the gunshots. Don stood on the sidewalk next to Officer Tom Matthew. Both men had their hands on the grips of their holstered weapons like they were preparing for a shootout.
“I don’t hear anything else,” Colton said. He walked over to the other officers and stood in front of them. “Did you—”
Pop. Pop.
Colton heard that. The sound was distant but unmistakable. “Where the hell are those shots coming from?”
“Devils Gulch Road, maybe,” Matthew replied. “You think it’s someone out hunting?”
“You’d have to be pretty stupid to try to bring down an elk with a 9mm,” came a rough voice. Nathan was limping toward them through Bond Park, wearing his rucksack. He had been sitting there waiting for his ride, but the Marines still hadn’t shown up to evacuate him.
More distant pops echoed west of town. Colton looked in that direction, past the restaurants, t-shirt shops, and ice cream parlors. He fully expected citizens to be outside hunting for food, but Nathan was right. This was small arms fire, and it was coming from the direction he had sent Detective Plymouth and…
“Raven,” he muttered.
“You think they ran into trouble?” Don asked.
“Sure as hell sounds like it,” Colton said. He faced his men with a scowl. “Matthew, get the Jeep. Don, grab our rifles.”
Both officers took off running in opposite directions.
“Goddammit, I should have given Lindsey my walkie-talkie to stay in touch with Margaret,” Colton said. “If Raven is shooting it out with another damned debt collector, so help me…”
Nathan remained silent, his bruised face turned toward the mountains.
Another flurry of gunshots rang out, followed by the boom of a shotgun. The popping of a pistol quickly replied.
“Sounds like a battle,” Nathan said.
Colton paced the sidewalk. Every passing second was one closer to losing control of the situation. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—see any more of his people hurt.
Squealing tires sounded from the other side of town hall. Matthew sped out of the side parking lot in the Jeep, the sides still dripping wet from being hosed down earlier. He brought it to a halt in front of the sidewalk. Don hurried over with a pair of Colt AR-15s and ammunition.
“Let’s go,” Colton said.
Nathan moved to follow, but Colton blocked his way. “Not you, Major. You need to stay here with the radio in case those Marines come to get you. I’ve got this.”
The pilot hesitated and then held out a hand. “If I leave before you get back, good luck.”
“Likewise,” Colton said. He shook Nathan’s hand and then jumped into the Jeep with Don. Matthew stomped the gas pedal as soon as they were buckled in. He tore away from town hall and turned onto the street leading up to Devils Gulch Road. People on the sidewalks turned to watch the Jeep fly by at fifty miles an hour.
Colton didn’t bother telling Matthew to slow down.
“Are you all wearing your vests?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” Don said.
Matthew didn’t answer.
“Officer Matthew?” Colton asked.
“I took mine off earlier,” Matthew said, keeping his eyes on
the road. “Sorry, sir.”
No matter how many times Colton harped on his officers about wearing ballistic vests, someone always decided not to bother.
“Jesus,” Colton said. “My vest saved my life yesterday. When are you guys going to start listening to me?”
“Sir, I’m sorry. I usually —”
“Just stay low,” Colton said. “I have a feeling we’re about to walk into a firefight.”
Matthew nodded, and Colton turned to watch the trees race by on the side of the road. With the windows down, it wasn’t hard to pick up on the distant pop of gunfire. Each shot made Colton tense. The cool breeze carried the familiar, calming scent of cedar, but it did little to settle his nerves.
Constant violence was the new normal. Colton would have to deal with it, just like he had in Afghanistan. He pulled out his revolver and snapped open the empty cylinder. Then he plucked rounds from his father’s old duty belt and loaded his weapon. Would one of these bullets end a life today?
“That gunfire stopped,” Don said.
Colton looked up from his pistol, trying to listen past the wind rushing into the vehicle. All was quiet again. He cursed under his breath.
Matthew turned the Jeep onto Devils Gulch Road. He eased off the pedal as they approached a big truck blocking the center lane. The Jeep rolled up and over a hill that provided a rolling view of the terrain beyond. Several houses were nestled along the south side of the street. A natural border of rocky bluffs protruded over the trees to the north.
“Where the hell are they?” Colton muttered.
Matthew pointed down the road. “Is that Jake’s truck?”
Colton leaned forward, squinting at the red vehicle parked in the grass on the right shoulder about a quarter mile down the road from the White estate. The passenger door was wide open, like someone had jumped out in a hurry. The back right tire was pancaked.
“Looks like someone shot an arrow into that tire,” Matthew said.
“Not just someone. Raven and his damn crossbow,” Don said. “But why?”
“Maybe he was trying to stop someone from taking the truck,” Colton said. He shook his head. He didn’t have time to make sense of the scene.
Trackers Omnibus [Books 1-4] Page 32