“All due respect, Sarge, but we got to get to that chopper,” Van Dyke said.
Flint hesitated for a moment before he continued through the open gates, reaching up to wipe something from his eyes. He didn’t strike Albert as a sentimental man, but the sight of a fellow soldier skinned to the bone would break any man.
They took a trail through the woods that ended at an open area of playground equipment and fountains.
“There,” Flint whispered, pointing to the basketball courts at the edge of a lake. “That’s our evac.”
When they reached the courts, Albert lowered his sister to the ground at the foot of a wide tree. Van Dyke and Flint took up position with their rifles angled toward the playground. It was a good location; the lake made it virtually impossible for anyone to sneak up on them in that direction.
Albert scanned the area. A hellish orange light raged in the direction of the airport. The forest bordering the tarmac of the SC must be burning.
“Is that Mordor?” Dave asked, stepping up next to Albert’s side.
“Contacts,” Flint said before Albert could answer.
Albert turned to see flashlight beams crisscrossing through the trees. Albert moved Dave to sit by his sister. Then he took a knee behind a boulder and aimed his rifle at the approaching figures. To his right, Van Dyke and Flint were both lying in the grass.
“How long till evac?” Albert asked.
“Ten minutes,” Flint whispered.
Armed men moved into view. Albert spotted the guy that got away earlier leading the group, but this time the gangbangers were more cautious. They fanned out like soldiers, weapons shouldered and flashlights raking across the park. He counted at least a dozen beams.
As they moved out around the playground equipment and fountains, Albert heard the thump of the incoming Black Hawk.
“We have to take these guys out or that bird isn’t going to land,” Flint whispered.
Albert nodded. He prepared to take his first shot, lining the sights up on the face of another young man wearing a bandana over his head.
Forgive me, Lord, he prayed as his finger tightened on the trigger.
Van Dyke fired first, sending a burst downrange. Flint and Albert followed a split-second later, and Albert’s target dropped from one shot to the skull and two shots to the chest.
Return fire exploded across the park, muzzle flashes lighting up the area like massive fireflies. A round whizzed past Albert’s head, and another hit the tree behind him, shattering the bark.
“Stay down!” he yelled to his sister and Dave.
Albert squeezed off a burst in the direction of the closest muzzle flash, dropping another gangbanger. Two more men ran for the playground equipment. The squeeze of the trigger brought one of them down in the sand. A second hit the other guy as he attempted to scramble up a plastic slide. The man slid back down, leaving behind a smear of red on the surface.
Flint and Van Dyke fired calculated shots, cutting down three more contacts. Albert focused on a group of four men behind a fountain. They popped up one at a time to fire, forcing Albert back behind the boulder. These guys were smart enough to take cover, but fortunately they couldn’t shoot for shit.
Albert fired a burst, scoring a hit that dropped one of the men into the pool of water with a splash and a choking scream.
Van Dyke suddenly cried out, “I’m hit.”
Albert kept his sights on the fountain and shot another man who was making a run for their position. Then he looked over to Van Dyke. He was trying to raise his rifle, but dropped the weapon and hit the ground.
“Keep firing!” Flint yelled at Albert.
Pushing his rifle back up, Albert counted three more contacts in the green view of his NVGs. The men had all shut off their flashlights, but he could see them with his optics. One man snuck around the fountain at a crouch, and Albert nailed him with a burst to the upper body. He jerked several times before collapsing.
Return fire rang out, and Albert crouched back behind the rock. Bullets kicked up dirt to his right. He pushed his body against the boulder, doing his best to keep his large frame hidden.
“How bad is he hurt?” Albert asked.
“We need to get him out of here fast,” Flint said.
More muzzle flashes came from the playground as the chopper approached, descending over the basketball courts. The sight of the bird brought out courage in the remaining Latin Kings. Bringing down a Black Hawk would be a badge of honor for these assholes.
Flint looked over at Albert. “Get Dave and your sister out of here! We’ll hold these fuckers back. I’m not leaving until every one of them is dead.”
Van Dyke choked out, “Just don’t leave without us, bro.”
“Never,” Albert said. “We’re all getting out of here. Just hang on.”
Albert took off running for the chopper, shielding his sister and Dave with his body. A flash of motion came from his right. Before he could raise his rifle, a bullet slammed into his side, knocking him to the ground and seizing the air from his lungs. His night vision goggles rolled onto the dirt, and he looked up with naked eyes.
To his right, a man with lip piercings and a thin mustache walked into view. He was holding a Glock. He grinned as he aimed the barrel downward.
Albert focused on the cold, dark eyes of the Latin King. Tattoos covered his face and neck. Was this really the last face Albert would ever see?
“Fuck you, nig—” the man began to say when his words were cut off by a scream of pain.
Albert’s eyes flitted to a short figure standing behind the gangbanger. It was Dave, and the boy had plunged his knife into the man’s back. He pulled it out and then jammed it in a second time.
“For Gondor!” Dave shouted.
Albert quickly pushed himself up, gritting his teeth at the pain. The gangster howled and reached with one hand to grip the knife sticking out of his back. He aimed his Glock at Dave with his other hand but never got the chance to pull the trigger.
A three-round burst hit the guy in the chest, sending him sprawling backward. Albert turned to see Flint, his rifle raised.
“Go!” Flint yelled.
More flashlights were approaching from the opposite end of the park. Reinforcements had arrived. Albert picked Dave up under one arm like an over-sized football. They returned to the tree where Jacqueline lay, feebly groaning.
“Y’all stop all that noise,” she groaned.
He reached down to help his sister up, but the gunshot wound was too painful. “You’ve got to get up,” he said.
“Just lemme sleep,” she said, turning her head away.
“Come on, Jackie!” he shouted, watching as the chopper landed on the courts. A team of soldiers jumped out and Albert waved at them and yelled, “Over here!”
More gunfire cracked behind them, Van Dyke and Flint exchanging rounds with the advancing gangbangers. The next few seconds dragged by with agonizing slowness.
The pain was intense, and Albert could feel the lifeblood gushing from the wound in his side, warming his belly and chest while turning his limbs cold. He tried to run, but his legs wouldn’t respond. They gave out on him and he collapsed in the dirt.
The soldiers reached them a moment later. Two of them hauled his sister and Dave away.
“Mr. Big Al!” Dave yelled.
A third man with the bulky build of a linebacker bent down and helped Albert up. Using the big soldier as a crutch, Albert hurried toward the bird.
Flint and Van Dyke abandoned their position, but they were still firing as they retreated. A dozen muzzle flashes came from the trees. Van Dyke stumbled, and as Flint leaned over to offer him a hand, bullets tore into his back and side. He fell with Van Dyke, both men tangling on the ground.
“Sergeant!” Albert yelled. He pulled away from the soldier helping him and stopped. “We can’t leave them.”
The soldiers that had helped Dave and Jacqueline into the chopper returned with their rifles shouldered. They fired at th
e final gangbangers while two of them ran to help Van Dyke and Flint.
Albert wanted to help, but the pain was too intense. He couldn’t even walk on his own. Red encroached across his vision. By the time he reached the chopper, his body was numb. He collapsed to the floor of the troop hold and forced his eyelids open. A small face stared down at him.
“Please don’t die,” Dave sobbed.
“I won’t leave you, buddy,” Albert said. He looked over to his sister. A medic was crouched next to her, applying an oxygen mask to her gaunt face. A second medic bent down by Albert to check his gunshot wound.
The soldiers that had run to help Van Dyke and Flint were returning now with both men over their shoulders. As soon as they made it to the chopper someone yelled, “Go, go, go!”
As the pilots pulled the bird into the air, he heard a voice say, “He’s gone.”
Van Dyke lowered his head next to the limp form of the sergeant. Flint had taken a round just below the temple. There was nothing anyone could do for him now. Albert closed his eyes and prayed for the man’s soul.
The chopper pulled away from the city, providing a view of the airport. The eastern fence had come down, and thousands of people had streamed inside. Fires raged throughout the camp, and the scene sparked with gunfire.
“It’s a damn warzone down there,” one of the soldiers said as the Black Hawk pulled away into the night sky. “SC Charlotte has fallen.”
— 19 —
Charlize stood on the bottom floor of Central Command with her arms folded across her chest. Dr. Lundy and General Thor flanked her, and President Diego stood in front of them. Everyone was focused on the large, wall-mounted monitor at the front of the room. Her mind was consumed with worry about Albert, but right now she needed to focus on the situation at hand.
On screen, hundreds of ships with Chinese markings were cutting through the water, leaving the shores of China for the United States.
The Chinese government must have been preparing the ships for days if not weeks, knowing that President Diego would likely agree to their offer, and now the fleet had embarked with billions of dollars’ worth of industrial equipment and containers packed full of supplies.
But their help came at a cost. Twenty-five thousand Chinese soldiers were also aboard those ships. Their presence in the United States would bring with it the first occupation force in the history of the country.
Agreeing to China’s terms felt like betraying her country, but the loss of multiple SCs to violence and disease had forced her hand. Word had come in over the night that another SC had fallen just outside Loveland, Colorado, not far from the town of Estes Park. It had been burned to the ground by raiders. The devastating news continued to flood in over the scrambled comm systems.
The war with North Korea might be over, but the United States was losing the fight against its own people. Now they were at the mercy of a foreign government that had long been an uneasy ally at best.
She wasn’t the only one with mixed feelings. The images on screen weren’t received with applause or celebration, but skeptical looks from nearly everyone. Each officer or staff member around her seemed uneasy about the idea of armed Chinese soldiers walking freely around the United States.
As the ships sailed on the screen, President Diego turned and used the opportunity to address the gathered members of his cabinet, his generals, and everyone else that had arrived over the past few weeks. The conversations died down, silence shrouding the Command Center as he began to speak.
“I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that we’re entering a new phase of American history,” Diego said. “A phase that will either lead our country toward a brighter future, or one that will be the end of our republic. Like the Romans and so many other great empires, we’re faced with war, famine, disease, and uncertainty about the future. Every decision we make moving forward will determine if we crumble like the Romans or whether we rebuild and restore the United States of America.”
Diego paused for a moment, tightened his tie with his still-bandaged hand, and took a moment to scan the faces around him, stopping on Charlize. She offered her support with a brisk nod. Although it pained her, this was the only way to save what was left of their country. She just hoped it didn’t backfire. They couldn’t afford a war against the Chinese.
“I’m confident that the Chinese government and our other allies will help us get back on our feet. This will save countless American lives and put us back on a path to prosperity. I reached this decision with the help of my cabinet, and while I know the decision won’t be popular, I feel it is the correct one. I ask you all to work with me with optimism as we move forward. Together we can be strong, but divided we will not succeed.”
Charlize continued nodding, and soon most everyone in the room was dipping their heads in support. Still, there was no applause.
“Thank you,” Diego said simply.
The moment felt as though the United States had reached a crossroads. One day, perhaps, historians would look on President Diego as a great leader who brought America out of darkness. On the other hand, he might be reviled as the man who sold his country out to China.
Charlize had no way of knowing which way things would turn out. She could only pray that there would be a future where someone was left alive to write those history books.
As everyone went back to work, Colonel Raymond walked over to Charlize and whispered in her ear, “Ma’am, I’ve got news about Albert Randall.”
The words flooded her with the anxiety that had momentarily gone away during Diego’s short speech. She followed Raymond to a conference room and waited for him to shut the door.
“He found his sister. He’s on his way back here via Black Hawk, but Albert was shot, and the sergeant leading the mission was killed,” Raymond said.
Charlize slumped into a chair.” How bad is Albert?”
“He’s going to make it, but his sister is in pretty bad shape. Apparently she was using heroin,” Raymond said.
Charlize closed her eyes as her heart rate began to slow down to normal speed. It wouldn’t be a popular move bringing Jacqueline to Constellation, but she’d made Albert a promise, and she was going to keep it. She hoped the facility’s clinic was prepared to treat a heroin addiction.
“They also rescued a young boy about Ty’s age. A kid named Dave,” Raymond said. “His parents were in D.C. the night of the North Korean attack.”
“Two civilians out of how many?” she mumbled, more to herself than to Raymond.
“Pardon me, ma’am?”
“How many civilians were killed at SC Charlotte?”
Raymond shook his head. “I don’t know yet. At a guess…thousands.”
For a moment neither of them spoke. Charlize ran through the facts in her head. Albert had been shot, but he’d found his sister and he was coming home with a young boy plucked out of the chaos. For the first time in days, she felt conflicted optimism. With the Chinese sailing toward the United States, Charlize had to hold onto the hope that the country could turn things around.
“MS-13 and the Latin Kings appear to be responsible for the organized attack in Charlotte,” Raymond continued. “Perhaps those Chinese soldiers will come in handy.”
Charlize stopped short of nodding. Those gangs weren’t the only domestic terrorists threatening the lives of innocent civilians and the restoration effort at the survival centers. Dan Fenix and his Sons of Liberty were still out there. They wouldn’t slip through her fingers again.
She stood and jerked her chin at the door. “Let’s get back to it, Colonel. We have a lot of work to do.”
***
Colton didn’t sleep a wink that night. As soon as they got back to the station, Jango led him to the jail cell, where Colton had remained sitting with his back to the wall until the sun came up. It gave him far too much time to think. He’d made some poor decisions, but in the end, each one was made to protect his family, friends, and Estes Park to the best of his abilities.
At the end of the world, a man could only be expected to do so much. Colton had done everything in his power to save those he loved.
And he had failed.
He lowered his head and put his hands on the back of his neck, resisting the urge to scream.
“Hey, friend,” said a voice.
Colton knew it was Clint Bailey, the prisoner across the hallway, but he wasn’t in the mood to talk. He wondered if Clint had suffered a head injury that scrambled brains, or if he’d always been a bit odd. It didn’t matter, really; the man still didn’t know when to shut up.
“I said ‘hey,’” Clint said.
Looking up, Colton glared, ready to snap. But when he saw Clint had suffered another beating during the night, he couldn’t bring himself to yell at the poor bastard. Thompson and his men were animals. In some ways, they were worse than Brown Feather and his brother, because they had the power to commit murder on a much wider scale than the two psychotic Sioux brothers.
Colton lowered his head again, sinking into the hopelessness of his situation.
“It’s okay, friend,” Clint said. “We can help each other.”
The guard at the other end of the hallway let out a long snort and then went back to snoring regularly.
“Don’t give up,” Clint whispered. “We’re going to get out of here, me and you.”
“I’m not giving up,” Colton replied. And to his surprise, he found it was true.
Marcus Colton wasn’t the type of man to quit. Never had been. He had been a soldier and a fighter for most of his life, from the boxing ring to the mountains of Afghanistan. Now wasn’t the time to despair—now was the time to kick some ass and save the people he loved.
He slowly scooted over to the bars, meeting Clint’s eyes. The man may have smiled, but Colton couldn’t tell because of how bruised Clint’s features were.
“Tell me how we can help each other,” Colton said.
Clint scratched at his forehead, then looked to the right. The guard continued snoring down the hallway.
“I know things,” Clint said. “I know their weaknesses, and most importantly, I know how to get out of here.”
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