This is the End 3: The Post-Apocalyptic Box Set (8 Book Collection)

by J. Thorn

  “Thank you, Colonel Hamm.” His voice was nearly a falsetto, almost an amusing counter point to Colonel Hamm. Almost.

  “Gentlemen, we have received intelligence that the United States is in imminent danger of attack. Not overseas, but here in the continental US. I am not at liberty to discuss the details of that intelligence with you, and beginning now you are in blackout status. No communication with any persons not directly involved in this mission. Am I clear?”

  A chorus of “Sir!” sounded from the back of the room, but Captain Helm was the only man in the front row to acknowledge the order. Flowers’ head swiveled to Anderson, then Blake and Mayo.

  “Gentlemen? Did I mumble?” His expression never changed but the tone in his voice was chilling.

  “No sir. I mean, yes sir, the order is clear!” Anderson stumbled over his words. Blake and Mayo also acknowledged the order.

  “Good. Now, your mission is simple.” He was clearly addressing the flight crew. “You are to depart this installation at 2300 hours with the team in the back of the room with you. You will have a full load out of war shot for this mission. Your call sign will be Cadillac Two Seven. Your destination is the CDC, the Center for Disease Control, in metro Atlanta. Colonel Hamm tells me your flight time should be 15 minutes from wheels up to touchdown. Pilots, the briefing packet under your chairs contains your flight plan, radio freqs and designations, and destination landing details. Once on target you will stand by while my team retrieves a passenger.

  “Once they are inserted you will remain on station and will defend the aircraft from any and all personnel who may try to approach. Your ROE – Rules of Engagement – are as follows. Absolutely NO personnel, civilian or military, may approach or board the aircraft. Deadly force is authorized. Am I clear?”

  This time the flight crew spoke as one with a firm, “Yes, Sir!” Years of training was all that kept them from giving any other answer.

  Use of deadly force within the continental US was unheard of outside the personnel that secured nuclear weapons or sensitive installations. Deadly force to prevent someone from wandering up to an Air Force helicopter was beyond exceptional.

  “Upon the return of the team with your passenger,” Colonel Flowers continued, “you shall disembark the CDC and make all possible speed to Fort Campbell, Kentucky. You will be met approximately half way by an escort flight of Apaches, designated as Whiskey Flight.

  “Also in your briefing packets is a photo of the passenger you will be picking up. If my team is occupied providing rear cover and he arrives at the aircraft unescorted, you shall provide protection for him, bring him aboard and depart immediately. The team is expendable, he is not. You are not to wait for them, or any member of the team, once your passenger is onboard your aircraft. Questions?”

  Anderson had about a thousand questions, but kept his mouth shut. Anything operational should come from Captain Helm, and most of Anderson’s questions had little to do directly with the operation.

  Right on cue Captain Helm spoke up, “Sir, should we expect resistance at the target?”

  “Captain, you should expect resistance. You need to be prepared for possible panic from the civilian employees, and cannot hesitate to do what is necessary to complete your mission.” Flowers stared at Helm for a moment, then moved his gaze across the rest of the men in the room, satisfying himself that his message had gotten across.

  When no one else spoke up he looked over at Colonel Hamm who had an expression on his face like he’d just sucked on a lemon. Colonel Hamm stepped forward and dismissed the assembled men. Captain Helm shot to his feet, calling the room to attention as the two officers walked out the door. A moment later Flowers stuck his head back in and motioned for the SF team to follow him. They quickly exited the room, leaving the four man Air Force flight crew alone.

  “What the fuck, sir?” Blake asked with a look of incredulity on his face.

  “You heard what I heard, Sergeant. This is all way off the reservation for me, but our orders are pretty clear.” Helm flipped open the briefing packet and thumbed through until he found the glossy photo of their passenger.

  The man in the photo was in his mid-fifties with thick, graying hair, bushy eyebrows and a drinker’s nose. Anderson thought he kind of looked like his uncle. Helm stared at the photo for a few minutes then handed it to Blake.

  “Tech Sergeant, I want you on the door gun this flight. Here’s our passenger. No one other than him or the SF team boards the aircraft. You good with that?”

  Blake looked down at the photo in his hand, Mayo peering over his shoulder to get a good look.

  “Sergeant Blake?” Helm prompted after a few moments of silence.

  “Yes, sir. No problem.” Blake finally looked up and answered.

  “Good. Let’s get our bird pre-flighted and make sure the ordnance monkeys don’t forget to give us bullets.” Helm stood and led the crew from the briefing room.

  Just over an hour later Captain Helm pulled back on the collective and the Pave Hawk jumped into the dark Georgia sky. Anderson kept a hand on the controls, ready to take command if needed as Helm spun them around and transitioned to forward flight on a direct course to the CDC.

  In back, Blake sat in the open door of the helicopter, strapped in and ready on the machine gun that hung from a complicated sling system. Mayo, also strapped in, sat to the side ready to provide support to the gunner as needed. The four SF Operators sat in canvas web slings that hung from the walls of the helicopter. They were heavily armed, and despite the expected short duration of the mission each carried a large amount of spare ammunition. They weren’t big talkers, the only communication coming from the team leader when they boarded the chopper and he asked for a headset so he was plugged into the internal intercom while they were in flight. Pave Hawks make all the racket in the world and the only way to communicate while in flight was over a headset.

  The flight to the CDC was fast and uneventful, almost enjoyable as the soft warm air of the evening flowed through the helicopter’s door and the lights of Atlanta spread out below them.

  When they reached the CDC, Anderson identified the helicopter pad for Helm, IR strobes embedded in the rooftop landing pad flashing brightly in his night vision goggles. He then kept watch for other aircraft as they quickly descended and touched down.

  The SF team was out the door before the rotors could spin down, running towards a metal door that led into the building. They moved in a diamond formation, each of the men with their weapons raised as they scanned their individual areas of responsibility.

  “Cadillac Two Seven, Alpha Team moving. See you in a few,” the team leader radioed over secure comm link to Helm and Anderson.

  “Copy, Alpha Team. Luck.” Helm responded, then turned around in his seat. “Mayo, grab that M4 and some extra magazines and take up watch at our nose. I don’t want anyone coming in from our blind side. Remember you ROE, Senior Airman.”

  “Yes, sir.” Mayo sounded a little shaky, but did as ordered. When he was in position he plugged his headset into an externally mounted jack on the front of the helicopter so he could stay in communication with the flight crew.

  The rotor spun slowly overhead, the engines at idle while they waited. Helm would normally shut down the engines to save fuel, a Pave Hawk is a very thirsty bird, but he wanted to be ready to lift off the moment the SF team returned with their passenger.

  It didn’t take long for the first signs of trouble to start. Mayo came on the intercom with a report of gunfire from the south.

  “Could it be the SF guys, Mayo?” Helm asked.

  “Negative sir, I don’t think so. They were carrying sound suppressed weapons, and besides, this sounds like pistol fire with the occasional shotgun.” The stress in Mayo’s voice was evident, but Anderson knew he’d grown up in the gang infested streets of south Atlanta and would know the difference in sound between a pistol and an assault rifle.

  “Lieutenant, take a look. Mayo, stay on your position.” Helm
ordered.

  Anderson gave a thumbs up as he pulled off his headset and released the flight harness that held him into the seat. Exiting the cockpit, he trotted around the nose of the Pave Hawk and stopped next to Mayo to ask where he was hearing the shots, but didn’t need to as he heard them for himself. Jogging ahead he reached the edge of the roof and kneeled down at the low parapet to look over.

  At first he thought he was looking at a small riot in the street below. Three police cars, roof lights strobing red and blue across the surrounding buildings, were sitting at haphazard angles in the middle of a large intersection. Five uniformed officers faced a large crowd of people who were advancing on them. Several bodies lay on the pavement, already being trampled by the advancing crowd.

  As Anderson watched, a slight figure that looked like a woman suddenly raced forward from the edge of the crowd, quickly followed by two more. All five officers opened fire, two of the women dropping to the street but the third made a mighty leap, landed on the hood of one of the patrol cars then launched herself at one of the officers. They went down in a tangle and started fighting until another office cracked her over the head with a baton. She went limp and was pushed aside.

  The officer who had used the baton turned his attention back to the rioters, engaging another runner before she could reach the hood of his car. As Anderson watched, the officer who had fought on the ground with the woman slowly got to his feet, stumbling like he was injured, then to Anderson’s horror he reached forward and appeared to sink his teeth into the other officer’s neck.

  They fought for a few seconds before falling to the ground, the first officer’s jaws still locked onto his prey. The other three officers stared, distracted for a minute, and paid the price. Five more women raced forward and quickly drug them down. The screams were clear on the night air and soon the crowd of rioters reached the struggling officers and fell on them like a pack of hyenas.

  “What the fuck is going on?” Anderson asked himself as he backed away from the edge of the roof, turned and sprinted back to the idling Pave Hawk. He ran past Mayo, ignoring him, and skidded around the nose of the chopper. Yanking the door open he fumbled his headset on and relayed what he’d seen to Captain Helm.

  “What?” A shocked Helm asked.

  “Exactly what I said Captain. I’ve never seen anything like it except in movies. It was just like a scene out of The Walking Dead.”

  Helm might not have believed Anderson if it weren’t for how obviously shaken the young Lieutenant was. He hadn’t known Anderson for long, but from what he’d seen the younger man was steady and level headed and didn’t seem to have a tendency to want to exaggerate or play jokes. Making a decision he pushed the button for the secure comm channel.

  “Alpha Team, Cadillac Two Seven,” He broadcast.

  “Go Two Seven,” the answer came back almost immediately, the SF team leader barely speaking loud enough to be heard.

  “Alpha, be advised we have a civilian riot in progress in the street to the south of the LZ. Local law enforcement has engaged and shots are being fired.” How the hell could he tell someone over the radio that the zombies were here?

  “Acknowledged, Two Seven. Keep a sharp eye Captain. We’ve located package and am en route to you. Seven mikes – minutes – out.”

  Helm had intentionally left the radio feed switched to the intercom so the whole flight crew could listen in. They exchanged nervous glances as Anderson set a countdown timer on the Pave Hawk’s console to seven minutes, glancing at the center mounted chronometer display and noting the time was 2340.

  While he was looking at the display, a bright red LED started pulsing in the center of the panel. An emergency indicator telling the pilot to switch to a specific encrypted military channel. Helm rotated the dial on the radio and entered the passcode of the day when asked. A click followed by a hiss not unlike a fax machine connecting, then a clear voice was speaking in all their headsets.

  “…Condition 1. Bugs Bunny. All units set Condition 1.” The short message started repeating and all the blood drained from Helm’s face.

  “What’s Bugs Bunny?” Anderson asked, almost afraid of the answer. Helm looked like he was about to go into shock and didn’t react to Anderson’s question. “Captain Helm, what’s Bugs Bunny?” Anderson asked again, louder.

  Helm regained a degree of composure and looked over at him with the most haunted eyes Anderson had ever seen up to that point. “A nuclear weapon has been detonated in an American city.”

  The crew was stunned into silence, listening to the pre-recorded message repeat. Finally Helm reached forward and silenced the radio, switching back to the secure comm frequency for the SF Team. Pressing the button he spoke in a calmer voice than Anderson expected,

  “Alpha Team, Cadillac Two Seven.”

  “Alpha, go.” The stress was audible in the SF team leader’s voice and Anderson was sure he could hear the sound of suppressed weapons fire over the open circuit.

  “Alpha Team, we have received Bugs Bunny. I repeat, we have received Bugs Bunny.”

  There was no reply for a few heartbeats, then, “Alpha acknowledges Bugs Bunny. Out.” The voice was as calm and cold as ever, and this time Anderson was certain he’d heard a suppressed rifle firing on full automatic.

  Anderson climbed all the way back into the cockpit and strapped in, ready to go as soon as the team returned. Out the windshield he could see Mayo looking around nervously, fingering the fire selector on the M4 rifle in his hands. He turned to see Blake scanning the roof, back and forth, the door gun traversing with him as he scanned. He turned back and started scanning the instruments, making sure the helicopter was ready to go when they were.

  “Contact.” Blake announced over the intercom.

  Anderson and Helm spun around in time to see a small crowd of white coated civilians coming onto the roof through the metal door the SF team had used to access the building. They spotted the helicopter and the man sitting in the door and started a shambling, shuffling walk forward. Two women in the group, one of them blonde with long hair screamed and ran towards them.

  “Sir?” Blake shouted over the intercom.

  “Fire Sergeant. Remember your ROE.” Helm answered instantly.

  The heavy machine gun spoke in short controlled bursts. The M240 is a belt fed weapon and fires a NATO designated round that is 7.62 mm. At any range out to a thousand yards it is lethal, but at less than two hundred feet it is absolutely devastating to the human body and the two women fell to the roof as their bodies were shredded by Blake’s fire. The group of men behind them didn’t pause or disperse, just kept on coming. Blake feathered the trigger and wreaked the same devastation on them. As Blake fired, Helm got back on the radio and notified Alpha Team that they were repelling attackers. More people came out of the door, meeting the same fate as the first group as Blake cut them down.

  “Contact.” Mayo’s voice came over the intercom.

  At the far side of the roof another door was swinging open and a small group stumbled onto the roof. Several white shirted security guards led the way, followed by white coated workers. As soon as they saw the helicopter and Mayo aiming a rifle at them they stopped. One of the guards pushed back through the crowd and slammed the door, leaning his back against it and digging his heels into the surface of the roof.

  “Sir?” Mayo asked.

  “ROE has not changed, Airman. If they try to approach, you will open fire.” Helm’s voice was amazingly steady.

  “Yes, sir.” Mayo’s voice, however, betrayed his doubt in their orders, but he held the rifle steady, finger on the trigger.

  One of the guards stepped forward a couple of steps, then stopped and cupped his hands around his mouth. He obviously was shouting to them but neither Helm nor Anderson could hear him from inside the Pave Hawk over the idling of engines.

  “What’s he saying, Mayo?” Anderson asked over the intercom.

  “Sir, he’s asking for help. Says they’re coming, whatever that
means.”

  Helm and Anderson exchanged a worried look. “Stay frosty, Mayo.” Anderson said while Helm called Alpha Team.

  “Two Seven, acknowledge hostiles and civilians on roof. I have two men down and package is wounded. We’re at your location in thirty seconds.” More gunfire in the background, this time pistol fire that wasn’t suppressed. Had they run out of rifle ammo?

  Helm made sure Blake knew the SF team was about to exit the door when Mayo fired a burst at the crowd he was watching. One of the guards had started walking towards the helicopter and Mayo shot him in the chest. The guard with his back against the door shouted something and the remaining guards drew their pistols and started firing at the helicopter. The impacts of the bullets were audible even over the idling engines and Mayo opened up with the M4.

  Two of the guards went down, but two more were still firing. Mayo had to do a quick magazine change and before he could bring the rifle back to bear the guard holding the door flew forward as it burst open and a large crowd of people flooded onto the roof. They immediately started attacking the people who were already there and Mayo stared in mute shock as blood and gore began staining all the white clothing. Blake also opened up as more hostiles stumbled out of the other door.

  Anderson unhooked the flight harness again and scrambled into the back where he extracted the last M4 from the weapons locker, grabbed the last two magazines and jumped out to go support Mayo. His feet had just hit the roof when he spotted Alpha Team leader emerge onto the roof amidst a crowd that was trying to grab him and drag him down. He had a firm grip on the arm of the man Anderson had seen in the photo and was pulling him along as he kicked people out of his way and fired his pistol into the surrounding bodies.

  Blake had stopped firing for fear of hitting friendlies and Anderson shouldered the M4 rifle and started to run towards Alpha Team. He wasn’t half way there when with no apparent warning the man they’d been sent to evacuate turned and bit into Alpha leader’s neck. There was a spray of arterial blood then both collapsed under the weight of the crowd as it surged inward.