And finally, the rumor mill had given us a good turn for once. Rumors that we were launching an all-out campaign to take back the U.S., that nuclear submarines were sailing up the Mississippi, that aircraft carriers were stationed off our West Coast did nothing but rally more and more soldiers into our midst. Many we sent back with instructions to resist occupation in their own counties and states, but many more we sent off to secret locations for training. I didn’t know how many had signed up in the past few weeks—only Command knew that for sure—but I imagined it to be in the hundreds of thousands.
By the time I had Pilgrim outfitted again and we were ready to go, we witnessed caravan after caravan of soldiers and supplies headed in all directions. Pilgrim and I watched the various vehicles and soldiers on foot traveling by, and I could tell that she felt a sense of pride for our motley troops, just as I did. And even though it felt strange to finally be out in public with the fact that we were American soldiers ready to fight, it felt good too.
We left Hot Springs on August 12, just after midnight. Pilgrim insisted on sticking with her motorcycle she had named Kawasaki, and so I rounded up a bike as similar to hers as I could find.
It was 350 miles to Oklahoma City. By the time the sun was coming up, we had crossed the mountains and were on the plains just east of the city. We didn’t try to hide who we were or where we were going anymore. I was sure that the Coalition’s spy satellites and high-flying recon drones were following us as well as every other troop movement. But I believed that there was so much activity going on right now, they would be hard pressed to figure out who we were and what we were doing.
I couldn’t help but be impressed by the work that had been done around Fortress Oklahoma City. When we got within ten miles of the City Center, we started seeing roadblocks with guards armed with automatic weapons, antiaircraft sites for the inevitable drone attack, engineers laying out minefields, and even one or two attack helicopters on patrol. I was so used to hiding from helicopters I was a bit uneasy the first time I saw one that was on our side.
Fortunately for us, I got the proper papers to get us through all the checkpoints. Nevertheless, it took us most of the morning to finally make it to the train station. We parked our motorcycles outside the station in a section reserved for messenger bicycles.
“We could ride on our bikes all the way to the West Coast,” I told her. “And my priority used to be just getting you back to your father. But this new load of weapons changed the picture dramatically.
“Up to this point, the Coalition has been kicking our butts not because they outnumber us, or because they are better soldiers, but simply because they had better weapons. This train has enough firepower on it to change that.
“I have faith in our boys assaulting St. Louis. I’m pretty confident they can kick Ajax’s butt along with anything else they send their way. So while the Coalition is focusing on St. Louis, we are going to take the battle to him. There’s a Coalition general out west—we call him General Despair—who is bad news. He hates your Dad something fierce, and he is bound and determined to find Camp Zion and destroy it once and for all.
“But we have other plans for him.” I grinned at Infinity, and said no more.
When we got inside, I realized something was wrong. I had expected a strictly military approach to boarding and disembarking from the trains, but even I, who didn’t consider himself a part of the military but still a Secret Service agent, knew that something was wrong. Guards were even more careful about letting people through checkpoints, and some of the soldiers, who wore a silver star on an armband on their left arm, were looked at warily by everyone else.
“What gives?” I asked one of the soldiers, gesturing at the star on the sleeve of a cluster of soldiers who passed by.
“They’re National Guardsmen from Texas,” he said. “They think the rules that apply to everyone don’t apply to them.”
“What do you mean?”
“A lot of them were stationed up north, but they’re planning on leaving and going back to Texas. The war against the cartels has heated up down there, and the state is talking about secession.”
“What?”
He nodded. “If that happens, we’re going to lose tens of thousands of troopers. Guess you can’t blame them. Their families are under attack and they’re stuck up here.”
I stared at the young men in fatigues who looked out of place in the train station. Suddenly we heard a gun go off somewhere on the other side of the station. Everyone ducked, and then we heard more shots.
I had my head down just like everyone else, but when I turned around, Infinity was nowhere to be seen. Panicked, I began looking around for her. Suddenly I heard her voice over the crowd, and then saw her standing at the top of the stairs.
“STOP IT, ALL OF YOU! The enemy is out there, and you’re helping them by shooting at each other.” As if by magic, her words began settling the crowd down.
“We are all here for the same thing,” she continued. “We’re here to defeat the enemy and win this war. We’re here to win our country back.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” someone shouted with a Texas drawl. “Your home isn’t being taken over by criminals.”
“No, my home was Baltimore,” she said. “It doesn’t exist anymore. The reality is, all of us are being invaded, being attacked. All of us are fighting for our homes. But we have to fight together. It’s only by working together that we can win this thing.”
She paused to see what kind of response she would hear. Instead of booing or applause, I heard something that gave me chills. Distant booming, followed by the wail of air raid sirens. Then the booming got closer, and I heard the unmistakable sound of jets. I stood and shouted to everyone:
“Drone attack coming! Everyone out of here!”
And then everyone heard the same roar of jets, followed by the pop-pop-pop of antiaircraft. The busy train station turned into pandemonium. I ran toward Infinity, just as I heard the whistle of our train. One whistle meant ready to leave. And it did start to leave.
I ran up the steps three at a time and grabbed Infinity by the arm, then turned and dragged her down the steps as fast as I could. We hit the main floor and ran into a panic-stricken crowd, each person running in another direction.
A doorway exploded some distance away. People screamed. There was the sound of rockets and chain guns opening up. I couldn’t tell if they were our guns or theirs. At that point, it didn’t matter.
I pushed and hit my way through the crowd, slowly headed in the direction of the train, which had started to move. A hundred people stood between the two of us and the slow moving train, and I knew that the train would not be moving slow for very long.
“We’re not going to make it!” Infinity muttered behind me.
“Yes we are,” I said, and gritted my teeth. I drew my pistol and shot it into the air, and the crowd parted before me. I took a deep breath and Infinity and I ran for the train.
The train was fifty feet away and already moving. Then it was thirty feet. By the time we got to the track it was on, it was already well down the track. I shouted one word and didn’t look back:
“Run!”
Trusting—praying—that Infinity was behind me, I sprinted down the track toward the caboose of the disappearing train. I dropped my rifle and backpack and put everything I had into the chase. Ten seconds later, I had a grip on the back of the train railing. I gripped it with all my strength and pulled myself onto the train.
“Take my hand,” I yelled as I turned to grab Infinity’s. But my hand grabbed air.
As the train picked up speed, I looked back at empty track. Back to ToC
25. JUMPING TO CONCLUSIONS
INFINITY: OKLAHOMA CITY: DAY 1585
As soon as Evangelist started running for the train, I knew we were in trouble. I hadn’t told him that my knee had been bothering me ever since I had left the bunker, and when he took off sprinting after the train, I knew I would never catch him.
I also realized that I was no longer his first priority, and he was right. A trainload full of weapons was a lot more important than one man’s daughter, regardless of who that man was.
And so I watched Evangelist run for an instant, then turned back into the crowd. The frantic soldiers pushed me this way and that, and I realized that if I were to stay in the railroad station it would be akin to painting a bull’s eye on my back. And so I left.
As soon as I got out of the station, I realized that I had another option. Kawasaki was standing right where I’d left her, and I had gotten more and more comfortable riding her over the past few weeks. I leaped on the saddle and kick-started her into life. I spun her in place, and raced off in pursuit of the train.
The soldiers who had been so careful to stop us at each checkpoint were now otherwise occupied, and they scarcely paid attention as I raced past them. I cut across the broad parking lot outside the train station and headed west, but then realized that a block of buildings was in my way. Beyond them, I saw the smoke rising from the train headed west.
I looked around, not sure where to go or what to do. If I were to catch the train, I had to decide quickly. As I sat there with the motor idling, guns continued to shoot incessantly into the air, for the most part at nothing I could see, but every once in a while connecting with something up high in the atmosphere. Then I saw it.
Off to the south I saw the rise of a freeway overpass. I followed it as it curved off to the south and then turned west again. If I followed it, there was a chance that the freeway would run parallel with the railroad tracks.
Once again I spun the bike in place and took off with smoke and screaming tires toward the overpass. I weaved past soldiers who were running and abandoned vehicles and found the onramp and took it. Then I opened up the throttle.
When I got the top of the onramp, I got lucky twice. First, four years since The Event had given the people of Oklahoma City time to clear the freeway of cars. That made it possible for me to crank my bike into high gear. The second bit of luck was that I could see ahead, and saw that the train was still in sight, and we were going in the same direction.
I put it into overdrive and wound Kawasaki as high as she would go. Before I knew it the dirt bike was topping 80. The freeway stayed elevated for a long time, and I could see the train below me and about a quarter mile ahead. I was gaining on the train. I knew that once they got out of town, they would increase their speed, and so I knew that I had little time to catch it.
The battle with the drones continued. I had suspected that perhaps a dozen drones would be involved, but apparently the Coalition was using many more than that. The small aircraft were hard to hit, and since they were piloted remotely, were a lot more daring than manned craft would be. I heard rather than saw explosions behind me, and saw one or two out of the corner of my eye. But my attention remained focused forward.
Suddenly I realized that a section of the raised freeway had fallen, either from a previous attack or from lack of maintenance. The missing section was at a point where the freeway had started to descend to street level. The gap between the sections was about 50 feet across and I could see the ground far below me. Without thinking, I gunned the engine again and the Kawasaki flew across the gap.
It was one of those moments when you wonder if you’ve made the right decision, or one that would get you killed. And then you think, well, I’m in it now. I found myself flying through the air with the street forty feet below me. And then a second later, I hit the pavement on the other side. My bike wobbled a bit, but I steadied her and drove on, pumping my fist in the air.
A row of houses came between me and the railroad tracks as I raced along the freeway. I prayed that the track continued to go straight and kept going forward. I watched block after block of brownstone houses pass me, waiting, waiting. And then the bike and I were past the houses, and the train was across from me.
Now the problem turned from Can I catch the train? to How do I get on the train? I kept abreast of the train, riding at the same speed of the train, surveying both the train and the terrain that surrounded it.
Finally I came up with a solution. I passed row after row of boxcars and passenger cars, but then there were three flatcars on which something—either artillery or a vehicle—were being carried, covered with a tarp. I decided to find a way to leap onto the flatcar and pancake the motorcycle. I might be scratched up a lot, and there was always the danger that I would miss, but I was determined to make it onto the train.
My opportunity came a few minutes later. The track started through some small rolling hills. I saw the track go past a small hill, gunned the bike and roared up the hill, leaping through the air and onto the flatcar I’d chosen.
What I didn’t plan on was that two soldiers were stationed on the car. When I roared out of nowhere and landed on the car, using the tarp cover to slow my landing, the two young soldiers jumped up, rifles in hand, sure that they were being attacked by the Coalition.
Kawasaki slid across the wooden top of the flatcar, sliding into the tarp, my body halfway following the bike and halfway under it. The engine was still running when I slid to a stop and I shut it off, looking up at two soldiers who held their rifles pointed at me.
“Relax,” I said, as startled as they were. “I’m one of the good guys.” Back to ToC
26. SUSPICIONS
EVANGELIST: WEST OF OKLAHOMA CITY: DAY 1585
When I realized that Pilgrim was no longer with me, my first inclination was to contact whoever was in charge and tell them to stop the train. But that was my emotional side talking, and I hadn’t let my emotions take over in a long time. In fact, when the helicopter fell, signaling the beginning of all this mess, I vowed to suppress my personal feelings. There was a time for one to get caught up in personal emotions, but this wasn’t it.
That inclination lasted less than a minute. By the time I had gotten myself inside the train, gotten past the guards—who were dismayed that I had boarded without their say-so—I realized my first responsibility lay in contacting the person in charge.
I barked out orders and the new recruits jumped to attention. I didn’t have a uniform, and had no rank, but had learned to throw my weight around a time or two. It took all of ten minutes for us to find Major Benson, a quiet woman who was in charge of the train. She was in a passenger car with a dozen other officers.
“Major Benson, I am Secret Service Agent Edward James,” I told her, flashing my badge and showing her my written orders. “I apologize for joining your entourage without using the proper channels. But I am on a mission that calls for us to travel together, if it’s not too inconvenient.”
“Not at all,” she said, looking at my orders. “It says here that you are escorting a young woman. Where is she?”
“She didn’t make it,” I said, my face showing my disappointment. “She got left in Oklahoma City. I’m at a loss as to what to do next, I confess. But until I figure that out, I’m at your disposal. It’s imperative that Camp Zion get these supplies and weapons.”
“I understand,” she said. “And I accept your offer of assistance. I will let you know if there is anything you can do to help. In the meantime, feel free to join our officers here or the troopers in the next few cars.”
The two guards were dismissed and I decided to wander through the cars to see what kinds of soldiers were being sent to the front. I was hoping that the train would stop sometime in the next few hours, when I would get off and try to find Infinity. But I knew that was unlikely to happen, since every stop would be another opportunity for the Coalition to stop us.
I had wandered aimlessly through the cars for half an hour, trying to gather my wits and come up with a plan, when the major came bustling past me with two lieutenants. She looked at me and barked, “Come with me.”
I followed her to the next compartment. There, standing with two frightened soldiers holding their rifles pointed at her, was a badly scraped up Infinity Richards.
She grinned
when she saw me, and started to break free to run to me, but the guards held her tightly.
“Is this whom you were escorting?” Major Benson asked me, her lips tight.
I nodded. “I’ll vouch for her, although I have no idea how she got on the train.”
“It wasn’t easy,” Infinity said under her breath.
Major Benson nodded to the two soldiers, and they let go of her. Benson then turned to me.
“Try not to lose her again, Agent James. And next time, check with me before you board.”
“Yes, Major,” I said seriously. As she passed by, I saw a gleam in her eye and I smiled, first at her, then at Infinity. Infinity strutted forward.
“You will tell me how you got on board, won’t you?” I said to her quietly.
“Be glad to. Someday soon,” she said, the smile then fading from her lips. “But in the meantime, I have some information for you.”
“What is it?” I asked.
“Not here,” she said, looking at the crowded compartment. She slipped past me and walked down the aisle to the doors of the compartment.
She slipped through and I followed her to an empty freight car. She turned to me. “I saw someone on board. Someone I don’t think belongs. His name is Damien Wiseman.”
“Who is he?” I asked. The name sounded vaguely familiar.
“He’s my old boyfriend from St. Eloise Academy,” she said. “I also think he’s the one behind the wanted posters and the campaign to have me captured.”
“Did he see you?”
She shook her head. “I don’t think so. He hasn’t seen me in four years. He hasn’t changed much, but I suspect I have. He was traveling with some other men, dressed like soldiers.”
“You think they are Coalition troops?”
She shrugged. “Don’t know. But when I saw him, I just felt weird. Like something was wrong.”
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