The End Time Saga Box Set [Books 1-3]

by Greene, Daniel

  Barnes’s cigarette tumbled from his mouth, and he wiped it off his uniform onto the ground. He stomped on the butt with a boot.

  Steele shouldered past him. The Duquesne Incline was an old wood and red brick building which looked like it had been around for over a hundred years.

  “Steele,” Barnes said, following after him. “It was just a joke. Don’t take me too seriously. I just like to mess around.” The over the hill veteran turned to Ahmed. “Sorry Hakmed. That was in ill taste.”

  Ahmed glanced at Steele and back at Barnes. “It’s Ahmed.”

  “Of course it is, Ahmed. No hard feelings, huh, buddy,” Barnes said, looking flustered.

  “Sure thing, Barnes. Let’s get inside.” Steele opened the door and went inside the old building.

  It was as if they had stepped into a time machine and were transported back to the Industrial Revolution. An aged ticket counter greeted them, encased in old worn polished wood surrounded by brass inlays. Exposed by thick modern plexiglass were old world machines that grinded away, blackened greased gear wheels and steel-wired pulleys. Steele studied the early display of Pittsburgher technology.

  Barnes barked a laugh. “That’s right, kiddo. The most sophisticated military known to man has been using a trolley from the 1800s to move their supplies up and down a mountain. Our air wings have been either overrun or shuttled to other regions. We have resorted to some old school shipping methods.” He punched a tarnished copper button. The wooden doors to the incline rolled opened.

  “Come on ladies, get these packs in the trolley,” Barnes said. A pile of camo packs lay in a pile on the ground. Steele picked one up and tossed it to Ahmed.

  “What’s in the packs?” Ahmed asked.

  Barnes smiled beneath his furry facial hair. “Oh ya know. Supplies.”

  Steele leaned near Ahmed. “Explosives.”

  Ahmed’s face went pale.

  Steele made sure to throw a pack a little harder than necessary at the man. Ahmed caught it, holding it for a moment near his chest.

  “Explosives? I don’t know how I feel about this.”

  “Just don’t drop ’em,” Barnes yelled at him.

  Ahmed stared at the pack uneasily and gently set it inside the trolley.

  After they were done loading the trolley, the men shuffled in and set their personal packs on the wooden benches. Just outside the windows, a train track ran down the side of the mountain.

  “Lucky enough for some poor grunt, it will run continuously on its own so he doesn’t have to man it while we get down there and risk getting left behind. Once we hit go, it will run until it breaks. Only bad part is, when we get to the bottom we have to jump out while the car rolls along to the other side,” Barnes said.

  “What about the packs?” Ahmed said. He eyed the explosives as if they could explode at any moment.

  “We will throw the packs and collect them after we jump out,” Barnes said. “It ain’t perfect, but it will get the job done.”

  Ahmed’s eyes went wide and he looked horrified.

  “What’s the matter, sweetheart? Scared of a little heights?” Barnes laughed to himself.

  Ahmed shook his head no and leaned near Steele. “Throw the explosives. Won’t that cause them to go off?” he whispered.

  Steele knew where he was coming from. Throwing anything that could go boom sounded like a recipe for disaster, but in reality, especially with military grade stuff it wasn’t.

  “I’ll explain more later, but it needs an ignitor to go boom,” Steele said. After a moment he added, “Barnes is just fucking with you.” It seemed to somewhat ease Ahmed’s tension, but not entirely. Steele could practically read his mind. These white people are fucking crazy.

  Barnes stepped casually out of the trolley car. “All aboard,” he sang out like a conductor. He slammed a button on a podium outside the car and hopped back onto the trolley car before it moved more than a few feet. He plopped down on a bench and lit a cig in a matter of seconds.

  The trolley jounced downward. It quivered as it sank down the hillside, as if the ancient trolley car was excited about the prospect of one last run.

  Barnes took a long pull off his cig and put his elbows on his knees. “Did you guys see that blonde with the ass? It’s been a while since I’ve seen a broad with a pair of buns like that,” Barnes said with a sinful smile. He lounged back on the wooden seat, looking like he was at a family barbecue. Steele smiled back. Not the first time, wouldn’t be the last.

  “That’s my girl,” he said. He gave a quick glance at Ahmed. That was meant for you too. Barnes almost choked.

  “Oh is she? How in the heck did you convince a girl like that to go out with a man like you?”

  “I didn’t. She found me,” Steele said.

  “Are you some kind of stupid? What are you doing on this suicide mission?”

  “Sometimes you have to fight, so your loved ones can live in peace,” Steele said. The men were silent. They had either lost loved ones or thought about what future peace meant. The trolley car banged as it passed each brace, holding up the linear track. Down and down they went closer and closer to the dirty brown water of the Monongahela River.

  Barnes exhaled smoke. “Why are you boys really here?” he asked. His eyes said he was skeptical of their mission.

  “Colonel Jackson and I have an arrangement.”

  “You sure got screwed on that deal,” Barnes guffawed.

  “It looks that way.”

  “I’m a Pittsburgh man, that’s why I’m here. My family lives over in Squirrel Hill.” He pointed out the window to a part of town that was out of sight. “Just over those hills there. I was thinking that when we got this done I would go pay them a visit.”

  “I understand, Sergeant. When this is done, I will be on my way,” Steele said.

  “Our way,” Ahmed chimed in.

  Steele gave him a side glance. “Yes, our way.”

  “What, are you two boys like a ‘thing’?”

  Steele smiled. “No, but it seems we’re going the same way.”

  Barnes rose his eyebrows and bobbed his head up and down. “Where you thinking of going?” he asked, blowing smoke from his nostrils.

  “Someplace where there aren’t any people,” Steele said.

  “I don’t care what anyone says about you, Steele. You are smarter than you look,” Barnes said, turning to look out the window at the hills surrounding the city. Rainclouds formed as if giant hands from above were whipping them into dough clouds.

  “But you’re still a dumbass,” Barnes said.

  Steele ignored him. The Pittsburgh skyline smoldered. If the city had ever been made of steel, it was now bent and broken. Most of the buildings were blown out, glass no longer serving as windows. A building that looked like a candle leaned to the left, a hole where steel and glass used to be. Steele could only assume it was due to one of Colonel Jackson’s bombardments of the city.

  “There should be a small inflatable dinghy that we will use to get close to put the charges around the bridge pillars. Colonel Jackson wants the Fort Penn Bridge taken out from behind him.”

  “What if they need to retreat?” Steele asked.

  “He ain’t coming back, son.”

  “The bridge is too large for us to take out by blowing the pillars. So someone is going to have to climb up and plant the charges along the center. Hopefully that will be enough.”

  “We only need to do the one bridge?” Ahmed asked.

  Barnes laughed and wheezed. “We wish. We have to eliminate every major bridge around the main city. No one goes into or out of the city when we are done.”

  Colonel Jackson had hammered it home. If only one bridge stood, the dead had a way of flooding through. It was only a matter of when. Each bridge eliminated meant more time for people to move west, to get as far away from city centers as possible. What Colonel Jackson hadn’t made a point of saying was that Operation Anaconda would trap whomever was still alive in Pittsburgh, mak
ing it extremely difficult to flee the city. It would be a steel tomb. Anybody that remained would be pinned against the rivers as the infected from the East Coast came calling. Steele tried to push that from his mind.

  “Don’t think about it too much, boys. It’s the U.S. military’s will. What will be done, will be done. Everything else is collateral damage.”

  “People will be trapped,” Ahmed said.

  “We should have left here weeks ago. This is a lost Op. Containment is over. Time to cut and run.”

  This was a tough pill to swallow, and not one that was readily apparent to Ahmed when he signed on.

  “Hopefully, we will be saving more living people than hurting.” Steele tried to soften his tone.

  “Hopefully,” Ahmed said.

  “Operation Anaconda’s success depends on us destroying forty-four bridges. It ain’t gonna be fun,” Barnes said, flicking his cig butt on the floor.

  As they slowly rocked back and forth down the mountain, Steele could hear the faint sputtering of gunfire from the convoy. He hoped that they would have an easy way through the city, for Gwen’s sake. They rapidly came up on the river bank, the last hundred yards disappearing beneath track.

  “Ahmed, are you ready?” he said.

  “I’ll be right behind you,” Ahmed said. Steele remembered the last time Ahmed said that. I was almost killed. They lined up behind Barnes, who stunk like musty smoker’s jacket wrapped in pit sweat.

  Barnes pitched bags of explosives out the trolley door as Steele and Ahmed handed them up. A trail of military packs dotted the hillside.

  When the concrete platform closed in, Barnes jumped onto the platform with a grunt. The old bastard was agile when he wanted to be. Steele was close behind him and used Barnes to slow himself down.

  “You can still jump?” Steele said.

  Barnes wheezed a laugh. “When I was your age, I’d run up and down this mountain in forty seconds flat,” Barnes said. He drew his black Beretta 9mm and cleared a side of the platform.

  Steele smiled. Old timers. He cleared the other side of the platform with his newly acquired M4 carbine. “Clear,” he said. “Ahmed, you up?” Steele called out. He tucked his chin and glanced over his shoulder. Ahmed was not behind him. “Ahmed?” he said. The trolley rumbled around the corner track to begin its continuous journey.

  “Fuck,” Barnes swore, rushing for the track. Steele raced behind him.

  “Where is he?” Steele shouted. He leaned over the railing, searching for his comrade.

  “I dunno,” Barnes countered.

  “We can’t stay on this platform. I’m not above leaving him behind,” Barnes rushed. A dirt parking lot, for visitors to the incline, lay between the concrete platform and the river. At least a seventy yard span. The trolley car ticked back up the track like the slow ascent of a roller coaster. He better not still be in that damn car.

  “Ahmed?” Steele called out. The balance between finding his friend and not encountering infected was a game of survival. A faint call of moans answered him. A cluster of infected had sighted them. It wouldn’t be long before they reached the platform.

  “Ahmed, come on.” Steele scanned the brush line, over the railing with his carbine. He switched over, scanning below the side of the concrete platform.

  “Ehhh,” came from thick hillside shrubbery below. Steele slung his carbine back and kicked his feet up, hopping over the rail. He dropped six feet fast, his boots sliding a bit down the hill.

  “Ahmed?” he said. A hand reached up from the grass. He ran for it, feet slipping sideways along the hill.

  Steele came upon a body. “Jesus, dude, why didn’t you jump?” he muttered. Ahmed’s eyes cracked open, and his arm hung too low from his shoulder. A camo pack lay nearby.

  “Had to go back for the last pack,” Ahmed murmured.

  Steele started tactical combat care on Ahmed, but his scene security was slowly decreasing as the dead crawled up the hill. Steele used his fingers to pry open Ahmed’s eyes. His pupils were dilated at different levels. Concussion.

  “OooOoo,” the infected called to Steele. Not much time now. Steele gave the infected a glance. Thirty seconds or less and they will be here. Steele took Ahmed’s arm in both hands and rose it up.

  “Arghh,” Ahmed groaned. Dislocated shoulder. Both could be dealt with at a later time. Steele propped up Ahmed.

  “You’re goin’ be alright,” he said. “Barnes, I got him. Over here,” Steele called back over his shoulder. Gunshots blared out behind him. Thank God Barnes is on his game.

  Steele hefted Ahmed up with an arm around the shoulder. “One step at a time,” he said. Ahmed’s head hung low and rolled back and forth. The pack of infected thinned under Barnes’s fire, but not fast enough. Steele was forced to set Ahmed down and engage the infected with his handgun.

  He squeezed the trigger. Danger close. The gun recoiled and he rotated his hips facing the next infected, already attacking before the last body hit the ground. With every shot, he prepped his trigger in anticipation of the next shot. It was a small maneuver to expedite the firing process leading to quicker and more accurate firing. If your trigger game was off, so was your accuracy.

  The nearest dead lie headless on the ground. Steele performed a tactical reload. Holding his firearm in the high ready, he turned it slightly on its side, while his other hand reached along his hip for a new magazine. He had done this thousands of times and the movement was second nature. Ripping loose the magazine with his forefinger and thumb, he brought his hand close to the weapon. He ejected the magazine from the gun and gripped the magazine between his middle and ring fingers, the metal cool on his skin. He slid the fresh magazine into the gun, making sure to slam his palm hard on the base plate of the mag. He swung his hand back down to his hip, putting the partially loaded magazine into his last mag pouch. He made a mental reminder that his last mag was not full. Just over a second had passed and he was fully loaded and back in the fight.

  He grabbed around Ahmed’s waist and locked his fingers through his belt. They stumbled for the small water craft bobbing on the river. Barnes followed close behind them, cheeks puffing with multiple packs on his back. Easiest day was yesterday.

  JOSEPH

  Fort Penn Bridge, Pittsburgh, PA

  A slimy hot stench hung in the air of the people mover. Too many people, too close together, who hadn’t bathed in too long, mixed with the heavy smell of gun smoke. It was filled to capacity, holding over sixty National Guardsmen and all their gear. Lying in the aisles were more wounded men. They moaned in pain with every bump in the road.

  Joseph sat crammed between two hulking soldiers, Stinkin’ Lincoln and Rancid Manson. Their shoulders practically touched even with Joseph in the middle. Joseph tried to lean back. The coolness of the outside air teased him every time the mover turned, swinging the steel-armor-plated shades outward.

  “Sarge, had this thing outfitted as soon as he got his hands on it,” said Stinkin’ Lincoln. He talked over Joseph’s head like he was his big brother.

  “Fuckers, could have brought in some APCs instead of this piece of shart,” said Rancid Manson. “Where the hell did we get this thing?”

  “Those civilians came in on it. There ain’t any APCs nearby. Wilson overheard the 59th Stryker got wiped out in Philly,” said Stinkin’ Lincoln.

  “Damn. Would have been nice to get a pickup,” said Rancid Manson.

  “I guess it’s better than open air,” said Stinkin’ Lincoln. Lincoln rapped his knuckles on the metal shades.

  “Yeah, so those Jodies can’t take pot shots at us,” said Rancid Manson.

  They both readjusted, using what little space Joseph had to spread out. Joseph pushed on the metal shades.

  “Keep those flaps closed,” Sergeant Yates yelled from the front. Joseph removed his elbow from the former window.

  This must be what Purgatory was like. Stuck inside a dark, smelly, and overcrowded airport people mover with no way out. Destined to drive fore
ver in misery never reaching your final destination.

  Joseph tried to turn the other way and found himself in Manson’s armpit. He twisted and settled for staring at Mauser, who sat on the bench across from him. His leg was propped up on a bag, and he was in obvious pain.

  “Try to keep it elevated and take the pain meds, I gave you. Unfortunately, we can’t get you any ice until we get to the next base,” Joseph said, trying to sound optimistic. Mauser nodded, clenching his jaw.

  “When can I get mobile again?” he said. Joseph glanced at the swelling. His ankle looked like it belonged to a purple elephant.

  “You probably shouldn’t have been so active on it.”

  “I would love to take a break. You think you can handle this thing?” he said, showing Joseph his long gun.

  “No. I’d rather let you keep that skill set. But about a week and you should be up and running,” he said.

  Mauser smiled. “I can live with that.”

  Joseph hoped that he could.

  Gwen sat on Mauser’s other side, piercing Joseph with an icy stare.

  “I hear we will be through Pittsburgh quickly,” he said to her. “Only a short cut through the edge of downtown.”

  Her eyes bore into him like he was a ghost.

  Joseph worried about her. Her mental health seemed to be in distress. She had not smiled in days as far as he could tell. Something had broken in her. He tried to give her a friendly smile, but it shied away under her gaze. He adjusted his glasses and pushed the steel flap outward so he could peek a bit outside.