“Cutting it a bit close.” Being used as bait for the infected was not a prospect that Steele enjoyed.
“Wooo,” shouted the soldier on the fifty. He threw a fist up in the air. Smoke drifted up from his machine gun barrel. “You see that? That Zulu’s head just popped right off.”
“Which one?” shouted another soldier.
“The fat one,” he shouted down at him.
“Let me see it,” the other soldier said.
“Sarge, you think I could get it? Ya know, keep it as a trophy?”
“Knock it off, Jacobs,” the sergeant first class yelled at him.
Steele helped Ahmed up. The sergeant first class smiled at them. “Well, come on in, guys.”
Ahmed and Steele walked inside only a few feet from the soldiers. The platoon of Army soldiers stood watching them curiously. A few stood inside a guard shack. The rest were lounging inside Humvees doors open and standing around.
“So Colonel Jackson sent you two lovebirds on a mission?”
Steele dusted off his shirt. “That’s correct. We were with EOD Specialist Barnes. We completed Operation Anaconda.”
“You were with Barnes? That crazy son of a bitch. Where is he?”
“Blew himself up.” The words didn’t touch the soldier’s eyes. He blinked. A corporal standing nearby leaned in and whispered into the sergeant first class’s ear. He frowned, removing a rolled-up photo from his ACU breast pocket. He looked down at the picture then back at Steele. The senior NCO’s mouth moved as if he were chewing the inside of his cheek.
“Barnes blew himself up? So he’s dead?”
“Unfortunately, yes.” Steele didn’t like where this line of questioning was going.
“Well, you see we have a bit of a problem.” The tone of his voice made Steele’s hackles stand on end. The sergeant first class flicked the photograph with his index finger, gently shaking his head.
“Why’s that?” Steele asked, rubbing his ear. He stuck his finger in his left ear and shook it. His head still continued to ring.
“It’s quite simple. We found this picture along with the bodies of some of our guys.” He pushed a photo of Steele and Gwen into Steele’s face.
“I don’t understand,” he said. The beach. Beautiful day. “How did you get that?” What is a picture of Gwen and I doing by the bodies of murdered soldiers? He snatched it from the NCO’s hands.
“Where is she?” Steele demanded. His mouth turned into a snarl. “Where is she?” he shouted at the sergeant first class.
“That’s a good question. Is that you in the photo, son?” he said.
“Yes—,” Steele started. He was confused. He didn’t have time to contemplate his words before the a rifle butt landed against the back of his head.
KINNICK
Youngstown Airfield, Youngstown, OH
He had been in and out of Pittsburgh for as many hours a day as he could maintain, for days, but still hadn’t discovered Colonel Jackson and his mystery convoy. He had traveled to every other airfield in the region. The last stop on his route was the Youngstown Airfield, home of the 163rd Air Transport Wing of the Ohio Air National Guard.
North of Pittsburgh, the Zelienople Airfield had been overrun. He prayed to God that Youngstown was not, or they would be flying on fumes to the next airfield. He had his pilots set down near the air traffic control tower.
A single soldier jogged out as the rotors wound down, head ducked and covering his eyes.
“Where you coming from?” the bearded soldier yelled.
Kinnick hopped down, surrounded by his operators.
“We’re coming from D.C., and we need fuel. I’m looking for a Colonel Jackson or your CO?” he said.
The soldier’s eyes darted back and forth. “I can take you to Colonel Jackson. We haven’t had any traffic in a few days. We were wondering if you guys forgot about us,” the soldier said, licking his lips. Kinnick looked at the man. His greasy hair stuck out every which way, his shirt was untucked, and his rifle hung loosely over his shoulder like it was a gym bag. His ACUs were patched with a red anvil on his sleeve and a single chevron or mosquito wings at the center of his chest.
“Colonel Jackson is here?”
“Yeah, he’s here. He’s our CO.”
“Private, please lead the way. We’ve been looking for him.” He gestured to Master Sergeant Hunter. “I want Lewis and Gibson to stay with the helos. Rest of the men to the chow hall. I want you with me,” Kinnick ordered. Under his breath, he said, “Stay close. I’m getting a bad vibe from this place.”
“Roger that. These guys look gaggle-fucked as hell,” Master Sergeant Hunter said.
Colonel Kinnick and Master Sergeant Hunter tailed the private inside a gray-sided airfield office building attached to the air traffic control tower. A couple of soldiers stood out front smoking cigarettes. They gave Kinnick a hostile look. Kinnick instinctively ran his hand over his Beretta 9mm and made it seem as if he were adjusting his belt. He felt Master Sergeant Hunter’s presence nearby. A wolf in soldier’s clothing, ready to break free, fangs bared, at any moment.
They walked up some dark steps that led to a command room. The private opened the door and stepped inside. Kinnick entered with a bit of apprehension as if he walked into a trap but was powerless to fight it.
A bald man with loosely laced combat boots sat with his feet up on the table. Maps covered the table in a haphazard manner. The corners of the parchment were held down by empty food containers and cans of beer. A couple of sergeants sat in folding chairs nearby. One had a grisly necklace of ears around his neck. A scantily clad blonde woman stood in the background waiting on the men. Kinnick did not like their collective disheveled look. These men are ate up. They reminded him of rabid dogs. Simultaneous wild eyes and hard eyes.
“Colonel Jackson?” Kinnick said.
The man with his feet up sat back, letting his boots drop to the ground. He waved Kinnick over. He was a short man with broad shoulders.
“Come on over and take a seat,” Colonel Jackson said.
Kinnick moved a bit closer and stood at the ready. “I would prefer to stand. How are things here?” he asked. Clearly, they had deteriorated rapidly.
Jackson grinned, his skeletal face wrapped in thin skin. “Things are going just fine. I see you came in on a couple of pretty birds.”
“We did. I am on a special mission from General Travis at the Pentagon—,” Kinnick said before he was interrupted.
“The Pentagon. Ah, the cerebrum. The brain that sends out little electric commands to all its fingers and its itty bitty toes. Except I haven’t received any electric pulses from them in a few days, or anybody for that matter.”
“You haven’t heard from General Travis?” Kinnick asked.
“Our communications have been limited.” Colonel Jackson let it sink in. “And you must be their little errand boy. I ask for orders from NORTHCOM and they send me you.” He spread his hands out in front of him and leaned back in his chair. “How can my base be at your assistance?”
The taller and meaner of the two sergeants snorted a laugh that was cut short by an evil look from Jackson.
Kinnick ignored his indiscretion. “Yes, it is very important. I am looking for a doctor. A Dr. Jackowski.”
“I’ve met him. Skittish fellow,” Colonel Jackson said. He rubbed his upper lip.
“Do you know where he is?” Kinnick said hurriedly.
“I’m not sure, now,” Colonel Jackson said, smoothing the creases of his mouth. “But I know someone who does. Follow me, Colonel,” he said. He stood back up from his chair with a smile.
Kinnick’s skin crawled. They were shadowed by sergeants in unbuttoned ACU jackets, stained undershirts beneath. The one with the ear necklace smiled at Kinnick, only one side of his lips lifting upright. This place was not right.
Back down the stairs they marched, and Colonel Jackson led them outside. A civilian camp covered the grounds, stretching over a parking lot and grassy field. He led
them to the other side of the air traffic control tower.
“Ah, there they are,” Colonel Jackson said, gesturing at a couple of bodies facedown in the grass; they’d clearly been stripped of essential equipment.
Kinnick bent down, looking down at them. Their skin was pale and looked cold. Been dead at least a few days.
“Why were these men not given a proper burial?”
“What’s the point, Colonel? We are all gonna die soon anyway, but I am afraid that the answer to your doctor’s whereabouts lies with these brave men. The doctor and his minions murdered these soldiers. Killed American soldiers and defied my orders and deserted my command,” Jackson said, spittle flying. He licked his lips, calming himself.
An infected beat the fence with his hands. His face pressed painfully into the links.
“Will you excuse me for a moment?” Colonel Jackson asked, raising his eyebrows with an apologetic smile. He drew his firearm and marched to the fence. He pointed his gun at the infected’s face. The creature clawed the fence with zero regard that the colonel was about to put a bullet through its head. Jackson kept his gun steady for a moment, almost as if he were waiting for the infected to flinch. He pulled the trigger and the infected lost part of its head.
Kinnick stared down at the bodies. Americans fighting their own military. Not impossible, but is this the new norm, or is this isolated?
Colonel Jackson walked back to Kinnick. His eyes held a bit of fury. He holstered his weapon. “Now, where were we?” he asked, straightening his ACUs. “Oh yes. We were discussing chain of command, and our civilian components. Does your General Travis or any of those pukes out in Colorado have any idea what it’s like out here?” He rose non-existent eyebrows at Kinnick. He didn’t expect an answer. This was a lecture. “You’ve seen it. You must have. The dead. The eaten. The survivors. It’s as if they all want you dead. This isn’t hell, Colonel Kinnick. This is worse than hell,” Colonel Jackson said, kicking dirt at the fallen soldiers.
“I believe that they do understand the dire fight on our hands. General Travis’s mission may tip the scales of this war.”
Colonel Jackson laughed a bit.
“Dire fight. Ha. Do you know how many people I’ve killed over the last month?” Jackson asked. He crouched down and picked up a handful of dirt.
“No, I do not.” Kinnick began to question his understanding of the conflict. Are we too far gone? Look at this once proud American soldier. He’s snapped.
“Do you know how many American citizens I have killed or ordered killed? Do I even blame them for killing my men in return? My men. Men who look to me to lead them into and out of battle safely. Men who rely on me to point them in the right direction.”
Kinnick was silent.
“Hundreds. No, Thousands. Tens of thousands of the monsters I have ordered destroyed. Monsters. They aren’t human. They might look like Aunt Sally, but they eat like dogs. Bellies swollen from eating every last drop. Do you feel nothing when you take them down?”
“The people infected by the virus are no longer to be considered human by Congressional Act 661,” Kinnick prattled off.
“No, I mean all of them. Live civilians too. What’s the difference? You are either with the unit or against it. All of them. It’s us versus everyone else.”
“Then you should check your morals, Colonel,” Kinnick said. He looked back at the civilian camp. A woman cried out as she was hauled by her elbows to a tent by two soldiers.
Madness. This base had gone mad.
Colonel Jackson squinted and a smile settled on his lips. “It is an unfortunate side effect of this conflict. Can you blame the boys?”
Kinnick pointed out. “What are they doing to that woman?”
“They’re just blowing off some steam,” Jackson said.
Kinnick wanted to puke, but he couldn’t take the fight to an entire base of soldiers with just a squad.
“This is an unfortunate state I find you in, Colonel Jackson. But I have my orders to find the doctor, so I must continue searching,” Kinnick said, gulping. “I trust you will straighten this out before I return?”
Colonel Jackson chuckled. “Of course. Of course. I will get everything squared away for you, Colonel. You have your orders. The base is at your disposal. I will have Sergeant Lowry and Sergeant Banks accompany you around the base.”
The dark-looking men walked over to Kinnick and Master Sergeant Hunter.
“No escort is needed, Commander. We ARE on the same team,” Kinnick said.
Jackson revealed his teeth through thin lips. “But I insist. This is a dangerous time we live in.” The two armed guards followed Kinnick onto the airfield.
They walked to the helicopters at an even pace. Kinnick could feel Master Sergeant Hunter getting ready to strike the man next to him in the neck, when he would most likely transition to a blade and stab the other with a crippling liver jab, following up by covering his mouth when he screamed and sawing his windpipe out like a stuck pig.
Kinnick smiled at him. “Let’s make sure our birds are getting fueled up. We can’t depart until then,” he said, hoping the man-wolf would catch his tone to wait. Fuel then flee.
Master Sergeant Hunter nodded. “I’ll make sure our boys are up to speed.”
Kinnick’s mind raced. Colonel Jackson was a broken man. There was no doubt in Kinnick’s mind that Jackson had snapped. Jackson’s men were broken, showing little allegiance to the nation they once loved. They had only loyalty to one thing, the unit. They were no better than a gang. A heavily armed gang with too many members.
He needed to get the other men back from the chow hall or they wouldn’t stand a chance.
A fuel line ran from the helo to the ground. Gibson and Lewis stood casually near the helos. Lewis gave a hearty laugh as he glanced over at Kinnick and Master Sergeant Hunter. His eyes narrowed a bit when he saw Jackson’s men on either side of them. The blood began to pound in Kinnick’s ears and his skin prickled knowing a fight was coming.
“How’s the refueling coming?”
Lewis the bear looked over at the National Guardsmen like they were a grub. “About halfway there. We should be up in about ten. We aren’t heading out of here right away? We could use some rest,” Sergeant Lewis said.
Kinnick nodded. Not here. “Of course. We need to debrief. Go and fetch the other men from the chow hall,” he said.
“I’ll grab them,” Sergeant Lewis said. He jogged off. Kinnick hoped that this would go quiet or he had just sent one of his better soldiers to his death. Well, he would have sent them all to their deaths. He turned to Master Sergeant Hunter.
“We should probably square ourselves up,” Kinnick said.
Master Sergeant Hunter raised an eyebrow before turning to the nearest guard. “You boys ever seen a knife fight in a phone booth?” he said. Sergeant Lowry cocked his head to the side, perplexity crossing his features.
“N—,” Sergeant Lowry started. His eyes bugged out of his head as Master Sergeant Hunter knocked his larynx into the back of his throat. Lowry drew a ragged breath, his hands involuntarily leaping for his neck.
Kinnick struck out with his fist aimed for Sergeant Banks’s ugly face. He was a second too slow, and Sergeant Banks turned his head slightly, catching the brunt of the blow on his cheek. Banks stepped back and reached for his sidearm. Kinnick lunged for the man’s gun. There could be no firing or the whole base would be alerted. They went down in a heap. Kinnick pushed down on the man’s sidearm to keep it in his holster. Sergeant Banks rolled on top of Kinnick, using one hand to reach for his sidearm and one hand to choke Kinnick. Banks drove down on Kinnick’s neck. The muscles in Kinnick’s neck strained as the man’s hand worked at crushing his windpipe. Both Kinnick’s hands were still wrapped around the man’s gun, keeping it in its holster. Black spots peppered his vision. Then relief.
Sergeant Banks’s hands leapt to his own throat as blood propelled its way through, around his fingers, and down his hands. He tipped off Kinnick
gargling his last breaths. Master Sergeant Hunter pulled Kinnick upright, shoving him toward the helos.
Sergeant Gibson ran for them.
“Secure the helos,” Master Sergeant Hunter called out.
Sergeant Gibson jerked to the left like he had been hit by a baseball pitch. He dropped to his knees, fingers massaging blood in between them. Bullets screamed past Kinnick and Master Sergeant Hunter. Sergeant Gibson dumped first face into the dirt. His feet kicked up as a counterbalance and flopped dead on the ground. More shots rang out.
Kinnick dove through the middle of the helo, Master Sergeant Hunter close behind.
“They’re on the roof,” Master Sergeant Hunter breathed.
“Should have known they would have eyes on us the whole time. We have to wait for Lewis and the rest of the team,” Kinnick said between breaths.
Hunter nodded and rolled to the side of the helo, spraying a few shots before ducking back behind cover. “More are coming around the building. They’ll have us flanked in a minute,” he said.
They were pinned. Gibson was dead. His squad was somewhere in the base. He couldn’t fly the helicopter on his own. The gunfire dissipated. A loud booming voice rang out over an outdoor speaker.
“Colonel Kinnick and your Special Forces lapdog. Come out with your hands up,” Jackson’s voice rang.
Master Sergeant Hunter looked over at Kinnick, finger tapping a fragmentation grenade. Kinnick shook his head.
“We have the rest of your team. There is no way to go on without them all dying. Surrender and we will have mercy,” Colonel Jackson said.
Kinnick lay his head back onto the helo’s side. How could it have come to this? Is there a way to get word to General Travis? To let him know of our failure? Kinnick threw his Beretta onto the ground and stepped out from behind the protective fuselage of the helicopter, hands above his head.
“No need to shoot,” he said.
GWEN
Southern Michigan
Kevin slowed the pickup down to a stop next to a white sign that read Pure Michigan in scrawling blue letters. A string of bullet holes peppered diagonally down the sign. They had avoided Toledo and cut up the middle of Michigan to avoid Detroit and the surrounding areas.
The End Time Saga Box Set [Books 1-3] Page 68