by Paul Kirk
“Can you get... umm, President Starkes...I need to talk now.”
“Relax, Amanda. Please. Try to rest. A bullet creased your left temple, knocked you around a good bit...plus, you took a deep hit to the thigh. You need to rest and recover.”
“Okay...umm, but, get President Starkes for me now...please?”
Scott studied the desperation and intensity. Impressed at the woman’s focused fortitude, he decided to help.
“Alright, I’ll go after her. But, you hafta stay calm for me.”
“I will...I promise.”
“Cassie, please keep an eye on her.”
"Sure thing, Scott."
Scott rushed toward the stairs, scrambling down to enter the command center. Quickly, he approached the colonel, major and captain. He overheard their discussion concerning the need for at least thirty more portable containers to hold fresh water for transport.
“Ma’am?”
“Yeah, Scott? She alright? She awake?”
“Yep. She’s asking for you.”
“Good.”
“By name.”
“Wow. By name, no kidding?”
“No kidding.”
“What’s her name? She tell you?”
“Amanda Abbington.”
“Amanda Abbington. Okay then. Let’s go. All of us, c’mon.”
Hustling, they reached Amanda’s room only to see Cassie trying desperately to keep the young woman calm. Amanda was trying hard to sit up, despite her weakened state and was being met with fierce resistance and consoling words.
“Amanda!” yelled Colonel Starkes, entering the room.
“Who’re you? Huh? This can’t wait. Get me the damn president!”
“I am the damn president!”
Amanda ceased thrashing and stared. Taking stock, she relaxed under Cassie’s firm pressure, slipping deep into the pillow with a heavy sigh.
“Okay...alright. We’re making some progress...I guess.”
Nearing the bedside, Colonel Starkes slowed, calming herself. Scott, O’Malley and Daubney took position around her; each glanced at the other and then Amanda, evaluating.
“You’ve been out for awhile, Amanda. And, in case you’re wondering, because you probably are, your baby’s doing just fine.”
“Oh.” Amanda’s eyes took on a brief faraway stare.
“You’re President Starkes?”
“In the flesh.”
“We...we got your letter.”
“Obviously.”
“And Connor Mac?” asked Amanda, hopeful.
“Umm...we’ve yet to meet the man.”
“Shit! What...what happened…after I got shot?”
“Well, let’s see—”
“Tell me!”
“Hold on! Here’s how it was. Mickey and his crew gathered you up from the first floor of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame like a sack of potatoes.”
“Uh, huh.”
“They carried you to the command center while a huge firefight took off. And, from there, we high-tailed it outta the Hall of Fame like it was on fire, bringing you with us.”
“Oh.”
“In fact, we jumped onto our bird right when Phoenix’s men laid on a full frontal assault to take the building.”
“Phoenix?”
“The sniveling, evil rat prick bastard who thinks he runs Cleveland.” The growl beneath the colonel's voice came through easily. She sought a modicum of calm, slightly embarrassed.
“Oh,” said Amanda.
“After we cut loose, we slipped away as they swarmed the building. But, I’m happy to say that your warning helped me keep all my men safe and sound. Barely a few scratches.”
“A huh.”
“So I owe you a debt of gratitude, Amanda Abbington.”
“But...Connor Mac?”
“He never made it. We never saw him. Was he nearby?”
“Crap!” said Amanda. She flopped onto the pillow, frustrated. After a few seconds, she squinted in pain and reached up to touch the bandage on her head. Momentarily shocked at the lack of hair on her left side, her eyes flew open. Breathing deeply, she released the tension in her shoulders and slid deeper into the pillow. Nearly spent, she made a final effort to compose herself.
“I need to find him, Madam President. And Marty, too.”
“Please call me Hannah. I’m Hannah Starkes.”
“I need to find them, Hannah.”
“Yep. You and me both.”
CHAPTER 7.10-Thinking Big
“They were here, Phoenix. At least a party of ten, maybe fifteen.” Having already assessed the area along with his junior trackers, Luke Killington confirmed that many men had stayed at least a week in residence at the Youngtown steel mill. And, he noted a pretty decent and conscientious effort directed toward concealing this fact.
“You sure?”
Luke was growing pretty tired of such questions from both Phoenix and Larry Reed. Reflectively, he took in the view of the mill once more from his spot atop the huge pile of rusting steel. At his side, Phoenix kept his eyes roving the area, creating a mental map; Larry just looked tired.
“They were here. Left not too long ago, maybe a day. Maybe two, but spent some time, waiting.” The stale presence of the men who’d recently vacated the area along with the slight tang of many old cooking fires filled Luke’s nostrils well above the wash of unclean men and horses quickly converging into the mill. He was surprised the two men beside him had to ask, since the stale smells of the strangers were still so strong in the air.
“Waiting for what or who?” asked Reed.
“Don’t know. Just that they were waiting...before they left,” said Luke.
“Uh, huh.”
“Give me another hour and I’ll tell you where they headed.”
“Take your time, Luke. We still have about an hour daylight left. Uncle?”
“Yeah?” said Larry.
“Set up camp and have the men settle in for the day.”
"I’ll let the Brigade Commanders know.”
“Post extra guards and tell ‘em to keep a sharp eye out for the Bitch and her bird.”
“Yep.”
“Don’t forget she and her team can run at night.”
“Nope, I won’t.” Larry left to attend to the orders, leaving Luke and Phoenix atop the rusting steel billet.
Pleased at mission progress, but recognizing the furious pace he had put on his men, Phoenix sat atop the steel stacks, sweeping his binoculars slightly northwest. Close by, a faded street sign declared they had entered on Martin Luther King Boulevard leading into the main front yard of the old, crumbling mill. Farther down the weed-infested road, his 620 men began assembling onto the mill grounds. With satisfaction, he tracked all five well-trained Pride Brigades, each in loose, but separate forty-man formations. Granted, many men had had to merge with new units after the firefight back in Cleveland, but they did so almost seamlessly. Searching the front and outer edges of the approaching men, he spotted several of his nineteen man trackers, not counting Luke, making their way into the mill yard.
“Look at that shit, huh?” Phoenix whispered to himself.
The trackers decided camp was on and that the expedition would settle in for the night. Phoenix inspected his men more in depth. Interspersed throughout, his forty-man logistic/supply managing team was easily located, since each wore the requisite Cleveland Brown bandanna. Already, the “log-sups” as they were called, were passing out MREs and water. And, several were busting up old pallets and scrap lumber and dragging them to a central area for a large community fire. A fire that would be used for the twenty-five geese, six doe, and pack of plump, wild dogs they’d managed to scrape together today while in transit to supplement their food supply. Staring farther into the mix, Phoenix caught the intense energy of his Brigade commanders screaming out orders and assigning night patrol. Luke cleared his throat and Phoenix turned. For a moment, he’d forgotten about the man, he was so quiet, like a wolf eyeing up his next m
eal and waiting to strike.
“How’re you handling third in command for this mission?”
“Fine, I guess.”
“You guess?”
“It’s good, sir.”
“Make sure the men do what they need to do.”
“That won’t be a problem, sir.”
“See that it’s not.”
Phoenix had promoted Luke passed several Pride Brigade commanders. By doing so, Phoenix wanted to ruffle a few feathers, and stress to his men that he rewarded for results and results only. Luke and his team had nearly taken the escalators of the Hall of Fame under heavy return fire and at great risk during the surprise assault. Besides, Luke had risen quickly in the ranks to top tracker since his arrival in Cleveland. And, based on his reported ability to handle the shipping docks as a lead foreman back in Long Beach before the Sickness, he’d developed a knack for keeping hard-minded men in tow. Which, his men certainly were.
“How far have we come today, Luke?”
“We made a good twenty-five today.”
“Hmmm.”
“Couldn’t be helped, sir. Those pickups we’re running are both a treasure and a pain.”
“That they are. All sixty of ‘em.”
“Well, fifty-nine, sir. We lost one today. Had to leave it on US 422 after the rear axle blew.”
“Oh yeah. Larry told me about that.”
"We might be able to recover it on our return trip.”
“Maybe. We’ll see,” said Phoenix.
“Pushing through all those traffic snarls on the interstates sucks ass.”
“Yeah, I know. That’s why we set ‘em up with winches.”
“Hardly seems worth it for the time loss, maybe?”
“Hmm…did Larry tell you we lost two quads today?”
"He did, sir," said Luke.
“It’s damn near impossible to keep those damn engines runnin’. And that high octane gas they suck up is a fuckin’ nightmare to make,” said Phoenix.
“Uh, huh.”
“I'm told we’re almost out of the boosting stabilizer.”
“You talkin’ ‘bout that red crap they put in the tanks with a teaspoon?”
“Yeah, Luke, the stuff Gus made.”
“Oh.”
“So far though, not bad losses in equipment for the mission.”
“Nope.”
“See to it that we drop both quads off the trucks here at the mill. We’ll try to recover them on the return trip if our route back supports it.”
“Okay.”
Phoenix became lost in thought. After a few moments, Luke spoke up.
“Anything else, sir?”
“No, Luke.”
“Okay then.”
“Stay on task. See what else you can find about those men that were here. Let’s hope it is, in fact, this Connor MacMillen and not some wild goose chase.”
“Yeah.”
“Oh, let the Brigade commanders know we’re leaving at first light.”
“Yes, sir.”
Luke climbed from the steel.
Phoenix was alone for the first time the entire day. He assessed the men prepping the camp below and caught several stealing glances in his direction, but pretended not to notice. Instead, Phoenix beamed with satisfaction as he took in the view of the huge fighting force he had painstakingly amassed during the past five years. Always with a quick mind toward logistics and math, he double-checked the status and inventory of his army’s roadworthiness:
1: Pickups. Fifty-nine well-maintained running diesel, each with an extra thirty-gallon tank stashed in a lightly armored bed. Experienced drivers for each vehicle with a soldier riding shotgun.
2: Full quarter-inch armor plating protecting both cab and rear windows of all pickups.
3: Two spare tires per truck with a few basic replacement parts, electronics and hoses.
4: A total of forty-five working CB radios installed. Five others under repair and in recovery.
5: Breaker bars on all pickups. Three-quarter horsepower winches mounted on twelve vehicles.
6: Two fully working .50 caliber machine guns atop pickups with dummies mounted on two others for potential part salvage and intimidation.
7: A total of twenty (now eighteen) Honda and Yamaha 250cc quads with some essential spare parts and nine usable replacement tires. Highly experienced riders for each.
8: Sixteen motorcycles (Honda only) with highly experienced riders.
9: 240 cavalry separated into brigades with spare horseshoes and decently trained men to ride and care.
10: At least one experienced farrier established for each cavalry Pride Brigade.
11: Forty well-trained logistic and supply managers
12: Five full capacity Pride Brigades 200 men strong using motorcycles, four-wheelers or the truck beds for mobile transport.
13: A forty-man Log/Sup team keeping the logistics and supply line rolling forward.
14: Luke's twenty-man Hunter/Tracker team.
Watching the organized chaos in creating a new camp, Phoenix considered the seasoned men of the Pride Brigades. They were as impressive as the machines, horsemen and equipment that supported them. To a man, each was in excellent physical condition and wore light body armor beneath urban army camo, despite the heat of the day. His search of army installations, depots, and law enforcement barracks over the years had produced a plethora of suitable equipment for his men. Well-trained and well fed, with fastidious hygiene instilled, his army was a supreme fighting force, bar none, in today’s new world order. Strict discipline was paramount.
“And I have the controls,” said Phoenix aloud.
Each man carried enough food for three days on the march and enough ammo to take on any standard military events. Of course, that was only when they didn’t have to resort to the RPGs and more powerful munitions stashed in the truck beds for those bigger ticket events. Thinking back on the development of his army, Phoenix admitted his uncle had done a fine job finding and recruiting military-minded men and then developing an excellent fighting force. On the other hand, he wouldn't be the first to fawn over his uncle’s accomplishments. Phoenix glanced down to see a group of men walking below his seat atop the steel billet. Listening closely, he caught whispers of a few men under the command of Brigade leader Kaiden Hatch, a staunch veteran of many skirmishes during the past four years. The men proudly spoke of the time when they took down Erie, PA and how they fully enjoyed the rape and pillage that went with it. Quickly, they became quite descriptive in their stories.
“The small minds of small men,” Phoenix thought, “Why rape a few women when you can have the entire country begging on its knees.”
Used to climbing from tall heights during his days as an elevator adjuster, Phoenix descended from the stack of steel with liquid ease, strolling toward the supreme command tent the log-sups had already set up. Mildly aroused in spite of himself, he adjusted his erection for comfort and was somewhat irritated that he’d specifically ordered no young women to attend to and service the men during this expedition.
CHAPTER 7.11-A Newborn Kitten
“Hannah, I...we need to...” said Amanda. She scanned the room obviously searching for something. “Where are my clothes?” She wore an extra large T-shirt and nothing else. Easing up onto her elbows, she dared anyone to intervene. She made another concerted effort to rise further into a sitting position; forcing her legs beyond the edge of the bed. Woozy, she reluctantly let Scott and Cassie support her arms and shoulders. After a moment, she regained her bearings. “We need to get to Youngstown.”
“Youngstown?”
“She’s talking about Youngstown, Ohio, ma’am,” said Scott, “She was asking about it before I went to find you.”
“I see.”
“It’s ahh...a small town sixty-five maybe seventy miles southwest of here.”
“Thanks,” said Colonel Starkes. She turned toward Major O’Malley, but before speaking, the major placed a hand on Daubney’s shoulder.<
br />
“Captain? See to it that mission specs are drawn up for a full team transfer to Youngstown. Immediate daylight arrival near dawn.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Locate proper fuel conduits for both north and south approach landings, if possible.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And make sure the men and all supplies are fully replenished prior to departure.”
“Yes, sir.”
“That goes for the fresh water containers we were talking about, even if you have to commandeer ‘em.”
“Yes, sir. Anything else, sir?”
“I think Phoenix is traveling to Youngstown and not toward Akron like we thought. Make Shamus aware and have him lay in a flight plan giving us a chance to track current position before going in.”
“Yes, sir.”
In a rush, Captain Daubney left the room and nearly collided with Cassie, returning with Amanda’s freshly laundered clothes. At the bed, Cassie placed them in her lap. “Here you go, honey.”
“Thanks.”
“Do me a small favor right now would you?” said Cassie, “Don’t try to stand yet, okay? You’re going to be very, very weak for a few days.”
“Okay.”
“Is Youngstown your fallback rendezvous point, Amanda?” asked Colonel Starkes, interrupting.
“Umm, yeah...did Marty tell you that? Where’s Marty?”
“Marty?”
“Yeah, the guy with me. Sniper. Marine Recon. You didn’t see him? Blonde, long hair, ‘bout six foot?”
“No,” said Colonel Starkes.
“No? Damn! Marty was...providing cover fire for me. We hid out in the old warehouse across from the Hall of Fame.”
“I knew it!” said Major O’Malley.
“Nope,” said Colonel Starkes once again.
“Tell me more about Marty,” said Major O’Malley, interested.
“He never made it to you?”
“No, like I said, we high-tailed it outta there.”
“Oh,” said Amanda. She closed her eyes, deeply tired, but snapped them open, trying to refocus.
“Amanda, there was some serious firepower brought to bear that night.”
“Tell me ‘bout it.”
“By the end of it, that entire warehouse was a burning and exploding fireball.”