Devastation

by Paul Kirk

“Uncle…” Phoenix forced himself to calm, realizing that the worst of today’s events was probably over. Deep down, he knew killing Larry wouldn’t solve anything.

  "Yeah?" Larry Reed sensed the anger building against his theory.

  "There was only one sniper, uncle—and I think the shots were nothing more than delay tactics of a desperate enemy on the run. Or, better yet, an enemy who’d just realized that they are now the hunted. I wonder—”

  “Wonder what, Phoenix?”

  “Shut the hell up, I’m thinkin'.”

  The loss of his men on both bridges became more acceptable in the big scheme of things. Phoenix realized his prey had some tooth and claw and this pleased him. He smiled and climbed into the passenger seat. Turning toward his uncle, he had fire in his eyes.

  “Have the men finish clearing the forward edge of this bridge. They have thirty fucking minutes.”

  “Phoenix?”

  “You heard me now, Uncle. I'll let Luke and the brigades know to run in full pursuit as we speak.”

  “Those snipers are still out there.”

  “No, Larry. No they’re not."

  “But—”

  “Another negative word and I think I just might…move it. My orders are clear.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Phoenix studied the frantic energy of his men mobilizing to clear the bridge. Though hesitant at first, when no additional shots sounded, they increased their movements to complete the debris and vehicle removal. Phoenix held the radio to his lips.

  “Luke? You copy me?”

  “I’m here. Go ahead, Phoenix.”

  “Run full ahead. Delay tactics is all it was. You’re clear to progress. Though, I admit there’s a low percentage you might take a few more shots in your general direction, so be careful. Over.”

  “Okay. Movin’ now. You know, we’re leaving behind some bodies. Over.”

  “Yeah, well, can’t be helped. Over.”

  “I think they're on that lookout platform up on that ridge. Over.”

  “I know. Head that direction as fast as you can. I’m sure it was only one sniper based on my estimates. They’re probably cleared out by now. Over.”

  “Only one? No way it was only one. Over.”

  “Luke? Do you copy?”

  “Yeah, go ahead.’

  “This is my domain. I do the math. I do the strategy.”

  “Right. Heading out. Over.”

  “Good. Over and out.”

  “Sir?”

  “Go ahead, Luke.”

  “How ‘bout we enter the tunnels in front of us? We'll reach the other side faster? Catch ‘em off guard. Over.”

  “Think about it, Luke. The team that just took shots at us elected not to go into those tunnels for a reason. There's probably experienced trappers in that tunnel, who've now woken up with all the shootin’. And the team we’re huntin’ will likely have a plan B that won’t connect with your exit of those tunnels. Over.”

  “I see.”

  “They’ll follow the ridgeline to wherever they’re heading. Over”

  “Understood.” Hidden beneath the Liberty bridge onramp, Luke considered his current situation. Quickly, he grasped that Phoenix was seeing a larger picture than he, himself, was accustomed to viewing. Rarely impressed, he favored Phoenix with a question.

  “What do you need me to do? Over.”

  Phoenix heard the question slide over the radio and smiled. It appeared Luke had his limits, indeed. “Take that ridge road into this Mount Washington and hunt those fuckers down until we can strap ‘em to a tree and get some answers, am I clear?”

  “Yes, sir. Movin’ out.”

  CHAPTER 8.5-A Closer Look

  “That’s ‘bout the best we can do, Mac.”

  “Some very nice shootin’ Surf Boy. Very nice.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “As intended. Too bad you missed your first shot on the West End Bridge.”

  “Hey, can I help it if that poor bastard stepped in front of my killshot?”

  “Nah, I guess you can’t. But, it sure did send a nice message to those bastards. Should slow any progress substantially.”

  Marty glanced at Connor only to see him staring off at the city and thinking hard. “They’re gonna be comin’ hard for us now, Mac.”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “We still on track?”

  “Yep. Only thing is…”

  Connor hesitated and quickly studied the Liberty Bridge with his binoculars. The men that cowered near the downtown onramp were becoming bolder, perhaps a bit too early for his tastes.

  “Only thing what?” asked Marty.

  “Only thing is, I want you to retarget the Liberty Bridge and set them bastards back a few more men, if you don’t mind. I think they might've just got orders to push forward. I want them to rethink that for awhile.”

  Marty shifted the scope onto the Liberty Bridge, catching new movement. Clearly, they were sneaking across making good use of the discarded cars and trucks as cover. Smiling, he settled back into a comfortable position.

  “I see ‘em. Targets acquired.”

  “Wind’s west at maybe five mph. Range unchanged,” said BB, "take the blue shirt near the tank."

  “Target acquired. Firing…”

  CHAPTER 8.6-A Pretty Lady

  “We have contact, ma’am! Phoenix is down there somewhere! I’d know those white trucks anywhere.”

  The major was in the copilot seat. He turned in his seat to make eye contact with the colonel though he was heard clearly on the intercom.

  “Oh, yeah, I see the bastard’s contingent,” said Colonel Starkes. She stared out the center of the windshield and ground her teeth in suppressed fury. She adjusted her headset, ensuring it was properly placed in front of her lips. “Damn nice calculations on the projected route of Phoenix’s army, Shamus.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “An excellent extrapolation, very nice.”

  “Thanks.” Shamus smiled, “Made the most sense if they were to enter into Pittsburgh from Youngstown.”

  “Where do you wanna drop the team, ma'am?" asked the major, "We can inflict some pure destruction on them.” Leaning closer to the windshield for a better view, his biceps bulged with the binoculars firmly held to his eyes. He stared hard at the long column of men and equipment snaking up a winding road to a ridgeline, south of Pittsburgh’s downtown. Based upon the elongated supply train, the huge army had crossed over a bridge from the west of the city, making their way onto a road paralleling the Ohio River.

  “We won't drop the men here, major. We can't subject them to a firefight engaging an army that size.”

  “Ma’am, we could drop our guys on top of that ridge, what’s it called? Mount Washington? And rain hellfire down on their heads.”

  “No. We’ll drop our men further away, further south. But, I can see now that Phoenix and his entourage are definitely on the same trail as us, major."

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "But, we know more than they do—don’t we now?”

  “Yeah.”

  “We’ll stick with the plan, major. Set the men up further south on that Brownsville Road indicated on Amanda's map. We’re here to find Connor MacMillen, if he's even here.”

  “But…” said Major O'Malley. He was not willing to let Phoenix's army off that easy.

  Colonel Starkes turned her head to look into the back and spoke on the intercom.

  “GT? How’s she holdin’ up?”

  “All line pressure nominal. Oil pressure's fine. No problems yet, ma’am.”

  “Scott?”

  “Ma’am?”

  “The major had a good idea whether he realized it or not.”

  “I did?”

  “Scott, prepare one of those pretty ladies for me.”

  “The Hellfire?”

  “You see any other pretty ladies in this damn bird?”

  Quickly, Scott glanced around the crowded helicopter. Several men
smiled. He appreciated the natural beauty of Amanda, the grin on Nicole's face and then studied the sultry eyes of Colonel Starkes before answering.

  “No, ma’am. Guess not. Readying the Hellfire.”

  CHAPTER 8.7-Hiding from a Hellfire

  “What the fuck?” said Phoenix. He had decided to walk up the steep hill beside his truck to the next obstacle in their path—a cluster of burnt vehicles stuck on the narrow road. Larry walked beside him and they refined logistics and strategy. They would be meeting up with Luke and his team shortly.

  While discussing their link up with Luke and his men on top of the ridge, Phoenix thought he’d heard something motorized and large. He looked down toward the city to see the West End Bridge and the road on the south side that they had traveled. He studied the crumbling road snaking over to the Liberty Bridge. From there, the main army contingent took the weed-infested, two-lane blacktop that ran next to the Liberty Bridge and led up to the top of Mount Washington. This small road was to the left of the bridge and more of a direct shot to the tourist observation platforms up above. Luke and his team were already ahead and had followed the trail left by Connor's team. They had travelled up McArdle Roadway on the right side of the bridge. The larger army contingent found travel on the small goat path more difficult than expected. While this road had looked promising according to his scouts' initial survey, reaching the top with ease was going to take some doing. Frustrated at his overall progress since the delay at the West End Bridge, Phoenix was in no mood for surprises. He recognized the sound as it came closer.

  "You hear that?" asked Phoenix.

  “I hear it. You think it’s her?”

  “Oh, I dunno, uncle, maybe it’s just a channel four news chopper.”

  “They see us!” yelled Larry Reed.

  “We’d be kinda hard to miss from the air, spread out and all, don’t you think?”

  “What do you wanna do?”

  Phoenix waved to a large man in the back of the pickup truck behind him. “Robbie! Robbie! Shoot that helicopter! Grab the RPG and take a shot. Take a shot!”

  Robbie Kaufman was already scrambling in the bed of the truck. Frantically, he shifted around containers and popped open buckles to extract the RPG inside. Phoenix calmly scrutinized the sky over Pittsburgh. He sighed.

  “Well, not much we can do, but hope the Bitch misses or picks the wrong portion of the convoy that don’t include us.”

  “Shit.”

  “The price to play, uncle. Instruct the men to hunker down, away from the vehicles!”

  “Right.”

  Larry was on the radio, issuing orders.

  “Have the Fourth Brigade fire off RPGs if they can get the chance.”

  “Alright.”

  Larry Reed roared out radio commands, though many had already figured the helicopter coming in fast was not going to be friendly.

  “If I were her, I’d use one of those precious Hellfires right now,” said Phoenix. He faded away from their pickup truck, the third in line, nearly to the top of the ridge. “She’s got any sense, she’ll fire off one of those priceless babies. If for nothing else than to prove that she’s pissed.”

  Phoenix moved with some urgency, and ducked into the nearby woods to crouch behind a large city electrical box. Larry Reed followed.

  “This might work, uncle,” said Phoenix. He ducked down and studied the angles and distance from several projected attack points. He calculated that he would not be hiding there long. His mind generated percentages suggesting he had less than a twenty percent chance of surviving a well-placed Hellfire shot at the front of his convoy. The direct hit slamming into the first and second vehicles came as no surprise. He was stunned by the awesome power of the explosion and the expansive radius that annihilated the men and trucks at the head of the column. He kept low while metal, dirt and chunks of debris slammed into the electrical box. He was pleased that he’d chosen well and knew many of his men were not so fortunate. His uncle was still tucked low beside him.

  “You know, uncle, I’m gonna seriously kill that fuckin’ woman. Slow.”

  CHAPTER 8.8-The Secret Cache

  “We made it here in one piece. My secret cache at 910 Brownsville Road awaits.”

  “This whole area’s burned to the ground, Mac,” said Marty. He looked around. An impressive fire of some capacity had destroyed many of the homes and buildings in the immediate area, leaving nothing but burnt-out shells and skeletal remnants of charcoaled timber.

  “Hmm—my cache still waits regardless.”

  “Where? How come you're still smiling?” asked Roger. His own analysis of the swath of destruction showed nothing but a set of weed and moss-covered concrete steps where Connor was pointing.

  “Follow me lads to the land of temporary riches. Jason, keep the horses here at the base of the steps and stay sharp.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “John, keep your boy company. Eyes open.”

  “Will do.”

  Connor stepped atop the weeds crowding the concrete steps that led to nothing but an open and flat area above. A few roof joists suggested a house had once stood there, but everything else was mostly unidentifiable.

  “C’mon.”

  “Copy that, Mac,” said Marty.

  "Is there still something up there?" asked Rhonda.

  Each figured Connor had some plan in mind, though their skepticism suggested confidence was not in large supply.

  “Count me in,” said Jackson.

  “Yeah, me too,” said Roger.

  Jude simply shook his head and followed.

  “I’m comin’,” said Cody.

  “Shut up and get movin’ guys,” said BB. Impatient, he carried his Bennelli twelve-gauge pump ready to fire, scanning the area. With care, he followed the rest up the steps.

  “Who made you fuckin' king?” muttered Jackson walking beside him.

  BB ignored him and the team climbed the stairs until they stepped onto the burnt porch remnants. They all noticed a large jumble of burnt debris. A white-hot fire had burnt the place to the ground many years ago.

  “We need to clear out about fifteen feet into that clusterfuck. Right about there.” Connor pointed into the mess.

  “How?”

  “We move shit around, Cody, that’s how.”

  “Oh.”

  “Let’s get shakin’. Shouldn’t take more than ten minutes.”

  Marty jumped in with Roger and BB, tossing blackened boards and wiring behind them. Jackson and Jude gathered together to move a collapsed piece of charred roof joist that still had slate shingles attached. Once out of the way, they moved several hunks of metal that used to be appliances, light fixtures and second floor beams.

  “Cody, keep a sharp eye out around us, all compass points. No distractions, understood?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You’re primary guard for us right now.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’m gonna prep dinner, Mac,” said Rhonda. She touched Cody’s shoulder with affection and moved to a clear spot off the porch. With care, she pulled several large containers from her pack.

  “Sounds good, Rhonda,” said Connor, “Thanks.”

  "Roger, give me those two food containers in your pack."

  "Sure, honey." Roger stopped assisting and moved to the edge. He handed over the containers and kissed his wife before returning to help move a blackened refrigerator.

  “Rhonda?" said Connor, taking a brief break.

  "Yeah, Mac?"

  “I’ll bring some Jasmine rice up for you in a few minutes.”

  “Is that right?”

  “Yep.”

  “Hmm…” Rhonda was not convinced.

  “Have some confidence, Rhonda.”

  “I do. But remember, I haven't had fried rice in a long time.”

  “Well, you're in luck right now." Connor rejoined the removal process and a path was carved to a particular spot designated as their end goal.

  “Almost there
guys.”

  “Sure hope it’s worth it,” said Jackson. He wiped his brow with a bandana, studying the fabric soaked black with dusty soot.

  “The first shot of Jack’s for you Jackson.”

  “I hear that, sir!”

  With BB’s help, Connor pulled a crumpled metal cabinet upwards from where it had lodged into a recessed spot in the main floor of the kitchen. A chipped porcelain sink and burnt fridge were already moved and nearby. Once the cabinet was extracted, there was an obvious entrance into a dark hole beneath the surface—a basement. The team stood around the hole, peering in. Connor’s excitement became contagious.

  “Good as gold, now. Jackson, give that light. All you, click on and come on down to door number one.” Before climbing down, Connor checked on Cody. He was satisfied that the boy was keeping a roving eye around the neighborhood. Turning back to the dark hole, he slipped low, disappearing into the dirt basement. The entranceway was cramped and a wafting smell of dirt, mold, and decay billowed upward. Marty followed, ducking his head to negotiate the heavy floor beam that had set the far edge of the hole. He too, slid deep into the dirt basement below. The rest of the team followed.

  “There’s all kinda stuff down here, Mac,” said Marty. He flashed his light around and across the cluttered assortment of items near the base of the stairs. Closer at hand, he grabbed several cans of LA Choy Chicken Chow Mein off a tilted shelving unit. He shook the can near his ear.

  Behind him, BB did the same with a can of Spam. “We know this stuff’s still good.” The faded label was viewable in the light. “Spam can last a thousand years in these conditions.”

  “You got that right, BB. Hey, this Chinese food might still be good," said Marty. He tried to read the barely legible label of the LA Choy searching for a date stamp.

  “Your call, Surf Boy,” said Connor, “That crap has sat out in the elements for quite some time. And I got stuff that’s better.” Focused, Connor pushed his way through a maze of boxes and past an old Singer sewing machine. He stopped at a long wall at the far end of the basement. Quickly, he moved several old toolboxes and a few fishing rods out of the way.

  “I found soap here. Irish Spring!” said Roger. In the corner near the shelving unit, he crouched to snatch up a few green boxes. The mice or rats had gnawed at one bar, but the remainder was intact. Excited at the find, he stuffed several bars into his pack. He was the most fastidious of the team concerning hygiene aside from Connor.