Devastation

by Paul Kirk

  “Quit with the incidentals and get over here for the grand opening, c’mon!” said Connor.

  Each to his preference, the team seized what they thought was of value off the shelving and shined flashlights toward the far corner. Connor was digging around at chest level on the left edge of a wallboard.

  “Surf Boy, grab that other end. You’ll see a small wooden latch chest high.”

  “Copy that.”

  “It’s only camouflage cover.”

  Tossing the large board to the side, their flashlights revealed a recessed steel door with a heavy combination lock. Bending down, Connor blew dust off the lock and dialed in the combination. He slipped the lock and turned to face the men.

  “Now, so we’re clear, I have first dibs on my goodies. What’s left you guys can take as much as we can carry.”

  “Yep.”

  “Alright.”

  “Copy that.”

  “They’ll be stuff we’re going to bring no matter what, like the Coyote packs.”

  “Okay.”

  “Jackson, first order of business is some good whiskey to celebrate.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “It’ll be located over to the left, far corner, blue plastic container.”

  “Okay.”

  “See it?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’ll leave it to you to find the paper cups, too.”

  “Will do, Mac.”

  “C'mon, let’s get this party started.”

  Connor pulled the door open to a small suction sound. “Hey, how ‘bout that, the vacuum might’ve held a bit.” Peering inside the dark entrance, he noticed several lights flicker around the sidewalls of a room, twelve foot by fourteen foot in size. One light, near the far end, stayed on while the rest flickered and died. The faint light provided about twenty watts, enough to provide a decent feel for the size and volume of what was inside. It was packed to the ceiling on each side of a small thruway. Mostly, blue containers like those used for clothing storage, were visible though there was an open section that served as a work area. Another light flickered and stayed on.

  “I’ll be damned. Never thought any of those battery lights would’ve lasted this long.”

  “Wow, Mac!” said Marty.

  “Yeah, stuff here’ll give us some breathing room and much needed resupply,” said Connor, pride evident in his voice.

  Jackson pushed his heavy frame past Connor and Marty standing at the entrance. “Excuse me, but I do believe there is a bottle of Jack in that corner calling my name.”

  “Have at it, Jackson. Hurry up, in fact.”

  “Wow,” said Roger. He let his flashlight roam across the boxes. Edging up with BB to the entrance, he stared surprised at the organized stacks and rows.

  “Damn, Mac,” said BB.

  “Quit staring and get in here. Rhonda and three men are exposed topside while you’re dithering.”

  “Copy that,” said Marty.

  “Understood,” said BB.

  "Yes, sir," said Roger.

  Marty entered after Jackson and BB followed. All smiled as if they’d found a small piece of Nirvana.

  “Wow,” said Roger entering after them.

  “Stuff your packs full first. Don’t forget the mac-n-cheese for Cody, Roger. No, I'll do it. I think it's in the one there. I’ll grab the candy, too.”

  “This is a fresh M-4, Mac.” Marty held the weapon for closer inspection in the beam of his flashlight. The glint off the plastic wrap reflected, brightening the room.

  “Yeah, about that…I’ll take that, Surf Boy, thank you very much. But, you can have my old one.”

  “I’ll take it. Thanks.”

  “No problem.”

  “Hey, Rog, take that Colt Defender. You need a better backup. Like Surf Boy's here.”

  “Nice…”

  “Oh, and Rog?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Give that M&P 9 sittin’ next to it to Cody to carry if you think he’s ready. It’s a subcompact so it should fit ‘im pretty well.”

  Roger studied the display of handguns well oiled and wrapped in clear plastic on a pegboard above the workbench. He hefted the Colt, smiling. Wasting no time, he slipped the Colt into his hands.

  “This is beautiful.”

  “I agree. Though that M&P’s no slacker.”

  Roger found ammunition labeled nearby in smaller, green metal containers. He selected the one marked .45 and grabbed a box of fifty bullets to load the Colt. He grabbed the two stainless steel magazines next to the Colt and planned to fill them later. He slipped the Colt into his waistband with a huge smile, picking up the M&P. Gently, he pulled this gun from the plastic, turning it over in his hands.

  “Cody’s gonna love it.”

  “Tell ‘im it’s from you. My gift to the both of you.”

  “Thanks, Mac.”

  “Don’t mention it. Gather as much ammo as you want to carry. Maybe it’ll save our asses out there one of these days.”

  Jackson pulled a large bottle of Jack Daniels from the blue container.

  “Found it! Ah, man, Mac. You weren’t lying!”

  “A man could die waiting for you, Jackson.”

  “I’m comin’ hold on…”

  “Paper cups are there, next to the container marked rice, right behind it.”

  “Okay.”

  Jackson found the cups and quickly cracked the seal of the Jack Daniels. Roger, Marty, BB and Connor listened to the whisky pouring into the paper cups in his hands. Jackson filled each with at a double shot. By intent, all flashlights remained unwavering on the cups to ensure his aim was true. Jackson handed a cup to each.

  “Worth the trip just for this Jack, Mac.”

  “Glad to hear it, BB.”

  Reverently, each held the whiskey in their hand, waiting for something.

  “Say something, Mac,” suggested Marty.

  Connor smiled at the men in the hole.

  “Alright. But, John’s gonna be pissed that we started without him.” Everyone laughed before Connor continued. “I couldn’t ask for a better team…enough said.” He slugged the entire cup in one long shot, crushing the empty paper in his hand. The rest of the team stood in the cool cellar vault and did the same. None were disappointed.

  “Hooahh,” said Marty. He raised his empty toward BB, Roger and Jackson.

  “Wow!” said Roger.

  BB let out a long breath tainting the air with whiskey fumes. Jackson coughed once after downing his cup. They all laughed.

  “Fuckin’ lightweight,” said Connor, "I was worried that Jack might be too strong for a Jim Beam man."

  Realizing they all had ceremoniously crushed their cups and needed new ones to continue, they stared at Jackson.

  “Get us some new cups and fill ‘em up, lightweight,” suggested BB.

  “Piss off, BB. And I’m doing it…hold your horses.”

  CHAPTER 8.9-Faint Rumblings

  Connor strolled across the burnt porch to stand next to Rhonda. Her small, makeshift fire in the Weber grill sat on the porch edge overlooking Jason and McLeod on the road below. The smoke from the fire was negligible. And, peering into the battered pot, Connor knew Rhonda was cooking a stew using the last of their dog meat and wild vegetables gathered before entering Pittsburgh.

  “Here’s that rice, Rhonda.”

  “Wow! Now that’s something worth seeing.” Rhonda took the twenty-pound bag, slitting the vacuum wrapper across the burlap top. She splashed several large handfuls into the pot.

  Connor smiled. “There's plenty more rice down below. Most of it is pretty solid. The seals held.”

  “That’s great news.”

  “It is. Though everyone’s gonna have a real heavy pack from here on out.”

  “I know I don’t mind a heavy pack.”

  “Agreed. Me neither.”

  Something at the subconscious level bubbled to the surface. Uneasy and concentrating hard, Connor scanned the surroundings. He thought he might
have heard a faint pulsing. In fact, it was like his own heartbeat was trying to tell him something. He made efforts to listen harder for the sound, but heard nothing.

  “You do manage to keep us safe, don’t you?”

  Connor shifted his attention to Rhonda, smiling bashfully. “We’re a team.” He tried to recapture the pulsing sound. It was gone.

  “Yeah. You have nothing to do with it,” said Rhonda, smiling.

  Blushing further at the compliment, Connor stared down at Jason and McLeod on the road below. Signaling thumbs up and that he’d be down shortly to provide an update, he turned again to Rhonda. Dipping into his duffle, he extracted a red wine.

  “In celebration.” Connor handed her the merlot, “Thought you’d like it better than Jack Daniels.”

  Rhonda took the offering with care and smiled. Connor turned toward Cody, who was trying his best to remain on guard and ignore the activity. Rhonda caught Connor studying Cody.

  “He’s a great kid,” said Rhonda.

  “He is for sure. You and Rog did well with ‘im.”

  “Thanks. And this wine’s wonderful, Mac. Thank you.”

  “Welcome.”

  “Did you find Cody any mac-n-cheese?”

  “I said I would, right?”

  “Yeah. You did.”

  Connor walked to Cody with a grin on his face. He stood beside him for a few seconds and they surveyed the surroundings together.

  “Anything?”

  “Thought I heard something, sir. I dunno, like a thump, thump coming from over there.” Cody pointed north toward the city of Pittsburgh.

  “Yeah?” Connor shifted into full combat awareness. Cody had just confirmed the pulsing sound he heard was not his own heart.

  “It was kinda like a very quiet thump. Not sure.”

  “What kinda thump? A helicopter?”

  “I dunno. A pulsing. Puuummp, puuummp, puuummp.”

  “How close?”

  “I dunno. Pretty far.” Cody pointed north and slightly west, toward the city.

  “Excellent job, Cody. You did good. Oh, here, take these.” Connor reached into his duffle bag and handed over six boxes of mac-n-cheese. Admittedly, he enjoyed the way Cody’s eyes lit up and felt, for a moment, like he was a king bestowing gifts.

  “Thanks!” Quickly, Cody took the boxes.

  “You’re relieved, Cody. Again, good job.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Go take a peek in the vault and see what you might want to take with you.”

  “The vault? Yeah?”

  “Go.”

  Cody nearly sprinted toward the black hole before Connor stopped him.

  “Cody, wait! I forgot. Here.” Connor reached into his bag and handed over one of the bags of candy. Cody grabbed and held it in both hands.

  "Wow!" He opened the bag and sampled a piece of Jolly Ranchers. Eyes widening, he smiled. "It's still good!"

  "I'm glad. Now get while the getting's good."

  Cody slipped quickly past to approach the hole to the basement. Briefly, he slowed at the dark hole. With care, he rested the candy near the hole and slipped below. Connor stared toward the city of Pittsburgh and swore that he again heard a faint, repetitive pulse. As the sound grew louder, he ran down the concrete steps to Jason and McLeod.

  “Hear that?”

  “Yeah. I think it’s a ‘copter.”

  “Comin’ for us?”

  “Not necessarily, but certainly a possibility,” suggested McLeod.

  “You think it's the president? That would mean they found the note!”

  “I dunno, Mac. Maybe.”

  “That could mean Amanda’s alive.”

  “Again, Mac, not necessarily.”

  “Recommendations?”

  “We hide, Mac. See what transpires.”

  “Jason, hide the horses in that car dealership over there. Bust those big windows if those doors are blocked.”

  “Okay.”

  “And get up into my cache and grab some stuff before that 'copter gets too close."

  “For sure.” Jason pulled the reins behind him at a fast pace.

  “McLeod? Let’s move now.”

  At that moment, the sky north and slightly west of them lit up with a burst of fire and a rumbling explosion louder than any thunder.

  “What the hell was that?” asked McLeod.

  “That, my good friend, is a Hellfire bent on destruction.”

  “Incredible.”

  “Yeah.”

  The fireball dissipated quickly below the homes and tree line. Jason ran past and up the concrete steps. In passing, he looked over at Connor and his dad.

  “What was that?”

  “The president just sent a serious go-fuck-yourself message to somebody, probably this Phoenix guy,” said Connor.

  “You don’t know that,” insisted McLeod.

  “C’mon John. I know weapons and explosives. And that was a sweet little Hellfire.”

  “You can tell that?”

  “I can and did. The Hellfire has a very distinctive fireball. Very bright yellow with a nice finishing tuft of orange.”

  “Huh.”

  “Besides, who do we know that happens to have one of those? Marty did obtain a limited visual of the bird and its payload when he was in Cleveland.”

  “Okay. I admit, it could be Starkes and company.”

  “Yeah, and we better move our asses and take all the supplies we need because they’ll be coming here, like right now, if they got the message left for Amanda. Shit! I just parked the horses at the diversionary address I’d put on the map.”

  “That car dealer’s the address you put?”

  “Yeah. I thought it’d give us a great vantage point to watch for any action if there was still a house up there instead of just a mysterious woman cooking up some stew.”

  “I see.”

  The light of excitement in Connor’s eyes caused John to stare at him, mesmerized. The intensity was powerfully charismatic and John found himself becoming quite excited. Shaking his head and moving toward the concrete steps, his mind cleared a bit from the persuasive focus. “They could just be passing through and took a shot at somebody on the way.”

  “You believe that, John?”

  “I dunno.”

  “Get up in that vault. Grab what you want and let’s get moving.”

  “Now that sounds enticing.”

  “I’ll move the horses behind the alley.”

  “Okay.”

  “When you, Jason and BB are finished playing around in my stuff, I’d like to do a final run-through to assess what we might also need and be able to carry.”

  “Okay.”

  “Food, guns, and ammo are our first priorities, John. Alright?”

  “Sure.”

  “Tradeables after that. Have everyone take one of the loaded Coyotes. I know it's annoying, but each will carry as a double pack for now. Pass that along to everyone. Get Rhonda into the vault as well to see what she might want. Tell her to pack up dinner for later ‘cause we’re on the move. We need to figure out what we're gonna load onto the horses.”

  “Will do.” John McLeod ran to the concrete stairs, but turned.

  “Mac, I’ve never seen you this excited before.”

  “Yeah, well, Amanda might be alive! And, some serious shit’s going down out there—what better time for living is there than that?”

  “Hmm…” John smiled.

  Connor stopped and turned serious. “Get moving, John. Send BB over to those white garages up there pronto to help load the horses. Tell him he's loadmaster and that we have twenty minutes before we move.”

  “Got it.”

  John turned again to leave, but was stopped by Connor. “John?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Let me tell Surf Boy about Amanda, you know, about the possibility, however so slim.”

  “Of course.”

  “This is some crazy shit.”

  "So very true."

&n
bsp; CHAPTER 8.10-The KFC

  “I hope Phoenix was within the blast radius. I hope he got a taste of that,” said Colonel Starkes. The joy and supreme satisfaction on her face was not well hidden.

  The helicopter continued on its journey. The intercom chatter of the men expressed joy at the explosion that crushed the front of the convoy.

  “We hit the head of that convoy dead on, ma’am. The first three trucks were vaporized. I think it was likely Phoenix was traveling near the front. I don't think he'd want to sit in the back,” said Major O'Malley.

  "I'd agree with that," said Captain Daubney.

  “Gotta love the explosive capacity of that little missile, huh?” said Scott.

  GT nodded next to him.

  “Ma’am, drop coordinates are coming up for Daubney's team.”

  “Make the drop as planned, Shamus,” interrupted Major O’Malley.

  “Understood.”

  “Shamus?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Swing hard south and give us a 360 view before the drop.”

  “Roger that.”

  Cruising across the ridge of Mt. Washington, Shamus drifted the helicopter over the weed-infested ribbon of an old cobblestone road, following it south. Running parallel, they cruised low, just above the trees, speeding along and seeing little except for the occasional small dinner fire or streak of human movement seeking surprised cover in nearby woods or buildings. A few individuals simply stood, waving. One man raised a rifle in their direction, but ducked for cover after Mickey and Burroughs sent a quick squirt of suppressive fire.

  “We drop onto the Brownsville and Route 51 intersection in ninety seconds. Prepare green team,” said Shamus.

  “Roger that,” said Captain Daubney. “Green team ready.”

  Captain Daubney, Mickey, Major O’Malley and Colonel Starkes scanned the emerging drop point and landing zone. Flying skills on display, Shamus kept the helicopter stationary and spun the craft slowly in a circle. The ten-man team, led by Captain Daubney and Mickey hung near the doors, equipped with a full compliment of weapons and supplies. They were ready for combat insertion and, if things should go terribly awry, a long trek back to Mt. Storm.