Devastation

by Paul Kirk

“What about me, ma’am?” asked Amanda.

  “You? You can join us, Amanda. We have some news that you might find very interesting.”

  Commander Del Re was surprised by the young woman’s name. “You’re Amanda?” he asked. “As in Connor Mac’s Amanda?”

  Weak in her knees, Amanda's throat constricted. She opened her mouth, but her ability to speak was impaired. She simply nodded.

  “I see,” said the commander. “So, I guess you know a guy named Surf Boy?” He waited for her response, but was met again with Amanda’s stunned silence. “I can see that you must know him,” continued Del Re. “I can tell you, Amanda, that they were both very excited to find out you were very much alive and with the president.”

  “Commander, I consider myself a colonel more than I do the president, especially when we’re in an attitude of armed conflict. But let’s forgo the titles for the time being—you can call me ‘colonel’ if you’re so inclined, but you can call me ‘Hannah’ if that suits you better. Either way, you need to tell me what you know.”

  “Yes, of course, colonel. Give me a minute, please.” Without waiting for a response, Commander Del Re flipped over a corner of a rug covering the floor and exposed a door cut into the floor. Grabbing the hidden pull ring, he opened the door to reveal a set of stairs and briefly disappeared. He returned with a half dozen Grolsch-topped bottles.

  “Commander? What’s going on?” asked the colonel.

  “Give me a moment, colonel. You'll need a pilsner glass.”

  "Ahh, I see."

  The commander set the six bottles on the table and hurried to a cabinet where he removed four tall glasses. With a clean towel, he removed the dust from each of the glasses and with practiced ease, he popped the tops off the bottles, sniffing each to verify the freshness of the ale. “Excellent,” he pronounced and began filling the pilsner glasses. With a flourish, he offered one to each of the women and one to Major O’Malley. Del Re lifted his own glass in a toast. “To the President of the United States of America and the perpetuity of the federal government. Madam President, I am at your service.” He bowed briefly, a courtly gesture and Colonel Starkes nodded her appreciation.

  “Thank you, commander,” she said softly. She raised the glass to her lips and sipped delicately, surprised at the heady quality of the ale. Del Re watched avidly, hoping for a sign that she liked the homemade brew. Amanda and Major O’Malley had waited for the colonel to taste the beer before they sipped at their own and they were both pleasantly surprised at the heady flavor. They glanced at one another their look of disbelief apparent. Simultaneously, each quickly took a larger swallow of the beer.

  The major took his time, savoring the taste of the beer, which he hadn’t had for years. It was a unique tang of bitter hops that had a nice smooth finish. Commander Del Re wasn’t being shy about drinking his own beer—he reveled in the taste and was proud of his town’s recipe. He waited for their reactions to Momma's Ale and wasn’t disappointed.

  “Commander, I'm not a connoisseur of beer, but this is quite tasty. It’s refreshing—nice and cold,” said the colonel.

  “I like it, commander,” said Amanda.

  “Only one for you, Amanda,” warned the colonel.

  “Yes, I know.”

  “That’s right,” said the commander, snapping his fingers, “you’re pregnant.”

  “How the hell do you know that, commander?” asked Colonel Starkes.

  Before he answered, GT and Scott appeared in the doorway. “The area’s secure, ma’am,” said Scott. “The fires are burned out. Russ said that he’ll provide the commander with a damage assessment in a few minutes. Josh went to bring in some of the others from hiding.” Throughout his report, he had never taken his eyes from the beer. GT had silently followed the major’s motion of his glass to his lips.

  “That’s good,” said the colonel, oblivious of the two men’s focus. Commander Del Re, however, was not.

  He held up his finger, indicating that the men should wait, set his pilsner glass on the table, and returned to the building’s cellar. When he returned to the room, he carried a heavy wooden case that he set on the table. He went to the cabinet and retrieved two more glasses—this time steins—and poured for the two men.

  “Thank you, commander,” said Scott as Del Re handed him the ale. GT gave the commander a nod as thanks and quickly tasted his drink.

  “Wow,” said GT, “that’s a great ale.”

  Scott nodded his agreement and the two quickly finished their beers, knowing that they were in charge of maintaining a perimeter. They thanked the commander again and left the building.

  “Commander, that is one very fine ale,” said Major O’Malley, emptying his glass.

  “Excellent to hear. Would you like another, major?” asked the commander.

  The major flicked his eyes toward Colonel Starkes.

  “Just one more, major,” she told him. His smile was almost one of a child granted permission for a second cookie. “Commander,” said the colonel, “this is a great brew and thank you for sharing, but I need to know any information you have. Could you give me the details of the last two days here?”

  “Sure, colonel. Connor Mac arrived with a team—about twenty guys, one woman, and three kids.”

  “Did they look okay? What I mean is, could you tell if anyone was hurt?”

  “They were all fine—a little tired maybe, but fine. The two boys were healthy enough to run around town meeting up with our young ones. They were probably somewhere around ten or twelve. And the little girl was a cute little kid—maybe eight years old. She’s gonna break a lotta hearts. The woman’s name was Rhonda—she was sharp as a tack. Once we settled in and found some items to trade, everyone relaxed and Connor Mac told me a little bit about his plans.”

  “He was heading south from here?” asked the colonel.

  “Yeah. He had a meet with you, but was not sure it was feasible. He wasn't sure if he could stay clear of the army on their ass. He said he was considering options. Wouldn't tell me exactly where the meet was, but I figured it was Uniontown High School since they have a helipad for landing."

  "I see."

  "He said he might hafta make his way to Nemacolin. He left right before the fireworks started. I had hid out closer to the town to see what was what.”

  “Fireworks? So he's responsible for the dead men and horses outside the southern gate?”

  “There’s dead men there?” asked the commander.

  “Yes. Maybe ten bodies.”

  “Yep. I guess Connor Mac stuck around long enough to watch the fireworks even though he said he didn’t have the time.”

  “Give us the details, commander. I need to know what you know.”

  “Of course, colonel. Let me refill your glass.”

  “It's Hannah, commander."

  "Right. And, please call me Del."

  "Okay, Del. And thank you. Now, please go on with your story. What did Connor MacMillen tell you while he was here?”

  CHAPTER 11.6-The Hounds of War

  “How far back are they, Surf Boy? Over.”

  “They’re about a mile back, maybe a little less. Over”

  “We’re passing the Hopwood exit now—about a half mile ahead of you. Over.”

  “Copy that. What’s next? Where you want me? Over.”

  “We’re in position at the base of the mountain. We’ll wait for you there. Pull back—I repeat—pull back to our position and meet us there. We’re near the Wal-Mart, behind a banged up concrete truck. Over.”

  “Understood. Phoenix’s army is just pushing through, Mac. It’s like they don’t even care that half their trucks aren’t intact. I’m not even sure they care we’re taking shots at ‘em. Over.”

  “Yeah—he's figured out he needs to use his numbers to flush us out. It took him awhile, but he's realized that he had the superior resources to annihilate us. I still think we can take him. He's not using that cavalry anywhere near aggressive enough. It's an amateur
mistake on his part. They coulda been much more of a problem if the fucker used them right. But, hey, he’s played our game long enough, it’s time we played his game. Let’s show him we’re better at it. Over.”

  “Understood, colonel. We can be there in five. What’s the plan? Over.”

  “The plan is we run like hell up the mountain and hope there’s someone up there that can help us down here. Over.”

  “Say again, colonel? I’m not sure I understood. Over.”

  “We could squeak by on this mountain until tomorrow or we’ll take our last stand half way up this bitch. That’s what we’re faced with, Surf Boy. Over.”

  Marty set his radio on the ground, thinking about what Connor had told him. He pulled his rifle to his cheek and removed a rider from his horse. The rider had been coming fast—the horse was in full stride and it was at least a hundred yards before the horse slowed, realizing there was no rider. Marty barely took a breath before he killed a man on a dirt bike. While the horse headed toward the woods at a slow trot, the dirt bike launched itself from the uneven ground, tossed the man and turned on its side in flight. The bike came down hard, throwing dirt and grass into the air, its spinning rear wheel unable to grab at the earth. It ultimately hiccoughed and stalled, but the rest of Phoenix’s army kept coming and Marty wondered whether he had enough ammunition to kill them all.

  Mickey and the others continued their systematic killing, but despite their efforts, more horses and more trucks poured down highway 119. The pickup trucks pushed past the abandoned vehicles, brazen in their advance, metal on metal producing a screeching sound somehow worse than the gunfire and screams from the wounded. When two overly reckless trucks jammed in their tracks, men hustled to hook up winches to recover.

  Marty reached for the radio. “What’s halfway up the mountain, Mac? Over.”

  “Lick Hollow. A small, but very defensible position. It’s a pinch point, Surf Boy. There’s a small picnic area that curves back on the mountain. It gives you a solid sightline down the mountain with excellent cover. It’s an elevated position that can’t be flanked unless there’s some air support, which they don’t have. As a bonus, it’s above a natural funnel—we can pick them off as they come through and never expose ourselves while we’re doing it. As we take out their vehicles, it’ll make it more difficult for the rest of ‘em to pass through all the debris. We could hold it with three or four men as long as we had enough ammunition. Over.”

  “Sounds great, Mac. I should reach you in about five. Over and out.” They continued shooting and killing Phoenix’s minions with at least nine of every ten shots. Despite their success, it was past the time to hightail it to the mustering point Connor MacMillen had suggested.

  “Are we forming up for a last stand, sir?” asked Mickey.

  Marty considered the man, appreciating his energy and willingness to die, if necessary, for the people he considered his team. Mickey was ready for whatever his commanding officer had to tell him.

  Marty found the big man’s eagerness contagious. “Why the hell you smiling, Top?”

  “Hoorah!”

  “Alright, Top, we’re about to have the hounds of hell come down on us and you’re smiling?”

  Mickey shot his rifle again and risked a glance at Marty. “Permission to speak freely, sir!”

  “Dammit, Top, you know you always have it!”

  “Okay, sir, then how could you forget?”

  “Forget what?”

  “Weren’t you Recon at one point in your military career?”

  “I am Recon, Mickey. What're you trying to say?” Marty bristled at the man, but held himself in check.

  “If you’re Recon, you’d remember: We, not them, are the hounds of war, trained for this, spilled blood for this, and ready to bleed some more.”

  The men securing their weapons around Mickey and Marty smiled. Gathered around the pair, waiting for orders, they checked their weapons. Many of them hid their grins at the sergeant’s reminder.

  Marty smiled and clapped Mickey on the back. “Okay, Top, message received, loud and clear.” He turned his attention to the men gathered around them. “Listen up! We’re running up that hill double time. We stop for nothing! Let’s move out!” The men kicked into a full trot toward the foothills of the mountain. The intensity in their pace suggested they were eager for the fight to come.

  Mickey and Marty trotted easily alongside one another. “The colonel does have a long range plan, don’t he, sir? What you’ve told me so far doesn’t add up to much.”

  “It don’t matter, Top. He’ll make it happen—he always does. I trust him with my life. You do the same. There's no one I’d rather go into battle with.”

  “Yes, sir, I agree.”

  As they increased their pace, they became silent and it wasn’t long before they spotted the concrete truck. John McLeod stood near the truck waving his arms for their attention. When they reached cover, they risked a glance behind them and saw that the pursuing army hadn’t slowed.

  “Everybody, listen up!” yelled Connor. His entire team, children included, edged closer to hear. Some kept an eye to the approaching enemy and the determined push onward in the distance. They saw a mass of horses, trucks, and men, grim determination evident in their frenzied movement and pursuit.

  Sensing their lack of focus, Connor yelled louder. “Eyes on me! I said listen up!” Every face turned to him, some surprised by his anger. “That piss-ass army’s nothing in comparison to you guys. Nothing! You got that? We have experience and training on our side, expertise on our side, intelligence on our side! We will shut that bastard down! You can count on it!”

  “Hoorah,” said Marty and Mickey, grinning in anticipation of the fight to come.

  “We need to tuck in half way up that mountain,” continued Connor. “There’s a place called Lick Hollow. It's a little picnic place that’s a great defensible position. That’s right, boys and girls, we’re gonna have ourselves a picnic. It’s a spot that will provide us with an easily defended position that is a natural funnel and can’t be flanked. We’re gonna show those shitheads that they can’t play this game like we can.”

  Rhonda glanced quickly at the approaching army and was skeptical. “But, Mac, that’s a lot of men and firepower. What’s gonna happen if we can’t hold ‘em?”

  “Good question, Rhonda. I think you’ll understand it better once we get there. I’m sure there’s some of you that might doubt what I say, but when we arrive at the spot I’m talking about, we can wipe out Phoenix’s army. In fact, the spot will provide us with an optimal downfield killing zone, Rhonda. And, most of our guys are trained fighting men—trained specifically for this type of confrontation. When we reach Lick Hollow, I’m sure it will become clear.”

  “Okay, Mac,” she said, still unconvinced.

  “Listen, Rhonda, we have hope, trust, training, experience, supplies, demographics, logistics, tactical knowledge, geographic familiarity, command experience, and a boat load of combat skills. It all comes into play. We have it and they don’t. Plain and simple.” He studied the men, seeing some give him a confident nod. He had never used the word “hope” in a pep talk, but hope was a strong factor in his calculations. He had made preparations long ago in these mountains, preparations for just such a post-apocalyptic scenario. After talking with Commander Del Re in Perryopolis, he knew that Mark Harmon was still in play and he was certain Mark had set up a defense paramilitary system in the mountains. His hope was that Mark would respond quickly and intuitively to the onslaught coming his way.

  “Are we winging it, Mac?” asked Marty as he approached. He had spent enough time with Connor MacMillen and he thought he recognized some doubt in the man’s words. “Is that what you’re saying—we’re winging it?”

  “C’mon, Marty, have a little faith.”

  “I’m not worried about faith, Mac. I’m worried about bullets.”

  Connor raised his eyebrows at Marty, but said nothing. He turned his attention back to
the group. “I know we don’t have a lotta time here, but I’m gonna tell you a short story. A long time ago, when I was a young pup full of piss and vinegar, I lived on that mountain. I set up shop there—I know it like the back of my hand. And, during that time, I set contingency plans in motion for an end-of-the-world scenario like what we’re experiencing right now. It started out innocent enough—it was more like an exercise in ‘what if’. Mostly, it was for fun and I did it with a very close friend who lives up here. I'm told he's alive. After awhile, we agreed to real-time prep—we signed off on the shit we were discussing. We made plans and promises. Now, wouldn’t you agree that what we’re facing is end-of-the-world shit?”

  “Yeah,” said quite a few in the group. Others simply nodded their agreement.

  “The friend I planned this with was named Mark Harmon. He owns some strategic properties in those mountains. And, I found out from the people in Perryopolis that he’s known as General Harmon now. He was a good friend, the best, and he became invested in the idea of prepping for the worst despite the fact he never spent a day in the military.”

  The team waited, wondering what Connor’s point would be. Connor noticed that no one risked a glance at the approaching enemy.

  “From what Commander Del Re told me, Mark is very much alive and well. At the top of this road is a hotel. We always called it the Summit Hotel, but I’m not sure that’s its actual name now. That hotel is in the best defensive position to keep turds like Phoenix Justice off this mountain. If you hold the road in front of the Summit Hotel, you control this end of the mountain. Period. It’s so easy to defend at that point that Phoenix’s army will be nothing more than a minor inconvenience there.”

  “Are you sure the hotel’s still there?” asked McLeod.

  “It’s there. If it’s not there, something’s there that makes it equally difficult to pass. Mark would never leave that section of road vulnerable to a breach. That’s where faith comes into play. Mark would set up something there to control who came into his neck of the woods. It’s time to go—let’s move now!”