Firestorm: Book III of the Wildfire Saga

by Marcus Richardson

  "God damn it!" snarled Rykker. "Can you confirm ID?"

  "Roger that, Command. Have positive ID and samples. Plus one is still viable, repeat: plus one is still viable."

  "Get your asses outside to the EVAC site. Command out."

  Cooper called Charlie over. As he stood before him, Cooper put his hand on Charlie's shoulder. "When this is over, the Team is yours."

  Charlie shook his head. Confusion replaced the anger on his face. "What the hell are you talking about?"

  Cooper reached up to Charlie's headset and snapped the camera off. He looked at it for a second and dropped it to the ground before crushing it under his boot.

  "What the fuck are you doing?"

  "Saving your ass. I lost my camera a while back—during the cave-in. But everything you recorded would've implicated you in the court martial that's coming. I told you—you didn't make it here in time. You were not here. You get me?"

  Charlie shook his head. "That's not how we roll, Coop. All for one and one for all, right? This is a brotherhood, not something you can walk away from that easy."

  "You're going to walk away from this. I'm not." He indicated his leg. "I'm through. They'll discharge my ass no matter what now."

  "Coop! Charlie! I need a hand with Jax."

  "Sit tight, Overwatch, we're Oscar Mike," replied Cooper. He stared into Charlie's eyes for a moment. "You're going to let me take the fall."

  Charlie looked down at his feet then glanced up through the smoke at the ceiling. Cooper shook him, then gripped Charlie's face with his grimy hands and forced him to meet his eyes.

  "Promise me. For the sake of your family—swear to me you will let me take the blame for this."

  Cooper saw the muscles in Charlie's cheek clench a split second before he nodded, but his eyes never wavered. "Fine." He pulled away from Cooper and looked down at the body. "You're hurt—you help her," Charlie said jerking his head toward Lady Brunner. "I'll get this sack of shit."

  Cooper looked up and watched the fire eat its way across the roof to the beams directly overhead. Embers and sparks continued to rain down and the temperature in the Great Hall rose noticeably.

  "No time, Charlie. You grab her, I'm right behind you. This whole place is about to fall on our heads."

  Charlie took one last look at Reginald's body, then moved to Lady Brunner and hauled her unceremoniously to her feet. "Come on sweetheart, you're coming with me." He pulled out his knife and slashed the bits of dress holding her feet together so she could walk. Charlie reached up and touched the soft skin under her throat.

  "I swear to God, you try to get away from me and I will cut your fucking head off. I am not in the mood right now." He brought his face close to hers. "You understand me?"

  She nodded silently, her eyes wide.

  Charlie led her away to the open door, down the hallway 13 had vanished. Cooper hobbled over to Reginald's body and spat on the corpse. "You're right, she was better than me." A chunk of flaming debris hit the floor, scattering sparks about six feet away. Cooper took one last look at the ceiling and hobbled toward the door.

  CHAPTER 47

  Salmon Falls, Idaho.

  ARE YOU FINISHED?” ASKED Denny, examining the bandage on his forearm.

  “Yep,” said Dr. Granger. “You know,” he added, closing up his medical kit, “what you did out there was remarkable.”

  Denny shrugged back into his filthy shirt. His shoulders ached where a beer bottle hit his back. The doctor assured him he already had a hell of a bruise. He was stiff all over and expected it to get worse as the day wore on.

  “I didn’t want to fight him.”

  The older man nodded, inspecting his glasses in front of the single large window. Dr. Granger had picked the town clerk's office as a makeshift exam room. “I know you didn't." He sounded tired. "The people do, too.”

  Denny could smell the rot even in here, a faint, sickly-sweet odor. “Someone should…take care of the mayor.” He got off the wide desk and sighed as his aching body reminded him it needed rest. “It’s not right to leave him like that. He may not have been the best politician in the world, but no one deserves to be…abandoned.”

  “Not many people liked that he gave up power to Townsen as quickly as he did,” the doctor observed, polishing his glasses.

  Denny tucked his ragged shirt in, wincing at the pain in his right shoulder. “Still. It isn’t right.”

  Granger put his glasses back on. “You’re not mad that he sold the town out to stay in office?”

  Denny shook his head. “We all did things we didn’t want to do…” He remembered the first Russian he killed, the look on the man’s face as his tomahawk cut through flesh and bone. Memories of the other Russians he’d hunted down and executed with the help of some of the men from town—they’d made sure the town had been safe, yet when they returned, Townsen had already taken control. Denny shook his head. “It doesn't matter. The decent thing to do would be to bury him.”

  “Well, you won’t get a lot of volunteers, I’ll tell you that right now.” The old man said goodbye and left.

  Denny followed him into the hallway. People clustered about, talking among themselves. He recognized a few faces. Most of them had lined the streets when he’d made the long walk to surrender. As they saw him, conversations died and a hushed silence descended on the people gathered there.

  They looked like they were waiting for him to say something. Denny walked toward the waiting area at the far end of the hall. He limped, his left knee swollen from his tussle on the steps. His boots made a hollow sound in the empty hallway before him.

  “Mr. Tecumseh, what’re you doing?” asked a voice behind him.

  He turned and peered at the faces gathered toward the front of the building. “I’m going to get a shovel so the mayor can have a decent burial. It’s not right that he's been left to…” Denny couldn’t bring himself to say ‘rot’. “It’s not right.”

  The crowd murmured and but Denny wasn’t listening. He turned and continued alone toward the plain wooden door at the end of the hallway, the one with the brass plaque that read ‘Mayor’. He paused, tears in his eyes from the terrible odor, hand on the doorknob. Footsteps—one pair at first, then more—echoed behind him as people moved to help. Without looking behind him, he took a deep breath through his mouth and opened the door.

  Denny stood, dusting cold, damp earth from his fingers. He pulled the filthy red bandanna from his mouth and inhaled the sweet, chilled river breeze. He closed his eyes, feeling the lingering light of the winter sun impart what little heat it could before dipping behind the mountains west of town. Rubbing the small of his back, he dreamed of a warm bed and a cold beer.

  Burying the mayor—who had not been a small man—had taken over an hour, despite the help of a dozen men and women who’d chosen to assist Denny with his morbid task. They’d hardly said a word, following Denny’s silent lead without question as they hacked and scrabbled into the frozen ground. When one grew tired, they stood and handed their shovel or pick off to someone else and climbed out of the hole.

  Finally, Denny decided they’d gone deep enough to protect the mayor’s remains from scavengers and climbed out. He bowed his head and prayed that Mishe Moneto granted him peace and asked the mayor to watch over the town—wherever he was.

  Denny looked down at the fresh mound of black dirt surrounded by the white snow. He looked up at the sky and spotted another storm front on the horizon. It wouldn’t be long before the mayor's resting place was protected in a white blanket, with only a crude wooden cross to serve as a marker. Denny wiped his runny nose with the back of his hand and walked back to City Hall. The others fell in with him.

  Jacob Dahlen, one of his history students lucky enough to survive the flu, ran up from town in his ground-eating cross-country runner's gait. Denny wondered how the boy had enough energy to run at all—the kid had been nothing more than skin and bones before the flu.

  “Mr. Tecumseh!” he shouted right nex
t to Denny.

  Denny grimaced as the burial crew gathered around and waited for the lanky teenager to catch his breath. “Take it easy, Jake.” The burial party looked on in silence, glancing at each other with the same question: Now what?

  “Strangers…not from town…we don’t know them—”

  “That’s what strangers are, yes…” said Denny.

  “Said they were here to see Mr. Anderton…they were friends. They’re looking for you.”

  Denny shielded his eyes from the setting sun and peered west, toward City Hall. Parked in front of the squat building sat six rugged-looking trucks and one camper. A knot of people swarmed around them. Whoever they were, they came in force. “Were they armed?”

  The wide-eyed look on Jake’s face told him everything he needed to know, but the boy sputtered on anyway: “Y-yes…lots of…” he sucked in wind and continued, “lots of guns. People are nervous.”

  Denny picked up the pace and sent Jake to spread the word for people to stay clear until they knew what was going on. The last thing he wanted to see was some sort of gunfight on Main Street. There’d been enough death for one day.

  “You Tecumseh?” asked a tall, skinny man as Denny approached. He word aviator sunglasses and sported a neatly trimmed beard.

  Denny looked him over. The man wore what looked like SWAT team tactical gear. Head to toe, he was covered in pockets and bristled with weapons, yet exuded a calm confidence that set Denny on edge at once. Whoever he was, the man acted like he was in charge.

  “Yes.” Denny took a look around. The collection of vehicles looked more like a camping expedition. He saw a few Ford F-150s, a black Suburban, and a Winnebago that looked like it’d seen better days twenty years ago. The men all dressed in gear that looked similar but some wore camo—some black and a few tan—like the man who addressed Denny.

  “Who are you?”

  “Name's Crenshaw,” he said, extending a gloved hand. Denny shook it, noticing the man never released his other hand from the rifle held across his chest. “John Anderton’s been an acquaintance of ours…ever since The Pandemic. He talked about you all the time. I can see why.”

  Denny looked more closely at the newcomers. They lowered their guard and began to coalesce near Crenshaw. A few leaned against their vehicles and smiled at the locals.

  “Are you with the army?” asked a woman from the burial party.

  Crenshaw smiled. “No ma’am. Just private citizens who heard the call for help. We came up from Rexburg and Pocatello when John called out the cavalry. Where is he anyway?”

  Denny’s face fell. Everyone had heard about the example Townsen made of his neighbors when they’d been tricked into revealing their hidden location. Another two victims of Townsen’s madness—another two deaths laid at Denny’s feet. He looked up at Crenshaw. The man slowly removed his sunglasses. He turned away and cursed under his breath.

  “How?”

  Denny explained. He told them how John and Ruth had hidden in the rubble of their house, helping him through the long weeks of Townsen’s reign. He told them how he’d convinced John to be a radio relay for the resistance movement, how Townsen had tricked him into opening up the Bunker. His voice choked as he explained how Townsen had killed them both as an example.

  Crenshaw looked at the ground. “We’re too late then.” He kicked at a rock. “I haven’t seen John in years—he was a good man. Ruth was always kind to my family.” He looked at Denny. “John…he said a lot of kind things about you. He really liked you.”

  Denny felt his throat constrict as he whispered, “He was my friend.”

  Crenshaw moved forward and put a large gloved hand on Denny’s shoulder. “What happened isn’t your fault. John knew the risks—so did Ruth. He never did anything without making sure she was onboard with it.” He glanced at City Hall. “Some of your neighbors have told us about you taking out that Townsen bastard. He would have found them sooner or later with the toys those traitors brought.”

  “Traitors,” Denny mumbled. Everyone was a traitor to some cause at some point. He shook his head at the senselessness of it all. “It was all about politics. And power.”

  Crenshaw sighed. “That’s human nature in a nutshell, friend.”

  A knot of people emerged from the firehouse, across the street. The group made a beeline for Denny and Crenshaw, their faces grim. Crenshaw narrowed his eyes, replaced his glasses, and turned to face the delegation of townspeople.

  Denny recognized the man at the front of the group, limping from the wounds he suffered at the cabin. Deputy Griswold stopped and looked around at the men with Crenshaw.

  “Deputy Griswold, this is…” Denny began. “I’m sorry, I don’t know your first name.”

  "Jubal. Jubal Crenshaw. Nice to meet you, Deputy,” he said, shaking hands.

  “Can I ask what you’re doing here, Mr. Crenshaw?”

  “Well, Deputy, me and the boys got the word from John Anderton that you needed help. We brought it. Unfortunately,” he said sadly, “looks like we brought it a little too late.”

  “Well, we appreciate any help you and your men can provide, but what we really need is food and medical supplies. Salmon Falls has been through some tough times lately.”

  Crenshaw nodded toward the RV. “Got a lot of both in there. There’s more back home. We didn’t send a lot because we thought you all would need…other kinds of help first,” Crenshaw said, gesturing at his rifle. “Looks like you all took care of that problem, though,” he added with a nod toward Denny.

  Griswold agreed, then turned to Denny. “We’d…ah, we’d like to talk with you.”

  “We?”

  “Well, that is, us,” Griswold said, gesturing at the group from the fire station. “A bunch of us have been talking it over, and we think it’s best if you took over as mayor. Now before you say no, hear me out—” Griswold said quickly. “John Townsen had this place in a death grip for weeks until you showed up. No one was organizing a resistance until you walked out of the mountains and gathered us at…”

  “The cabin,” said Denny.

  “Yeah. That was a nightmare—but you convinced us to stand up for ourselves,” added the man next to Deputy Griswold. Denny didn’t know his name, but he thought he recognized him as the local pharmacy manager.

  Griswold nodded. “On top of that, there’s a lot of people that wouldn’t be here today if you hadn’t been bringing deer meat around. And—”

  Denny raised his hands. “I don’t want the job.”

  Crenshaw cleared his throat. “I don’t mean to intrude in this, folks, but as an impartial outsider, Mr. Tecumseh—”

  “Denny.”

  “Fair enough. As an outside observer, Denny, it seems to me that you not wanting the job is a good reason for you accept it.”

  “You helped Salmon Falls from the beginning, Denny,” said a woman in the back of the group. She pushed her way forward. Mary Winselm looked exhausted but the strength behind her eyes was undeniable.

  “My husband Mark died at that cabin," she said to Crenshaw. "We went to that meeting because we believed in you," she said to Denny. "And I still do. My kids might not be here today if you hadn’t helped fight the Russians. They burned our house down but you…” a shaking hand went to her mouth and the people around her patted her shoulders. She shrugged them off and nodded to herself. “I trust you Denny. Maybe more than I should given what we've all been through, but I trust you over anyone else to heal our town.”

  A number of voices agreed. Denny noticed that more and more people had gathered around now, drawn to the strangers and their vehicles. Some chatted quietly with Crenshaw’s men. Hands were shaken, greetings and introductions made.

  “You should be the one to bring us back, Denny,” said Griswold.

  "No," he replied, "you can’t just decide something like this—there has to be an election—” Denny offered, trying to find a way out.

  “President Harris already set a date for special elections to re
place everyone in Congress who passed from the flu or the fighting,” Crenshaw said. “Enough of the country is back online—or will be soon enough, I guess.”

  “When?” someone called out.

  “Two weeks is what I heard,” Crenshaw said.

  “That settles it. In two weeks we’ll hold an election,” said Griswold.

  A ripple of excitement passed through the crowd at the mention of elections. The hope of normalcy flared—elections meant stability and some normalcy. It meant a return to the world before the war, the flu, and the tyranny of Townsen’s rule.

  “What about Barron’s advisers?” asked Denny.

  “Who, them?” asked Griswold. A smile spread across his creased face.

  Denny looked to where he pointed and saw a group of armed locals surrounding a dozen men in matching jackets and sunglasses that looked none-too-pleased to be outnumbered.

  “They ain’t going to cause any more trouble around here. Just got to figure out what to do with ‘em.”

  “There’s a good-sized National Guard patrol south of here. They’re making their way north, checking in on all the smaller towns. I can send some of my boys down there to let 'em know you got some visitors they might be interested in,” suggested Crenshaw.

  “That's the best idea I’ve heard all day,” grinned Griswold.

  “Tommy! C’mere,” said Crenshaw as he turned from toward his friend.

  “That doesn’t resolve anything,” Denny argued. “I still don’t want to run for mayor.”

  “Then run for Congress!” someone shouted.

  “What?” asked Denny. “You’re not listening I—”

  “That’s not a bad idea,” Crenshaw said, rejoining the group. “We’ve heard a lot over the HAM nets. Lost a good number from the House back east, you know.”

  Denny shook his head. “I’m flattered, really, but I belong in Salmon Falls.”

  “Oh, so now you're ready to be mayor?” asked Griswold.

  “I didn't say that.”