The Gauntlet

by Mike Kraus

  “These idiots were doing door-to-door sweeps. My solar panels caught their attention and they decided to try and no-knock me. Ha! Didn’t go so well for them. We got it sorted out in the end, though.”

  “Wait, so you… you’re with the military now?”

  “Darned right I am,” Sarah sniffed. “And as of this moment I’m the one in charge of this little shindig.” Sarah’s voice faded briefly as she turned to glare at a few high-ranking officers who were standing nearby. “These walking sacks of dog feces have managed to see the error of their ways after tearing the crap out of the front of my home. After I made a couple of calls their bosses let them know what was going on and they got all of my data transferred here to their servers in D.C. The initial intel you gave me was enough to sway them to believe us, though Jackson’s latest calls apparently fell through some cracks—asscracks is more like it. Which is also why it took so long to get a call back out to you. Anyway, long story short is that I’m in charge and you have new orders now. Jackson, you still there?”

  “Yes, ma’am!”

  “Good man. Listen carefully, all three of you. You’ve been through hell but you’re about to go through worse. Omar’s in the country.”

  The announcement caught Linda off-guard and she sat back in her seat, momentarily stunned. Frank looked at her, then at the radio as he replied. “Are… are you sure about that, Sarah?”

  “As sure as I can be about anything. We’ve had…” Sarah paused, lowered her voice and scooted closer to the microphone on her end, amplifying her breathing and making her easier to understand. “Unusual events. A few patrols have gone missing, there’s been some odd firefights north of the city. It’s nothing big but it feels wrong. Like there’s trouble waiting to happen.”

  Linda felt a chill run down her back again. “What can we do to help?”

  “First off, you’ve already done a damned fine job. I saw what Jackson sent through early this morning and I had people start searching. They already located three crates in the last hour thanks to some video and satellite surveillance. We’ve got people on the ground and a bunch of eyeballs reviewing images and videos to find the rest. We’re also working on a way to keep the bombs from being remotely detonated, but that doesn’t mean jack if they’re being guarded.”

  “Were the three you found being guarded?”

  “Zealously. It was only thanks to an overwhelming response that we were able to take them down before they set off the bombs or sent out a transmission about what was going on.”

  “What do you think’s going on with this?” Jackson asked.

  “Good question. Hold on.” There was a scuffle on the other end of the line and the sound of Sarah walking. An electronic squeal came through and another light appeared on the radio. Jackson looked at it, then punched in a series of numbers. The squeal stopped and Sarah’s voice came through again. “There. I had to step away. There are some theories that are best left unspoken around others for now.”

  “What do you mean?” Linda leaned forward, speaking in a conspiratorial tone.

  “I think Omar’s planning on attacking D.C. directly once he bombs the other survivor cities.”

  “What?” Linda blinked rapidly a few times. “Why would he do that?”

  “Call it symbolic retribution. You know how I said we had missing patrols and firefights? That’s not all. I can’t go into details right now but there are other signs that something big is going to happen soon.”

  “Ma’am, this sounds bad.” Jackson paused, realizing what an understatement that was and then continued. “What do you have for us to do, though?”

  “It just so happens that you’re close to where a crate was spotted recently. You’re going to take on reinforcements from the units arriving there soon and proceed to Phoenix, one of the survivor cities. Once you’re there you’ll meet units who are sweeping the city for the bomb and assist in the search.”

  “That’s it?” Linda said. “Shouldn’t we be coming to D.C. if—”

  “No, not yet. That’s one of the only cities where we don’t have enough people to search for the bomb. You need to help them find that first. Once that’s done we’ll talk about getting you up here so you can find Omar and beat him to a bloody pulp.”

  The mental image made Linda smile. She forced down thoughts of her fists whaling on Omar’s bloodied face and nodded. “Copy that. I can’t wait.”

  “Good. Also, I presume your phone’s either lost, out of batteries or destroyed so you’ll get a new one from the unit arriving shortly. Keep it on you at all times, got it?”

  “Will do.”

  “Good. Now take me off speaker, Jackson. I’ll pass you off to someone who’ll fill you in on the technical details of everything.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Jackson reached for the button on the radio, but before he could push it, Sarah spoke again.

  “Oh, and Frank? Linda?”

  “Yes?” They both replied in unison.

  “It’s good to hear your voices again.”

  ***

  If the mood of the group in and around the warehouse could be described before Sarah’s call it would best be done so as somber. After the call, though, word spread like wildfire that a new mission was at hand that would take the fight to those responsible for the ambushes and potentially save tens of millions of people from a dirty bomb attack. While the soldiers had no knowledge of the complexities of the situation surrounding Omar and his attacks on the country, the promise of revenge for their fallen comrades and being the source of salvation for their countrymen was enough to electrify them.

  Linda and Frank sat on the sidelines as Jackson gave orders to groups of soldiers, whipping them into shape and preparing them for the journey ahead. Frank’s gaze flicked back and forth between the soldiers, taking in their acronym-filled conversations and odd habits with wide eyes. Linda, on the other hand, was quite used to the scene unfolding in and around the warehouse and she instead spent her time thinking about the conversation with Sarah and the various emotions it stirred up inside of her.

  Relief was by far the deepest one she felt, though it wasn’t just over the fact that Sarah was alive. A journey that had been years in the making was, at last, looking like it might be coming to a close. While she initially thought she might feel excitement, joy, elation or even grow jittery at the thought, she instead felt the simple, sweet wash of relief.

  “You look happy.” Linda started at Frank’s voice and looked over to find him staring at her, a curious smile on his face. She realized that she had been grinning as she stared out across the warehouse, her eyes unfocused as she was lost in thought.

  “Hm?” She took a deep breath. “Yes. Yes I am.”

  “About Sarah?”

  “That’s part of it.”

  Frank was silent for a few seconds before speaking again. “Are you ready to find Omar?”

  The question was simple, but it stirred up another wave of emotions in Linda, and not all of them good. She locked eyes with Frank, watching him intently as she thought back to the first time she had seen him back at the gas station that she barely escaped from with her life intact. If he had asked the question at any other time, she would have had to fight the urge to snap at him. This time, though, something was different. Frank was no longer just some person she met and was putting up with to try and survive so that she could achieve a goal. He had risked life and limb for her, saving her on more than one occasion. They shared a bond that had continued to keep them together in spite of their disagreements and Linda no longer looked at Frank as a stranger. He was a friend.

  “Yes.” Her answer was deliberate. “More than anything else in this world.”

  Frank nodded and patted her on the back. “Good. We’ll find him.”

  “I know.”

  The pair sat in silence again as they continued watching the soldiers working. It was another hour before the rumble of the vehicles around the warehouse and industrial complex was dwarfed by the sound o
f a convoy approaching. A dozen Humvees, four large tracked vehicles that Frank didn’t recognize and a trio of APCs rolled down the road toward the complex, throwing up a thick trail of dust behind them. Gunners sat on all of the vehicles that had mounted weaponry, the turrets rotating slowly as they scanned for threats. The power of the engines made Frank grin and he felt like a child again as he grew giddy with anticipation.

  After a brief exchange between Lieutenant Jackson and the head officer on the convoy, several soldiers clad in radiation suits hurried down to the basement of the warehouse and began packaging the defused dirty bomb for shipping. While they worked, Jackson began the final preparations to combine the forces that had secured the warehouse with the freshly arrived reinforcements so that they could head to Phoenix. The group securing the dirty bomb would take one of the tracked vehicles—a light tank variant designed for urban combat—along with a pair of LMG and TOW missile equipped Humvees and move the device to a secure location.

  The rest of the vehicles and manpower would then move out to Phoenix with the expectation of arriving early the next day and immediately getting to work on locating the bomb that was undoubtedly hidden somewhere in the city. The departure preparations were complete in less than an hour and, before Frank realized what was going on, he was sitting in yet another Humvee with Linda and Jackson.

  As the convoy pulled away from the compound, Frank glanced back in the rearview window before snorting and leaning forward in his seat to talk to Linda. “Never thought I’d be glad to be getting back into one of these things.”

  “Just try not to crack your skull wide open if we crash again, okay?”

  Frank grinned and patted Jackson on the shoulder. “That’s not a problem so long as Jackson here doesn’t get us into another ambush.”

  “Keep cracking wise like that and I’ll have you sitting on the back bumper all the way to Phoenix.” Jackson’s tone was flat and serious but there was a twinkle in his eye that made Linda and Frank both chuckle.

  With their numbers bolstered by the reinforcements and the new mandate from Sarah in hand, they were all feeling elated to be moving on to the next step in their journey. The fact that they would have to search for a dirty bomb while under the constant threat of it detonating nearby was of little consequence and the threat of D.C. being overrun by Omar’s men meant nothing in that moment. They had their health, they had each other and they had the determination and drive to see their mission through to the end.

  What end it would have, though, was anyone’s guess.

  Chapter 8

  Twelve soldiers run down an empty street, their bootsteps echoing against the walls of the buildings on both sides. Each man wears a backpack, though not the one they are used to carrying. Instead of carrying extra ammunition, supplies and gear in large bags they wear small ones, weighing only a few pounds each. A small piece of electronic equipment rests in each bag, and from the bag stretches a braided wire that leads to a small computer screen. Each soldier wears their screen on their arm, attached by way of an adjustable strap. The screens display a constant stream of data provided by the sensors in the backpacks but the soldiers don’t know what most of the numbers and words on the displays mean. All they know is that they need to look for one particular word, symbol, reading and color.

  The vehicles that used to cover the streets and parking lots of the city have been moved, towed away and taken to scrap heaps and junkyards so that every square meter of flat land is usable. Temporary shelters are constantly under construction, being assembled from kits as quickly as they are delivered. They have not yet reached the section of the city where the soldiers are searching, though, and the only other people in the area other than the soldiers are civilians who own the local homes and businesses. Some of those individuals have chosen to relocate to shelters closer to the center of the city where they can be near the routes taken by the trucks that deliver aid supplies. Many have stayed in their homes and businesses, though, and the soldiers can feel the peoples’ eyes on them as they march down the street.

  The soldiers take care not to give any outward indication of their mission. Public knowledge of what they are searching for would incite panic that would lead to countless more lives being lost. The grim reality is, though, that the object they are searching for will end everyone’s life in the city unless it is found in time.

  “We’ve got something over here, Corporal.” One of the soldiers adjusts the screen on his wrist and turns to look at the man he is speaking with.

  “What is it?” Corporal Anderson glances to his left and right, scanning the tall apartment buildings on both sides for any sign of hostiles. A few dirty faces peer back at him, hiding in the shadows of the apartment windows as they watch the soldiers marching by. Such patrols are frequent in the sanctuary cities and new arrivals find the constant presence of soldiers to be unnerving, to say the least.

  “Readings are increasing.”

  Anderson checks the screen on his wrist and nods in confirmation. “Yes they are. All right, everybody spread out so we can start triangulating this.” The soldiers break formation and spread out across the street. A few head down a nearby alley to an adjacent road while others enter an apartment and exit out the other side. Corporal Anderson taps on his screen, entering the necessary commands to start the automated triangulation calculations. The process takes readings from all of the devices in the area and feeds them back to a central system that processes the levels to determine the approximate location of the target.

  It doesn’t take more than ten more minutes of wandering for Anderson to receive a call over the radio. “Corporal, you initiated the program a short time ago, did you not?”

  “Confirmed; that I did.”

  “All radiation readings confirm the device is in your neck of the woods. Keep searching and find the exact location. Question anyone in the area to see if they noticed anyone hauling in crates. We’re sending all available units to your vicinity to help sweep and secure.”

  “Copy that.” Anderson tucks his radio back on his belt and feels an uncharacteristic surge of butterflies in his stomach. The orders to begin searching for metal crates of a certain size and color came down a short time ago. The initial order merely stated that the crates needed to be found, without expounding on why. The ‘why’ came a short time later, though, and turned a reluctant search into one driven by fear and necessity.

  A dirty bomb, designed to spread as much radiation as possible across as wide of an area as possible, was sitting somewhere in the Chicago sanctuary city. That much had been confirmed by drone and satellite footage showing the crate sitting in the back of a pickup truck that had arrived days ago. The exact location of the device inside the crate was unknown, though, as it vanished from the vehicle that was abandoned outside the city. Whoever was in charge of issuing orders for the search did not believe that the device was taken away, though, as the instructions were crystal clear: find the device before it detonates.

  Anderson, like many others in the search parties, had initially responded to the revelation of the device with determination and dedication to finding it. There were more than enough troops in the city that they could easily canvass the area with portable radiation detectors disguised inside backpacks. What had been initially estimated as a quick search ended up taking far longer than anyone anticipated and morale was beginning to drop. Until Anderson’s group stumbled upon the first credible radiation signature, that is.

  A breathless soldier runs up to Anderson, his cheeks splotched red and sweat running down his face. “Two hundred meters ahead, Corporal. We found something.”

  Corporal Anderson follows the soldier down the street, into a parking garage and down the ramp into the first underground level where several other soldiers are standing around a closed metal door. Anderson motions at the door with the butt of his rifle. “It’s behind here?”

  “Yeah, that’s the place. It’s closed up tight, though. No way are we getting in with anything l
ess than a blowtorch or a bulldozer.”

  “Somebody ask for a blowtorch?” A soldier from a nearby squad appears at the top of the ramp and lifts a large blue case in the air. Twenty minutes later the locks are broken, either from the torch or from the excessive amount of foul language hurled in their direction by the soldier wielding the torch. Once the door rolls open the soldiers grow serious as they double check their weapons and descend into the bottom floors of the structure.

  Radiation readings spike as they pass through the door at the bottom of the ramp and Corporal Anderson affixes a mask over his face and motions at the other soldiers to do the same. They move slowly through the dark parking garage, checking behind and between the few scattered vehicles that are still present. With the first underground level clear they continue moving down even farther, descending another level before arriving at a second locked door. This door stands between them and the bottom of the parking garage.

  Corporal Anderson whispers to the soldier carrying the blowtorch, asking him to get to work on the locks and bolts on the door. The soldier nods and begins setting up the torch, but as he goes to light it he stops and leans close to the metal.

  “Does anyone else hear beeping?” The question comes an instant before the explosion. Plastic explosives affixed to the door at the ramp in several locations explode outward, killing several soldiers and sending several others flying back from the force. A hail of bullets rain forth from beyond the shattered door, piercing through the soft tissues and brittle bones of the surviving soldiers. The attack is strong and pushes back against the soldiers, but it cannot last forever.

  More reinforcements converge on the parking garage to help assist with the securement and disarmament of the device. They instead find themselves drawn into battle with a foe that rapidly becomes outnumbered. The tactical advantage offered by the chokepoint of the ramp and final floor of the parking garage becomes moot in the face of grenades, tear gas and a continuous stream of suppressing fire.