Grabbing his boxers from the floor, he pulled them up to his waist. They felt loose like they could fall back down at any moment.
A swift knock rapped on the door. He looked at it for a moment, trying to remember why someone would be there so early in the morning. He walked quickly to the door, scratching the back of his head. When he reached the door, he cracked it open a few inches and peered out. “What?” he whispered, his voice hoarse from a fitful night’s sleep.
A private with wide eyes stared back. He blinked with surprise at the colonel’s short answer and gulped. “Colonel Kinnick?”
“Yeah, what do you want?”
“Sir, General Daugherty is requesting your presence back at the operations center.”
Kinnick yawned and half-covered his mouth. “I’ll be over.”
The private looked down at his feet. “Sir, he said to hurry.” He gulped. “The general, sir.”
“Tell him I’ll be over soon. Thank you, Private.”
“Bu-”
Turning away, he closed the door in the private’s face.
A voice came from the bed. “What do they want?”
Captain Gallagher sat up in the bed, using the white sheets to cover herself. Her hair fell about her shoulders, ruffled and disheveled from sleep and the night before.
Kinnick shook his head. “I dunno.” He sighed. “I can’t imagine it’s good, knowing the general.”
“He’s not a bad leader, Michael. He’s gotten us this far.” Her eyes darted at him to see if he approved of what she had said. She knew he hated the general for not providing adequate assistance holding the passes of Colorado against the dead, leading to the nuclear holocaust of the western part of the United States.
Kinnick sighed. “Don’t get me started on the man.”
She gave him a sly smirk. “Not anything like you.” She crawled to the edge of the bed, moving like a cat burglar. Her bare feet touched the carpet and she swept up the sheet taking care to wrap it around her shoulders. She walked over to Kinnick, bedsheets dragging behind her like a cape. Her mouth formed a mischievous grin and she cupped his cheeks. Her lips pushed onto his and she kissed him deeply. The sheet fell away from her.
“He can wait,” Kinnick whispered.
“But I can’t,” she said.
***
Colonel Kinnick entered Peterson Air Force Base’s NORAD Operations Center. The operations center was primarily enclosed on a large open floor with a multitude of multi-screen workstations for both civilians and airmen working there.
The far wall held large projection televisions displaying maps of the airspace and video of ground operations. The televisions that normally held news reporting now showed a short list of operating airfields.
A concerned Major Thomas stood waiting. His eyes were worried behind his black-rimmed glasses. He immediately walked toward Kinnick.
Major Thomas’s words were rushed. Kinnick found it slightly amusing that the Special Forces major could get flustered over a retired Air Force colonel who had failed to stop the vice president from nuking the western seaboard. “Sir, we’ve been waiting.”
“For what?” Kinnick said nonchalantly.
“For you, sir.” The major’s eyes bounced toward the war room doors. “General Daugherty is furious.”
“What’s he going to do, demote me?”
The major’s eyes darted around the operations center. “Also, Captain Gallagher is late.”
Tongues always loved to wag about the office’s new romance. Kinnick had dealt with that much of his entire career. Gossip was a mainstay of any military installation. He supposed he was immune from that kind of scrutiny now. He wasn’t in the armed forces anymore. In fact, the only place he had been beholden to was wiped off the map a few months ago. Since the Under Secretary of State for Management Garlon had somehow found himself in the Golden Triangle safe zone, it was no longer necessary for Kinnick to fill a useless diplomatic seat now that there weren’t any other nations to negotiate with.
Kinnick wasn’t surprised that Garlon had managed to make it to Colorado first. Garlon could talk himself off of death row and had walked away from numerous scandals unscathed. He had settled into his new role as a Secretary of State with ease.
Thomas led Kinnick through the cubicles for the war room. The war room was a SCIF attached to the operations center. A red light was on above the door, meaning that the sensitive compartmentalized information briefing had already begun.
Kinnick glanced at Thomas. “Looks like they started without me.”
“Yes, sir, but he’s waiting for you to disclose a new operation.”
“Me?” Kinnick said. He gave the major an unbelieving look. “That guy wants nothing to do with me.” Kinnick stopped at the war room door. The light illuminated Kinnick and Thomas in a red glow. All that it meant to Kinnick was that when he entered the room, everyone would have to stop what they were doing, ensure classified information was not exposed, and then let him in. His hand hovered over the flat gray door handle. He glanced at the major.
“Because he wants you to lead it,” Thomas whispered.
Kinnick digested his words for a moment and stayed his hand. “Lead it?”
“Yes, sir. The vice president has been very clear and the general is onboard.”
Kinnick could feel his gut tightening in a knot. He had fought so hard for countless lives only to have them stripped away in a matter of minutes. He didn’t count the soldiers in with them. Those were more personal. The whole thing had left him embittered to any direction leadership wanted to force on the remainders of the nation. “Brady? Why? So they can nuke the next place I go?”
“I’m not sure, sir.”
The light clicked off above Kinnick.
“I used to think that I was smart to get out, but I guess I never realized that you can never really leave.” Kinnick shoved his hand down on the door handle hard and ducked inside. He closed the door and the red light flicked back on.
He turned, facing the room. In the center was a long oval wooden table. Tall black leather chairs sat around the table filled with military officers. On one end, General Daugherty sat on the right of Vice President Brady. General Monroe sat on Brady’s left. Monroe gave Kinnick a friendly nod. Monroe was the only commanding officer that Kinnick felt gave a damn about the nation and the people within.
General Daugherty’s eyes narrowed behind his glasses.
“Nice of you to join us,” Daugherty breathed. He glanced down at his paperwork, not trying to disguise his irritation with Kinnick.
The vice president sighed next to him as if he was bored, his hands folded around a glass of scotch in front of him. He wasn’t even pretending to care about his current appearance. Kinnick was sure the man hadn’t shaved in weeks. A patchy beard covered his face and dark circles hung beneath his eyes.
Brady glared. “We’ve been waiting on you, Colonel.”
Kinnick thumbed through the paperwork in front of him. “I was preoccupied.”
“Next time, don’t be.” The look on Brady’s face told Kinnick that it was his only and final warning.
Kinnick picked up a stack of papers in front of him. In a block across the top, it read Top Secret and below that Special Authorization Required. He turned the cover sheet over. His eyes skimmed down the page. Operation Homefront.
“Go ahead, General,” Brady said with a lazy wave of his hand. He brought his other hand to his lips and took a slurping sip of his scotch.
Daugherty nodded and stood. “Please refer to the briefing in front of you for details while I explain the current situation.” He stood and clicked a button on his remote and a Powerpoint presentation illuminated the far wall. “As we all know, the nuclear strikes against the West-Coast cities were a success.” He hovered a red dot laser pointer west of the Rockies. “We have minimized the threat from the west.” The laser’s red dot shifted to the East Coast. “The larger threat still marches from the east. Infected numbering in the millions
trickles this way. We are observing a general trend from the East Coast. As the living are annihilated and survivors are driven west, the infected are following. It has been confirmed from numerous sources.” He clicked and a new slide appeared.
“Our response will take place in the form of a comprehensive large-scale operation with the smallest number of U.S. Combat Forces possible.” A blue background slide appeared. Across the top read Operation Homefront in white lettering. The logo was of two hands shaking, one in military uniform and the other in plain clothes with an American flag in the background. Underneath the hands, it read United We Stand Together.
“Operation Homefront will be the mobilization and training of all civilians that live along the Mississippi River. They will provide a viable force to combat the enemy and give us the time we need for mass development and distribution of the Primus Necrovirus vaccine.”
“You mean they are the buffer force you need,” Kinnick said. Officers around the table turned their eyes on him.
Daugherty glared at him behind his glasses. “They are pivotal to the survival of the nation and this government. Providing them essential training and support will greatly enhance both their and our opportunity to survive.” He hammered the Powerpoint clicker with his thumb.
The slide changed over to a green map of the United States. A thick blue line ran from the center of Minnesota all the way down to New Orleans, effectively cutting the United States into two pieces, east and west. He circled it with his laser pointer.
“The Mississippi runs over two thousand miles. Any sizable towns will be garrisoned by Green Beret units. They will be responsible to train the civilians and defend key segments of the river.
Daugherty clicked and a new slide popped up. It read Southern Mississippi AOR.
“Colonel Canton will take south of St. Louis to the Gulf.”
A gray-haired Colonel Canton nodded in his seat. His face permanently looked like he had just eaten a lemon.
“Where do we expect the main body of the infected to strike?” Kinnick asked. He stared at the map, awaiting a response. Another suicide mission.
“All of our latest reporting indicates that Iowa and Missouri will carry the brunt of the enemy force. Iowa’s proximity to Chicago as well as the northern East Coast roadways and geographical features will take the dead straight into there. Missouri with it’s long Mississippi River border will take the brunt of the southern masses.”
The general clicked to the next slide. The slide read Northern Mississippi AOR. Kinnick’s name was on the slide. “Colonel Kinnick will lead five ODAs from Carson to La Crescent, Minnesota. It’s on the western side of the Mississippi across from La Crosse. We will drop you in via helicopter. There you will link up with Marine Corps Lieutenant Colonel Eldridge. He has been instructed to provide an appropriate number of small riverine craft for transportation and support down the Mississippi.”
Kinnick held up a halting hand. “Wait. You expect me to lead this operation? Need I remind you I am retired Air Force. I’m not sure I am the best person to lead this operation.” This was far beyond his skill set. I have no special operations experience. All I’ve done is lead a failed stopgap measure in the mountains and lost a bunch of good soldiers.
The vice president folded his hands loosely in front of his chest. “I requested you myself for this operation. Your grit impressed me in the Battle of the Passes.”
A slight smile curled on General Daugherty’s lips. “I concurred with the vice president’s assessment. I couldn’t think of a better man for the job. In accordance with DOD 1352.01, you are now recalled to active duty. Paperwork has already been processed.”
Daugherty took a step next to the table and slid a piece of paper across to Kinnick. Kinnick picked it up. In block lettering, it read Active Duty Report near the top and DD 220 in a box at the bottom. Daugherty’s signature was scrawled in a box above. Kinnick exhaled from his nose.
I’m sure you couldn’t think of a better man to send out on the front lines to get eaten alive by the dead. “I am assuming that there are plenty of Special Forces officers that would love an opportunity to take this command.”
Daugherty smiled as he spoke. “There were, and we told them all no.”
Kinnick let the paper in his hands fall to rest on the table. “Why me?”
Brady smiled and it was just twisted enough to convince Kinnick he might have lost his mind. He pointed with his glass still in his hand. “Because I’m convinced no one else can do the job.”
STEELE
Pentwater, Michigan
The woman’s voice sounded distant in his mind. “Steele, wake up.” It echoed over and over as it faded to the recesses of his psyche. The words danced around a man in black holding a lighter near his face. The flames danced across his dream vision. The words repeated themselves over and over. Steele cracked his eyes open. The man and the flames disappeared in a cloud of smoke.
The shadowy outline of a woman’s head in the doorway of a dark room took his place. He knew her voice. It had a hint of roughness around the edges. Her slender, slightly curved frame slipped all the way into the room and her outline hovered before his eyes. The grogginess of sleep slowly retreated.
“Tess,” he groaned. His friend and partner from Little Sable Point was extremely comfortable with little to no personal boundaries. So much that she was the only one who wouldn’t knock before coming into his room. He had the underlying suspicion that she somehow had taken claim over him even though his heart was promised to another. He closed his eyes again, wanting to drift back to sleep.
“What is it?” he whispered.
Outside his window, it was still black in the depths of night. His good hand felt clumsily around a desk next to his single bed. His fingers locked around his sidearm, a black military-issued Beretta M9A1. He used the front sight to scratch his forehead and pressed harder on the itchy sides of his head’s scar tissue.
Tess’s voice was soft despite her normal bad girl attitude. “Seven Sisters came back with some bodies.”
He opened his eyes fully and was rewarded by her slightly curved slender frame. “Whose were they?”
“Iron Drakes.”
Steele sat up, swinging his legs onto the floor and feeling his Thor’s hammer slide on its chain between his pectorals. A reminder of his comrade Jarl’s sacrifice. His right arm hung in a browning dirty sling, useless. He flexed his fingers and closed them hard. His fist was weak and unformed.
He glanced up at her. “Infected?”
“You should probably see this for yourself.”
He felt around for his pants. “You know I don’t like surprises.”
She shook her head. Her short-cropped hair stayed in place, slicked back across her skull. She smiled at him, giving a quick peek down at his boxers.
He ignored her wandering eyes. His mind felt fuzzy like he needed a hot cup of coffee before he dealt with whatever disaster was coming their way. Even with the pastor and the Chosen captive, his sleep was spotty at best knowing Jackson was on the loose. He adjusted his boxers, uncomfortable under her gaze.
“What?”
She kept smiling. “Nice boxers, nerd.”
He looked down at his underwear. They were decorated with yellow cartoon dogs with badges.
A defensive smile treaded his lips. “Deputy Bucky is a hero,” he said to her. “Buckyville would be in chaos without his tenacious crime fighting.”
She smirked. “Whatever you say, Mr. Tough Guy.”
Awkwardly, he pulled up his ACU pants with his good hand. While he recovered in the fire station, Gwen had cleaned them and then patched the holes where the pellets had shredded the fabric. He cinched his belt tight around his hard stomach. I’m gonna need a new belt soon or some new holes in this one.
He gingerly threw a shirt over his body and as gently as possible eased his damaged arm through the armhole. The bandages tugged on his healing skin and he grimaced in pain. Damn that stings. He wrapped his sling bac
k around his shoulders and holstered his firearm on his left-hand side, a move that was not familiar to him.
As quietly as he could, he thumped down the fire station hallway with his crutch that whined and squeaked with every step. The rooms in the fire station dormitory were filled with the remaining members of Little Sable Point that hadn’t gone with Gwen.
They were his volunteers. Their numbers had grown since the Battle of Little Sable Point, every single person that had fought in the battle joining his all-volunteer force. Others that had fled in the face of the pastor’s wrath had found their way back, joining Sable’s ranks once again.
The few who had survived the battle had a bit of swagger to them. He didn’t know why because they were thrashed and beaten, but they had held out long enough to throw one solid haymaker for the win. That was something to be proud of.
He took the winding metal steps one by one, holding onto the handrail to steady his hopping down the spiral stairs. At the bottom was the fire station garage, empty save for supplies and now a gathering of people.
Men and women wearing all manner of riding leather along with Thunder stood below. Tess followed Steele settling nearby, her arms folded over her shoulder harness that held her black M1911. Ahmed shouldered a baseball bat, standing to the side of the group. Kevin must be passed out upstairs.
Steele crutched forward, leaning heavily on his single crutch, and as the men and women recognized him, one by one, they parted.
Three sheet-covered mounds lay in the center. Steele hobbled forward, getting a closer look at them. A man hovered nearby, his hand covering his mouth. His gray-streaked black beard folded out from underneath his hand. Silver metal serpents sat coiled over a field of yellow on his motorcycle club patch. Steele gave him a wary look.
The Departing (The End Time Saga Book 4) Page 3