The enemy sat there like a line of mounted knights. The .50 caliber machine guns were their lances that greedily itched to reach out and touch you. An armored wall of tan Humvees lined the road, blocking the way south. Soldiers peered down M2 .50 caliber machine gun barrels. They sighted him with M240 machine guns and Mk 19s with 40mm grenades strung together in belted boxes.
A man stood atop of one of the Humvees. His head was uncovered and it was clear with the shine from the top of his skull that he was bald. He held a long bolt-action sniper rifle in one hand. Steele snagged up the binoculars and pressed them to his eyes. He leaned closer to the windshield, but he already knew the answer.
A skeletal head laughed with the men next to him, and he brought the rifle up to his shoulder. He took aim. Boom. Fire erupted from his gun. A biker collapsed onto the ground down the street and didn’t move.
The bald soldier roared with laughter and one of his men handed him an AT4, an 84mm, single-shot, guideless, anti-tank weapon. Cheap, low recoil, almost dummy proof, and effective against both light armor and structures.
Steele pulled his eyes away from the binoculars and glanced at Tess. “Scott’s team is in the condos,” he said it more to himself. He had given the order for them to hold their position.
Tess peered up at the condo tower on the edge of the marina.
“They are.”
A projectile screeched with a smoky tail across the sky and a room inside the tower exploded outward into a fiery inferno.
“Shit,” Tess cursed. She threw the car in reverse and spun the truck’s wheels. She ripped it back into drive and jerked the steering wheel.
“Scott’s team,” Steele said, looking back at the tower. Black smoke billowed out of the building.
Tess gunned it down the street. Steele dug his M4 into the floor to keep himself steady.
She spoke fast and worried. “We don’t have time to worry about them.”
Steele glanced behind them, looking through the dirty glass of the truck’s rear cabin. The Humvees slowly rolled down the hill toward the town.
“They’re coming,” he said.
The pickup passed a side street. Humvees rolled down the residential street. She sped up, passing another side street. Tan vehicles rumbled along that road toward the main drag, slowly squeezing Steele’s forces between the lake and north. Tess stopped the truck near the fire station. A host of Red Stripes ran boxes of food to trucks.
“They’re rolling in from all over,” Steele said.
Thunder looked back at the hill. “I saw ’em. Fucking cowards been taking potshots at us. We had a couple causalities. The Chosen are loaded up and on the road. We’re the last.”
Steele nodded to the big biker, placing his M4 on the window frame. “We run.”
GWEN
Hacklebarney, IA
Gwen walked up the steps to the second story of the building. She knocked on a black door at the top.
“Come on in,” a voice called out.
She opened the door to the mayor’s office and stepped inside. A slightly chubby man in a white button-down shirt with a red tie sat behind an old wooden executive desk. Old green carpet ran all the way through the office. Dark stains covered the floor. Gwen assumed it was a combination of spilt coffee along with mud and dirt from the surrounding farms that had been deposited over countless mayoral terms. A tall bookshelf stood on the far wall, and framed pictures lined the other.
She took a step inside. “Hi, Mayor Dobson,” she said. He had been a car salesman in Dubuque before moving to Hacklebarney. His hair was receding but combed over the top of his head. His cheeks were borderline pudgy from being outside his prime.
He looked up from what he was reading and smiled. “Gwen Reynolds. Sheriff said you might be stopping by soon. Been too long since I last laid eyes on you.” His eyes made a quick dart to her chest and back to her face. Her breasts had grown painfully larger in the last few weeks despite her limited diet as her body prepared itself for the arrival of her baby.
He waved a hand in front of him. “How ’bout you take a seat?”
She did as she was asked and pushed a green velvet chair closer to his desk.
He held out a small glass bowl filled with white candies. “Mint?”
She shook her head. “No, thank you.”
He set the bowl down and leaned back in his brown executive-style chair that squealed with every up and down.
He shook his head in disbelief and smirked. “I bet John about had a heart attack when you showed up.” He continued shaking his head. “He must be thrilled to have you back.” His chair continued to bounce up and down.
She folded her hands in front of her body. “He is very happy to have me back.” He sat back up quickly and interrupted her before she could continue as if he had a whole list of meetings lined up for the day.
“So what can I do you for today?”
“I came to speak with you about refugees.”
He smiled, but somehow, she wasn’t sure it was genuine. “Sheriff Donnellson did the right thing by letting you over that bridge. We are happy to have your people.” He looked to the side before he continued. “Of course, your grandfather’s farm will bear the brunt of that burden.”
She pursed her lips. “They’re good people. They can contribute in many ways.”
“I’m sure they can. On his farm.”
“What if I was to tell you a much bigger group of people are headed your way?”
The mayor blinked a few times and continued to smile. “How many people are we talking about, Gwen?”
“About a thousand.”
He rolled his eyes and whistled as his chair bounced back away from his desk. His eyes and tone grew disapproving. “I know you aren’t about to ask me to let in more people than this town has in it? That is out of the question.” His chair bounced back toward his desk and he leaned in. “Do you know how hard things are going to get this winter? Let alone the extra hundred that your grandfather has taken in? The stress that puts on the sheriff to keep things orderly is plenty enough.” He shook his head at her suggestion. “Ya know, I’m going to say this because most people in this town are too nice, but you got a lot of nerve coming in here and placing that burden on all of us. What if we can’t feed them? Or they get sick? Then I’m responsible for their abuse, even their deaths.” His eyes widened. “What if they get us sick? Think about the people here.”
She leaned forward. His eyes darted down away from her face again quick. “I don’t think you understand. This is more than being without power or cars. Millions of people have been killed or infected. At some point, they will end up here. You have to let them across the river or they’ll be killed.”
He furrowed his brow at her. “Gwen, I don’t have to do anything. We have gone way above and beyond our responsibility to other communities. There’s no telling what kinds of people you bring in here. You are asking me to put my constituents and the great people of Hacklebarney at risk. And for what? What do we have to gain?” He waved his hands to the sides.
“So you can save people’s lives and they can help us defend Hacklebarney against the dead. Not only are there infected, but there are criminals and military units fighting. One unit is after these people.”
The mayor snorted and his soft belly jiggled a bit. “The United States military is after you?”
Gwen shook her head quick. “No, not the military. A rogue unit. Defectors.”
Mayor Dobson smiled in disbelief. “You want me to give asylum to people who are on the run from the military? Defectors or not, those are American fighting men and women. They deserve our gratitude for sticking their necks out for us.” He crowded forward, inching across his desk.
His voice dropped down low. “What you’re proposing is treasonous. Your grandfather would be embarrassed if he heard the words coming out of your mouth. He’s a veteran for Christ’s sake.”
“Then let them pass through. My people will go somewhere else,” she pleaded.
“Listen to yourself. My people. Gwen, if I remember correctly your people are here.” He pointed back and out his window. “Whatever is across that river are just freeloaders. They’re using you. I don’t mind helping people in need, but listen to what you are saying. Standing against our military, that’s madness. Feed and clothe thousands of people, madness. We are barely a thousand ourselves!” he exclaimed, getting worked up. His face was beginning to turn red.
She felt the heat rise to her cheeks too. “Let me tell you what’s madness. A United States Army colonel hunted others and myself for helping a doctor discover Patient Zero in Michigan. Do you know what that is, a patient zero?”
“No.” He leaned back away from her and his chair creaked.
“That is the first person to contract the disease. Our scientists needed him to come up with some kind of cure. And that man hunted us for it. Killed us for not obeying him. Maybe he wanted it for himself, but it doesn’t matter because it’s all insane. Don’t you tell me about madness. Madness is standing by while that man butchers the innocent,” she growled.
The mayor folded his hands in front of him as he went into politician mode. “I understand your passion, Gwen. Even if what you say is true, you would be putting every man, woman, and child here in Hacklebarney at great risk and I will not allow it. I’ll have the sheriff and his posse stop anyone that tries.”
She tried to reach him at an even more personal level. “My boyfriend is leading that group. He will be trapped over there if we don’t help him.”
His smile turned flat. “That, my dear, is not my problem.” He licked his fingers and thumbed through some papers, averting his eyes. “Thanks for stopping by today.” His eyes glanced up from his papers as if he expected her to vanish before him. “Tell your grandpa I said hello.”
Gwen’s mouth hung open. This bastard was going to end the conversation like this.
“I’m-” She sat flustered. “I will.” She stopped. “Thank you, Mayor,” she forced out.
“The pleasure was all mine,” he oozed. His eyes crept down again toward her chest.
She stood abruptly and stormed for the door. Her hand closed around the doorknob.
“Oh, and Gwen.” She stopped opening the door and turned around.
“Don’t go off doing anything brash. I have no problem sending your people back across the river to wherever they came from.”
“Don’t you worry about me.” She made sure to slam the door on her way out.
She pounded down the steps and made for her horse. Patsy eyed her with big brown eyes, still standing in the same spot. The horse picked her foot up and let it stomp on the ground sensing her irritation. Gwen unwrapped her reins.
“I know. He’s an asshat,” she whispered to the horse. She patted Patsy as she walked around her. She looked up toward his office as she mounted atop Patsy. Mayor Dobson stood at the window watching her. She snorted up at him and he smiled down at her, hands in his pockets.
Gwen pulled Patsy’s reins away and they walked down the street. Her grandfather rode up on his horse. He gave her a concerned look when he got close enough to see her face, wrinkled lines creasing his weathered face.
“What’s happened?”
“That man is an asshole.” She kept her horse walking and her grandfather turned his horse around and followed her.
“No need for such language,” he scolded.
Gwen gave him a death stare. “I’m a grown woman, grandpa. I can say what I like.”
“Just cause you can, doesn’t mean you should.” He closed his mouth and nodded. “Sometimes us old folks forget that you kids are all grown up.”
She laughed a bit. “That man is a selfish ignorant fool, is what he is.”
Her grandfather chuckled. “He is a fool.”
They rode in silence for a moment, only the sound of their horses’ hooves connecting with the road echoing.
“He won’t help, Mark. There will be hundreds of people that need our help.”
She could see him tense at the mention of more refugees. “The mayor is a fool, but remember, we can’t take everyone. Our town is small. Things will be difficult with the extra mouths to feed as it is.” His eyes were grave.
“They will die if we don’t help them. Between the crazies and the military, they will be cut down.”
John’s mouth twitched a bit. “I know, sweetheart. We will find a way. Have faith.”
Gwen couldn’t help but tear up at the old man who had loved her more than a father could.
“I love you, Pa.”
“Love you too, sweetheart.”
KINNICK
Northern Mississippi River
There were over three hundred people hiding in Lansing, Iowa. Kinnick left Hamilton Two, manned by a detachment of Marines under a ruddy chain-smoking sergeant, to collect people from the surrounding area and train them to fight.
Within an hour, Kinnick took his remaining seven watercraft and traveled south on the river. If Kinnick could make it to one more town before nightfall, he would consider the first phase of the operation a success.
The onboard radio buzzed on the Hamilton One. “Captain Boucher to Colonel Kinnick.” The radio clicked off.
Kinnick picked up his microphone and spoke into it. “This is Kinnick.”
“Sir, we’ve reached Harpers Ferry, Iowa, sir, and we’ve got a bit of a problem.”
“I understand Harpers Ferry is the next town on our tour.”
“Clarifying, sir. These are commonplace names.”
Kinnick shook his head. “Copy, Captain. What’s wrong with Harpers Ferry?”
“Well, we have a lock and there ain’t nobody home.”
“What do you mean?”
“A dam and lock, but no one is manning the control station on the Illinois side. We cleared the station out, but we caused quite a commotion out there. I expect that there will be more infected drawn in by the time you get there. I want you to be well-briefed on what you’re sailing into. Then there’s the bad part.”
“Bad part?” Kinnick clicked off his microphone and looked out over the water.
Captain Boucher clicked back on. “You’re going to have to hope that the generator’s got enough juice in her for one more go around town, or you are literally up shit creek.”
Kinnick rubbed his brow. “Thank you, Captain. Carry on.”
“My pleasure cruise has already passed Marquette.”
“Be safe.”
“You as well.”
Kinnick waved Hunter up off the ground. The master sergeant lifted himself up using the side of the boat. “In the next hour or so, we are going to run into a dam.”
Hunter’s eyebrow lowered. “Prolly get out of the way of that.”
Kinnick gave him a short smile.
“Boucher got his boats through, but they had to go real hot. We’re going to have to be fast and quiet or risk getting overrun. Take Hawk and Boone’s fire team and get that lock open.”
Hunter rolled the wad of tobacco in his mouth to the other side and squeezed with his lip. “Well, hot damn. Can’t wait.” Hunter turned back to Hawk over his shoulder. “You hear that, Hawk? We get to open the locks for the boss.”
Hawk gave a slight nod of his head.
Hunter turned back to Kinnick and spit over the side of the boat. “He’s ready.”
***
After about an hour cruising down the river, a concrete dam rose up out of the water. Large thick arches were spaced evenly and stuck up even higher than the wall running over the river. Next to those were smaller concrete arches.
The Marine on the .50 caliber machine gun turned back and shouted. “Looks like they got both roller and Tainter gates on their dam.”
Boone rolled his eyes, staying seated. “Here we go with the college boy.”
“What’s that mean, Marine?” Kinnick said.
“Don’t get him started,” Hanger shouted.
“He knows more shit about shit that don’t m
ean shit,” Washington said.
Kinnick ignored the Marines. “Go on, Gore.”
Gore looked like the teenager next door. Hairless face. He had an almost goofy look with boyish freckles, except he had a ballistic helmet and manned a .50 caliber machine gun. He twisted in the turret so he could see Kinnick. “Grew up north of here in Hastings, Minnesota, on the banks of the Mississippi. We had one like it, but we only had Tainter gates.”
“What does that mean for us?”
Gore released a single hand off his machine gun. “I’d avoid ’em if you don’t want to get destroyed by the current. Tainter gates are floodgates that are shaped like a pie slice with the round end facing upstream. It forces only a little bit of water through the dam at a time, preventing bank erosion downstream.” Gore held up his hands linked together in a round shape. “You see, the cool part is the water bears on the convex of the upstream-.”
Volk swatted at the Marine. “Shut up and get on the fifty. We ain’t paying you to talk about your cervix.”
Gore looked abashed and took his place back on his .50 caliber machine gun. He pointed. “Far bank, that white building’s where the lock controls should be.”
Kinnick pointed to the eastern bank. “Take us over.”
Coffey motored the boat to the eastern shore.
Haggard forms followed them down the riverbanks toward the lock. More infected wandered toward the control station and down the riverside road from the surrounding forests. A group of them clustered around the white station, sitting on the edge of the dam. They were going to have to clear them out to operate the lock.
Kinnick looked at Hunter. He was already sizing up his next war challenge.
A concrete pier wall formed a side of the lock and already had infected crawling all over it. They could have been men and women fishing until they started to reach over the metal railings for the SURC.
“Hit ’em with the mini,” Kinnick ordered. Volk nodded and yelled, “Duncan, fire away.”
The minigun blared out, sounding like a high-speed bumblebee buzzing bullets. Bodies disintegrated before them. Bullet holes appeared in the building behind them almost like military magic. After each iteration of rounds, the gunner would check his targets and the minigun would come to a rotary stop, rattling. A red river of blood ran down from the concrete pier mixing into the brown water.
The Departing (The End Time Saga Book 4) Page 11