by W. J. Lundy
Chuck tried to roll away from the wall and crawl to cover; he lay on his belly, grabbing dirt and trying to pull himself away. He barely moved, his broken leg refusing to cooperate. He rolled to his back and looked up at the sky while shouting more orders.
Joe saw movement from farther down the road and tapped Dan’s shoulder. Dan lifted up and looked far down the road with his scope. “I wondered how long before they showed up,” Dan said.
Joe squinted, looking down the road; he could tell by their movement they were infected. A tall barrel-chested one led the group. More fell in behind the leader; they approached boldly, not stopping. The leader let out a loud moan that echoed up the valley and seemed to excite the others. When even more materialized out of the woods, the mass began jogging then quickly moved at a full sprint, the small group rapidly becoming a horde. Chuck’s panicked screams joined the sounds of the approaching pack.
Dan and Joe turned to look back at the group of buildings; Chuck was gone. Dan got back to his feet, turned to climb up the hill then stopped and looked back at Joe. “Let’s go; we need to be getting back.”
“What about Chuck?” Joe asked.
“I’m sure that’ll work itself out; come on, we need to move before the infected get any closer.”
Chapter 22
He wiped the dirt and sweat from his face with the back of his sleeve. He was riding in an open-topped HUMVEE—an older model with the soft skin removed. Brooks was in the seat next to him, the other men crammed into the cargo compartment at the back. They were inside a smaller containment area now, full of long grassy fields, located around an airfield. Most of the open spaces now congested with green structures—a newly formed tent city. The outer parts of the camp were designated as hostile; no foot patrols permitted outside the wire, only up-armored, two-vehicle patrols.
Helicopters buzzed overhead, some swooping in low and moving back toward the auxiliary airfield for refueling ops before going back out on missions. The driver slowed as the vehicle passed through a zigzag of barriers and hasty checkpoints comprised of a group of soldiers standing behind strands of barbed wires and sandbags. Just behind them, a battery of field artillery guns sat silent as weary soldiers clustered on the ground, eating meals from plastic pouches. Others removed rounds from tubes and positioned them near their guns.
The young MP at the roadblock looked at the passengers closely then pulled wire out of the way to wave them through. On the other side, the HUMVEE pulled to the side to stop, dropping Roberts, Boone, and Axe to rejoin the others. The goodbye was nonchalant, no hugs or trading of emails. A quick travel safe and a slap on the back, and the trio were off to locate the remnants of their units. Brad wished them well and hoped they would be able to stay safe.
The vehicle pulled off again and parked in a muddy motor pool crammed full of a variety of vehicles. The driver pointed down a walkway made of stacked pallets with green tents positioned on both sides. “Just follow that all the way up. You will find the TOC at the end, which is where the old man is. I need to top this thing off with fuel before they run the tanks dry.”
Brooks nodded and stepped away from the military vehicle, throwing his pack over his shoulder and grabbing his Kevlar with a free hand. Brad joined him on the wooden walkway. The sun was creeping up, the heat beginning to burn off the light fog that blanketed the grounds. Generators were running all around, the steady hum mixing with the sounds of aircraft coming and going.
“Feels strange to be back on a camp like this,” Brad said.
Brooks looked around and kept his pace. “Yeah, like we’re back in the sandbox; some things never change.”
Another pair of guards stood at the end of the path. They looked suspiciously at the two mud-and-blood-covered strangers. One held up a hand and approached them cautiously. Brad spoke before the man could ask a question.
“I’m Sergeant Thompson; the colonel sent for me,” Brad said.
The man’s eyes went wide. “Wait here; I’ll let him know you’ve arrived.” The man backed away and disappeared under a tent flap then quickly reappeared with a female lieutenant in a fresh uniform and a butter bar on her patrol cap. “Sergeant Thompson,” she said, looking at Brooks. He grinned at her and pointed an index finger to Brad.
“I’m here; can you tell me what this is all about?” Brad asked.
She looked Brad up and down, frowning at his appearance and foul scent. Brad clenched his jaw. “I’d have changed into my church clothes, but I came right from the playground.” His tone caused Brooks to chuckle. “Sorry, ma’am—I was under the impression this was important. If you’d like, I could come back later?”
The young second lieutenant rolled her eyes and gave them both a disapproving glance. “Follow me,” she said. She turned and pulled away the tent flap, stepping into the Tactical Operations Center. The tent had field tables going all along the walls with soldiers stooped over them, working radios and processing intelligence. At the end of the room was a tall white board with a map of the outpost. As Brad and Brooks moved in, Brad saw Colonel Ericson being briefed by a number of junior officers. They pointed at divided areas of the map where colored status symbols indicated threat levels.
The colonel made eye contact with Brad for a moment then diverted his eyes back to the map, listening to his operations officer. He asked a number of questions then dismissed the men before turning to the young lieutenant. “Is this him?” he asked.
“Yes, sir; they came in on the south perimeter just minutes ago,” she answered.
The colonel turned and looked Brad up and down. “How is it out there?”
“It’s bad, sir,” Brad answered.
“I understand you were with the two-two element when they were ambushed; we’ve been looking for you for a while now,” Ericson said.
“Yes, sir; we were hit just outside of the village. I don’t kno—”
“We know about the attacks. Your situation wasn’t unique; we were hit by these raiders all over the compound. The perimeter has been compromised; we have Primals in the wire.”
“Sir, I—” Brad stuttered.
Ericson paused and took a deep breath, pointing his hand to silence Brad. “Don’t worry; that’s not why I brought you here. Follow me, Sergeant.” The colonel stepped off briskly to the rear of the tent and, lifting another flap, stepped out the back. Brad turned to Brooks, who shrugged and quickly moved out to catch up with the colonel.
When they got outside, the man was already swiftly moving to the airfield with two MPs dressed in full battle rattle flanking him on either side. He stopped just at the edge of the tarmac and waited for Brad to join him at his side.
The colonel turned to face Brad and then shot a knife hand at a large military transport aircraft resting diagonally across one end of the airfield. Two MRAPS and a Stryker vehicle surrounded it. “Sergeant, can you tell me why in the hell this aircraft decided to park in my backyard, and why it is refusing to move until the man on board speaks with either you or Chief Rogers?”
“Sir, I—”
“Well, I think it’s time you went and found out.”
Brad stood looking at the aircraft, unsure what he was expected to do. He turned and looked at Ericson.
“Sergeant, go find out what they want,” Ericson said again, losing patience.
“But, sir… Chief Rogers…? Where is he?” Brad asked.
The colonel softened his tone slightly. “We’ve located him. Birds spotted him several hours ago in one of the perimeter towers, and we’ve already sent out a patrol to get him back here. In the meantime, I’d love to get that thing off my operational airfield. These men will escort you on board.” Ericson turned to the escorts. “Corporal Smith, make sure these men receive all the support they need.”
The two MPs stepped aside; one waved a hand forward, and Brad led the way with Brooks moving next to him. Brad spoke softly without turning his head. “You have any idea what this is about?” he said.
“Not a clue, brother,�
�� Brooks answered.
The MP marched them down the edge of the tarmac. “Can you tell me what’s going on?” Brad asked one of them. The corporal did not respond; he just continued forward, walking past the Stryker vehicle, and moving along the body of the aircraft to a set of portable stairs leading to an open door. The MP stopped and pointed a hand to the top. At the entrance to the aircraft stood a man dressed in black—same as the ones they’d faced near the school and again on the road—same as the ones who evacuated on the helicopter.
“What’s this?” Brooks said, putting up a hand, preventing Brad from stepping closer. He turned sharply to one of the MPs. “Do you know who these men are?” Brooks said, nearly shouting.
The man in black at the top of the ladder stiffened his posture, drawing his submachine gun against his body. Brad hesitated; pulling back, he turned back to the MP. The escort faced him and said, “Look, we don’t know what’s going on. They landed a few hours ago and refused to allow anyone on board.”
“Who are they?” Brad asked.
He looked at Brad, raising his head in shock. “Damn… you really don’t know. They are with the CNRT, the closest thing left to a federal government. The colonel isn’t really fond of them, so we’ve backed away from most of their agendas recently.”
“So why are they here? You know they probably caused all of this,” Brooks said.
The MP looked him in the eye. “The colonel has his suspicions about the attacks, but that’s what you’re here for. Colonel wants his real estate back and this aircraft moved. Here… you better hand over your weapons.”
“They want our weapons?” Brad asked, astounded. “What kind of meeting is this?”
The corporal leaned in. “Sergeant, you give the word and I’ll be up those stairs to back you up, but for now we play by their rules.”
Brad chewed his lip, not exactly reassured. “Okay,” he said. He unclipped his M4 and passed it off to the escort then removed his M9 from the drop holster on his right thigh—neglecting to take the Sigma pistol from the paddle holster hidden in his waistband. Brooks handed off his weapons to the second MP, under the watchful eye of the man in black at the top of the ladder.
Brad turned away from the escorts and moved up the stairs with Brooks close behind him. At the top, they were greeted by the first of the recovery team, a tall man with an MP5 strapped to his chest and a balaclava rolled down around his neck. The man’s black sleeves rolled up past his forearms, revealing tattoos and a dive watch. Brad walked past the guard while Brooks stopped to stare him down for a brief second. The man waved them inside and turned them over to a second man in black.
Brad stepped into the fuselage and paused to assess the surroundings. He’d entered near the front of the plane; the seating area was filled with people, all rows occupied with the exception of the first three at the front. The rear cargo area congested with others, including women and children. As Brad’s eyes focused in the dark light, he realized some of the people in the cargo area were in mixed uniform. When he recognized his men, Brad’s face broke into a smile, and he turned to rush to the rear. Mendez stepped forward with his arms up, moving to the front of the aircraft before quickly being halted by another man in black.
Brad sidestepped the guard next to him, seeing more faces he recognized. Cole, Henry… all his men were there. The guard at the door quickly moved in front of Brad, preventing him from moving to the back.
“What the hell is going on here?” Brad asked.
From the front of the aircraft, a silver-haired man in uniform stepped into the space. Brad turned to the movement and spotted the older man before seeing Sergeant Turner at his side.
“Turner?!” said Brad, his jaw dropping. He lunged past Cloud, grabbing the man in a bear hug. “How…? When…?”
Turner squeezed him, chuckling. “It’s a long story, brother. I think you should talk to Colonel Cloud.”
Brad looked at the silver-haired man. “Cloud?”
“Good to put a face to the name,” Cloud said, sticking out his hand.
Brooks pushed Brad aside. “Ain’t you the son of a bitch that left us to die on that oil platform?”
Cloud nodded his head slowly. “Yes… That would be me,” he answered. “I’m Lieutenant Colonel James Cloud; I’m in charge here. Maybe you felt abandoned—I understand your heartbreak—but the real world isn’t as accommodating as you might want it to be.”
Brooks took a step closer, pressing his forehead next to Cloud’s. “You left us.”
Brad put his hand on Brooks’ shoulder, trying to calm him. A guard stepped from the back, dressed the same as the others, and jutted forward a thickly stubbled square jaw. “Can we get this prisoner exchange made and get the hell back to the Mountain, sir?” the man said.
“Prisoner exchange?” Brad said, turning to the man.
The man pushed himself closer. “You do have the girl, right? Get her onboard, and we can drop the gate and unload your people—”
Cloud raised his hand, cutting the guard off. “We haven’t gone over details yet, Mr. Walker. If you wouldn’t mind standing down with your men, we can work this all out.”
Brooks turned on his heels, finding a new target for his frustration. He pushed against the guard so quickly that the man had to take a step back. “So who the hell are these chumps?” Brooks said sternly.
The man showed his teeth in a forced smile, pressing his face back at Brooks. Cloud moved closer and put a hand on Walker’s shoulder, easing him back. “This is Mr. Walker and his team; they are… well, they are contractors. They take care of company business.”
“Mercs?” Brooks asked.
Walker hissed, “I’m a businessman. Most of you military types ditched your post when the balloons went up. We do the work you’re afraid to.”
“You’re a punk,” Brooks snarled. “I’ve seen your handy work.”
“Okay, gentleman,” Cloud said, trying to break the tension. “Mr. Walker, if you could give us some space, we can work this out and be on our way.”
Walker nodded, keeping his eyes on Brooks. “You’ve got five minutes then we do this my way.” Walker took a step back and walked to the cargo area. He turned around, still shooting Brooks a steely glare.
“You made a new friend,” Brad whispered.
“Everywhere I go,” Brooks responded, holding his glare on Walker.
Cloud looked to the other guards and pointed to the rear. “You two as well; give us some space,” he ordered. The guards shuffled to the back with Walker, standing at the ready and surrounded by the passengers of the aircraft. When Cloud was sure they were out of earshot, he leaned in. Brooks still had his back turned to the group, keeping his eye on Walker.
“We’ve got a problem,” Cloud whispered.
Brad looked back. “What do you mean ‘we’?”
Turner casually walked to the side and leaned against an empty seat back; he stretched then looked at Brad. “Seems those contractors think we are here to do a prisoner exchange. Us for some little girl?”
“What?” Brad exclaimed. “Ella?”
Cloud swallowed hard. “Yes, she is an immunity carrier for the virus; she may be a—”
“Old news, sir,” Brooks said without looking back.
Cloud nodded. “Right; my boss is in command of the CNRT, a general officer—General Reynolds—one of the last remaining figureheads for the Federal Military, or at least he believes so.”
“Never heard of him,” Brad said.
“I wouldn’t expect you to; he wasn’t in a high position when things started. After the evacuation of Washington and as people abandoned the Mountain, high-level officials returned to their home districts; many took sides with other factions and abandoned the idea of the CNRT. Well, that left Reynolds holding the reins. Frankly, the general still has a vision of a central government and refuses to acknowledge installations like this and others located across North America.”
“What does any of this have to do with us?”
Brooks asked.
Cloud sighed. “The general sent me to collect the remains of your unit, and then make an exchange for the girl. At the time, she was the key to developing a vaccine to prevent further spread of the infection.”
“At the time?” Brad asked.
“Yes, things changed. While I was away, the Mountain lab had a breakthrough with Aziz. They have developed something. The general wants the girl removed now, so that only he controls the vaccine.”
“So he did all of this, the attack on Savannah, just to kill Ella? Why?” Brad asked.
“Power,” Brooks said, still facing the men at the back.
Cloud clenched his jaw and nodded. “Yes, in the simplest of terms, if the CNRT has the sole cure, he thinks they could use it to reunite the factions.”
Brad looked at Cloud. “And you think we will give you Ella so you can kill her and have a monopoly on the cure?”
“No,” Cloud said.
Turner stood. “He’s flipped, Brad. Cloud is with us now,” he said. Turner cautiously pulled up the front of his jacket, revealing the pistol grip of an M9. “Don’t look… Mendez has one too, and the colonel. We’ve taken the aircraft; the pilots and crew are restrained. Boys back there just don’t know it yet.”
Brooks let out an exaggerated chuckle. “Oh boy. So how is this going to work? We’ve got a cargo bay full of civilians and between them and us, a highly trained crew of assholes.”
“Easy… In about two minutes, Walker is going to see us up here bullshitting. In his typical fashion, he will lose his temper and storm to the front and attempt to take charge.”
“Then?” Brad asked.
Turner spoke, shifting his position so that he was now just beside Brooks. “We take him and hold him hostage. Mendez will drop the ramp and evacuate the passengers to the field. That will just leave us in a bit of a standoff with Walker.”