by Dirk Patton
She eventually got herself under control and stepped out of the Colonel’s embrace, wiping her eyes. Dog was standing next to her and pushed his body against her leg in his attempt to comfort her. A match scratched in the dark and Crawford handed her another cigarette. The first one had burned down, un-smoked. She took it gratefully and reached down with her other hand to rub Dog’s head.
“Bird Dog, this is Crow’s Nest.” Rachel heard the Colonel fumble in his cargo pocket for his radio.
“Go for Bird Dog.” He answered.
“Sir, you need to see this.” The voice on the other end of the radio sounded stressed.
“On my way.” Crawford replied, returning the radio to his pocket. He started to walk away, then paused and turned back.
“Why don’t you come with me? You probably shouldn’t be wandering around out here in the dark. Perimeter security is taking down about half a dozen infected every hour. Only a matter of time until one of them makes it past our lines.” He stood waiting, a slightly darker outline against the dark horizon.
“I’m coming.” Rachel answered, tossing her cigarette down and crushing it under her boot.
Rachel and Dog followed him across the tarmac to the control tower. Looking up, she could see a faint light glowing at the top, silhouetting a figure visible through the glass, watching them approach. The guard at ground level snapped to attention then held the door open for them. She followed Crawford’s broad back up the spiral, metal stairs.
In the control area, Captain Blanchard greeted them at the top of the stairs and motioned Crawford over to where a soldier sat hunched over an armored laptop. The Colonel fished a pair of reading glasses out of his uniform blouse and bent to see what was on the screen. Rachel moved in behind him and stretched up on her toes to see.
“What am I looking at?” Crawford asked. The screen looked to Rachel like the weather radar she used to see on the evening news.
“Radar image from our north picket, sir.” The soldier answered.
“An Apache holding station 55 miles north of us, sir.” Blanchard clarified.
“I was absent the day they taught us how to read radar at West Point.” Crawford said. “What am I looking at?”
“One hell of a bad ass storm. Sir.” The soldier answered, reaching out to point at the screen. When he pointed, Rachel could make out a vortex in the colors. Tornado? Then he moved his finger and pointed at another spot. Then another, and another.
“Tornados, sir. Four of them on the ground with clearly defined eyes at the moment. I’ve seen as many as seven, but not fewer than three since the storm came into radar range. This doesn’t happen, sir. Not this many, not this close together and lasting this long. And they’re heading our way.”
“What do you mean, this doesn’t happen? This part of the country is tornado alley, isn’t it?” Crawford’s eyes were glued to the screen, and as he watched another vortex appeared even closer to them.
“Technically, sir, Tornado Alley is a little west of us. North Texas into Oklahoma, but this part of the country does have them fairly often. What I mean is, that it’s kind of normal to see one tornado a night. Two happens, but are rare. Five and more? At the same time and as strong as these look? Not since we started tracking the weather a couple of hundred years ago. There’s always been speculation about what multiple nuclear warheads going off would do to the weather patterns. Increased violence and duration of storms was one of the theories.” The room was quiet for a minute as everyone watched the screen.
“How strong are these?” Rachel spoke before she realized she should stay quiet, but neither Blanchard nor Crawford chided her for asking.
“Best guess, ma’am, is these are all at least F-4s. And I’m pretty sure that one right there is an F-5.” He answered, pointing at the largest vortex.
“English, Sergeant.” Blanchard said.
“Sorry, sir. An F-4 is winds greater than 207 miles per hour. F-5 is greater than 260 miles per hour. Either one will wipe this airport right off the map.” As he was talking another vortex appeared on the radar even further to the south, or closer to West Memphis.
“How long do we have?” Colonel Crawford asked, removing his reading glasses and standing up straight.
“Maybe 45 minutes, sir.” The soldier answered, looking up over his shoulder at the Colonel.
“Recall all the pickets, Captain. Get the evacuees loaded onto the train and get it rolling. I want us out of here in half an hour. And send a runner to warn the locals. There’s not many of them left and there’s room on the train if they want to come with us, but I want that train rolling in 30 minutes.”
“Yes, sir.” Blanchard answered, turned and told the soldier that had given them the weather report to issue an immediate recall to the pickets. He stepped away and raised a radio to his mouth to continue issuing orders.
Within a very few minutes the quiet airport became a scene of controlled chaos. Soldiers dashed around, packing equipment and supplies and loading it onto the C-130s. The helicopters flying picket began returning, swooping in to flare out in combat landings, the air crews hopping out and grabbing refueling hoses. With the pickets recalled they lost their view of the approaching storm on the radar and the soldier shut his laptop down, packing up the equipment he had been using.
Rachel heard the door below bang open and a moment later heavy boots rang on the metal stairs. Jackson rounded the last turn and ran over to where Rachel and Dog stood with the Colonel. He had his pack on and rifle slung, carrying Rachel’s pack and rifle. He handed them to her and asked what was going on. Rachel filled him in while Crawford watched the progress on the tarmac below through the big windows.
“Sir, I’m going to check on the train, unless you have somewhere else you need me.” Jackson called out.
“Good, Master Sergeant. Thank you.” Crawford answered before yelling at Blanchard to get one of the air crews on the radio and tell them to get their asses in gear. Jackson dashed for the stairs, and Rachel decided to go with him.
They raced down the stairs and banged out the door onto the tarmac. Dog wasn’t sure what all the excitement was about, but he was ready to go, ears up as he danced around Rachel’s legs while they ran to a civilian pickup parked behind the tower. Jackson jumped in and Rachel and Dog ran around to the passenger side and squeezed into the cab with him.
The drive to the evacuee encampment was short, less than two minutes. As they approached, Rachel could tell the Rangers that had been guarding the camp were doing a good job of getting people up and onto the train. They had turned on floodlights, and everyone was already queued up in a line waiting to board, all of their worldly possessions clutched in their arms.
Jackson screeched to a halt and jumped out, not bothering to even shut the truck’s engine off. Rachel and Dog followed as he started jogging down the length of the train, making sure everyone was up and ready to load. Rachel stopped and turned when she heard her name called. She looked across the sea of faces, finally spotting Lindsey and Madison when they shouted again.
At first she thought the girls were just yelling to a familiar person, then she saw the distress on their faces. She trotted over to them, Dog on her heels. Jackson had stopped and came up behind as she kneeled to talk to the two little girls.
“Where’s your Mommy and Daddy?” She asked, looking around for the parents and trying to remember their mother’s name.
“Daddy went into town to find something. I don’t know what. When he didn’t come back, Ma went to find him.” Lindsey was on the verge of tears, Madison already bawling.
“They left you alone?” Rachel asked.
A large, black woman stepped forward and looked down at Rachel. “The babies is with me, and they be safe. Can you find those fool parents?” The woman wrapped a protective arm around each girl, both of them turning and burying their faces against her as they cried.
“We’ll find them. Get those girls on that train.” Jackson said. Rachel turned her head to look up a
t him but he was already running for the truck.
“We’ll bring them back.” She said and sprinted after Jackson.
Dog beat both of the them to the idling pickup, jumping through the door Rachel had left open and planting himself on the bench seat. They climbed in moments later and Jackson roared away from the train. They bounced over several sets of tracks, Dog yelping when he lost his balance and went nose first into the dash. Wrapping her arm around him, Rachel held him in place as Jackson drove.
It only took a minute to clear the train yard and race across the northernmost section of the airport, then they turned left onto the highway that ran into town. On the horizon ahead, lightning played amongst the clouds in a nearly continuous show of power. The air blowing in through the open windows had a charged feel to it and there was a nearly constant rumble of thunder. Dog whined and pressed harder against Rachel who spoke soothingly to him and rubbed his neck.
“You know that train is leaving in less than 20 minutes. Right?” Rachel shouted over the wind noise.
“I know.” Jackson answered. “We’re still close enough. You want out so you can go back?”
“Drive faster and quit asking stupid questions.” Rachel said.
38
Roach and Synthia sat in the truck on the side of the road, half a mile from the heavily guarded main gate to Tinker Air Force Base, just outside Oklahoma City. They were tired, hungry and didn’t know where to go. A few hotels and restaurants were still open for business, but they didn’t have any way to pay for a room or food. As they had driven around the city, it was obvious that the residents had settled in for the duration. Everyone they saw on the street was armed, and Roach didn’t like their chances if they tried to steal anything. Including gas for the truck, which was down to less than a quarter of a tank.
“What are we doing?” Synthia asked.
“Why are you still with me?” Roach finally asked. “You could have told the woman at the roadblock the truth, and there was nothing I could have done.”
“Maybe I like the way you fuck me.” She said. Roach turned to look at her in shock.
“What? You like that?” Synthia was one of very few women that Roach had not killed after having sex. He was a brutal and violent partner, using his fists on the girl as he penetrated her.
“Yeah. I do. Pain makes it better. Maybe sometime we could…” Her voice trailed off.
“We could what?” Roach asked when it was apparent she wasn’t going to continue her thought. She remained silent for almost a minute before speaking again.
“It’s just that I thought it would be kind of cool to maybe have another girl that I could, uh, do things to while you were fucking her. Maybe share the pain. Maybe even more than that.” She looked Roach in the eyes and at that moment he recognized a kindred spirit.
Roach was shocked. Intellectually, he had always known there were others out there like him. He had always wondered about trying to connect with another like him, but had been too afraid of going on any of the internet chat rooms. Too many stories in the media about cops posing as anything from underage girls to hit men for hire for him to take the risk. Now, Synthia had dropped into his lap, and he was stunned that he’d found a like minded soul in a girl’s body.
“I shouldn’t have said that.” Synthia said and looked away when Roach didn’t react to her statement.
“Yes, you should have. I think that would be cool, too.” He said and smiled. She smiled back and reached for his hand.
“You’ve done… stuff? Before?” She asked, still hesitant to freely talk about the topic.
“Yes.” Roach smiled and squeezed her hand. “I have. For years. It’s the biggest rush in the world.” He surprised himself how quickly he was opening up to her. How much of a need to share his adventures with another person that he’d been suppressing for years.
“So how do we do this?” She asked.
“We appear as normal as possible. Hide in plain sight. Don’t do anything on impulse, and don’t do it to anyone that can be connected back to us.” The advice spilled out without Roach even thinking about it.
“And how do we do that? We don’t have any money, any place to sleep, no food. Nothing.”
“Yes, we do.” Roach said and pointed through the windshield at the Air Base. “Keep using your sister’s name. You’re my wife. We met and were married last week in Nashville before evacuating on a train that we got off of in West Memphis where we took this truck. Whirlwind romance. No details. Play the frightened and traumatized girl. Got it?”
“Got it.” She said with a smile.
Shifting the truck into drive, he drove slowly up to the gate, stopping where indicated by a large Security Forces Sergeant. Three Humvees with mounted machine guns sat in a semi-circle just inside the gate. The guns were trained directly on the cab of the pickup. The Sergeant walked up to the driver’s side window as another with a dog on a short lead walked along the passenger side of the vehicle.
Roach identified himself and asked to be taken to the Sergeant’s commanding officer. He was told to stay where he was as the man stepped away and started speaking into a radio attached to his vest. It was a short conversation and he quickly returned to the truck.
“You and the passenger step out of the vehicle, sir.” He said.
Roach turned the engine off and nodded to Synthia to get out of the cab. She came around the hood of the truck and walked very close to Roach as they were led through a small walk gate to a waiting Hummer. A young female Airman was behind the wheel and the Sergeant opened the back door and waved them in. Closing the door, he climbed into the front passenger seat and told the driver where to go.
Roach and Synthia were separated as soon as they walked into the Security Forces office. They were taken to interrogation rooms and left alone after each being given an MRE and two bottles of water. Sometime later an Air Force Major walked into the room where Roach sat waiting. The Major had a file folder in his hand, dropping it onto the stainless steel table before sitting down across from Roach. Getting comfortable, he opened the folder and looked from Roach’s face to what must have been a file photo he had printed out.
“I’m Major Thomas. You say your Air Force Captain Lee William Roach. Correct?” He got straight to the point.
“Yes, I am. Scan my hand into the system if you don’t believe the photo, sir.” Roach answered, wondering why that hadn’t been done already. Maybe the system was down with no one left to maintain it. He knew the military used a civilian contract service to tie into literally thousands of different databases around the world. It would probably be a minor miracle if the service was still up and running.
“All in time.” The Major replied, Roach taking that as a confirmation the system was no longer operating. “First, you need to answer some questions. You are assigned to Arnold in Tennessee. What are you doing here, out of uniform in a civilian vehicle?”
If Roach hadn’t been on the other side of the table a hundred times at least, he might have experienced a moment of panic. But he knew the drill. Ask the questions to which there is an obvious answer first. See if the person you’re questioning tries to lie about something that there’s no need to lie about. That will set the course for the rest of the interrogation.
Roach spun his story. Mostly truth. He talked about the second wave of infection that had devastated Arnold. He embellished how he had helped in an emergency evacuation of the base onto a Globemaster that had crashed on take off. He told how he had escaped in a Hummer, as the infected overran the base, and drove to Nashville where he’d helped with the evacuation. Meeting “Tammy”, which was the name Synthia would have provided, falling in love at first sight and seeking out a preacher to marry them just before boarding the last train out of the city.
The Major sat quietly, not asking any questions as Roach talked, just jotting notes on a spiral notepad. When Roach finished, the Major started asking for details. He jumped around the timeline Roach had laid out, looking for any
inconsistencies, any change in the story that would indicate a lie. But Roach was a master of deception, having perfected that particular skill while still a teenager, and the Major couldn’t find any loose threads in the story to start unraveling.
“Thank you. I’ve got a few things to go check out.” The Major said abruptly, stood up, collected his notebook and file folder and left the room. Several hours passed, and Roach was starting to get concerned when the door opened and a Security Forces Senior Airman walked in with a bulging duffel bag.
“Captain, I’m here to escort you and Mrs. Roach to housing. Please come with me, sir.” Roach smiled and stood up.
39
It really pisses me off when I get fooled as completely as the Russian bitch had managed. Her English was perfect. Not a trace of an accent, not an incorrectly used idiom, nothing. And she had played the role of frightened scientist to a tee. But I still chastised myself for having been duped.
I knew that Los Alamos would be a huge temptation for Russian intelligence, knew it well enough that I had armed a nuke to destroy the place after we were gone, but the idea that Dr. Monroe wasn’t who she claimed to be had never entered my little pea brain.
Now we were in a world of shit. Three rifles trained on us, and while we had ours in our hands they weren’t aimed. If one of us started to move I had little doubt we’d all be shot without any further hesitation. But then, why hadn’t they just shot us as we ran up? What did they want? Did the woman know about the armed and ticking bomb five levels beneath our feet and need me to disarm it?
I didn’t think she knew. She’d been outside the vault when Scott and I had our brief conversation and I had set the timer on the SADM. So if that wasn’t it, what the hell did they want? I’m cute, but I’m not that cute.
“Lower your weapons, Major.” The woman said, rifle not wavering in the least.
“Indanahway suka bluut!” Was my answer in Russian, which I’ve found is a wonderful language for cursing. Translated, I said ‘Fuck off bitch slut’, which sounds stilted to American ears but is considered very offensive by Russians. Other than a brief widening of her eyes, she didn’t react. One of the men snorted, but I couldn’t tell if it was in humor or offense for the honor of the woman.