Henry looked up from the game. He was holding a straight. “What’s up?”
Jerry darted for the remote control. On the TV, a DVD of a live Motorhead show that Henry had gotten from a bootlegger at the Orange County Flea Market a few weeks ago was playing. He switched quickly to CNN. “You guys are gonna shit when you see this,” Jerry said. He was so excited his voice was cracking.
The rest of the guys stopped the game and turned to the TV. Outside, other enlisted men crowded into Weinrib and Pearce’s room. One of them, a tall, lanky black guy named Jamal, said to another man, “…that’s the shit I was tellin’ you about, man!”
Colonel Livingston: “—asking all American citizens, be they military or civilian, to stand beside me and defend this nation from the forces both within and abroad. I’m asking that our allies come to our aid, as we have done so many times in the past for them. My fellow soldiers, I’m asking you to disobey your direct orders and do the job you enlisted for. Protect your country.”
Henry said, “What the hell’s going on? We under attack or something?” Behind him he could hear his brothers raising ruckus. Off in the distance he could hear Lieutenant Southard barking orders. “Briefing on CNN and MSNBC! Attention, major briefing on CNN and MSNBC, all soldiers tune in to CNN and MSNBC and await further orders!”
“Jesus, what the hell’s going on?” Steve said.
One of the soldiers that had come into the room with the initial overflow from outside said, “They’ve been running this as a loop for the past fifteen minutes. They’ll replay it again.”
From CNN: “Help me defend our country by defending yourselves. Thank you.”
From outside, the sound of vehicles, of weapons being assembled, of troops being gathered.
Henry felt a spike of adrenaline rush through him. It was unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. It wasn’t even like the rush of adrenaline he got while in the midst of heavy fighting in Fallujah, in the heart of Iraq just last year. “Whatever this is,” he said to himself, “this is big.”
Somebody nearby said, “They’re replaying it again!”
All eyes turned to the TV screen. Henry saw an older man dressed in military fatigues flanked by a guy in a white lab coat and a woman in a stained T-shirt and jeans. The guy in military garb began his speech again. “Good morning. My name is Colonel Augustus Livingston, U.S. Army, retired. Yesterday, my country had need of me and I answered the call. I was asked—”
There was silence inside and outside the hall of Henry Weinrib’s barracks room as he and his fellow soldiers were briefed by Colonel Augustus Livingston. Outside there was the sound of orders being given from what sounded like Colonel Harrison. “…we go up at twenty-four hundred hours!”
When Colonel Livingston’s speech ended again, Lieutenant Southard was outside their room. “Assemble on the field, soldiers. Move out, move out!”
And for Henry Weinrib, the war started at that precise minute.
* * *
Peachbottom Nuclear Plant
2:35 AM
It was a war zone—and like all war zones, it was hell.
The original soldiers under Livingston’s command who arrived at Peachbottom with him were thirty-six strong. A dozen were added through Peachbottom’s Armed Security Team. That brought the count up to forty-eight. Eight of those men were now incarcerated in a locked storage room for admitting they would not join in Colonel Livingston’s coup. That left forty soldiers and a handful of civilians to battle the Clickers and any Dark Ones who might come near the plant.
Upon arriving within the gated perimeter of the complex, weapons had been carted safely within the bowels of the structure. Guards had been posted outside, manning various spots along the high concrete fence. When the Clickers arrived, those guards commenced firing. Lieutenant Tranning had gone outside, bearing Livingston’s order to engage, and backup was swift as the rest of the soldiers stormed outside.
Private Paul Rodriguez was in one of the guard towers when he saw something that looked like a man waving its arms. He raised his weapon at the figure and it wasn’t until he had it within his sights that he realized the figure really was a man, and that he was in the river, clinging to a tree branch that had been lodged against the Plant’s damn. The man was waving and gesturing at him.
Private Rodriguez barked a command into his shoulder-mounted radio. “I have a civilian outside the plant, at the damn, and we’re free of Clickers. Can somebody get out there and bring him up?”
Private Atkins answered him. “Northwest corner, Rodriguez?”
“Affirmative.”
“Private Jones and I are making our way out. Our troop is covering.”
“Report back in three.”
Rodriguez watched as Atkins and Jones scurried out of the gate and headed to where the man was. He could see troops covering them from various points along the wall. They’d mowed down a bunch of the Clickers when they arrived, and now as he watched Atkins and Jones help the man out of the river, he thought he saw movement about one hundred yards out. “You’re going to get company in a minute!” Rodriguez called out.
The man almost fell back into the river, but Jones and Atkins were there to stop his fall. The man was on his feet quickly, Jones and Atkins helping him along as they hurriedly escorted him to the gate. A moment later, the shapes in the distance became more easily identifiable: Clickers.
Rodriguez saw the three of them make it to safety. “Get him to Livingston!” Then he commenced to engage with his fellow soldiers.
The plant was besieged from the south and the east by the Clickers as they swarmed up the swollen riverbanks. High caliber ammunition rent through their shells, pulverizing them. For the most part, the soldiers were safe; many of them were in secure locations, firing from atop guard towers or from the rooftop of the building. Thanks to the heavy wind and rain and the ferocious battle that was raging, some of them that were within close proximity did not see the dark shapes that moved in the shadows. Nor did they hear the sound of screaming as one of their own, a young soldier named Kenneth Reinheimer, was eviscerated by the sharp claws of a Dark One within the perimeter of the large concrete wall that surrounded the plant.
Kenneth Reinheimer was to have guarded the south exterior of the building. While most of the fighting was going on to the east and north, a skeleton crew of troops remained stationed along the other perimeters to stand guard. Kenneth was one of those, keeping a position on the ground right behind the South Guard station.
When the Dark One jumped over the concrete fence, Reinheimer gave a shout and swung his weapon toward the creature. He squeezed off several shots before the monster was on him, disemboweling him with one swoop of its claw. The creature crunched into Kenneth’s head like a child biting into a candy apple, blood and brain matter squirting between its teeth. Within moments, most of Kenneth Reinheimer was down the Dark One’s gullet. When it was finished, it ripped a metal door open and sauntered inside the plant.
It caught the scent of another human nearby and turned its head, trying to catch sight of the human, seeing him as the soldier called out, “Ken? Ken, where are you?”
That was all the Dark One needed. Relying on scent and sound, it dove toward the source of the voice and neutered it with slashing claws and snapping teeth.
The soldier went down in a spray of blood.
More Dark Ones slithered down behind the wall and joined it. The Dark One bleated softly, motioning toward the interior of the plant. Two of them entered the building. It then motioned around the corner of the building and two other Dark Ones crept along the wall, heading to the East side.
Scattered gunfire from the north. The Dark One listened, pleased with itself.
* * *
The man’s name was Tony Genova and he was bleeding profusely from a leg wound; he also had a nasty puncture wound in his hand. “Damn crab thing got me,” he said as he sat on one of the chairs in the lounge, dripping wet. His accent was a bizarre compendium of Br
ooklyn, Jersey shore, and Pennsylvania Dutch.
Jennifer tended to the wounds as Livingston, Jeremiah, Dr. Linnenberg, and one of the technicians from the bullpen, crowded around them. Only Rick remained where he was, huddled on the sofa, watching with interest.
Livingston looked agitated. “What did you say happened again?”
“The storm blew me off the road,” Tony said. He was Caucasian, of medium-build with short dark hair wearing the tattered, wet remains of dark slacks, a white dress shirt, and black shoes. “I was trying to leave Baltimore, trying to get to my sister’s house in Lancaster, Pennsylvania when it happened. I sat in the car until the floodwaters came, then I got out and that’s when I saw those things. They chased me, but one of them got me with its claws. Oww!” He flinched as Jennifer applied a dressing on it. “Shit, that hurts.”
“When did you say this happened?” Livingston asked. Livingston had been manning the communications outside when he heard Rodriguez give the news that they’d just rescued a civilian from the river. Apparently, he’d been clinging to a floating scrap of wood and the current had slammed him into the power plant’s dam. The Colonel sent Private Tom Schellenger out to meet them and escort the man inside. It was weird that the guy was out there; he should be dead, given the number of Clickers marauding across the area. The new arrival seemed nervous and evasive. He wasn’t sure if it was from his ordeal or something else, but the Colonel took an instant disliking to him.
“I don’t know, man! It was like, a few hours ago.” Tony watched Jennifer as she tended to his wounds. “Damn things…I’ve never seen anything like them.”
“Neither have we,” Jeremiah Brown said.
“You’re lucky,” Livingston said, appraising the newcomer. “It could have been a lot worse.”
Tony snorted. “You’re telling me.”
Rodriguez came on the line. “Colonel Livingston! We have Dark Ones at two o’clock on the West side of the building!”
Livingston drew away from the group huddled around Tony Genova on the chair. “Engage them! Give them everything you have! Kill them!”
* * *
The White House
2:45 AM
Donald Miller was adamant that President Jeffrey Tyler and a pair of Secret Service Agents go with him back to the Magog bunker. “It’s too dangerous for you to be here,” he told the President. The creatures were now reported to be swarming through the capitol. Alexandria and Georgetown were already overrun with Clickers— and something else. There was some confusion in the initial reports as to what the second race of creatures actually was. Privately, Miller wondered if Livingston could have actually been right.
They had taken up command in one of the conference rooms on the third floor of the building. Ken White informed Donald that the building would withstand the hordes—it was designed to withstand not only hurricane force winds, but most kinds of military attacks. There were dozens of underground rooms below the White House for the specific purpose of military planning during the event of a nuclear war, but Tyler hadn’t wanted to retreat there. He’d insisted that one little storm wasn’t going to send him cowering with his tail between his legs.
Instead, he’d remained in the conference room with Ken White, Secretary Barker, Kathy Hayden, who was the Secretary of State, and Donald Miller. Kathy told them that the head of the Department of Agriculture, Wayne Keane, was working on a press release to explain the mainstream media’s reports on the so-called Clickers that everyone was so worried about. Barker informed them that communications with Livingston had been cut off, probably due to the storm. “I’ve ordered Colonel Allman out at Fort Bragg to get to Peachbottom and place Livingston’s convoy under arrest. His troops can secure the site.”
“What about the possibility of other dissenters?” Tyler had asked.
Tyler had been livid when he learned that Colonel Livingston’s press release was leaked to the media. For the first time in Donald Miller’s tenure with President Tyler, he’d been afraid for not only his job, but his life. When Miller broke the news to Tyler, the President had already retreated to a private area to pray. At first Tyler had not wanted to come out. Miller had to tell him through the intercom that Livingston had committed treason.
Donald rubbed the bruise over his left eye from the punch the President had landed on his face. Tyler had been furious. When he stormed out of the bunker the first thing he did was take a swing at Donald, who’d been unprepared for the blow. Tyler would have beaten the crap out of him had the two Secret Service agents who were guarding the door to the Magog not been there. It had taken all their strength to subdue Tyler, who’d been in a violent frenzy. “I want Livingston dead, do you hear me! I want his fucking head brought in on a platter!”
For the first time, Donald Miller had been afraid of President Jeffrey Tyler.
It had taken Tyler a good half-hour to calm down. His anger was raging, and it had needed an outlet. The Secret Service agents had pulled Tyler off of Miller, probably saving his life. While one of them helped Donald to his feet, the other one walked Tyler down the hall, trying to calm him down. “Let’s just walk away from this and try to calm down, Mr. President,” the agent said.
“Fuck!” Jeffrey yelled. Then he took a swing at the Secret Service agent who was trying to calm him down.
Like Donald Miller, the agent was unprepared for the sudden violence. The blow caught him in the face. Unlike Donald Miller, the Secret Service agent reacted instinctively. Primal rage overrode years of conditioning and training. As President Tyler came at him again with another blow, the agent deflected it and, in a quick martial arts move, got the President’s arm behind his back. The agent had his service weapon out and was placing the tip of the barrel against the President’s head when Donald Miller shouted. “Stop it, Nathan!”
President Tyler struggled. “Get your filthy hands off me!”
Nathan holstered his weapon. He kept his grip on Tyler’s arm. “Calm. The fuck. Down, Mr. President.”
“Let go of me!”
Donald shouted at Nathan to let the President go. He then had to defer to the President’s authority to turn his back on what was to happen next. “I’m still pissed the hell off and I need an outlet,” Donald heard Tyler say after he ordered both Secret Service agents to disarm themselves. At first Donald had been confused; surely Tyler was just going to fire both men himself. He was unprepared for what was to happen next.
“You two, get out,” Tyler had told Donald and the other Secret Service agent, a man with ten years on the job named Hal King. “Now!”
Donald had seen the crazed look on Tyler’s face and knew that if he disobeyed the order his political career, if not his very life, was in mortal danger.
Hal King had tried to talk some sense into President Tyler. “Mr. President, with all due respect.”
“If you don’t get the hell out of here in the next ten seconds, I will make sure you will never work anywhere ever again.” Tyler thundered. “Do you understand? You won’t even be able to get a job at Burger King!”
That left Donald Miller and Hal King with no choice but to walk away.
When Jeffrey Tyler emerged from the Magog Bunker a few minutes later he was out of breath, his coat was rumpled, but he looked more calmed down. He straightened his appearance in the mirror in the outer hallway of the main building as Donald Miller and Hal King waited calmly. “He’ll be fine,” Tyler had said. He rubbed the knuckles of his hand on his coat, smearing blood on the garment. “He took his lickings like a man.”
Donald Miller had been silent. He didn’t know what to say.
“Let’s adjourn to the main conference room,” Tyler said once he was finished inspecting his features.
And now here they were.
Miller still didn’t know how badly Tyler had beaten up Nathan Howard, but Ken White assured him that it wasn’t that bad. “He has a broken nose and he’ll need stitches on his face,” Ken had told him in a whispering tone before the meeting kicked
off. “He’s resting now in the infirmary.”
“I agree with Barker,” Miller now said, banishing Nathan’s injuries away to be dealt with later. “Livingston and his men are to be rounded up and arrested immediately.”
“Any chance we can get Black Lodge in on this?” Tyler asked.
“It would be incredibly risky,” Barker admitted. He looked beat. The top two buttons of his shirt were unbuttoned, his tie loosened slightly from his neck. “They’d have to be airborne as soon as we get word that Gary has been downgraded to a category two.”
“What category are we at now?” Tyler asked.
Miller answered. “National Weather Bureau has downgraded Gary to a Category Four and weakening.”
“So we can have Black Lodge at Peachbottom by dawn,” Barker said.
“Let’s do it.” Tyler turned to Miller. “We need to deal with the press. We need to get Black Lodge to CNN, MSNBC, and Fox as soon as possible.”
“I agree,” Donald Miller said. “The problem is going to be their affiliate stations and local news outlets.”
Tyler looked as if he was going to lose control of his emotions again. His features twisted into a grimace as he slammed the conference room table with his fists. “Call in an order to military bases in other parts of the country. Order them to send troops to all local news stations and order the programming managers to cease transmission of that footage. Anyone that refuses is to be shot.”
Donald Miller didn’t even blink, but Secretary Barker gave a short gasp. He quickly regained his composure. “Yes, Mr. President.” He rose from his seat and went over to a phone on the other side of the room to get a secure line.
* * *
Various locations across the United States
2:50 AM, Eastern Standard Time
Clickers II: The Next Wave Page 25