Flashpoint (Book 5): Convergence

by Ellis, Tara

  “There’s been rumors of them being everything from the militia to our own military,” Sandy added.

  “They’re neither,” Danny said hollowly. “We’ve come across both, and those pigs are nothing more than thieves and killers. They aren’t fighting for anything, and all they care about are themselves.”

  “Desperados,” Bishop said, as he stared at Danny and Tom through the fire, and she thought the way he said the word implied he’d dealt with such men before.

  “Desperados?” Sam asked, speaking for the first time since going outside. Grace had chosen to sit at his feet, and he rubbed absently at her ears. Danny noticed he’d been unusually quiet the whole day. She suspected Sam was thinking more about his wife, now that they’d stopped running.

  “It means a desperate or reckless criminal,” Bishop explained.

  “Seems fitting,” Danny agreed. She watched as Sandy reached out to take Bishop’s hand, apparently drawing comfort from the contact. It was clear the two had gotten close over the past two weeks.

  “I don’t care what we call them,” Tom said solemnly. “So long as we do something about them.”

  “Like what?” Tane asked.

  Tom glanced over at Danny, and then Bishop. “I know the trail they’re using to move back and forth between the freeway and their camp.”

  “So?” Sandy said, her voice strained. “You said yourself there was upwards of a dozen armed men. What do you want to do, attack them?”

  “The riders went missing somewhere along the freeway between Helena and Mercy, right?” Tom asked Bishop, ignoring his mom’s question.

  Bishop nodded. “We got confirmation from the station in Helena that the riders had made it there and were headed back.” When Danny raised her eyebrows at him, he explained, “We were able to get the station set up with a ham radio.”

  Rubbing his hands together, Tom then held them out toward the fire to get warm. “That makes sense. The trail puts out about forty miles south of town. I’d be willing to bet that’s where the riders were ambushed, and probably where they’ll be waiting to jump the next riders, too.”

  Bishop downed the last of his beer, stood, and then went to get three more bottles from the nearby picnic table. Returning with them, he handed a fresh one to both Tom and Danny. “You’re thinking we get there first?”

  Danny watched as the two men exchanged a silent, knowing look. They were both men with strong personalities and opinions, and she was thankful they appeared to be on the same page.

  Popping the top off the bottle, Tom tipped his head at Bishop. “I think it’s time someone shut them down.”

  Her pulse quickened at the thought of going after the thugs she’d seen butcher the two riders from Mercy. Danny knew she should probably be troubled that it excited her. After all the talk of wanting nothing more than to reach Mercy and find some peace, in less than twenty-four hours, they were already planning yet another fight. Maybe that was simply the way of things now.

  As Danny contemplated the emotions she felt, she realized that it wasn’t the thought of killing someone that thrilled her. It was because they were finally on the offensive. Instead of running and fighting for their lives, they were getting a chance to stand their ground and take back some control by making the first move.

  Leaning back in her chair, Danny raised her bottle to Tom. He held her gaze for a moment, and wisely didn’t attempt to talk her out of getting involved. Instead, he tapped his drink against hers in a toast, his face shadowed in the flickering firelight.

  “Here’s to a successful hunt,” she murmured, her voice low and dangerous.

  Chapter 9

  JAMES

  Master Sergeant, US Marines, 1st Force Reconnaissance

  Cheyenne Mountain Base, Colorado

  The accommodations James and his 1st Recon Unit were assigned sat on top of Cheyenne Mountain, which was how James wanted it. He couldn’t handle the thought of sleeping underground, and had made it well known to Colonel Walsh when he’d told the team they would be staying there indefinitely.

  The building couldn’t be called a barracks, as it was much nicer than what the word normally referred to. It was a single-level structure with six bedrooms, a full kitchen, and a central living space. James was told it was previously used for visiting personnel, or dignitaries and their entourages who chose not to stay in the mountain. Apparently, he wasn’t the only soldier who suffered from claustrophobia.

  While the electrical system had been fried the same as any other building that wasn’t shielded, free-standing lights had been brought in and were plugged into their own generator. Considering they had real beds, as well as space heaters for when it got chilly at night, they pretty much had all the comforts of home.

  Except it wasn’t home. James put a worn picture of his wife and daughter back into his wallet and walked out into the central room. He’d been doing a lot of thinking, and it was time to have a talk with his teammates and friends.

  “Hey.” Jay was already there, working on a sudoku puzzle. “What’s up, Sarge?”

  “Where’s Lucas?”

  Jay frowned at him. He didn’t usually call them by their first names when in uniform of any sort, unless something was going down. “He’s, uh, in the head.”

  Sergeant Lucas O’Grady walked out then, a hunting magazine in his hand. “Don’t know what I was thinking,” he mumbled, tossing the magazine onto a table. “Too dark to read anything in there without a flashlight.”

  “You hear about the attack on the FEMA shelter in Arizona this morning?” James asked, watching their faces closely.

  Jay nodded. “Things are heating up.”

  Lucas sat across from Jay and he looked up at James, his lips pursed. “You know, for a secret facility, they’re not very good at keeping secrets.”

  Jay threw his pen at him. “It’s not a secret anymore, you moron.”

  “He’s got a point,” James said, interrupting their banter. “If you think about it, there’s only one source of information both coming in and going out of this mountain. They got a report on the wire this morning and by dinner, everybody knows about it. Only reason that happens is because they want everyone to know about it.”

  Lucas was pointing at him and bobbing his head in agreement. “Exactly! I don’t like it, man. It smells funky.”

  “Why?” Jay asked, leaning over to retrieve his pen. “What’s the point?”

  James crossed his arms over his broad chest and narrowed his eyes. “Because information is power. Let’s take a walk.”

  Jay and Lucas exchanged a puzzled look, but didn’t question their sergeant. Wordlessly, they followed him outside and across a small patch of grass that served as a green space, and then onto the tarmac. James didn’t speak until they’d passed their Huey and stood on the edge of the hill, overlooking the valley.

  “We’re deep into something none of us wants to be involved in,” he said stoically.

  “You think our quarters are bugged or something?” Jay asked, glancing back nervously over his shoulder.

  “Highly unlikely,” James said, still staring out at the darkening landscape. “But I’m suddenly feeling a bit paranoid.”

  Lucas swallowed audibly and shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his fatigues. “Since when do you get paranoid, Sarge?”

  “Since I found this.” He turned then and silently held up a small piece of rolled-up paper. It was a narrow strip just wide enough to accommodate two rows of typewritten words.

  Jay took it from him with a scowl and clumsily unrolled it between his fingers. “Next asset is a governor. Missions = lies. Time to choose sides. Admiral assassinated. All who oppose will die. Dad is alive.” Jay’s expression was pained as he stared at James. “Where’d you get this?”

  James sighed and took it back, quickly stuffing it into his pocket. “When I got back from lunch, my Glock was out of the rack and set on my bed.”

  “Who’d touch your gun, man?” Lucas whispered, looking mo
re concerned with each passing minute.

  “No one,” James said curtly. “That’s the point. I figured I better break it down since I didn’t know if someone had messed with it, and that’s when I found it. In the barrel.”

  “That’s some serious 007 shit right there,” Jay said, rubbing his jaw and copying Lucas by looking behind them.

  “I never was a fan of spy drama,” James said dryly. “I prefer a more direct approach. You know, as in, say it to my face and let’s be done with it. I’m not buying into this cloak-and-dagger bull.”

  “It doesn’t even make much sense,” Lucas said, mulling it over. “So what if the next asset is a governor? What admiral was killed, and which sides? And if that was meant for you, why are they talking about your dad?”

  James huffed once and glanced at Jay. His friend had been smart enough not to push the issue about his dad being on the Survivor List, and agreed not to tell the rest of the team. Now things were going from weird to bizarre, fast, and James needed help figuring it out. “The last asset was my father,” he said bluntly.

  Lucas took a step back and needed all of about ten seconds to process the information before moving beyond it. “I knew your dad was in the military, man, but why would he be on this list?”

  His friend’s ability to take in the big picture rapidly was the main reason James was pulling him in. “I honestly don’t know. He’s been involved in some black-ops stuff, but I’m not aware of anything that would earn him a spot on the most-wanted list. I figure he either knows something that the government believes will be critical in our rebuilding, or else it’s too dangerous for him to fall into the wrong hands.”

  “Namely, anyone other than our own military,” Lucas added.

  “At least you know he’s alive,” Jay offered.

  James would have smiled in agreement if it weren’t for the hard knot in his gut. It had started forming when he first unrolled the note and had been growing ever since. “Why would a governor be important?”

  Lucas squinted at him, thinking about it. “Because they now represent what’s left of the civilian government. Something the brass seems to be at odds with right now.”

  “I don’t follow,” Jay complained.

  “After the president and vice president, the senate is next in line,” James said, trying to follow his friends train of thought.

  “Yeah,” Lucas confirmed. “The senate was in session when the flashpoint happened, so we should consider them gone. That would make the governors next up.”

  “So?” Jay asked, clearly growing agitated. “Why do we care? We’re under martial law; it doesn’t matter how many governors are left.”

  “Actually, it does,” Lucas countered. “Since I seem to be the only one who understands the government we’re sworn to serve, I’ll explain it to you.” When James glared at him, Lucas threw his hands up defensively. “Okay! I’ll keep it simple. Basically, the governors can all declare themselves senators and then, if enough of them get together, they can basically appoint one of them as the new president.”

  “Who could then overturn martial law and reinstate civilian authority,” James finished, grasping the magnitude of the position they were in.

  “So, you think our next asset is going to be one of these governors, and if our mission is a lie—”

  “Then we aren’t really going to be helping them,” James interrupted Jay. “We’re being used to shut it down.”

  “The admiral?” Jay asked.

  “Still no clue.”

  “Again,” Lucas said, throwing his hands up in the air. “Unlike you two, I’m actually friends with our pilot.”

  James shook his head. “And this matters because?”

  “Our pilot?” Lucas interrupted, pointing over at the Huey. “Lieutenant Jeff Carpenter. You know, the guy who’s been risking his butt on every mission we’ve been out on? Yeah, that one. Well, I talked to him today.”

  “And?” James pushed, losing his patience. It wasn’t the time for twenty questions.

  “He told me about how he flew one very pissed-off Admiral Baker to FEMA Shelter AZ1 two days ago.”

  “Baker,” James muttered. “Isn’t he one of the higher-ups here?

  “He’s one of the command chiefs,” Jay confirmed. “They’ve got his picture hanging in the mess hall with the other three.”

  “Why would an admiral go to a FEMA shelter?” James asked, the knot growing a little bigger.

  “According to him, and the earful he gave the whole crew during the flight, it was because he didn’t get along with General Montgomery and his…command decisions,” Lucas said, confirming what James already suspected.

  “I’m guessing he was ‘opposed’,” Jay said with angst. “And that maybe he happened to be one of the casualties in the attack we were all sure to be made aware of.”

  James looked at each of his friends and teammates in turn, knowing they’d support him no matter what he decided. “I have a mission briefing with the general tomorrow.”

  “What are you going to do?” Lucas asked, going back to glancing over his shoulder.

  A light breeze kicked up then, carrying with it the faint smell of the smoke that still lingered in the valley. It was a stark reminder that while they enjoyed the luxuries of power and comfort, everyone else around them still suffered. “First, we’ll carry out our mission and get the governor, but we’ll be making a detour before taking the asset anywhere.”

  Jay and Lucas both lifted their chins in response, and any sign of flippancy or fear dissipated from their demeanors. “Yes, sir,” they said in unison.

  James, encouraged by the show of support, gave a curt nod back. “For whatever reason, whoever gave me this warning feels my father is important in all of this, and I think I know where to find him.”

  Chapter 10

  EDWARD

  Oregon Coast

  Edward lit another candle and then pocketed the lighter as he shuffled slowly across the shadowy family room. The house groaned around him, making sounds he’d never heard come from it before. That was saying a lot, since he and his wife had lived there for over fifty years.

  The age-old saying that it was always darkest before the dawn was proving to be true. The unbelievable storm had been raging all through the night, and now that they were finally, at long last, inching toward sunrise, Edward couldn’t seem to keep the darkness at bay.

  “Edward?” Margaret’s voice was small and timid. It was yet something else Edward had never heard before, not even during the past eighteen days, after the end of the world. His wife was scared.

  Stubbing his toe on a table as he fumbled in the dark, Edward bit back the blasphemous words threatening to tumble out and hopped the last few feet to the couch. His old bones creaked when he lowered himself next to Margaret, another reminder of his eighty-four years on the blasted planet.

  “I’m here,” Edward said, entwining his hand with Margaret’s gnarled fingers. In addition to her failing sight, rheumatoid arthritis was busy sucking the life out of her joints. He’d refused to put the love of his life into assisted living, even when her memory started to fade and he would sometimes find her wandering the beach, unsure of where she was.

  “It’s only a storm,” he said soothingly. Except that Edward wasn’t so sure. Their home on the Oregon coast was solid and built to withstand the storms the Pacific Ocean sometimes hurled their way, but the tempest screaming at the doors was unlike anything he’d experienced. Not even in Alaska, or Florida, or all the foreign seas he’d sailed while in the Navy. It was…malevolent.

  The storm surge was the first real sign that it was coming. A monstrous influx pushed ahead of the low pressure that had swelled around their five-acre property and cut off any escape, though attempting to leave was never a realistic consideration. On the other rare occasions that the winding country road was flooded by local streams after heavy rains, they couldn’t even get through in a vehicle. This was much worse and didn’t seem to be getting any be
tter.

  Since the event, Edward and Margaret hadn’t been able to leave their home. The nearest town was a ten-minute drive and while Edward might have managed the walk if given enough time and favorable weather, he couldn’t leave his wife alone for that long.

  They were prepared. At least, Edward had always thought they were well prepared for any unforeseen disasters. Living on the West Coast for over half a century, the couple was well versed in all of the potential threats. They’d been through the eruption of Mount St. Helens, weathered the threat of a tsunami on more than one occasion, and had their fair share of power outages. In addition to sitting on top of the most dangerous subduction zone in the world, they also had several active volcanos close enough to warrant preparedness. They had a storm wall installed between their home and the wide, white-sand beach they were blessed to own. They had an expensive generator, lived on a well and septic, used solar panels, and had vast gardens that helped stock their root cellar.

  Less than three weeks after the lights went out and they were cut off from any supplies, Edward knew that it wasn’t going to be enough. Nothing they did could have prepared them for what happened, although he wasn’t sure exactly what it was. Certainly, some neighbors had stopped by and they’d conversed about what was being said by people in town or those passing through. It was hard to filter out the tales from the reality, though the most likely scenarios presented were either some sort of radioactive wave from space, or a coordinated attack.

  For Edward and Margaret, the what didn’t really matter so much. They would run out of food and a means to get fresh water long before that would be of any significance. Another monstrous gust of wind shook the walls, threatening to rip them apart. Perhaps the food and water didn’t matter, either.

  The west coast of North America didn’t usually get hurricanes, since the water wasn’t warm enough to feed the storm. Every once in a great while, California could see the tail end of a typhoon sucked up from farther south, though that was nothing compared to what currently raged.