Brimstone: V Plague Book 16

by Dirk Patton

  43

  Admiral Packard, wearing his summer white dress uniform, stepped in front of the full-length mirror in his quarters. He evaluated his appearance with a critical eye, satisfied when he couldn’t find even a single hair out of place. Well, all but his eyebrows, which looked like two bushy caterpillars that were suffering from a severe case of static electricity.

  But he liked them that way. Intentionally did nothing to rein them in. As he’d grown older, he found that often a simple glare from beneath those impressive brows was enough to send one of his officers scurrying for safety. So, despite a perfectly manicured brush cut, the barber was never allowed to touch them.

  Giving his jacket a sharp tug, he swept his hat off the dressing table and walked out to the great room where Captains Black and West waited. Both were also dressed for a formal occasion, the Marine’s medals gleaming in the subdued lighting. The Admiral didn’t fail to notice the flicker of surprise on his aide’s face that was quickly masked when West saw the uniform Packard had decided to wear.

  “Yes, Captain,” he said patiently. “I’m aware it’s winter, which calls for my blues, but if I’m going to send a message, I might as well make sure the cameras can’t miss me. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Most definitely, sir,” West said with a small smile. “If you’re going to crash the presidential debate, I can’t think of a better way to do it.”

  “Captain Black,” the Admiral said, turning to face his chief of security, “can I assume you have everything under control?”

  “Yes, sir. I do now.”

  Packard frowned, Black understanding it was a question.

  “Had a bit of a dust up with the university and the state police, sir,” he explained. “The debate is in a large lecture hall and university police didn’t want any military, other than the three of us, on campus. The state cops didn’t want my Marines inside the hall. Insisted they were more than capable of protecting you.”

  “Don’t believe I’ve ever known you to back down, Captain. How’d you work things out?”

  “I deployed two platoons of Marines onto the campus to secure the perimeter around the building and two more squads inside. You may receive a complaint or two when we arrive, sir.”

  Black’s face was unreadable. Packard looked at him and shook his head. In normal times, before the attacks, what the Marine had done would have been unthinkable. The military didn’t dictate to local law enforcement. But things were no longer normal.

  “You’d better hope I win the election, Captain,” he finally said with a grin. “If not, I’ve got a feeling the new president is going to remember you.”

  “I’ll take my chances, sir,” Black said.

  There was a soft tone and Captain West withdrew a cell phone and looked at the screen. A smile spread across his face and he held it out for the Admiral to see.

  “Latest poll numbers, sir. You’re leading the governor by double digits!”

  Packard glanced briefly at the phone.

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” he said. “This wouldn’t be the first election the press got completely wrong. Now, shall we go?”

  Captain Black broadcast an alert to the security team outside the Admiral’s home, then they headed for the door. A convoy of up-armored Humvees idled at the curb and as the small group walked to the vehicle in the center, a Super Cobra roared overhead. There were two of them in the air and they would pace the convoy, providing additional protection as they left Pearl Harbor and drove to the university.

  Admiral in place, the convoy pulled away and accelerated quickly. Across the naval base, roads were blocked and traffic was stopped so the drivers never had to touch the brakes. Exiting the main gate was just as efficient, and Packard was surprised to see civilian intersections secured and held open for his unimpeded passage by squads of heavily armed Marines.

  “You’ve been busy, I see,” he said to Captain Black.

  “Actually, one of my Gunny Sergeant’s suggestion, sir. He figured we were already pissing off the state cops and the university, so why not go for the trifecta and upset the locals. But I would have done it anyway. Too much risk sitting, waiting for a traffic light to change.”

  “I appreciate your efforts Captain, but let’s not rub too much sand in their eyes.”

  “Understood, sir,” Black said, using the tone that told the Admiral he’d damn well do what he thought best to protect him and anyone who didn’t like it could go fuck themselves.

  The three men fell silent as the convoy raced across the city. Black continuously mumbled into his radio, communicating with the Marines securing the route.

  “Large group of protestors ahead, sir,” he informed the Admiral.

  “Is there a problem?”

  “Not so far, sir. Just lots of yelling and sign waving. Confined to the campus at this time.”

  The convoy slowed slightly to make a sweeping turn, then accelerated on a broad boulevard that led to the university’s main entrance. Ahead, a sea of red and blue police lights strobed in the rapidly darkening evening. A large group of police in full riot gear faced a much larger group of protestors. A full platoon of Marines backed up the officers, ensuring the road remained clear. One of the Super Cobras pounded the air overhead, orbiting the area.

  “Captain, I’m assuming you’ve instructed your men that under no circumstances are they to fire on any civilian protestor,” Packard said, leaning forward for a better view.

  “Only if they are fired upon, sir,” Black responded in between radio calls.

  “This could go south in a hurry,” the Admiral muttered to West.

  As the convoy approached, the protestors surged forward against hastily erected barricades. Their screams and chants were clearly audible, even in the heavily armored vehicle. Several news crews stood to the side, filming the scene. A forest of signs, some hand lettered, but many appearing to have been professionally printed, waved above the throng’s head.

  NO MILITARY CONTROL THE NAVY KILLS

  NO MORE WAR PACKARD = MURDER

  The Admiral read the signs impassively as the convoy slowed and made a sharp turn into the entrance. The camera crews swiveled, focusing in as a couple of reporters dashed forward, shouting questions. They were immediately intercepted by several Marines and firmly escorted back to the barricade.

  They drove down a long, palm tree bordered street. The scene from the entrance was repeated, hundreds of young people lining the route as more police and Marines kept them back. There were several dull thuds as rocks bounced off the Humvee’s ballistic windows. Packard turned in time to see a phalanx of cops push past the barricade and take down two men and a woman, then they were past.

  “You’re sure I’m up in the polls?” the Admiral asked Captain West sarcastically.

  “Can’t please everyone, sir.”

  Packard nodded as the convoy swept up a long driveway and pulled to a halt in front of an impressive building with wide steps leading to a gabled entry.

  “Please wait, sir,” Black said, jumping out without waiting for an answer.

  Climbing several steps for a better view, he checked in with all the squads securing the area. As each responded, the second Super Cobra went into a tight orbit overhead. This time, the police helicopter wasn’t allowed in the area. The Marines had made it abundantly clear that they would fire on any aircraft, regardless of who it belonged to, if it tried to approach the location. The police pilot had taken them at their word and was staying far away.

  Satisfied they were as secure as possible, Black hurried to the Hummer and opened the rear door. Admiral Packard stepped out, ignoring the activity around him and the distant shouts of protestors who were being kept at bay. He moved quickly up the steps, Black staying glued to his side with his head on a swivel.

  The massive doors were held open by a pair of Marines and the small group swept into the building. They were in a lobby that was empty of anyone that wasn’t in uniform, either police or military. The
debate was starting in less than five minutes and all those in attendance had already taken their seats.

  This was Captain West’s strategy. Not only would the Admiral be highly visible in the front row, there wouldn’t be an eye or camera that didn’t follow his entrance and walk to the front of the cavernous room.

  Black paused with his hand on a door into the auditorium. Receiving an all clear from his men on the other side, he pulled the heavy door open and stepped aside. Admiral Packard, ramrod straight and cutting an imposing figure in his uniform, walked through.

  Hundreds of Hawaii’s most influential citizens were already seated, waiting for the event to commence. A dull roar filled the room as they talked amongst themselves, but the sudden appearance of the Admiral quickly ended every conversation. Within seconds, one could have heard a pin drop.

  Hat clasped beneath his arm, Packard didn’t hesitate to move to the center aisle and begin making his way down to the front row. The silence was absolute for several beats as he slowly descended the steps, then a tall, florid man got to his feet and began applauding. Quickly, the majority of the crowd joined him, the applause thunderous and continuous as the Admiral moved forward.

  On stage, the governor and two other candidates stood watching the spectacle. The two lesser knowns were unable to conceal the defeat they felt upon seeing the crowd’s reaction to Packard, but the governor was a consummate politician. He pasted a neutral expression on his face, despite a churning feeling in his gut that told him he was going to lose. But it’s never over ‘till it’s over, and there’s always next term.

  Reminding himself of this, he stepped out from behind the podium and came forward, walking down a short flight of steps to the auditorium floor and waited for Packard. The three news cameras that had been allowed inside were focused solely on the Admiral, so when he reached the edge of the stage they captured a smiling governor greeting him warmly and escorting him to his seat.

  As the governor turned away to return to the stage, Packard nodded and smiled at the woman to the left of the only empty seat in the house. Turning, he reflexively accepted the extended hand of the man to the right. Their eyes met and the Admiral saw something that made him start to pull away, but it was too late. With an iron grip, the man pulled him close as he drew a dagger from within his jacket and plunged it into Packard’s chest.

  44

  Lieutenant Joe Tread, leader of Eagle Team, swung at the charging female. The TALOS suit exoskeleton recognized the force of the movement, amplifying it by several magnitudes as his armored hand contacted the side of the infected’s head. Joe barely felt the impact, his target’s skull being crushed an instant before it was violently knocked to the side, snapping the female’s neck.

  The body dropped to the ground and Joe stepped over it as another female leapt at him with a blood curdling scream. She slammed into his chest and would have knocked the largest of men onto their ass, but the gyroscopes within the suit compensated with a brief whine of electric servos and he hardly even swayed. It was as if his attacker had launched herself against an oak tree.

  She clung tightly, ripping at him, but was no match for the protective gear that covered his entire body. Grasping the back of her neck, he squeezed, crushing the vertebrae before tossing her aside with minimal effort on his part. The suit did the work for him, preserving his energy and keeping him safe.

  Around him, the rest of the team battled the females in the same manner. A few times, one of them had been overwhelmed by sheer numbers and taken to the ground. The first time this had occurred, Joe had started to race to the Marine’s assistance, but hadn’t been needed. Before he could arrive, the man had emerged from a pile of twisting and screaming infected, shedding them like a great beast before crushing skulls with immensely powerful blows.

  The men continued to battle their way through the mass of infected, making for the roof of a low building where an orbiting Sea Hawk helicopter could extract them. Despite the tremendous advantage provided by the TALOS system, they were hampered by the sheer number of bodies between them and their goal. But they pressed ahead, undeterred, some of them even starting to crack jokes over the radio as they fought.

  Joe shut that down in a hurry. This wasn’t a game, and it was only the technology that each man wore that allowed them to survive in the world of the infected.

  Each suit came complete with a helmet that fully encased the wearer’s head. Equipped with integrated thermal and night vision, it was also outfitted with a Heads-Up-Display that provided the status of numerous critical systems. Fighting the infected required constant, violent movement and he was growing concerned over his unit’s power status. They had only been engaged with the females for ten minutes, but his had already dropped to seventy percent.

  “Gunny, what’s your power status?” he called over the built in comm link as he snapped another female’s neck and tossed her corpse ten feet through the air.

  “Sixty-five percent,” came the response a few seconds later.

  Joe muttered a curse, killed two more females and transmitted again.

  “Eagle Team, power’s about to be a problem. We need to get to the objective. Just push through. Get your asses moving, ladies!”

  As he finished speaking, he noted his display change to sixty-five percent. These things were great, but they sure didn’t last long. Not nearly as long as the geeks in Hawaii had said they would.

  The men quickly formed into a wedge with the Gunny at the tip and began pushing through the massed bodies of the infected. Now, instead of actively battling the females, they bulled them aside and only responded to attempts to drag them to the ground.

  Ten minutes later they had reached the base of the building from which they’d be extracted, and with not much time to spare. No one had more than thirty percent power remaining and a couple of the men were at twenty.

  To the side, a metal staircase ran up the exterior of the building to the roof. At ground level, it was secured by an eight-foot-tall gate with a heavy padlock. Gunny gripped the lock and twisted, snapping the thick hasp with seemingly no effort.

  “Move!” he shouted on the radio as he tore the gate open and stepped aside.

  Joe stepped next to him and together, they held the tide of infected back as the men passed through and charged up the steps. Following the last one, Joe punched a leaping female in the face, stopping her cold and sending her tumbling into the surging crowd.

  “Let’s go, Gunny!”

  He started to move up a step, pausing when Gunny was carried to the ground by the mob.

  “Power’s…” Gunny’s voice sounded over the radio, cutting out when his battery pack ran completely dry.

  Blasting through the gate, Joe battered the infected aside that were piling on top of his man. He broke bones and threw bodies in his effort to reach the Gunny. Ignoring the females that were slamming into him and tearing at the exoskeleton, he spied a grab handle on the back of Gunny’s suit and a second later pulled him free of the crush of writhing bodies, lifting him into the air.

  “Oh, fuck,” Joe said as a warning tone sounded in his helmet and an icon of a battery with a line through it began flashing red within his display.

  The suit continued to respond for a beat, then shut down while he still held Wilcox in the air. Without power, the internal gyroscopes were unable to maintain balance and slowly, like a tree being felled by a lumberjack, the two men began to tip over. More females charged in and they were quickly taken down and smothered in a screaming pile of infected.

  The only good news was that even unpowered, the suits protected them. The exoskeleton supported the growing weight of bodies on top of them so they weren’t crushed. In fact, neither man could even sense the weight that pinned them down. And neither could the infected tear or bite through the armor. All things considered, it could have been a much worse situation.

  It wasn’t long before Joe began to hear gunfire. Several rifles working together, firing single shots at a time, even
if the triggers were being pulled very quickly. He tried shouting to Gunny but couldn’t be heard over the constant screams and hisses of the females. So, with no other option, he relaxed and waited for his team to pull them out.

  The female that was pinned directly in front of his helmet was suddenly jerked away and he felt himself being lifted into the air. More gunfire and he watched as another of the men kicked two females that were on top of Wilcox. Both went flying, trying to get up when they landed, but were too severely injured to continue their assault.

  In short order, the team had them through the gate. The hasp was secured and they were hauled up to the roof to be unceremoniously dumped on their asses. Joe reached up and removed the helmet, sweat flying as it came free. He looked around at his team, nodding thanks.

  “What the fuck, LT?” Wilcox grumbled when his helmet came off. “Last goddamn time I trust a fuckin’ nerd!”

  “I’m with you, Gunny,” Joe said, slowly getting to his feet and looking around at the team. “Who else lost power?”

  All but two men held their hands up and when Joe asked they confirmed their suits were both under ten percent remaining.

  “How the fuck we supposed to do this?” Gunny asked, standing up next to Joe. “Less than thirty minutes and we need a jump from triple A. Gonna take a lot longer than that to do the job.”

  “Don’t know, Gunny,” Joe said, looking up as a big Sea Hawk went into a hover over their heads. “Don’t know. But we’re sure as fuck going to find a way.”

  45

  Mavis shouted John’s name as she frantically shook his shoulder, but he didn’t respond. She kept trying for nearly a minute with no better results. Tears streaming down her face, she lay in front of him, afraid he was dead. It took several minutes for her to realize he was still breathing. When she did, she renewed her efforts to no avail. Begging him to wake up, she touched his face, momentarily withdrawing her hand when she felt the heat emanating from his skin.