Pandemic: Quietus: A Post-Apocalyptic Dystopian Fiction Series (The Pandemic Series Book 4)

by Bobby Akart

  Captain Hoover gestured for them to enter a formal living room, which was once impeccably decorated but now contained half a dozen maps tacked to the wall. Four of the maps were from the property assessor’s office, identifying the improved lots in the subdivisions commandeered by the government and within Captain Hoover’s control.

  “Would you like a drink?” he asked.

  “Water for me,” said Hunter.

  “Sergeant, I have just about anything you could want, including beer, wine, sodas, etcetera. Seriously, don’t be shy.”

  “I appreciate that, Captain. Water is fine.”

  “Yeah, me too,” said Mac. Mac sensed Hunter was still on edge. When he avoided alcohol, it was because he wanted to stay sharp. This was an important step and she wanted to keep her wits too.

  Captain Hoover asked his aide to retrieve the bottled waters and he walked over to a desk, which contained Mac’s case. He returned it to her.

  “I apologize for the rough treatment by our sergeant. He’s experienced a lot outside Star Ranch. We all have.”

  The aide returned with the water and efficiently retreated out of the room, closing the door behind him. Captain Hoover tugged at his collar as if it was strangling him. He exhaled before continuing.

  “Let me start by telling you where we stand,” said Captain Hoover. “Obviously, I have confirmed your identities through Cheyenne Mountain. Both the DOD and the CDC, a Dr. Spielman, I think, has vouched for you both.”

  “He’s alive?” Mac asked excitedly. “I mean, um, so much has happened. I wasn’t sure if they were compromised in Atlanta.”

  Captain Hoover sat in a Queen Anne chair across from them and leaned against the cushioned back. “I don’t know the details. Information is hard to come by, even for us. Apparently, hundreds of people began to gather outside the CDC facility in Atlanta. That became thousands before the governor was able to assemble sufficient National Guard units to assist.

  “The crowd was demanding answers and a vaccine. They grew impatient and stormed the building. It got pretty ugly and the director and some of his staff were removed by helicopter off the rooftop. That’s all I know.”

  “Where is he now?” asked Mac.

  “I don’t know, but it must be somewhere within radio contact. We should know more by tomorrow.”

  Hunter set his water on the table in front of them. “What happens tomorrow?”

  “At some point, and trust me when I say I don’t know when, they’ll set up a closed-circuit conference call with the both of you. I’m authorized to provide you a place to stay, but you’ll have to be on a loose form of house arrest.”

  Hunter looked to Mac and nodded. “Completely understandable.”

  “Actually, let me explain because it’s for reasons other than you might think. I have no concerns about you as a threat of any kind. Just the opposite, actually. I’ve been provided your service record, Sergeant. It’s nothing short of incredible.”

  “Doin’ my duty, Captain,” Hunter added.

  “Here’s the problem,” Captain Hoover continued. “The government seized this community weeks ago to create safe zones for the people they deemed necessary to start a rebuilding effort when the time comes. As a result, homeowners were removed, some by force, and others know their days at Star Ranch are numbered. In those tents outside are the new residents. We keep them segregated for fourteen days as part of our quarantine process. When they’re cleared, then we will remove another family and move those people into their homes.”

  “I can see how that might get contentious,” said Mac.

  “Oh, yes,” said Captain Hoover. “These residents don’t realize it, but they’re being sent out to survive on their own. The military provides them a vehicle with a full tank of gas and enough MREs to last two weeks. They can go anywhere they want, but they can’t stay here.”

  Hunter shook his head. “This is not our nation’s finest hour.”

  “I can’t disagree with that, Sergeant.”

  “Please, call me Hunter.”

  “Okay, brother. My friends call me Cappy. Listen, I hate this, too. I did things, following orders of course, that kept me awake at night for weeks. Here’s what I know. My wife and babies are sound asleep upstairs. They’re surrounded by good soldiers, my men. Nothing is more important to me than that.”

  Mac smiled at Captain Hoover and then did something completely unexpected. “Captain, I have the cure for the plague.”

  Hunter snapped his head to look at her. She calmly smiled at him and then turned her attention back to Captain Hoover.

  “I’m not a psychologist by any stretch, but my career requires me to be around a lot of troubled, hurting people. I can see that in your eyes and hear it in your voice. I want you to know we may have the ability to bring the suffering and death to an end. That’s why we’re here.”

  “Doctor, I hope so. The only things preventing me from opting out of this ugly mess are lying with their gorgeous little heads next to their mommy. If you have the cure, then I’ll help you get it in the right hands.”

  Mac reached for Hunter’s hand and squeezed it, an unexpected show of affection in front of the captain. “We’ll do everything you ask. We can all talk more tomorrow. It’s late and you should spend some time with your family, even if they’re sleeping.”

  “Roger that.”

  The three of them stood and Captain Hoover was about to open the doors to the living room when he added one more statement. “Also, they’re going to talk with you about Breckenridge.”

  “What about it?” asked Hunter.

  “We’ll talk tomorrow,” replied Captain Hoover as he swung the doors open, ending the conversation.

  Chapter 30

  Day Eighty-Seven

  Cheyenne Mountain

  It was 3:00 a.m. and President Garcia had just received a phone call informing him of the attack on Fort Drum. Prior to the pandemic, the concept of a president being awakened in the middle of the night to be informed of a crisis or a matter that presented a clear and present danger to the safety of the United States was largely a myth and only used in fiction. The wake-up calls were often unnecessary, but there had been occasions where an overzealous national security advisor felt obligated to provide a president bad or unexpected news despite the fact there was little that could be done by the commander-in-chief.

  Most often, the wake-up call was done as a matter of political optics, like the time President Ronald Reagan’s staff caused an inside-the-beltway uproar by failing to wake the president after two F-14 Tomcat fighter jets shot down two Libyan MIGs in the middle of the night.

  President William Clinton was a notorious night owl. He was more likely to wake up his staff than to have them wake him up. When he received the phone call at 3:00 a.m. in ’98 to finalize the Northern Ireland peace agreement, he was said to be sitting up in bed, wide awake.

  President Garcia had been sleeping much better since he’d abandoned brandy as a crutch to make it through the day, and night. The physicians at Cheyenne Mountain provided the President a gradually decreasing dose of Valium to assist him with the withdrawal symptoms and the sleepless nights.

  The afternoon of his inauguration, the President instructed Morse in no uncertain terms that he was to be awakened in a time of crisis, perceived or otherwise. He could always go back to sleep, but he never wanted to leave the impression on the American people that he was asleep at the wheel.

  After he was informed of the Fort Drum attack, and despite the fact it had been brought to a conclusion, he insisted upon gathering Defense Secretary General Denise Keef and the Secretary of Homeland Security into the conference room.

  When he arrived, coffee was ready as well as a variety of pastries. Every seat in the operations center was taken and images of the devastation at Fort Drum filled the screens. Security cameras had provided footage of the attack, which had concluded just an hour ago. The President stood at the glass and listened as General Keef conducted the briefing
.

  “Mr. President,” started General Keef, “the base is secure and the threats have been eliminated. As daylight comes in the east, the base command will dispatch patrols into the surrounding areas to learn more about how the attack developed. We have to learn from this, sir, in order to protect our other installations.”

  “Casualties?” the President gruffed.

  “Precise numbers are unknown at this time, Mr. President,” responded General Keefe. “We’re estimating several hundred, perhaps more than a thousand.”

  “What else?” the President asked his Secretary of Defense.

  “One of the big issues we’re facing is Fort Drum’s electrical supply. It has been destroyed, sir. The transformers were taken out with an RPG designed for a tank. Under the overall circumstances, I don’t think they can be repaired or replaced.”

  The President looked to the Secretary of Homeland Security. “What are our options?”

  “Mr. President, Fort Drum is one of the nation’s largest in the Northeast. If we cannot restore power, it cannot be properly secured and maintained. Our best bet is to relocate the Army to the US Army Garrison at Fort Devens in upstate Massachusetts. There are several other military options within the state. It’ll be crowded, but workable.”

  The President turned back to the monitors to study the footage. “Is this an isolated event or part of an orchestrated attack?”

  General Keef spoke up. “Sir, the attack appeared to be well planned, coordinated, and they used advanced weaponry, including a dirty bomb. As you know, our intelligence apparatus is not performing its function up to our normal high standards. We are more reactive than proactive right now.”

  “General,” interrupted the President, “with the information you have, give me your best calculation of what we’re dealing with here.”

  “I believe it’s the beginning of a ground war against our military, Mr. President—on American soil. The beginnings of this final jihad, as ISIS calls it, started with the creation of the plague pandemic. The logical continuation would be to bring the battle to us rather than defend their territories in the desert. This is their chance, Mr. President, to turn the tide of the war we’ve waged for decades.”

  “Are you fortifying our bases—their potential targets?” asked the President.

  “Sir, we believe every military installation is a hard target for their advanced weaponry, but we should also be prepared to defend our soft targets,” replied General Keef.

  “Soft targets?”

  “Yes, sir. The safe zones.”

  Chapter 31

  Day Eighty-Seven

  Star Ranch

  Colorado Springs

  The night before marked the first time Hunter and Mac had slept together without fear or preoccupation with the events that had enveloped their lives. The sun was on full display as Hunter pulled back the silk curtains of the impeccably decorated master bedroom of the home they’d been escorted to last night.

  While he stretched and wondered if coffee was an option in the kitchen, he noticed the activity near the front gate. The vehicles parked in front of Captain Hoover’s headquarters were being moved out and driven to different points throughout Star Ranch. Armed soldiers now flanked the gated entrance along the HESCO barriers. A Humvee with a fifty-caliber machine gun mounted on its turret backed into the entrance to block access.

  “Mac, wake up. Something’s wrong. Mac!”

  She slid up in bed and reached for her clothes on the floor. “What is it?”

  “Hoover’s men are scramblin’ around. It’s all hands on deck. I’ll be right back.”

  HESCO barriers ran down the hallway and entered every upstairs bedroom. He looked out of the windows, trying to catch a glimpse of where the other Humvees were going.

  “Hunter, where are you?”

  “At the end of the hall. They’re fanning out throughout the neighborhood. They must’ve had a breach in their perimeter security.”

  Mac looked in the mirror of what appeared to be a young girl’s bedroom. She adjusted her clothes and joined Hunter at the window.

  “Should we—” she began before being interrupted by a pounding on the front door.

  The door opened and a voice bellowed from below, “Sir, ma’am, Captain Hoover needs to see you immediately. Please join me on the front porch.”

  They scrambled down the winding staircase and Hunter searched for his shoes. He’d left them upstairs. While he ran back up, Mac asked the aide, whom they’d met the night before, what was going on.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, Captain Hoover will explain. Your belongings are in the HQ.”

  Hunter ran down the stairs to join them. The aide led them to Captain Hoover’s office in a fast-paced trot. The trio paused momentarily as a forklift ambled by them, headed up the street in the direction of the mountains.

  Two Army AH-64 Apache helicopters roared from north to south above them with a deafening roar. A Jeep was driving through the neighborhoods with one of the soldiers shouting through the bullhorn, advising the residents to remain in their homes until further notice.

  When they arrived at the house, men and women in uniform were moving briskly from room to room and then out the front door. The aide led them back to the living room, where they’d sat with Captain Hoover the night before.

  “Mac, look,” said Hunter, who stopped her and pointed to the top of the stairs. A young child, probably Captain Hoover’s oldest, was standing on the landing alone. She was holding onto the balusters, watching the activity.

  “Where’s her mother?” asked Hunter.

  “I’ll take care of it,” replied Mac. She left Hunter’s side and raced up the steps. Hunter watched for a moment and then joined the aide, who’d reached Captain Hoover’s side. The aide noticed Mac was missing.

  “Where’s your friend?” he asked, looking past Hunter.

  “She’ll be along,” replied Hunter and then he ignored the aide. “Cappy, what’s happening? Did you have a breach?”

  Captain Hoover took Hunter by the arm and pulled him to a corner behind the desk, where there was no other activity. “We took a hit last night. Fort Drum was attacked in the middle of the night. Those cowards hit our barracks with an RDD.”

  “A dirty bomb?” asked Hunter. RDD was an acronym for radiological dispersal device. “Radiological? Are they sure?”

  “Certain enough to order us on full alert here,” replied Captain Hoover.

  “Why here?” asked Hunter.

  “Because we’re sittin’ ducks like every other military base and safe zone created by the President. I get the concept of the safe zones, but putting everyone in one place makes us vulnerable to attack.”

  Hunter studied Captain Hoover. The man was frenzied and probably over his head to an extent. His role with the National Guard as the plague spread throughout Denver had had a profound effect on him. Hunter questioned whether he was up to the task alone.

  “Cappy, I don’t know what they disclosed to you from the DOD, but counterterrorism is my deal. Let me help you.”

  Captain Hoover took a deep breath and responded, “I know what the DTRA does. Here’s what I learned about the attack. They launched missiles at Fort Drum, using RPGs or something similar. We don’t have the details because they hit and ran.”

  “They confirmed the radiation?”

  “There was little physical damage in the vicinity of the RDD impact other than that caused by the explosive charge. But the contamination was widespread. They knew exactly where to target to have maximum impact.”

  Hunter shook his head and looked grim. “They’ll have to abandon the base. The intent is to flush us out of our nests.”

  “I’m afraid so,” said Captain Hoover. “If it happens here, every one of these people will leave one form of poison and walk right into another. My job was to protect them from the plague, not radiation.”

  “Cappy, we’ve got to assume they’re going after military installations first. If the attacks are go
ing to have the biggest effect on the nation’s psyche, ISIS will try to destroy people’s confidence in their protectors—the military.”

  “Do you think we’re good?” asked Captain Hoover.

  “No, I didn’t say that. Their MO is to strike fear in the hearts and minds of Americans. Whoever they didn’t kill with the plague could die by running out of their safe places into the disease’s arms. All it would take is one successful attack on a location like this and any hope of rebuilding America could be lost.”

  The lieutenant from the night before and two of his men stood on the other side of the desk. They were awaiting orders from Captain Hoover. For a moment, an awkward silence overtook the group until Hunter took control.

  “I need maps of the surrounding area. We have to expand our perimeter. Captain, may I have permission to direct your men?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Okay, Lieutenant, listen up. Here’s what needs to happen,” started Hunter.

  Chapter 32

  Day Eighty-Seven

  Star Ranch

  Colorado Springs

  Mac wasn’t a mother, but she was a kid once and knew what it was like to grow up in a loving home. She couldn’t recall her parents arguing, nor did she detect any form of hostilities between them. Not all children were so lucky.

  Children were like sponges, absorbing the world around them, especially when there was turmoil swirling through their eyes. They were sensitive to the tensions between parents and any adults in their lives. This applied constantly because oftentimes parents became so immersed in their own emotional states that they acted as if the kids were invisible.

  Regardless of age, kids could sense something was wrong. Whether a heated argument occurred between family members or perhaps it was the stress caused by a bad financial situation, children often took on the burdens and pressures of their parents.

  Mac learned this firsthand in Western Africa during the Ebola outbreak. Children in Africa during that time stood quietly as their parents suffered and died. They knew real pain caused by the loss of a mother or father. They considered ways to make it better, but because of their age and physical limitations, they couldn’t.