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

by Bobby Akart

  “Got it. I’ll get my men started,” replied the sergeant.

  The room cleared, leaving only Captain Hoover and his lieutenant with Hunter. Hunter thought for a moment. In Afghanistan, the Taliban were very effective in using the high ground to extend the range of their RPG attacks on American military positions. The location of Star Ranch was set at the base of a ridge.

  “Are there any balconies upstairs looking out of the back of the house?”

  “Yes, in the master bedroom,” replied Captain Hoover.

  Hunter pushed past the other two men, grabbed his AR-10, which leaned against the wall next to the desk, and ran up the stairs two at a time. He found the double doors leading into the master bedroom and made his way to the outer balcony. Captain Hoover and his lieutenant caught up with Hunter a moment later.

  Raising his rifle toward the ridge to the west, Hunter eyed the terrain through his scope. He slowly moved the barrel from left to right and back again. He lowered the rifle and then focused on a particular location toward the right side of the ridge.

  Pointing to a peak high above the last row of houses in the neighborhood, he asked, “Does that road lead to the inspiration point you were referring to?”

  “Yeah, it’s called Cheyenne Mountain Highway, but it’s not much of a highway,” replied the lieutenant. “It can be accessed through our western perimeter gate or the long way from the roads we identified on the map earlier. From our gate, it takes about ten minutes. Going the long way would take someone an hour.”

  Hunter gave the mountain one last look through his scope. “If my hunch is correct, they’re already there. Waiting.”

  “That’s on the maximum end of an RPG’s range,” offered Captain Hoover. “But they’ve gained at least a thousand feet, if not more, in elevation.”

  “It provides the perfect vantage point to see how things unfold below so they can target us to their advantage. Let me think for a minute,” said Hunter.

  As he began to turn away from the balcony, he spotted a little boy playing alone in the yard behind the house next door. The child was oblivious to the threats around him. It was also a reminder that everyone needed to take cover. There would be bullets raining on their heads at any moment.

  As the three men descended the stairs, Hunter asked, “Do the Apaches patrol this side of Colorado Springs daily? I mean, is there a discernible pattern or established schedule?”

  “Yes, usually first thing in the morning,” replied the lieutenant.

  Hunter raced down the stairs and into the living room, where he once again studied the aerial maps. On the backside of the ridge, there was a long valley that ran north to south. It was ideal for what he had in mind. Only time would tell if his hunch was correct. Part of him hoped his theory was wrong and this entire morning was an overreaction to the attack on Fort Drum.

  “Cappy, we need to order an air strike,” began Hunter. He traced his fingers along the valley and then tapped his fingers on the map where Seven Falls Inspiration Point was located. “Provide them the coordinates for Inspiration Point. Instruct them to fly low through this valley before they identify their target—a white van, older model, but it doesn’t matter. Cappy, they’ll need to have the element of surprise or the jihadists will get off a shot. I don’t need to impress on anyone how devastating that will be.”

  “I agree. Johnson!” shouted Captain Hoover to one of his aides. “Get me the colonel on the phone. It’s urgent.”

  Hunter continued. “I think we need to mount up and be on the northern gate to lend a hand. We may or may not have a firefight coming our way.”

  The lieutenant drove Hunter and Captain Hoover through the neighborhood. It appeared deserted as the residents were told to find a basement or secure location inside their house that was away from doors and windows.

  Initially, the colonel questioned Captain Hoover’s orders, who strategically left Hunter out of the conversation. Convinced, the colonel ordered the strike and suggested it would happen within the hour.

  Once they arrived at the gate, Hunter took up a position behind the HESCO barriers and studied the homes across the street. The afternoon was a beautiful, peaceful sunny day until the explosion.

  To their north, black smoke began to trail into the air. The lieutenant received reports of a car exploding at their perimeter fences.

  BOOM!

  Another, louder blast could be heard, apparently closer than the first one. The lieutenant gave the order and the three Humvees carrying a dozen guardsmen headed out of the north gate. Hunter joined three soldiers along the gate. He encouraged them and told them to focus on movement in the windows.

  Where is the air strike?

  Seconds passed, and then they turned into a minute. Hunter watched and listened. His years in the desert and firsthand combat experience didn’t fail him.

  Hunter wished the National Guard had a stealthy RAH-66 Comanche at their disposal, but Captain Hoover assured him they did not. The Apache was built for performance. Its blades were designed to maximize their uplift force—speed and weight capacity. The AH-64s had two engines with four blades, a main rotor and a tail rotor. While they couldn’t sneak up on anyone, their speed and agility enabled the pilot to use the terrain as cover.

  Against the quiet background, the Apache could be heard, but its speed didn’t provide the terrorists much time to react. Once the chopper rose up the canyon walls, it would be game over for their attackers.

  Hunter listened for the thirty-millimeter articulated cannons to open fire on the van. Each Apache was equipped with twelve hundred of these high-explosive rounds, which could be fired in less than two minutes. The sound, which reverberated through the valley, was unmistakable to combat vets who’d served in the Middle East.

  The pilot left nothing to chance as he unleashed two Hellfire missiles on his target. Bypassing the seventy-millimeter rockets, which were more than sufficient to do the job, the pilot opted to send a message, and get even, for the attack on Fort Drum.

  The twin blasts destroyed Inspiration Point and the white van full of rocket-propelled grenades and small-arms munitions, which were detonated by the impact. Debris and smoke flew into the air, giving the appearance a mini-volcano had erupted on the ridge. The soldiers on the front row of HESCO barriers became distracted by the sudden burst of the rockets and looked to see the results.

  Hunter, however, did not. He watched the windows of the homes across the way. In the upper windows of the second house down, he detected movement. The ISIS operatives were also looking toward the blast.

  Hunter didn’t hesitate. Shocking everyone around him, he sent three rounds through the glass, shattering the window and the chest of the gunman, who came tumbling into the front yard.

  He continued to search for targets, immediately spotting another one in the same house. The powerful NATO 7.62mm rounds overwhelmed the shooter and killed him before he could raise his weapon.

  The firefight had begun in earnest. The National Guard snipers apparently detected movement in the little pink houses, as Hunter called them, which constituted homes in the distance with a clear line of sight to Star Ranch. Gunfire flew over their heads from the sniper positions behind them.

  The terrorists were now engaged, returning fire but directing it at the front gate rather than the homes occupied with civilians. Hunter’s plan was working. The sound of flash-bang grenades could be heard as the teams in the three Humvees began to move into the terrorist-occupied homes outside the secured perimeter of Star Ranch.

  The soldiers at the front gate took on sporadic gunfire, but the bulk of the firefight was now taking place inside the houses across the street. After fifteen minutes, the gunfire ceased and the National Guardsmen began to walk into the front yard.

  Hunter took a deep breath and relaxed when he heard Captain Hoover report, “All clear.” He was always aware terrorist cells or lone-wolf jihadists were capable of terrorist attacks against Americans on their own soil. But this was different
. This had all the markings of a hot war.

  Chapter 35

  Day Eighty-Eight

  Cheyenne Mountain

  “Mr. President,” announced Morse as he entered the conference room, “the linkup is ready, sir. We’ll use the microphone here in the center of the table, and as soon as I turn on the monitor, the live feed will appear.”

  “Will the doctor be accompanied by Sergeant Hunter from the DTRA?” asked President Garcia. “I’d like to personally thank him for the role he played at Star Ranch yesterday.”

  “Yes, sir,” replied Morse. Morse turned on the monitor, and the dining room at Captain Hoover’s headquarters appeared on the screen. Hunter and Mac sat at the table, watching one of the aides scramble around to make sure the communications link was operable.

  “Testing, testing,” he said into the triangular device in the middle of the dining table.

  Morse leaned over the conference table and mimicked the aide’s words. “Testing. Testing.”

  He received a thumbs-up from the aide and gestured to the president.

  “Mr. President, we’re good to go. When you’re ready to speak, press this button. Otherwise, you’ll be able to hear them at all times, but you will be muted on their end.”

  The President leaned forward, pressed the button, and spoke into the device. “First, I’d like to thank you, Sergeant Hunter, for your efforts in assisting our guardsmen in the defense of Star Ranch. We promised those folks safety and an opportunity to rebuild this great country one region at a time. I’m told your insight was instrumental in repelling the attack.”

  Hunter spoke into the microphone. “Thank you, Mr. President, just doing my duty, sir.”

  “Well, thank you, on behalf of the American people and myself.”

  The President released the button and spoke to Morse. “I assume he can be present for the rest of this conversation, or do I need to clear the room?”

  “Sir, I instructed Captain Hoover to vacate his staff from the home altogether during this teleconference. Sergeant Hunter, who I understand might be romantically involved with Dr. Hagan, is privy to her work. He has a very high security clearance, sir.”

  “Okay, we’ll let him stay,” said the President, who once again pressed the button. “Dr. Hagan, my time is limited, so I want to get right to the point. I suspect a lot of wheels will be set into motion after this conversation, but one of the things I want to promise you is this. You and I will have a face-to-face private conversation regarding General Hagan, your testimony in front of Congress, and my relationship with the two of you. I believe it is long overdue, and unfortunately, circumstances dictate it may have to wait a little longer.”

  Mac pulled the microphone in front of her. She’d used the devices on many occasions while at the CDC. She was aware anything said by her would be picked up on the hot mic.

  “Mr. President, what I hope for today is to establish a fresh start and a good working relationship, for the good of the country.”

  “I couldn’t have said it better myself, Doctor. Please, in layman’s terms, if you don’t mind, explain to me the results of your work.”

  For the next five minutes, Mac walked the President through the science and the results of the testing. She became emotional when she discussed the manner in which her father became infected and the remarkable recovery he’d made. At one point, she left her seat and placed her iPhone in front of the camera in the dining room. She scrolled through the images of Tommy during his last two days of the illness until the morning they pulled out of Quandary Peak.

  “That’s remarkable, Dr. Hagan,” said the President. “Please don’t take this as a sign of any disrespect, but are you absolutely certain of your findings? I mean, can there be any other explanation?”

  “I understand, Mr. President. These are questions I asked myself repeatedly as my father’s condition improved. I wish I had the forethought to bring the laboratory mice so I could provide you live test subjects, but we had our hands full getting here anyway.”

  The President released the microphone button and turned to Morse. “What do you think, Andrew? She’s burned us a couple of times before.”

  “Mr. President, in the spirit of providing a fresh start to both sides, I want to give her a chance. She can join Dr. Spielman at Stapleton, and if it doesn’t pan out, we’ll show her the door—again.”

  The President chuckled. “Wow, Andrew, that’s harsh. Three strikes and you’re out, right?”

  “Yes, sir. If it works, you’ll be a hero. If it doesn’t, nobody will know except the skeleton crew working in the lab.”

  “What about this fella Hunter?” asked President Garcia.

  “I have plans for him that will help advance another agenda. According to our man at Star Ranch, Hunter is well-respected in Breckenridge by the local authorities. Let’s use him as a liaison, a way to bridge the gap for shipping refugees to the town. General Keef is concerned the town may reject our request to fill their hotels and condos with Denver’s displaced residents. Frankly, I wouldn’t blame them, but we’d force the issue militarily if we have to. We’ll secure his assistance as part of your approval for Dr. Hagan to be accepted into the fold.”

  “I like it,” said the President. “The chess games never end, do they, Andrew?”

  “No, sir, they don’t, and I have an even bigger gambit in mind, which we’ll discuss after this call.”

  The President leaned back in his chair and smiled. “I’m intrigued. Let’s wind this up.”

  Mac and Hunter appeared to be getting fidgety and the President was anxious to finish his conversation with Morse, so he got right to it.

  “Dr. Hagan, I want to thank you for your efforts and I want you to know I believe you’ve been successful.”

  “Thank you, Mr. President,” said Mac. “I’m anxious to get to the CDC and continue my work.”

  “Yes, of course,” started President Garcia. “About that, and Chief of Staff Morse will make the arrangements, but we will be reuniting you with Dr. Spielman as quickly as possible. Sergeant Hunter, because this is a matter of national security above your current clearance, you won’t be able to accompany Dr. Hagan. However, I’m prepared to provide you an escort back to, um, where did you say you lived?” The President attempted to feign lack of knowledge of their prior whereabouts.

  Hunter hesitated. Suddenly, he didn’t trust the President, but he played along.

  “South of Breckenridge, sir. I can manage on my own, but I’ll need a new vehicle and an ammo reload.”

  “Absolutely not, Sergeant Hunter. You’re a hero in my book and a valuable asset to this nation. I’ll have the arrangements made. If you wish, you may retrieve your belongings and any family members as well. We’ll provide you a home at Star Ranch while Dr. Hagan performs her work.”

  Hunter glanced at Mac before responding. He couldn’t wait to get her alone to discuss his suspicions. He replied to the President, “We’ll discuss it, sir. Thank you for the offer.”

  The four participants in the teleconference exchanged thank-yous and good-byes, leaving President Garcia and Morse alone for a moment.

  “Well done, Andrew!” the President exclaimed after Morse had shut off all communications to Star Ranch. “Now, let’s discuss what really happens next.”

  Chapter 36

  Day Eighty-Eight

  Cheyenne Mountain

  The President and Morse ordered lunch and then continued their conversation.

  “Okay, we send the doctor to Stapleton and we take her friend back to Breckenridge, right?” asked the President.

  “Yes, sir. It appears he hesitated, but I’ll send the colonel in charge of that Guard unit to convince him. Guys like Hunter will respond to a full bird before he will to us.”

  President Garcia looked onto the operations floor, which had been frenzied with activity since the attack on Fort Drum. Their immediate focus had been on securing military installations. Now they had to protect the safe zones as well. Until th
e revelation by Mac, the President was worried about his available military forces being stretched too thin handling predominantly local law enforcement duties and traditional National Guard functions.

  “If Dr. Hagan has in fact developed a vaccine—” started the President before being interrupted by Morse.

  “Sir, it may seem like semantics, but there is an important distinction between the words vaccine and cure. Dr. Hagan has found a cure, which means it can only be used to treat the diseased. We have no idea what side effects there might be and the optimum time to begin treatment.”

  “Fine, cure, vaccine, whatever. As long as it works. I want Spielman and HHS to be in the middle of every move she makes. Andrew, you dropped a hint during our conversation and I want you to spill it now.” The President took a big bite of his favorite sandwich, tuna and cranberry on whole wheat.

  Morse pushed his plate away and wiped his chin with a white cloth napkin. He washed down his Reuben sandwich with a Coke and began.

  “Tomas, I’m about to speak with you as a longtime friend and former client,” started Morse. “This conversation is purely hypothetical and never happened between the President and his Chief of Staff.”

  “Well, Andrew, you’ve certainly got my attention. Do I need to worry about recording devices?” The President jokingly looked under his plate and felt under the table with both hands.

  “No, this is strictly between a couple of old buddies. Fair enough?”

  The President laughed and gestured to Morse with his hands to proceed. He pushed his chair away from the conference table and casually crossed his legs like he was sitting with his old friend in a cigar bar somewhere.