“What if she isn’t there?” Steele asked.
Ahmed paused, digesting his words like undercooked meat. He placed a hand on Steele’s arm. “She will be. She’s strong.”
Steele nodded, his head low.
Ahmed peered nervously out his window. “But in a few minutes, we are going to make some infected friends, and I would much rather be inside the base than outside it,” he said. Twisting his frame, he looked over his shoulder.
Infected flanked them on either side. They walked through the long grass fields adjacent to the airfield. Steele sat frozen by doubt.
Ahmed dribbled on, sounding more and more concerned with every minute.
Everything was unfocused in Steele’s eyes, a fuzzy blur before him. I have to know, but will the truth break me? I don’t know if I can handle her death. Her death broke me before. What will it do, now? His hands crushed the steering wheel.
His foot set down on the gas and self-preservation overcame self-doubt. He definitely didn’t want to get caught in the gunfire if the soldiers decided to open up. His pickup rolled forward, steady and slow like a turtle on wheels.
“Get me something white. Hurry,” Steele said.
Ahmed dove in the backseat, tearing apart gear.
“I don’t see anything.”
Guns leveled in their direction.
We aren’t running the barricade. “Something white, Ahmed. If you like living, get me something white.”
“Ahhh,” Ahmed yelled. He stripped off his shirt and removed his undershirt, handing it to Steele. Ahmed held his injured arm over his bare chest.
Steele whipped the white t-shirt out the window and stopped the pickup. He waited a minute. Ahmed’s head turned from the soldiers to the infected.
“Why haven’t they come out yet?” Ahmed said. The soldiers watched them, cigarettes hanging out the side of their mouths. Helmeted heads stuck up out of Humvee turrets. They trained fifty-caliber machine guns on Steele’s pickup.
“I don’t know. But keep your eye on the infected.”
“I got ten within forty feet,” Ahmed said.
“I got eight moving up the road,” Steele said. He reached behind him, grabbing his carbine. Two options flashed in his mind like bright burning warning signs. Throw it in reverse and drive off never knowing if Gwen was in the base, or make a run on foot to the gates and hope to God that those assholes would let them in. Neither choice was good, but he had to know. He opened the door of the truck and it whined loudly in protest.
“We gotta make a run for it,” Steele called at him. They both took off for the gate. In one hand he held Ahmed’s undershirt over his head, the other held his carbine pointed at the ground. Please don’t shoot us, he thought over and over. Ahmed kept pace with him, one good arm pumping at his side.
Ten yards from the gate, one of the guards shouted out. He put his hand in the air. “Stop. Drop your guns,” the soldier screamed.
Steele complied. He tossed the shirt and carbine on the ground. His hands lifted above his head. There were no halves. They either let him in, shot him, or the infected would make quick work of them at the gate.
A salt and peppered bearded man locked his fingers on the chain-link fence looking through at them. “We were wondering what you two boys were doing out there.” Chevrons decorated his upper arm along with an American flag.
“There are infected behind us,” Steele panted.
“Oh, we can see them.” He jutted his unshaven chin out past Steele. “But you see, we aren’t too worried about them. ’Cause we got this old fence here to slow them down. You, on the other hand,” the grizzled soldier said. He rose a hand outward from his body and tilted his head to the side to emphasis the questionableness of their predicament.
“We are seeking sanctuary. Please let us in.”
The soldier grinned. “Sanctuary. You ran all the way over here to say that? I was expecting a bit more. You don’t got any guns, and you don’t got no fence. So to me it looks like you are up a shit creek,” he said with a grin.
“Please. We’re on a mission from Colonel Jackson in Pittsburgh. Is he here? He promised us refuge,” Steele said. He glanced behind him. The dead closed in to the gate. The pack tightened around them, cutting off all paths of retreat save through the closed gate. Like a flesh-laden noose they cinched tight around Steele and Ahmed. Fresh blood covered their face and hands.
The soldiers traded looks with each other.
“Colonel Jackson? You were on a mission from him?” the sergeant first class said.
“Yes, please,” Steele pleaded.
The sentry gave a wave. “Light ’em up Donnie.”
The thunder of the fifty roared over the fence. Steele could feel the concussions from the rounds as they screeched overhead. It seemed to suck the air out of his lungs, and when he realized that he was not the target of their hot lead he threw himself to ground, bringing Ahmed with him. As his hearing came back, he could see Ahmed’s mouth working out a yell. Steele gathered himself and stood up, brushing his chest off. The gate rolled open and the fence clanked.
“Cutting it a bit close.” Being used as bait for the infected was not a prospect that Steele enjoyed.
“Wooo,” shouted the soldier on the fifty. He threw a fist up in the air. Smoke drifted up from his machine gun barrel. “You see that? That Zulu’s head just popped right off.”
“Which one?” shouted another soldier.
“The fat one,” he shouted down at him.
“Let me see it,” the other soldier said.
“Sarge, you think I could get it? Ya know, keep it as a trophy?”
“Knock it off, Jacobs,” the sergeant first class yelled at him.
Steele helped Ahmed up. The sergeant first class smiled at them. “Well, come on in, guys.”
Ahmed and Steele walked inside only a few feet from the soldiers. The platoon of Army soldiers stood watching them curiously. A few stood inside a guard shack. The rest were lounging inside Humvees doors open and standing around.
“So Colonel Jackson sent you two lovebirds on a mission?”
Steele dusted off his shirt. “That’s correct. We were with EOD Specialist Barnes. We completed Operation Anaconda.”
“You were with Barnes? That crazy son of a bitch. Where is he?”
“Blew himself up.” The words didn’t touch the soldier’s eyes. He blinked. A corporal standing nearby leaned in and whispered into the sergeant first class’s ear. He frowned, removing a rolled-up photo from his ACU breast pocket. He looked down at the picture then back at Steele. The senior NCO’s mouth moved as if he were chewing the inside of his cheek.
“Barnes blew himself up? So he’s dead?”
“Unfortunately, yes.” Steele didn’t like where this line of questioning was going.
“Well, you see we have a bit of a problem.” The tone of his voice made Steele’s hackles stand on end. The sergeant first class flicked the photograph with his index finger, gently shaking his head.
“Why’s that?” Steele asked, rubbing his ear. He stuck his finger in his left ear and shook it. His head still continued to ring.
“It’s quite simple. We found this picture along with the bodies of some of our guys.” He pushed a photo of Steele and Gwen into Steele’s face.
“I don’t understand,” he said. The beach. Beautiful day. “How did you get that?” What is a picture of Gwen and I doing by the bodies of murdered soldiers? He snatched it from the NCO’s hands.
“Where is she?” Steele demanded. His mouth turned into a snarl. “Where is she?” he shouted at the sergeant first class.
“That’s a good question. Is that you in the photo, son?” he said.
“Yes—,” Steele started. He was confused. He didn’t have time to contemplate his words before the a rifle butt landed against the back of his head.
KINNICK
Youngstown Airfield, Youngstown, OH
He had been in and out of Pittsburgh for as many hours a day as he co
uld maintain, for days, but still hadn’t discovered Colonel Jackson and his mystery convoy. He had traveled to every other airfield in the region. The last stop on his route was the Youngstown Airfield, home of the 163rd Air Transport Wing of the Ohio Air National Guard.
North of Pittsburgh, the Zelienople Airfield had been overrun. He prayed to God that Youngstown was not, or they would be flying on fumes to the next airfield. He had his pilots set down near the air traffic control tower.
A single soldier jogged out as the rotors wound down, head ducked and covering his eyes.
“Where you coming from?” the bearded soldier yelled.
Kinnick hopped down, surrounded by his operators.
“We’re coming from D.C., and we need fuel. I’m looking for a Colonel Jackson or your CO?” he said.
The soldier’s eyes darted back and forth. “I can take you to Colonel Jackson. We haven’t had any traffic in a few days. We were wondering if you guys forgot about us,” the soldier said, licking his lips. Kinnick looked at the man. His greasy hair stuck out every which way, his shirt was untucked, and his rifle hung loosely over his shoulder like it was a gym bag. His ACUs were patched with a red anvil on his sleeve and a single chevron or mosquito wings at the center of his chest.
“Colonel Jackson is here?”
“Yeah, he’s here. He’s our CO.”
“Private, please lead the way. We’ve been looking for him.” He gestured to Master Sergeant Hunter. “I want Lewis and Gibson to stay with the helos. Rest of the men to the chow hall. I want you with me,” Kinnick ordered. Under his breath, he said, “Stay close. I’m getting a bad vibe from this place.”
“Roger that. These guys look gaggle-fucked as hell,” Master Sergeant Hunter said.
Colonel Kinnick and Master Sergeant Hunter tailed the private inside a gray-sided airfield office building attached to the air traffic control tower. A couple of soldiers stood out front smoking cigarettes. They gave Kinnick a hostile look. Kinnick instinctively ran his hand over his Beretta 9mm and made it seem as if he were adjusting his belt. He felt Master Sergeant Hunter’s presence nearby. A wolf in soldier’s clothing, ready to break free, fangs bared, at any moment.
They walked up some dark steps that led to a command room. The private opened the door and stepped inside. Kinnick entered with a bit of apprehension as if he walked into a trap but was powerless to fight it.
A bald man with loosely laced combat boots sat with his feet up on the table. Maps covered the table in a haphazard manner. The corners of the parchment were held down by empty food containers and cans of beer. A couple of sergeants sat in folding chairs nearby. One had a grisly necklace of ears around his neck. A scantily clad blonde woman stood in the background waiting on the men. Kinnick did not like their collective disheveled look. These men are ate up. They reminded him of rabid dogs. Simultaneous wild eyes and hard eyes.
“Colonel Jackson?” Kinnick said.
The man with his feet up sat back, letting his boots drop to the ground. He waved Kinnick over. He was a short man with broad shoulders.
“Come on over and take a seat,” Colonel Jackson said.
Kinnick moved a bit closer and stood at the ready. “I would prefer to stand. How are things here?” he asked. Clearly, they had deteriorated rapidly.
Jackson grinned, his skeletal face wrapped in thin skin. “Things are going just fine. I see you came in on a couple of pretty birds.”
“We did. I am on a special mission from General Travis at the Pentagon—,” Kinnick said before he was interrupted.
“The Pentagon. Ah, the cerebrum. The brain that sends out little electric commands to all its fingers and its itty bitty toes. Except I haven’t received any electric pulses from them in a few days, or anybody for that matter.”
“You haven’t heard from General Travis?” Kinnick asked.
“Our communications have been limited.” Colonel Jackson let it sink in. “And you must be their little errand boy. I ask for orders from NORTHCOM and they send me you.” He spread his hands out in front of him and leaned back in his chair. “How can my base be at your assistance?”
The taller and meaner of the two sergeants snorted a laugh that was cut short by an evil look from Jackson.
Kinnick ignored his indiscretion. “Yes, it is very important. I am looking for a doctor. A Dr. Jackowski.”
“I’ve met him. Skittish fellow,” Colonel Jackson said. He rubbed his upper lip.
“Do you know where he is?” Kinnick said hurriedly.
“I’m not sure, now,” Colonel Jackson said, smoothing the creases of his mouth. “But I know someone who does. Follow me, Colonel,” he said. He stood back up from his chair with a smile.
Kinnick’s skin crawled. They were shadowed by sergeants in unbuttoned ACU jackets, stained undershirts beneath. The one with the ear necklace smiled at Kinnick, only one side of his lips lifting upright. This place was not right.
Back down the stairs they marched, and Colonel Jackson led them outside. A civilian camp covered the grounds, stretching over a parking lot and grassy field. He led them to the other side of the air traffic control tower.
“Ah, there they are,” Colonel Jackson said, gesturing at a couple of bodies facedown in the grass; they’d clearly been stripped of essential equipment.
Kinnick bent down, looking down at them. Their skin was pale and looked cold. Been dead at least a few days.
“Why were these men not given a proper burial?”
“What’s the point, Colonel? We are all gonna die soon anyway, but I am afraid that the answer to your doctor’s whereabouts lies with these brave men. The doctor and his minions murdered these soldiers. Killed American soldiers and defied my orders and deserted my command,” Jackson said, spittle flying. He licked his lips, calming himself.
An infected beat the fence with his hands. His face pressed painfully into the links.
“Will you excuse me for a moment?” Colonel Jackson asked, raising his eyebrows with an apologetic smile. He drew his firearm and marched to the fence. He pointed his gun at the infected’s face. The creature clawed the fence with zero regard that the colonel was about to put a bullet through its head. Jackson kept his gun steady for a moment, almost as if he were waiting for the infected to flinch. He pulled the trigger and the infected lost part of its head.
Kinnick stared down at the bodies. Americans fighting their own military. Not impossible, but is this the new norm, or is this isolated?
Colonel Jackson walked back to Kinnick. His eyes held a bit of fury. He holstered his weapon. “Now, where were we?” he asked, straightening his ACUs. “Oh yes. We were discussing chain of command, and our civilian components. Does your General Travis or any of those pukes out in Colorado have any idea what it’s like out here?” He rose non-existent eyebrows at Kinnick. He didn’t expect an answer. This was a lecture. “You’ve seen it. You must have. The dead. The eaten. The survivors. It’s as if they all want you dead. This isn’t hell, Colonel Kinnick. This is worse than hell,” Colonel Jackson said, kicking dirt at the fallen soldiers.
“I believe that they do understand the dire fight on our hands. General Travis’s mission may tip the scales of this war.”
Colonel Jackson laughed a bit.
“Dire fight. Ha. Do you know how many people I’ve killed over the last month?” Jackson asked. He crouched down and picked up a handful of dirt.
“No, I do not.” Kinnick began to question his understanding of the conflict. Are we too far gone? Look at this once proud American soldier. He’s snapped.
“Do you know how many American citizens I have killed or ordered killed? Do I even blame them for killing my men in return? My men. Men who look to me to lead them into and out of battle safely. Men who rely on me to point them in the right direction.”
Kinnick was silent.
“Hundreds. No, Thousands. Tens of thousands of the monsters I have ordered destroyed. Monsters. They aren’t human. They might look like Aunt Sally, but they eat
like dogs. Bellies swollen from eating every last drop. Do you feel nothing when you take them down?”
“The people infected by the virus are no longer to be considered human by Congressional Act 661,” Kinnick prattled off.
“No, I mean all of them. Live civilians too. What’s the difference? You are either with the unit or against it. All of them. It’s us versus everyone else.”
“Then you should check your morals, Colonel,” Kinnick said. He looked back at the civilian camp. A woman cried out as she was hauled by her elbows to a tent by two soldiers.
Madness. This base had gone mad.
Colonel Jackson squinted and a smile settled on his lips. “It is an unfortunate side effect of this conflict. Can you blame the boys?”
Kinnick pointed out. “What are they doing to that woman?”
“They’re just blowing off some steam,” Jackson said.
Kinnick wanted to puke, but he couldn’t take the fight to an entire base of soldiers with just a squad.
“This is an unfortunate state I find you in, Colonel Jackson. But I have my orders to find the doctor, so I must continue searching,” Kinnick said, gulping. “I trust you will straighten this out before I return?”
Colonel Jackson chuckled. “Of course. Of course. I will get everything squared away for you, Colonel. You have your orders. The base is at your disposal. I will have Sergeant Lowry and Sergeant Banks accompany you around the base.”
The dark-looking men walked over to Kinnick and Master Sergeant Hunter.
“No escort is needed, Commander. We ARE on the same team,” Kinnick said.
Jackson revealed his teeth through thin lips. “But I insist. This is a dangerous time we live in.” The two armed guards followed Kinnick onto the airfield.
They walked to the helicopters at an even pace. Kinnick could feel Master Sergeant Hunter getting ready to strike the man next to him in the neck, when he would most likely transition to a blade and stab the other with a crippling liver jab, following up by covering his mouth when he screamed and sawing his windpipe out like a stuck pig.
The End Time Saga (Book 2): The Breaking Page 34