Kinnick smiled at him. “Let’s make sure our birds are getting fueled up. We can’t depart until then,” he said, hoping the man-wolf would catch his tone to wait. Fuel then flee.
Master Sergeant Hunter nodded. “I’ll make sure our boys are up to speed.”
Kinnick’s mind raced. Colonel Jackson was a broken man. There was no doubt in Kinnick’s mind that Jackson had snapped. Jackson’s men were broken, showing little allegiance to the nation they once loved. They had only loyalty to one thing, the unit. They were no better than a gang. A heavily armed gang with too many members.
He needed to get the other men back from the chow hall or they wouldn’t stand a chance.
A fuel line ran from the helo to the ground. Gibson and Lewis stood casually near the helos. Lewis gave a hearty laugh as he glanced over at Kinnick and Master Sergeant Hunter. His eyes narrowed a bit when he saw Jackson’s men on either side of them. The blood began to pound in Kinnick’s ears and his skin prickled knowing a fight was coming.
“How’s the refueling coming?”
Lewis the bear looked over at the National Guardsmen like they were a grub. “About halfway there. We should be up in about ten. We aren’t heading out of here right away? We could use some rest,” Sergeant Lewis said.
Kinnick nodded. Not here. “Of course. We need to debrief. Go and fetch the other men from the chow hall,” he said.
“I’ll grab them,” Sergeant Lewis said. He jogged off. Kinnick hoped that this would go quiet or he had just sent one of his better soldiers to his death. Well, he would have sent them all to their deaths. He turned to Master Sergeant Hunter.
“We should probably square ourselves up,” Kinnick said.
Master Sergeant Hunter raised an eyebrow before turning to the nearest guard. “You boys ever seen a knife fight in a phone booth?” he said. Sergeant Lowry cocked his head to the side, perplexity crossing his features.
“N—,” Sergeant Lowery started. His eyes bugged out of his head as Master Sergeant Hunter knocked his larynx into the back of his throat. Lowry drew a ragged breath, his hands involuntarily leaping for his neck.
Kinnick struck out with his fist aimed for Sergeant Banks’s ugly face. He was a second too slow, and Sergeant Banks turned his head slightly, catching the brunt of the blow on his cheek. Banks stepped back and reached for his sidearm. Kinnick lunged for the man’s gun. There could be no firing or the whole base would be alerted. They went down in a heap. Kinnick pushed down on the man’s sidearm to keep it in his holster. Sergeant Banks rolled on top of Kinnick, using one hand to reach for his sidearm and one hand to choke Kinnick. Banks drove down on Kinnick’s neck. The muscles in Kinnick’s neck strained as the man’s hand worked at crushing his windpipe. Both Kinnick’s hands were still wrapped around the man’s gun, keeping it in its holster. Black spots peppered his vision. Then relief.
Sergeant Banks’s hands leapt to his own throat as blood propelled its way through, around his fingers, and down his hands. He tipped off Kinnick gargling his last breaths. Master Sergeant Hunter pulled Kinnick upright, shoving him toward the helos.
Sergeant Gibson ran for them.
“Secure the helos,” Master Sergeant Hunter called out.
Sergeant Gibson jerked to the left like he had been hit by a baseball pitch. He dropped to his knees, fingers massaging blood in between them. Bullets screamed past Kinnick and Master Sergeant Hunter. Sergeant Gibson dumped first face into the dirt. His feet kicked up as a counterbalance and flopped dead on the ground. More shots rang out.
Kinnick dove through the middle of the helo, Master Sergeant Hunter close behind.
“They’re on the roof,” Master Sergeant Hunter breathed.
“Should have known they would have eyes on us the whole time. We have to wait for Lewis and the rest of the team,” Kinnick said between breaths.
Hunter nodded and rolled to the side of the helo, spraying a few shots before ducking back behind cover. “More are coming around the building. They’ll have us flanked in a minute,” he said.
They were pinned. Gibson was dead. His squad was somewhere in the base. He couldn’t fly the helicopter on his own. The gunfire dissipated. A loud booming voice rang out over an outdoor speaker.
“Colonel Kinnick and your Special Forces lapdog. Come out with your hands up,” Jackson’s voice rang.
Master Sergeant Hunter looked over at Kinnick, finger tapping a fragmentation grenade. Kinnick shook his head.
“We have the rest of your team. There is no way to go on without them all dying. Surrender and we will have mercy,” Colonel Jackson said.
Kinnick lay his head back onto the helo’s side. How could it have come to this? Is there a way to get word to General Travis? To let him know of our failure? Kinnick threw his Beretta onto the ground and stepped out from behind the protective fuselage of the helicopter, hands above his head.
“No need to shoot,” he said.
GWEN
Southern Michigan
Kevin slowed the pickup down to a stop next to a white sign that read Pure Michigan in scrawling blue letters. A string of bullet holes peppered diagonally down the sign. They had avoided Toledo and cut up the middle of Michigan to avoid Detroit and the surrounding areas.
Kevin hadn’t driven the whole time. Each one of them had taken their turn driving so they never needed to stop for long. He had stopped for the sign. A red Expedition sat abandoned in the ditch tire tracks lined the pavement.
“Hopefully that SUV has some gas in the tank,” she said. Kevin eyed her nervously. She looked out the windows. No infected in sight. “Same plan. I’ll cover with the long gun. Kevin will siphon. Joseph will carry,” she said.
“Why do I always have to siphon?” Kevin asked.
“I don’t care. Make Joseph do it, but I’m on the gun.”
“Rock, paper, scissor for it?” Kevin said with a smile.
“Fine. On three, or one, two, three, go?” Joseph asked, pushing his cracked glasses up his nose.
“On three.”
“Gwen, you want to call it?”
“Jesus, you guys are worse than dealing with a sorority.”
Kevin gave her a look like she was crazy. “This is important,” he said, his face serious.
Gwen rolled her eyes. “Sure. Ready.”
“No one said anything about ready,” Kevin complained.
She glared his way. “Ready. One, two, three.”
The men stuck out their hands. Joseph made a fist and Kevin split his index and middle fingers.
“Ah. Dang.” Kevin cursed, throwing his hands up in defeat.
Joseph smiled and his chin lifted up. “I pick carrying.”
“Alright, back to surviving the apocalypse, gentleman.” She liked the two men, but sometimes she wondered if their maturity level would ever rise above that of a teenager.
“Come on, you two,” she said.
Car doors opened and gently closed behind them. The last thing they wanted was an unwanted guest hitching a ride. The three survivors moved quickly. Gwen had lost count at how many times they had to stop to siphon gas. It seemed like they had to stop every ten miles to fuel up. Every single gas station between the Youngstown airfield and Michigan had been drained dry.
A cool dark gray sky gloomed above as if God had thrown a sheet over his dead earth. Gwen had expected the fall-like weather. Mark had always talked about how the temperatures dropped rapidly near the end of September in Michigan. A sharp wind penetrated her clothes. She shivered. Being inside the car is better. She hustled behind Joseph, carbine low, with the stock wedged near the front of her armpit so she could raise it into a firing position in a quick single movement.
A dense wood line covered the edge of the ditch, and Gwen faced herself that way. She glanced back at Kevin. He knelt next to the SUV and shoved a tube into the gas tank. He puffed as he sucked the gas out up the tube. He huffed. She looked back out at the trees. Coast was clear. A twig snapped in the woods, drawing all their attention
. She tried to zero in on where the noise came from, but her eyes struggled to conquer the branches and greens of the woods.
“What’s going on?” Joseph breathed quietly.
“I don’t see anything,” she said. Her stomach began to flop. The hairs on her neck stood up, shouting danger, danger. Kevin quickly switched the gas cans ensuring that not a drop spilled onto the concrete. Gwen took a step back closer the group. She raised her M4 and looked through and around the trees. Nothing. Probably just a rabbit or something.
She looked back at her friends. Joseph picked up two cans and wobbled back for the pickups. He disappeared behind the SUV.
Gwen heard him hit the ground first.
“Ouch,” he shouted as his back smacked the pavement.
“Joseph, the cans,” she called out. She scrambled to pick them upright as their precious cargo slopped out onto the highway. She picked up one can and spun around, tipping the other upright.
An infected man wearing a mechanic’s jumper charged her. His skin was blackened like had walked out of a raging inferno. She clawed at his face. Charred flaked skin smeared away in her hands.
She fell to the ground and he bent down close to her neck as if he wanted to be intimate. He drove himself closer and closer, and she could hardly resist. Why isn’t anyone helping me?
Her muscles were giving away to his onslaught. Each of his renewed efforts were as if he gained strength. His mouth was a horrible nightmare of exposed muscle, tendons, salvia, and teeth. Adrenaline surged through her veins. A knife handle materialized from the top of the infected’s skull and he stopped mouth open.
Gwen shoved the disgusting man off to the side. A shadow loomed over her. She jumped upright. Gunshots cracked off. Joseph bent to remove his knife from the thing’s skull.
“More are coming,” he shouted. They ran for the pickup. They threw the filled cans into the bed of the truck. Kevin tossed the siphon tube in the back and dove in the front seat. Fingernails scratched along the sides. He gassed the truck and they were off.
They sat in silence for a while. Nothing in their lives had prepared them for the constant strain of being hunted by the dead.
After a few minutes, Kevin spoke up. “So this is Michigan, huh?”
“Knowing Steele, I would have expected a slightly warmer response,” Joseph said. They laughed a little, tension broken.
“What’s the fastest way to Grand Haven?” Kevin asked.
Gwen pulled out the atlas. “Where are we now?” she asked.
“Looks like we are on 127 North,” Joseph said.
“Hmm,” she said aloud. They had avoided Detroit, but there was no straight shot to Grand Haven. “The quickest way to Grand Haven would be to follow 127 north toward Lansing and get on 96 West. That is the most direct route.”
“Lansing is the capital, right? Joseph asked.
“Yeah, established in 1847. The first capital of Michigan was Detroit, but people in the western part of the state wanted more access and they wanted a capital that was more easily defensible from the Canadians,” Kevin said.
“Interesting, Kevin.”
Kevin smirked. “I told you I taught Social Studies; part of my unit is State Capitals,” he said.
“Wait,” Gwen said and paused. “Why would they care about being defensible from Canadians? They are like the nicest people on the planet.”
Kevin shifted in his seat, addressing them all. “I’m glad you asked.”
Gwen immediately regretted asking.
He continued. “Long story short. When our country was young, Canada was still a colony of England. They would use it as a staging point to conduct war against us, like in the War of 1812. Now, it’s the longest undefended border in the world.”
“Since we aren’t going to Lansing. Back to the topic at hand. What are the other routes to Grand Haven?” Kevin asked.
Gwen scoured the map. It would take a lot of travel on the backroads. She shook her head. “There aren’t even remotely direct routes on backroads. It would be a long way across the state,” she said.
Kevin didn’t look convinced. “I don’t want to go through any cities. It is safer to do backroads,” he said.
Joseph adjusted his glasses. “I believe we must take the most direct route. We have already wasted too much time avoiding Detroit. Time is our enemy here,” he said, looking to Gwen.
“Time is of the essence. If we don’t do what we set out to do, then there’s no point. I’m with Joseph,” Gwen said.
“If we die, then what’s the point?” Kevin asked.
“Then we die trying,” Gwen said. She gave him a determined look. We will fight tooth and nail for this.
Kevin gave her a smile. “A fellowship if you will. Fellowship of Patient Zero.”
“Exactly,” she said, thanking God that Kevin hadn’t put up a fight.
“I will record our adventures. To Grand Haven and Back Again. Movie deals, book deals, red carpet appearances, oh my.”
“Wow, who gets to play me?” Gwen asked.
“I would think like Sophia Hart or Natalie Johnson,” Kevin said.
“And Joseph?” she asked.
“Eh, I dunno. Steven Rosario?” Kevin said.
“What about you, Kevin?” she said.
“I mean, most definitely Abraham Gunter.” He flexed a thin bicep.
“Oh of course. It’s a good fit,” she said, laughing.
“Enough, you two. The quicker we find this man, the quicker I can start testing him and sending out data, to everyone and anyone,” Joseph said. “Need I remind you what is at stake?”
“Only for about the twelfth time today, but make a left onto the freeway in about point five miles,” Gwen said. The pickup barreled onward and Gwen adjusted the carbine in between her legs.
KINNICK
Youngstown Airfield, Youngstown, OH
A man across from Kinnick hacked his lungs out. He held his head in his hands. Shadowed defeated faces stared back at him, backs lining the wall. A single door on the far side of the room was the only way in and the only way out. Other detractors were already inside the locked storeroom. The haggard man stared at Kinnick from across the room, his long beard dropping to his chest.
Sergeant Lewis loomed on his left along with his men, who had been caught in the chow hall. Mouths half-full, more confused than anything else, they hadn’t put up a fight. That won’t happen again. Master Sergeant Hunter sat on his right. He worked his hands round and round, taping items together.
“What are you doing?” Kinnick asked.
“Almost done, boss,” Master Sergeant Hunter said. He held up his project in the dim light. He had duct-taped a dozen plastic spoons found in a utensil box in the storeroom. Scraping a black blade over the object, he sharpened the item.
“Where did you get the knife?”
“Belt buckle,” he said while he worked.
The door clicked and opened. Everyone’s eyes flashed in its direction, wondering who or what would come through. None of it good. Armed Army National Guardsmen entered the room. Guns were pointed specifically at the men with face armor. They know the real threats in here.
“Colonel Kinnick?” a sergeant asked.
The shank and knife disappeared into Master Sergeant Hunter’s jacket sleeves. He stood up, crossing his arms over his chest, a knife and shank poised to slash vital arteries in necks, arms, and legs.
“No,” Kinnick whispered to him.
Master Sergeant Hunter’s beard bobbed a bit and he coughed in his hand.
“I am Colonel Kinnick.” Kinnick stood, feeling his age.
Soldiers snatched him quickly. The men locked hands on his elbows and ushered him from the room. Through the doorway, the square room gave way to a long corridor. Must have crossed from the tower into offices. Their boots echoed off the walls, making it seem that there were many more than four men walking. Turning a corner, they brought him to a small room.
They let him sit down in a single chair. Rough han
ds duct-taped his wrists, chest, and feet to an old wooden chair. Kinnick wasn’t scared, he had mentally prepared for this, but he wasn’t thrilled about being beaten and tortured at the whim of a madman. They let him stew for half an hour. He tried to calm his breathing and his heart rate. This will not be pleasant. Let your mind drift away, and detach from the pain that is coming.
Kinnick lifted his chin as Colonel Jackson stomped in. The officer’s pink bald skull glistened above his tight-lipped mouth. This man will be court-martialed for what he’s done. The man had gone off the deep end and put the entire hope for mankind’s survival at risk.
He paced. “We’ve been left to rot.” Jackson wiped his forehead with the back of an arm and smiled. “Shit. We’re no better than those poor imbeciles wandering around outside.”
Kinnick sat silent, staring in Jackson’s eyes.
“No need for the silent treatment. We are both men of our word. We can talk as equals,” Jackson said, patting his shoulder. Kinnick kept himself taut, holding his tongue. How can you negotiate with the insane? Is he insane? Or am I?
Colonel Jackson shook his head, sighing heavily. He pulled up a chair within inches of Kinnick. He mounted the chair backwards and leaned in.
“I’ll be flat with ya.” He wiped the sweat from his upper lip. “You deserve that much. Same team and all. You can stay here and join forces, or I will have you executed.”
“You have no right to wear that uniform,” Kinnick burst out, his voice strong and firm.
Colonel Jackson smirked. He pulled his uniform jacket away from his body. “This little thing?”
Kinnick stared back at him.
“You can have it and take your high road.” Colonel Jackson stood upright as he continued. “Michael Kinnick, a man of integrity. Loyal to his nation until his last breath.”
Colonel Jackson relaxed and sobriety fell over his features like an avalanche. He crouched next to Kinnick, reasoning with him. “Your nation is done. You saw what we had to do in Pittsburgh. I shelled the city for weeks. Is that what a just government for the people and by the people asks its protectors to do? Better yet. Do you think those civilians out there are here by force?”
The End Time Saga (Book 2): The Breaking Page 35