She expertly put on her own tank, strapped it up, and took a drag off the regulator to make sure it was working all right. It made her light-headed how fresh it was, compared to the poisoned air around her.
It took a few more minutes to get Audrey and Peter ready to go, but when she had the three of them in their harnesses, she gave them the thumbs-up sign. They practically gulped down the clean air.
Tabby popped out her mouthpiece. “Guys, breathe normally, okay? I know it’s really hard when you’re scared, but I assure you there is nothing to worry about as long as we have these tanks on. Just sit in the boat and take it easy. Close your eyes to protect them. We’ll get through this.”
They all returned to where they’d been sitting before. She thought it was actually cute seeing Audrey and Peter no longer pretending they didn’t like each other; they held hands as they waited.
For her, however, the interlude gave her time to think of how she’d taken them all the way to the back wall of the place and they still weren’t in the clear. She had to think of how to save them, if the situation didn’t improve.
Tabby shined her light directly down into the water. The black shape of the sunken train was barely visible in the darkness thirty feet below. The ancient piece of equipment had long fallen off its track and was forever useless in the water. However, behind it, the still-intact tracks led into the flooded tunnels…
She took a deep breath.
“One thing at a time.”
CHAPTER 14
Newport News, VA
Kyla crouched on the steps while the chattering of gunfire continued in the spacious bay above. She stayed at her assigned duty station, guarding the back door for Carthager’s Marines. Though she wasn’t in the big battle, it felt like she was at least making a difference.
The sergeant’s group had been gone for at least five minutes, and Kyla was going nuts waiting to hear a lot more shooting, because it would mean the sneak attack was underway.
“Why aren’t they attacking?” she asked Ben.
Ben’s eyes never left the pistol in her hands.
“I know. I look ridiculous.” She laughed a little and held up the gun in her sweaty palms. “I’m a plus-sized Ronald McDonald with a plus-sized weapon of war.”
That brought Ben out of his stare. “K, stop knocking yourself. You aren’t overweight and you don’t look like a fast-food worker.”
It was the nicest thing he’d ever said to her.
“But that gun isn’t who you are, either. Let’s ditch these laptops, throw away that gun, and then jump over the side and go back to proper civilian lives.”
“They’re trusting me to watch their backs.”
Ben wiped sweat across his brow. “No, they’re trusting you to get killed. Kyla, don’t take this the wrong way, but pull your head out of your ass. You’re the bait. The Marines are using you and they definitely won’t come down here to save you.”
She glanced at the fancy handgun. Could she point it at another man, or woman, and pull the trigger, like Carthager had asked?
“I, uh…” She shifted the gun between her hands. Ben stood a few steps down, and she noticed the pistol’s barrel was aimed at her co-worker’s head, so she nonchalantly readjusted it toward the wall. She considered again if she had any business holding it. “I’m not leaving them.”
The dead sailor at the bottom of the steps took his secret to the grave. Who did he mean when he said fake Marines? It had to be the others, or else why would they have fired on him?
“This sailor did his duty ‘til the end …” Kyla trailed off as she acknowledged the dead man on the deck. The way the body was positioned, she could imagine the guy looking up at her.
His midsection was ripped up, leading to a growing pool of blood under his side.
“That’s weird,” she continued quietly.
“What’s w-weird?” Ben replied with a fear-filled stutter.
“He’s wounded in the stomach. Did that happen before he ran over, I wonder?”
“Bullets were flying everywhere, you know? That’s why we have to get the hell out of here. Like, right now!” Ben spoke with a nasally whine.
Kyla’s faith in the Marines was shaken, and she was curious if she could check out the dead sailor to see where else he was struck, but her priorities changed when she saw movement down the hallway.
“Crap,” she gulped. “More soldiers are coming. Not ours.” She used the gun to point down the hallway, in the direction opposite where Carthager had gone.
“I’ve got to let them know,” she whispered.
Ben mumbled something, but it was interrupted by a renewed chatter of gunshots up on the hangar deck. The counterattack was happening now.
“This figures,” she said to herself as she climbed the stairs to the top.
The remaining six Marines hunched behind the flat-topped hangar trucks. The white machines were about as tall as shopping carts, which made them the perfect height for the men to stand up and shoot, then crouch back down and move to another position.
A bullet whizzed by and ricocheted off the nearby wall.
Kyla waved to catch the attention of the nearest warrior. It happened to be the man who’d survived the shot to the helmet earlier.
“Hey! You!” she called out with the least volume she could.
The black man was nearly as ripped as Carthager, but his resting face wasn’t as mean-looking. In fact, he seemed to be smiling and having fun, like when he’d taken the glancing blow to the head. He fired again, but finally noticed her arms flailing.
“There are some guys coming up the hallway from the back,” she clarified.
The man waved, getting more serious for a moment. “Come over here, little lady. We’ll jack ‘em up when they stick their heads out of that hole.”
He went back to aiming his rifle over the little truck, but he also spoke to the next man in the line, probably telling him the news.
“Crap,” Kyla chuffed, not relishing the idea of going into the bullet ping-pong game.
“Ben. We’ve got to go up.” She turned to look at her associate, but the older man was gone. “Ben?”
From the top of the stairs, Kyla glanced back and forth down the hallway. The approaching men were still several chambers away toward the back of the ship. She caught a glimpse of Ben as he went through a side door twenty or so yards the opposite way.
“Ben!” she exclaimed.
It was far too late. Ben was gone, probably on his way to jumping ship like he’d wanted.
Up top, the gunfire ramped up into a crescendo. She scrambled up the stairs, praying the bad guys didn’t notice her. At the very last moment, she stopped and glanced down the narrow walkway, to be sure the men continued her way.
The Marine’s square hat was a dead giveaway to his identity.
“Imposters!” she said to herself.
The Marine saw her at about the same time and aimed in her direction. A simultaneous crack-ding sound exploded from his rifle and the metal stairway.
“Shit!” Kyla squealed.
She squeezed the trigger of her borrowed pistol without seriously aiming. It was louder than she expected, and fear sweated out of her palm like spring water, so she immediately lost her grip on it. For a second, she bounced the heavy gun from one hand to the other.
A second shot came down the hallway.
Kyla slammed the gun between both her hands, capturing it. Fear clawed at her knees and stomach, begging her to drop the pistol and run, but she didn’t want to disappoint Sergeant Carthager, so she made a clumsy escape with the gun sandwiched between her mitts.
She ran through the stairwell hatch and tumbled toward the happy Marine on the end of the firing line. “They’re right behind me!” she screamed.
“You get one?” the warrior responded, like it was of great interest. Without waiting for her reply, he hopped up and fired three times at the boxes. “Come on, we have to move.”
Kyla crouched and followed the Mar
ine to the next little truck. “I don’t know if I hit one. Maybe.” She wasn’t going to say she fired into the wall, or ceiling, which were more likely than hitting an armed attacker.
“Good. One less bastard to shoot. We’re running low on ammo.” He didn’t sound stressed or worried, which confused her civilian brain.
“Really?” Kyla blurted out. “What happens if you run out, uh—” She noted the man’s name tape. “Parsons?”
The big guy bashed his chest. “We go hand-to-hand.”
“Just great,” she let slip.
“That’s the spirit!” he replied with cheer. “Where’s your shadow?”
Kyla pointed the pistol toward the stairwell hatch. She immediately regretted it, because her hand shook violently like a high branch on a windy day. She lowered it and talked like it didn’t happen. “Ben left me. I think he’s had enough guns and adrenaline. I can’t say I blame the guy …”
“Hold on,” Parsons said emphatically as he positioned himself to fire again. “Crunch time!”
Someone turned the knob of the battle all the way to maximum. For about ten seconds, Kyla imagined she wore headphones that could only play jet engine noise. It came from Parsons and the Marines close by, and it came from the boxes. It also seemed to come from down the steps.
Carthager was making his move.
Air Force Two
Ted and the vice president stood at the back of the flight deck as the pilots guided the plane toward the commercial airport. He wanted to get a good look at the property’s layout before he was on the ground.
The soldier assigned to his recon team was there as well. Lieutenant Eduardo Ramirez was a stocky, middle-aged man who reminded Ted of a hotdog vendor at the ballpark, instead of a trained killer. His easygoing nature only added to the illusion.
“I don’t see anything moving on the roads down there, do you?” the lieutenant asked him quietly as they both watched the world outside. They flew along the Potomac River, heading north.
“No, uh, Ramirez. Everything is where it fell when the people disappeared. It’s exactly as I saw the Beltway while back at Andrews.”
“Should make it easier for us, right?” Ramirez elbowed him in the ribs like they were old friends. “Everything is free for the taking.”
“Yeah, sure.”
The veep joined the discussion. “Are we going to do a few loops around the airport? Maybe we can spot anyone who intends to shoot at us.”
“No,” Ted said the same time as Ramirez. He continued before the other man had a chance. “If they’re there, we’ll never see them. The other guys came out of a hangar to attack us. No, our only advantage is speed and surprise.”
Captain Robertson interjected. “We won’t be on the ground for long, I assure you.”
Emily seemed unconvinced. “Don’t we have parachutes they could use? It would keep us out of the line of fire.”
He cringed at the notion of jumping out of a jumbo jet. There were emergency parachutes, but the exit routines were dangerous. He’d only read about them in the operations manual. If she demanded it, he’d do it, but it wouldn’t be his first choice.
“We do have chutes,” the pilot replied, like he favored the idea.
Ted looked at Ramirez. “Have you ever jumped?”
The man’s face gave it away before he said a word. Ramirez shook his head. “No, but if I have to…”
Jumping from the plane wasn’t going to be easy, but it would definitely be safer for the vice president and everyone else on the big bird.
A new voice chimed in. “No one is jumping.”
The VP turned around. “General. We were talking through options before we get to the airport.”
“No jumping,” he repeated. “We might have to drop and pick up people several times in the next few hours. We need to master this maneuver. Get in. Get out. Got it?”
Ted didn’t argue. Hopping out of the VC-25 jumbo jet while on the move would have been a nightmare with a guy who’d never jumped. The safe play was to land the plane and have it take off again once he and Ramirez were down the ladder.
The vice president didn’t counter the general, either.
Over the next few minutes, the pilot guided them north, then abruptly turned south. He flew low and fast, at about five hundred feet. The giant airport loomed on the horizon, giving Ted a final look at his target.
Planes were thick at the terminals, like always, and a few aircraft were on the taxiways, but none of them moved.
A lone plane burned hot in the grass at the end of one runway, like it had failed to take off or didn’t use brakes on its landing. Smoke rose a thousand feet into the blue sky.
The pilot spoke to those in the cabin like it was a typical business flight. “We’re going in. Get ready.”
As Ted walked back toward the rear ladder, he remembered why he was up with the pilots in the first place. After all that discussion and planning, he'd failed to get any real intel on the airport beyond the fact nothing was on the move.
A whole tank brigade could be hiding behind those terminals.
He was going in blind.
Poor Sisters Convent, Oakville, MO
Sister Rose walked from the steps of the front entrance into the small parking lot. They hardly got any visitors, and only Abbess Mary Francis was allowed to go out and use the convent’s van, so it didn’t need many spots.
Only the van was there.
However, beyond the lot there was about twenty yards of grass at the edge of the suburban roadway. There were no cars moving on the road, but there was one parked at an odd angle on the grass. Its hood was smashed upright, like the occupant had run off the road and smacked into the big oak tree.
“Please don’t be injured,” she thought. Never in her life did she wish someone to be hurt.
She tried to bury any thought of her mother not getting saved by God. In a twisted way, that could be seen as wishing injury on the woman’s soul, rather than her body. Though Rose might have thought it, at first, she did not wish it now.
“I don’t want anyone to get hurt,” she said in an attempt to squash all doubt, physical or spiritual, from her mind.
Her soft-soled Keds hardly made a sound as she crossed the parking lot. The sun peeked out from behind one of the few wispy clouds, making it hot and muggy, even under the shade of the trees. It did seem to get a bit cooler when she hopped the curb and strode into the grass.
She’d made it to the gold-colored car after a dozen stops to listen for vehicles on the street. There were no human sounds at all, at least until she got up next to the damaged sedan. Chimes played inside, like a tiny tornado siren.
The airbag had deployed and then deflated. The front windshield was cracked, and the driver’s side window was broken too. Only a few shards remained at the bottom. However, when she got up next to the door, it was evident no one was inside.
“She was in there,” she thought. A small pile of women’s clothing sat on the seat and on the floorboard beneath the steering wheel. A royal-blue headband and a barrette rested on the vinyl seat. A halter top and a pair of shorts were down below.
To her eyes, it appeared as if the owner of the car disappeared, and then the clothing fell to the floor during the crash.
There wasn’t anyone in the passenger seat, unless they’d been naked.
Sister Rose made the sign of the cross for thinking such thoughts, but she couldn’t help but be sad for someone who’d been in the shower when called. No one would ever know they’d disappeared, because there would be no pile of clothes to mark the event. She drooped her chin and prayed for the unknown woman’s soul, but it was interrupted by the deep bark of a dog.
The animal stood near a tree about fifty feet away.
“Oh my,” she thought.
The exact type of dog was beyond her reckoning, but it was frightening. It had a short silver-gray coat, pointed and upright ears, and reminded her of both a wolf and a German-shepherd. It was without an owner, which sh
e viewed as making it unpredictable. Most importantly, it seemed to zero in on her—the only living person around.
Rose’s heart floated up into her throat as she thought about screaming for help. However, there was no one around to bother trying. Plus, if the vow of silence was ever broken, it would be for a better reason than saving herself from a dog bite.
She analyzed the distance back to the convent, relative to the stray, but figured she couldn’t make it. The four-legged visitor was already on the property and had begun to trot her way.
Briefly, she looked up and down the road. Was there anyone who could help her? The gold car in her front yard wasn’t the only one off the road. A few others had run into people’s yards, or they’d crashed into the edge of a nearby wooded park. It appeared as if the spiritual removals happened to a lot more people than her sisters in the convent.
The dog trotted her way, lighting a fire under her feet.
She casually went for the rear door of the wrecked car, but it was locked.
“Oh, dear,” she thought, as she went back to the front.
Rose reached through the broken front window and jabbed at the controls. Adrenaline mixed with fear as she first hit the power window button, then the one for the power mirrors. Finally, she heard the satisfying click of the automatic locks.
The dog was close enough she heard it panting.
She shuffled to the back again, praying the door would open. When it did, she almost cried.
“Hurry!”
Rose hopped through the door, then slammed it shut. A second later, still afraid of the terrible creature, she locked herself in, as if the dog was going to try the handle.
“Thank you, Lord!”
The attacker arrived faster than she imagined. Seconds after she’d locked the door, two giant paws came up on the window. Rose flung herself to the middle of the back seat, convinced it was after her. Its snarling snout and determined amber eyes seemed to broadcast hatred.
“Stay,” she mentally ordered the dog.
After composing herself, and satisfied it couldn’t really open the door, she tested using her hands to shoo it away. Rose scooted closer to the window and waved over and over, hoping it got the message it wasn’t wanted. When it finally pushed off the door frame, she thought it was over.
Minus America Box Set | Books 1-5 Page 11