Flashpoint (Book 3): Fallout

by Ellis, Tara

  “Of course it isn’t enough, sir, but with all due respect, I think we’ve accomplished a lot in only a few days.” Walsh glanced sideways at the general and when he didn’t get any backlash, continued with more confidence. “In addition to the actual camps, I mean…shelters, there’s been an improvement in communication and organization of troops. You were right, there’s been some local push-back, but it’s being managed and contained.”

  “How?” the general asked and he could tell the question threw the colonel off. “What’s being done to ensure local compliance?”

  “They aren’t being given any other options,” Colonel Walsh said bluntly. “If they want any outside resources, supplies, or aid, then they agree to work under a federal command structure. So far, we haven’t had to implement anything by force, but it’s only a matter of time before we do.”

  “Once we’ve established enough jurisdiction, it’ll become less appealing to challenge our authority,” General Montgomery said, more to himself than to Walsh. “The supplies at Mount Weather and Raven Rock will go a long way towards showing we still have the power everyone else wants a piece of.”

  “I’ve got a team ready to work out the logistics of moving the caches once Sergeant Campbell is back with the supply inventory,” Walsh explained.

  Montgomery’s step slowed and he looked thoughtfully at the colonel. “Have the Sergeant’s team stop at the three FEMA camps in our region on their way here.”

  “Sir?” Walsh sounded alarmed. “That will add at least another day to their trip.”

  “Make it happen,” the general said, waving a hand as he picked up the pace again. “I want a complete inspection of the sites to preempt the questions we know the Joint Chiefs are going to ask.”

  Nodding, Walsh paused and waited as a group of soldiers walked past, always acutely aware of whoever might be listening. It was one of the qualities the general admired in his aide. “And what about the survivor list, sir?”

  General Montgomery walked past Walsh and toward another side tunnel that would lead him back to the underground building housing his office. He wasn’t at liberty to discuss either the names on the list, or what he’d do once he had them. He stopped and looked back at Colonel Walsh, annoyed to see that same lost expression on his face yet again. “Just see that it reaches me, Colonel.” He walked away without waiting for an answer, or any further questions. It was getting late and he had a pile of reports waiting for him to catch up on before he could delve into what he considered his most important work of the day.

  While Mother Nature had unleashed an unforeseen weapon on the planet, another adversary had launched their first attack. The general had made the mistake of treating their situation like a search-and-rescue recovery. It wasn’t.

  It was war.

  Chapter 7

  RUSSELL

  Harriman State Park, Idaho

  Singing was what stopped Russell the evening of the tenth day since the flashpoint. He’d had no intention of spending his night sleeping anywhere other than his own tent, tucked away under a massive evergreen off the road. However, as he pedaled around the next scenic curve, the light sing-song voice of a woman gave him pause.

  Russell had recently passed a sign announcing the entrance to Harriman State Park, a region of woods near the northeast corner of Idaho. He was getting close to Montana, and the west entrance to Yellowstone. The terrain had changed dramatically over his past three days of travel, from mostly barren scrub to the kind of mountains John Denver sang about. The air was crisp even on a hot summer day, and it smelled of pine needles and loamy earth. Russell would have been happy finding a place there to settle down for a time, and he thought he might come back if Mercy turned out to be a disappointment.

  There!

  Russell tilted his head, concentrating. Yes, it was most definitely a woman singing. Some sort of sad, Celtic-sounding tune. Intrigued, he turned off the blacktop of US Route 20 and onto a graveled sideroad. A small brown sign declared it to be a campground called Cedar Creek. A parking lot near the entrance contained three cars and a truck, an indication of how many campers were there during the event.

  As expected, he encountered fewer people as he got higher and deeper into the mountains. Those he did come across were typically families or friends traveling in groups, mostly on horseback. In that particular region, there weren’t too many houses, and anyone traveling was in it for the long haul. Aside from one particular idiot demanding he hand over his bike, Russell didn’t have any issues. Although he’d wanted nothing more than to snuff the light from the thief’s eyes, he’d shown remarkable restraint and simply sped away, rightfully assuming that his assailant wouldn’t be able to throw his knife accurately enough to stop him.

  Russell wasn’t impulsive. He could control himself and he knew better than to leave a trail of bodies in his wake. He’d already done enough of that back in Wyoming and Utah. Although there was plenty of chaos at the time to mask his activities, he needed to be more calculated about it as time went on. The soldiers were a prime example of why. With a coordinated government beginning to cast its net, while communication and any sort of infrastructure was still virtually absent, the net would eventually get wider. Russell planned on staying outside of it, unless he chose to intentionally engage with them for his own purposes.

  A thicker blanket of dead needles crunched under his tires and Russell looked up at the canopy of pines. There appeared to be a clear delineation of brown towards the upper portion of some of the trees, and although he wasn’t well versed in botany, he suspected it was related to the radiation they’d all been exposed to. It was the first time he’d noticed it, and he was curious if the higher elevation had anything to do with it.

  Shrugging, Russell focused instead on the signs of habitation becoming more apparent. Wood smoke permeated the space under the lowest tree branches, the setting sun casting long ribbons of smoke-filled light across the road. Russell passed through the ribbons of ethereal haze like a prince making a grand entrance in a cathedral, approaching his queen.

  Russell chuckled at the imagery, but the feeling of wistfulness lingered as he came to a stop at the first occupied space he encountered. It was also the source of the singing and he was impressed by how far the sound had carried. She was on the back side of a large canvas tent and must have heard him approaching because the singing abruptly stopped. Aside from the cracking from the fire and an occasional bird, the woods were still and silent. No wonder he’d been able to hear her.

  “Hello,” he called out pleasantly. “I don’t mean to intrude, it’s just that I heard you from the road, and…well, it’s been some time since I’ve spoken to another person.” It was easy for Russell to lie. The irony was that it was the most trusting who were the easiest to fool.

  A woman who looked to be in her late twenties or early thirties stuck her head out from behind the tent. She had a mass of curly red hair that reached all the way to her slim waist, and her face was covered in freckles. She rubbed at her small nose and eyed Russell suspiciously. Not so easily fooled, this one.

  “My name is Mark,” he continued, pretending not to notice her apprehension. “I’m traveling to Butte where my wife and family are. I was on a business trip in Idaho. How about you? I certainly hope you aren’t alone out here.” Russell flashed a warm smile, knowing that his charming looks were enough to throw off most women.

  “Anna,” the woman said with some hesitation. She had an accent, though it was unique and not obvious as to its origin. Anna took a small step so that she was no longer concealed by the tent, exposing a pair of jeans that had been cut off into shorts, and dirty tennis shoes. She was holding a wet T-shirt in one hand and had clearly been doing laundry. The shirt was small and pink, and most likely belonged to a little girl.

  Russell took it all in. There was an axe wedged into a stump, a man’s shirt already hanging on a rope strung up between two trees off to the side of the camp, as well as a second and third tent just visible
down the road. A group of families.

  He hesitated, debating whether to play out the charade or turn around and keep to his original plan. Russell’s stomach grumbled and he thought of the remaining rations at the bottom of his pack. He hadn’t been able to restock his supplies since the lake house and he was getting low. While he preferred a house to pillage, he might not have that opportunity for several more days.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Anna,” Russell said smoothly, making up his mind. He was getting ready to deliver more of the story regarding his sweet little family that he was making up as he went along, when the woman revealed her other hand. She was holding a rifle.

  “We don’t like visitors,” Anna said evenly, her eyes never leaving Russell’s hands. She seemed to know what she was doing and Russell was further intrigued.

  His smile fading, Russell did his best to look frightened, but in reality, was instead amused. She wasn’t going to shoot him. “I didn’t mean to intrude. I’ll just be on my way, then.”

  “Stay where you are.” The booming voice belonged to a large man coming up the road from beyond the other tents. A young girl who could barely walk and boy of about ten years trailed behind him. He was holding a fishing pole in one hand and four fish on a stringer in the other. “You okay, Anna?”

  Anna gave a curt nod. “We were just having a talk, John. Says he’s passing through and feeling a little lonely.”

  “I said I hadn’t spoken with anyone for a while,” Russell countered, not wanting John to get the wrong idea. “I’m simply looking to do some bartering. Maybe for a fish?” he added, gesturing to the trout.

  John looked at the fish, then back at Russell and the large pack on his back. “Go over to the Perrys’,” he barked at the kids. As the children scampered away, two other men emerged from the farthest tent and looked in their direction.

  Russell began to feel the first stirring of slight uneasiness. This could end up being a setback if he wasn’t careful, and he didn’t like it when his plans were interfered with. “What do you say?” He directed the question to the man called John, but was watching the other two as they approached. They also appeared to be family men, not the sort to torture or maim for sport. Russell relaxed. “I have some gear you might find useful and I’d appreciate a fish.”

  “We’re not into trading.” John approached Russell as Anna trained the rifle on him. Without saying anything further, he simply took the backpack right off Russell’s back and began to rummage through it.

  Russell watched in annoyance as his belongings were either tossed onto the ground, or handed off to the other men. In less than five minutes, the last of his food, his knife, gas lantern, and tarp were piled up beside the stump with the axe in it. Next to that was a gas can, which he assumed was used for starting fires. John grunted, and Russell turned his attention back on the man who was staring at his deputy shirt and badge.

  Raising his eyebrows, John lifted his chin in Russell’s direction. “You the law?”

  Russell was tempted to ask where in the world they were from, but refrained from poking the bear. “Yes, sir. As I was trying to tell you, I only wanted to make an even trade.”

  John grunted again and jammed the clothing back into his backpack before throwing it at him. Russell caught it, still straddling his bike, and looked expectantly at the three men. “Now what?” he asked, nonplussed. They had yet to pull his tent and sleeping bag from where they were tied onto his bike, but perhaps they didn’t care about them. They seemed to have enough tents.

  “Go back the way you came,” John ordered, waving a meaty hand back up the road.

  Russell hung his head, feigning relief. Without another word, he adjusted his backpack and then turned around. Looking back once over his shoulder, he did as ordered and pedaled back up the road. What they couldn’t see was the smile on his face.

  While losing the last of his food and some of his equipment was clearly a hindrance he’d rather have avoided, he had to admit that the whole encounter was entertaining. It was also encouraging. They were the first group of people he’d met who had the potential to demonstrate what it took to survive. To deserve to survive.

  Russell stopped when he reached the parking lot, and, checking once to make sure he wasn’t being followed, got off his bike. He removed a small pocket knife from his pants pocket, and then used it to cut one of his socks into strips before approaching the first car and opening its gas cover. Smiling, he took a lighter from his other pocket and snapped a flame to life. Two minutes later, he was back on the bike, whistling a familiar tune.

  Russell made it a quarter mile up US Route 20 before the whooshing sound of the first car exploding reached him. It must not have had much gasoline in the tank, so the fumes combusted more easily.

  Perfect.

  Whistling louder, his mood greatly enhanced, Russell didn’t look back to see if any smoke was visible. The fire wouldn’t necessarily kill them, but it would certainly burn their camp out. He didn’t feel bad for the thieving scamps, except that they had come so close to being what was needed. However, they’d made two critical mistakes. One, they hadn’t taken all of Russell’s stuff. Second, and most importantly…they’d let him live.

  Chapter 8

  ETHAN

  Near Monida, Montana

  Ethan watched with growing concern as his dad helped Sam down off his horse again so he could rest. They had only made it another twenty minutes since the last time he had to stop. Sam was getting worse and there wasn’t anything they could do about it.

  “He needs an inhaler,” Danny said to his dad, as she looked up from where she’d laid her head against Sam’s back to listen to him breathe. “That, and maybe some steroids.”

  “I’m fine,” Sam coughed while attempting to push Danny away. “We should keep going.”

  “You’re not fine!” Danny snapped. “You’ve inhaled too much smoke, Sam. If we don’t find you some help, you’ll end up with pneumonia. It already sounds like you’ve got some fluid building up.”

  “How’s that possible?” Tom asked.

  Danny pulled her hair up into a ponytail with jerking movements and then looked back and forth between the two men with obvious irritation. “The smoke he inhaled is causing the bronchial tubes…his airway, to become inflamed. The inflammation makes it hard for him to breathe and causes fluid to build up in his lower lungs. That can easily become infected and lead to pneumonia, or even collapsed lungs.”

  Ethan watched silently as his dad scratched at his head while absorbing the information. Tom looked out at the vast countryside and a nearby road sign. “We’re only five miles from this place called Monida.” He gestured at the sign, their first confirmation that they’d made it across the state line and into Montana. “I doubt they’re big enough to have a hospital or pharmacy, but maybe we’ll get lucky and at least find someone with an inhaler.”

  Ethan shook his head in frustration and pulled at Tango’s reins to bring him about. His dad knew they weren’t going to just happen to find someone in that tiny town who would be willing to give them their inhaler. It made Ethan angry that they didn’t have any other options.

  It should have never happened in the first place. Not the fire, there wasn’t any way to have known about that, but they should have gone back for Sam and Grace right at the beginning, like he’d wanted to. If his dad had listened to him, just let him go—Ethan swallowed hard, refusing to allow himself to tear up. He couldn’t get on his dad for treating him like a kid yet then act like one.

  “Ethan!” his dad shouted, right on cue.

  “I’m going to scout ahead,” Ethan offered without looking back.

  “Don’t go too far!”

  Ethan didn’t answer, but looked down to make sure Grace was coming. Unlike Sam, the retriever made a quick and what appeared to be almost complete recovery. She was still hacking every once in a while, but was otherwise her same, normal, happy and energetic self.

  “Good girl,” Ethan called to her
when she ran up to within a few feet of Tango’s legs. Though the horse was high-spirited, he got along great with Grace. Probably because she rarely barked and provided a sense of protection from natural predators.

  Not that they’d seen any. Aside from an occasional deer, the only other animals they’d encountered were fish. And Ethan was getting extremely sick of fish. There hadn’t been much in the way of scavenging to do in the past three days. Before the fires became an issue, the few farmhouses they passed looked occupied. After being met at the first one with a shotgun, they all decided to avoid any sort of contact, unless they became desperate.

  Ethan wasn’t sure what qualified as desperate anymore. He thought he did, after his ordeal with Decker and Billy and what he’d seen in the city. As the days went by, though, they’d started to see signs of true starvation in addition to everything else. The last small town they passed through was a stark contrast to Pocatello. It consisted of only three blocks. The only two storefronts were broken out and the contents looted days before, and one whole block was burned down. Of the few buildings that remained, only one appeared to be occupied. A woman stood staring out the window, unmoving, while another sat on the front porch, staring blankly at the road. Her eyes were sunken and her lips parched. Danny tried to offer her some water, but she wouldn’t even look at her. It was like she was waiting to die.

  Ethan couldn’t get out of there fast enough, and the idea of going through another small town wasn’t appealing. He was hoping to see if there was a way around it, except the terrain had just enough hills and valleys to make off-roading it not worth the possible time lost.

  Ethan heard a sound and sat up straight in his saddle. Tango responded to the change in pressure and came to a stop, stomping once at the ground to show his displeasure. It sounded like men talking, and they had to be close for him to hear them. He crested a small hill that curved to the left, and a scattering of trees blocked his view of what was around the bend.