Flashpoint (Book 3): Fallout

by Ellis, Tara

  “You mean this town, Monida?” When Ben nodded, Ethan pressed for more. “So, they didn’t agree to setting this shelter up here? You guys just came in and took it?”

  Ben nodded again. “Nothing more than a few blocks of buildings, but there’s a couple houses, too, that the corporal…requisitioned. More comfortable than a tent, I guess.”

  “Wait.” Ethan realized what else Ben had said. “He’s flying in?”

  “Yup. An old Huey. We’ve got a few aircraft that survived the EMP, but it’s sketchy working out how to get around in ’em without going too far. This one’s out of Ellsworth Air Force Base. Chatter is that it’s been to the east coast, and it’s not good.”

  Ethan absorbed that bit of news slowly and began to formulate a plan. “Hey, Ben. I’ll keep helping you with the horses if you get me in to see my dad.” Ben balked and Ethan rushed to lasso him in. “Just a few minutes, I promise. I need to make sure he’s okay before I go to bed. He’s all I’ve got left,” he added, while looking away and wiping at his face. Guilt tugged at the edges of Ethan’s conscience, and he quickly pushed it aside. He had to keep things in perspective, and Ben was on the wrong side of his current battle.

  “I guess since we’re already done here, I’ve got a little extra time before my dinner duties.” Ben set the bucket down next to the trough and then waved at Ethan to follow him. “I think Kenny is on watch tonight. He’s a good guy. Probably won’t say much of anything.”

  “Thanks, man,” Ethan answered as he scooted after the airman, who was already walking away at a brisk pace. “I’ll come back before breakfast and show you the best spot to let them graze. Where you’ve got the other horses at now isn’t so good.”

  Ben gave him a crooked grin as they crossed Main Street, not far from the northern barricade. They were headed for a low wooden building on the end of the street. Over the entrance was a sign declaring it was the Monida City Police Department.

  The old floorboards creaked as Ethan and Ben stepped into the small, dimly lit outer office area. Ethan could easily imagine they’d gone back in time two hundred years before to when the place was truly run by cowboys. What did they use to call them…one-horse towns? Ethan thought of how they now had at least five more and his resolve hardened.

  Kenny was seated at the lone mahogany desk, his feet up and a paperback in his hands. His boots echoed loudly as they slammed down onto the floor and he jumped to attention, then relief flooded his face when he realized who is was. “Ben! You nearly gave me a heart attack, man. What are you doing here? And who’s this?”

  Chuckling, Ben went to sit on the edge of the desk. “This is Ethan. He’s been helping me out and I’m returning the favor. He needs a couple minutes with his dad, is all.”

  “You mean Tom Miller?” Kenny’s demeanor changed and his features hardened as he shook his head. “The corporal would have me booted if I let anyone in here. Those two don’t get along.” He looked suspiciously at Ethan. “The guy won’t back down.”

  Ethan felt a twinge of pride and fought to keep his expression neutral. “Only for a minute?” he asked hopefully, his voice weak.

  Ben slapped Kenny on the back and then widened his arms to emphasize the empty room. “Come on, Kenny. There’s no one else here and we won’t tell anyone. Just a couple of minutes so the kid can tell his dad goodnight, and we’ll be gone. I’ll even bring your dinner to you and get you an extra helping.”

  Kenny brightened. “Yeah?”

  Ben smiled. “Sure. I know you like the instant mashed potatoes.”

  Kenny pulled a ring of old-fashioned iron keys from a top drawer and led the way to the only inner door without saying a word. After unlocking it, he turned and looked pointedly at Ethan. “Five minutes. That’s it. And you were never here.”

  Ethan nodded and then stepped through into a murky hallway. The building obviously wasn’t being fed any electricity by a generator as the office was lit by an oil lamp. The hallway ran the width of the structure and there was a small window high up at either end. Four closet-sized cells lined the back of the building, and each had a dim solar lamp that barely illuminated them enough for Ethan to see the occupants.

  “Ethan?”

  Ethan turned toward his dad’s voice, at the far end to his right. “Dad?” Rushing to the cell, he was embarrassed to find himself tearing up. That wasn’t part of the plan.

  “What are you doing here?” In true Tom fashion, he jumped over the pleasantries and right to the admonishment. Even in the faint light, Ethan could see he had a fresh cut over his right cheekbone. Otherwise, he appeared okay.

  Ethan glanced back down the hall to make sure Ben or Kenny hadn’t followed him. They were alone. “Listen,” he began, also skipping the platitudes. “We don’t have much time. What have they told you? Dillinger said he’d let you go after twenty-four hours.”

  Tom frowned at him, clearly not expecting the conversation to go that way. “I’m not getting out of here.”

  The last remnants of Ethan’s hope faded with the confirmation of what he’d already suspected. “Then, what? He’s just going to keep you locked up in here?”

  Tom reached out to take a bar in each hand, and then leaned forward with his head lowered toward Ethan. “The corporal made me a generous offer to join his ranks. That was after he’d listed out all of the charges against me, having to do with assaulting an officer during a time of war, martial law stipulations, and how he can pretty much do what he wants with me, including execution.”

  Ethan grimaced. “What did you tell him?”

  “To go to hell.”

  Ethan scoffed and his dad waved a hand dismissively. “I’m stalling. I need you all to leave in the morning and get as far away from here as possible, before he revokes that option. I know it’ll be tough without the horses, and to basically leave without anything, but maybe you can talk them into giving you some basics.”

  “What about you?” Ethan asked, although he was pretty sure he already knew the answer.

  “You’ve seen enough of this place. It’s huge, and there’s what…a couple dozen soldiers?”

  “Twenty-eight,” Ethan interjected.

  Tom paused and gave him another one of his confused looks. “The point is that it isn’t nearly enough to keep us all inside if we don’t want to be. It isn’t meant to, so it should be easy for me to slip out after you’ve had a good head start. I’ll try to take Tango and Lilly with me, if at all possible.”

  “We’ll stay, and do it together,” Ethan countered.

  “No!” Tom barked, and then lowered his head, resigned. “I need to know you’re safe. And it’ll be easier to do it on my own.”

  “There’s a flaw in your plan.”

  Tom looked up at Ethan, his brows drawn together. “What do you mean?”

  “Corporal Dillinger already knows we’re going to Mercy. He’ll know where you’re running.” Ethan stared hard at his dad.

  Tom averted his gaze. “He’ll have no reason to follow you, and while he seems like the kind of man to hold a grudge, I highly doubt he’ll waste the resources on chasing one man for two hundred miles.”

  Ethan wasn’t going to argue with his dad, but he knew he was lying. He’d either stay long enough to make sure they were safely in Mercy before trying anything, or else his dad would lead them in a different direction. “I have a better plan.”

  Tom looked sharply at his son. “Ethan, I want you to do what I’ve told you. Don’t do anything stupid.”

  “You mean like attacking Dillinger?” Ethan spat. He heard Ben and Kenny approaching and leaned in close to the bars, dropping his voice to a whisper. “I need you to trust me, Dad. When you hear the chopper in the morning, demand to talk to Dillinger. Do whatever it takes to get him here, and tell him you accept his offer.”

  “Ethan—”

  “Just do it! Get released and head for the men’s barracks.” He looked over at Ben, hovering in the hall near the door. “Be right there!”

 
; Tom took Ethan’s hand and squeezed it so tightly that it was painful. “I don’t want you to take any risks for me.”

  Ethan pulled his hand away and made a grunting noise. “You still don’t get it! We’re family. If we don’t care enough to take chances for each other, then what’s the point of surviving?”

  Chapter 16

  GENERAL MONTGOMERY

  Cheyenne Mountain, Colorado

  “We will not sit idly by and allow war crimes to unfold in the aftermath of this event!” Vice Admiral Baker, former Deputy Commander of USNORTHCOM pounded his fist on the table for emphasis.

  Four-star General Andrew Montgomery didn’t flinch, and he never looked away from the Vice Admiral. He could have taken the opportunity to remind Baker that the only reason the joint command hadn’t been disbanded was because he chose to still recognize it. The general was under no legal obligation to even hold the meetings or listen to their input, but for the sake of diplomacy and to keep the Armed Forces running cohesively, he kept up the pretense that they were the new Chiefs of Staff. Montgomery wasn’t a fool, and he knew it took more than a title to head such an organization.

  “Vice Admiral, while I wholly appreciate your concern, I can assure you, and our other joint commanders, that the situation is being addressed.” General Montgomery barely raised a finger in Colonel Walsh’s direction and the other man leapt to his feet, a sheaf of papers in hand.

  “Yes, sirs,” the colonel intoned. “We’ve taken the claims coming out of some states very seriously. I’ve compiled a list of known accusations and we’ve already initiated actions to ferret out the truth and deal with any subversions, where necessary.”

  Major General Visor was nodding in approval before he’d even had a chance to look over the documents. The Army Chief of Staff had always been a proponent of the general and they went back more than a decade. “I have no doubt you’re doing all you can, General,” Visor said while looking at the admiral. “These are difficult times, where the area between right and wrong becomes gray, and requires a broader view.”

  “You can’t possibly be condoning the forcible removal of families from their homes, and then butchering them when they refuse to give up their property?” Sergeant Major O’Shane bellowed. The Command Senior Enlisted Leader for the United States Marines was young to hold his rank and still new to his post when the flashpoint occurred. Montgomery didn’t know the man except for what was in his file.

  “Of course not,” Montgomery retorted, his voice dripping with contempt. “What kind of command do you think I’m running?”

  O’Shane at least had the presence of mind to look chagrined at the reprimand. “My apologies,” O’Shane said with less vigor. “I simply meant that inaction could be taken as support, and when it takes days instead of hours to have a command carried out, that is how it can come across.”

  General Montgomery made a point of slowly steepling his fingers together and then lowered the tips to rest against the top of the mahogany table. The air unit cycled on and off, clanking and echoing through the granite chambers of the mountain, reminding the five men in the room that they were far underground. It was perfect timing, and Montgomery noted that all but Admiral Baker shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Which is why I had Colonel Walsh prepare those documents,” he said, careful to use a neutral tone. Yes, he was the commander, but it would be wise to recognize the other men’s influences. “If any of you are dissatisfied with our response, I’m happy to listen to any and all suggestions. General Visor is correct in that it’s difficult at times to adhere to a strict interpretation of the orders, especially for those on the ground trying to implement them. This does not excuse any abuse of authority, though we may need to take these extraordinary circumstances into consideration before passing judgement.”

  “Which brings us to our first point of order,” Colonel Walsh interrupted. It was a gentle reminder that the meeting had opened without following the official agenda. He rose again and handed out a single sheet of paper. “These are the latest estimates for survivors in the United States.”

  Visor whistled and set the paper down slowly. “Only sixty-five million?”

  Admiral Baker looked skeptical. “The census last year had us at around three hundred and thirty million before the flashpoint. How did you come to this figure?”

  Walsh looked at the general and he gestured for the colonel to continue with the presentation. “This is based on new intel gathered from the ops sent to Mount Weather and Raven Rock.” Walsh pointed to the general’s map that dominated one wall of the meeting room. “As you can see, we’ve expanded the black and red zones, after personal verification of…one hundred percent mortality in over half the states.”

  “Dear Lord,” O’Shane muttered.

  Baker leaned back in his seat and spun partway around so he could get a better look at the map. “You’ve added some lines,” he noted.

  “Yes,” Montgomery confirmed without relish. “We’ve got a rather clear delineation of radiation. The black, red, yellow, and green yarn mark the estimated radius of various levels of exposure. For example, you can see Colorado falls within the yellow band, meaning we’ve had a variable reaction, which seems to rely somewhat on age, health, and other unknown factors.”

  “We’ve taken this information and then used Colorado Springs as an example of deaths in the larger populated areas in the yellow and green zones to then extrapolate the death toll,” Walsh continued. “Unfortunately, we expect another twenty-five percent to succumb to a combination of dehydration, starvation, and other illnesses by the end of July.”

  “Another fifteen million dead in the next month?” Admiral Baker muttered, turning away from the map to stare blankly at the other men. “How is that possible?”

  “Have you been outside the mountain compound in the past eleven days?” General Montgomery asked. When Baker didn’t answer, he tapped at the numbers on the census report. “We have millions in dire need at the moment. While it might look easy on paper, the logistics of locating, mobilizing, and moving supplies and manpower is almost impossible. But we’re doing it,” Montgomery added, leaning forward and staring intently at the Vice Admiral. “Soldiers who have been tasked with the intolerable burdens of digging mass graves, and being confronted with thousands of dying civilians when they can only help hundreds, are the main reason the casualties won’t be much, much higher.”

  “It’s because of the joint efforts of all our men and women that this is possible,” General Visor said, smoothing over the rising tension.

  Montgomery sat back and placed his hands once again in his lap. “Yes. Of course. Which is why it’s imperative that we all support each other. We have to be united in our efforts.”

  “A perfect example of that,” Colonel Walsh said, handing out yet another paper, “is the ongoing confirmation of around-the-clock staffing and management of the nuclear missile silos. Obviously, we were in almost immediate contact with the one on base here in Colorado, but after some nerve-wracking days, we’re now confident that Wyoming, Montana, and North Dakota are also secured.”

  “Excellent,” O’Shane said approvingly. “And what of Mount Weather?”

  “It was a successful mission,” General Montgomery said. “I’m expecting a personal debriefing tomorrow. However, I can say with confidence that there are enough caches housed at the facility to heavily bolster our rescue attempts.”

  “And the list?”

  Montgomery gave Baker an openly annoyed look. “As I said, the mission was a success. While we’ll be taking the list into consideration while organizing our response, I’m sure we can all agree it isn’t a priority.”

  “Our last item of discussion,” Walsh intercepted the banter again, and passed around his last handout. “A scientific compilation of the gamma-ray burst effects. Broken down by the immediate, short-term, and long-term implications.”

  “Acute radiation exposure appears to have run its course, for the most part. Those who were going
to get sick, did, and either perished or are recovering,” Montgomery said, summarizing the first paragraph of information. “The impact on the atmosphere isn’t so clear. We’ve got some of our greatest minds working on it, and as you can see from the data, we’ve come a long way in understanding what the burst did to the ozone layer and upper atmosphere—”

  “But we aren’t going to really know the full repercussions for months, or maybe even years,” O’Shane interrupted. “I’ve been working with the science committee on this,” he explained. “I’ve always had an interest in astrophysics and the biosphere.”

  “That’s perfect,” Montgomery said with sincerity. “I was hoping that one of you would offer to head this up. Frankly, it’s beyond my understanding.”

  The major nodded enthusiastically. “Absolutely, General. I’d be more than happy to oversee it. The potential consequences are literally Earth-wide. Everything from acid rain, to plant die-off and climate change.”

  Admiral Baker moaned. “Everything else isn’t enough? We’re also facing problems with growing food and harsh weather?”

  “Not just harsh weather,” O’Shane cautioned. “The jet stream seems to be shifting, and the temperature is already dropping due to smog created by the conversion from the gamma ray of dinitrogen in the atmosphere into nitrogen dioxide. It’s subtle to the naked eye, but appears as an orange haze. We’re already experiencing the beginning of this phenomenon and it could lead to massive storms unlike anything ever before experienced in recorded history.”

  “A more imminent threat is a new bacteria turning up in Montana and Idaho,” Walsh announced, wincing at the steely gaze Admiral Baker turned on him. “We haven’t nailed it down yet, but of course our research abilities are just as limited as everything else. What’s important is that it’s almost identical to cholera.”