Cornelius smirked. “No, Mr. Fischer. If we don’t act soon, we won’t have a country left. And without a country, I see no point in having an election.”
“No thanks to President Ringgold,” Sharp muttered.
Cornelius didn’t respond to the comment.
Realization hit Fischer. He got the sense Sharp hadn’t come here to help; he had come here to switch sides.
“I’ve asked you here for your support, but not the political kind,” Cornelius said. “Earlier, in fact, I got off a call with Vice President Lemke. We’ve come to an agreement that we’ll work together for the better good of the country. The election is on hold.”
Fischer wasn’t completely shocked to hear that, but the agreement did take him by surprise. He guessed there was some intense negotiations going on to get a guy like Cornelius to team up with the president and vice president.
“You saw our defenses,” Cornelius said.
Fischer nodded.
“All have been effective against the Variants until now… monsters that tunnel underground and appear beneath and behind walls that have kept them out for eight years have changed the game.”
“Indeed.”
“Our scouts can’t find them. Even our choppers and drones can’t spot them before they hit us.”
“Right, and that makes this outpost a damn fine choice,” Fischer said. “The Gulf on one side and bay on the other will ensure this place is hard to hit. The sandy soil on the neighboring mainland makes it hard for beasts to maintain the tunnels’ structural integrity, too.”
“Exactly. I figured you would notice. Any man worth his salt in the oil and gas industry has at least a basic understanding of geology.”
“More than just a basic one.”
“You and your engineers are some of the best petroleum producers in this country and we need you for more than that now.”
Fischer braced himself.
“I could use someone like you for a special project that could change the tide of this new war,” Cornelius said. “Someone with your experience with all the gizmos and gadgets used to find oil deposits to help us identify Variant tunnels on a large-scale basis.”
Fischer stroked his mustache, listening.
“We’ve reached somewhat of an impasse. Our R2TD systems work well at identifying Variant tunnels. But their range is extremely limited, and they can’t cover much area effectively.”
“You’re looking for something more efficient,” Fischer said. “Something that can defend a whole outpost. You’re talking about seismic vibrations, aren’t you?”
“Precisely, and here’s the deal. We’ve located a few vibroseis trucks from some defunct oil and gas companies outside Houston. They’ve already been moved out to El Paso. But what I really need are men that know how to work this equipment. Men like yours.”
Fischer’s mind swam back to the destruction of his fields and the casualties he endured. Before he’d been swept away to Galveston, his staff was still tallying up the dead and missing.
“How many you reckon you’ll need?” he asked.
“Just one team to start. Maybe eight or nine engineers.”
“Last count I made, we might only have twenty left. That’s barely enough to run and repair the oil fields.”
“I have a feeling you’re a man who knows how to make limited resources work. Can you spare even a handful?”
“For this project, I’ll find a way to make it happen,” Fischer replied.
“Well then if you agree, I’ll call in an airlift to move your engineers from Fischer Fields to El Paso right now. They can be there before you arrive tonight.”
Fischer wasn’t sure he had a choice in the matter.
“We need to prove that this tunnel identifying technology works,” Cornelius said. “I’m counting on you and your team to make that happen.”
“Point of clarification, sir.”
“Go ahead.”
“When you talk about the entire Allied States, I do want to be clear that my handful of engineers and whatever equipment you’ve moved to El Paso isn’t going to be enough to take care of a hundred other outposts.”
“Of course not. I’ve got a plan for that, Mr. Fischer. One that involves some technology that we’ve neglected for far too many years. But you don’t need to worry about that for now. Think of El Paso as a trial run. An experiment to show this strategy is worth pursuing. If all goes well, we will change the tide, like I said earlier.”
An end to those vile beasts that had taken so much from him and his men was an opportunity Fischer simply would never pass up. He stood and reached across the table to shake Cornelius’s hand.
“Sir, you’ve got yourself a deal. Fischer Fields is up for the challenge.”
“Glad to hear you say that, because this work in El Paso isn’t exactly going to be safe.” Cornelius sat back down in his chair. “You will be well protected, but you might have to get up close and personal with the Variants for this to be a success.”
— 6 —
The exodus into the University of Southern Maine was well underway by late afternoon, and Timothy still wasn’t back. Beckham and Horn stood in the back of a parked pickup truck outside the campus.
People streamed by on their way to the garrisoned campus in preparation for what Lieutenant Niven and Beckham believed could be an imminent Variant attack. Beckham couldn’t help but wonder if any of these people were collaborators.
Paranoia set in as they passed. Some glanced up, but most kept their gaze downward, trudging along like so many refugees Beckham had seen in war-torn countries trying to escape bloodshed. They carried suitcases, backpacks, and rolled up sleeping bags.
He didn’t see collaborators here—he saw innocents looking for refuge.
For now, all he could do was trust Ruckley and Niven had the situation under control and find his friends.
He searched the slow-moving group of hundreds for Donna and Bo. Horn nursed his last cigarette. For the first time in a while, Beckham felt like taking a drag. He needed something to take the edge off. He was trying not to worry about Timothy. That proved difficult considering the kid had taken off after the collaborators straight into Variant territory.
For now, there wasn’t anything Beckham and Horn could do but wait. They’d asked Lieutenant Niven for help, but Niven wouldn’t commit any forces to going out into the field.
Frankly, Beckham didn’t blame him for not wanting to send out any spare men. In truth, there weren’t any spare men. They needed every person that could hold a weapon to stay stationed at the campus for whenever the collaborators and Variants struck next.
If the monsters’ behavior in the past was any indication, the beasts would send everything they had in the next attack and it would come soon.
Come nightfall, Beckham worried they would face an army no one even knew existed until recently—an army that had hidden in the shadows, biding its time as it grew to horrific numbers.
“Hurry up, folks,” a Ranger said.
“Almost there. Keep moving,” said another.
Sergeant Ruckley and her twelve-person team of Rangers from the Iron Hogs helped keep the mess of people moving. They patrolled the sidewalk, keeping an eye on the masses and encouraging them to keep going forward.
Beckham scanned the dreary faces again, but still didn’t see Donna and Bo. All he knew was that they had hunkered down at a hotel with the other survivors of Peaks Island the night before.
The plan was to get them back to the USS George Johnson, and this time Beckham vowed not to leave them behind. He figured he and Horn could stay in the field to help for at least a few more hours. No way they were going to abandon the outpost this time, especially without knowing Timothy’s fate.
“Yo, boss,” Horn suddenly said.
Beckham glanced over. “Do you see Donna and Bo?”
“Nah, but I was thinking… You know what the good news is about the world falling apart again?”
“I have a feel
ing you’re going to tell me.”
“I don’t have to listen to you giving some silly ass campaign speech.”
Beckham couldn’t help but smirk. “True. You know what else is good news?”
Horn blew smoke skyward and shrugged.
“I don’t have to see your donkey ass try and squeeze into a suit.”
“Donkey ass?” Horn spat onto the pavement. “You haven’t called me that for a really long time.”
“That’s what Panda used to call you, isn’t it?”
“Man, I miss that big son of a bitch.”
“Me, too.”
“And the kid.”
Beckham thought of Alex Riley, the Delta Force Operator that had become wheelchair bound after breaking both legs in New York City. He had later lost his life to the Bone Collector Alpha on Plum Island. It was one of the deaths that had sent Beckham close to the edge.
If it weren’t for Kate and Horn, he would have lost it back then and probably gotten himself killed. But people like them and Fitz had kept him sane. They had motivated him to keep his head on his shoulders instead of doing something rash. Something like what Beckham feared Timothy was doing.
“There they are,” Horn said, pointing with his smoldering cigarette.
Donna winced with each step as she leaned on her son. Both had their eyes on the road.
“Come on,” Horn said.
He hopped out of the pickup bed to the street. Beckham wasn’t as agile with his prosthetic leg. He sat down on the liftgate and slid down.
“Reed!” came a voice.
Bo worked his way through the throng, helping his mom. She hobbled on a bandaged ankle, but her eyes brightened when she saw them.
“You came back,” she said.
“We shouldn’t have left without you,” Beckham said. “I’m sorry. It was chaos last night.”
“You had no choice,” Bo said. “But I almost punched one of those soldiers holding me back.”
“Good thing you didn’t or we’d be bailing you out of the stockade,” Horn said.
“Have you guys seen Timothy?” Donna asked. “He took off after the helicopters left, and we haven’t seen him since.”
“We heard he went out with the militia,” Horn said. “We’ve been waiting for him to come back, but…”
Beckham glanced at his watch, and then looked at the skyline.
They only had a couple of hours of light left. If Timothy didn’t come back before then, the chances of him coming back at all would be close to zero.
“Hey, you found your friends?” came a voice.
Ruckley made her way over the sidewalk and stopped near the pickup.
“This is Bo and Donna Tufo,” Beckham said.
“Nice to meet you,” Ruckley said. “Hate to break this up, but you really should get moving so we can assign you a room or a tent…” She eyed Bo. “You should have a weapon.”
“Aren’t we leaving with you?” Donna asked Beckham.
“Soon enough, but we might stay the night yet,” Beckham said. “I wanted to wait and see if—”
“I say we stay here and fight,” Bo interrupted.
Donna looked at her son. “What?”
“I don’t want to run,” Bo said. “We did that eight years ago, and look where that got us. The monsters are back. It’s time to fight, Mom.”
“We’re survivors, not fighters. Your dad tried to fight and died as a result. So many other people did too. I can’t lose you now Bo.”
“She’s right, kid,” Horn said. “You don’t have any combat training.”
“I’ll learn,” Bo said.
“You sound like Timothy,” Donna said, her face growing red. “Where do you think he is now?”
The words silenced all of them.
Even Ruckley looked at the ground until her radio buzzed and she held up a hand, excusing herself. She walked away for some privacy.
“Bo, I’m begging you, please don’t do this right now,” Donna said. “Let’s just get to the campus for now. We can talk more later.”
Bo held his mom’s gaze.
“All right,” he said finally.
Beckham placed a hand on Bo’s shoulder. “You’re making the right choice.” Then he looked to Donna. “Come on. We’ll give you guys a ride.”
Donna wrapped her arm around Bo’s shoulder. He helped her into the passenger seat of the single cab pickup. Horn took the wheel, and Beckham climbed in the bed with Bo.
“Hold up,” Ruckley called out.
By the look on her face, Beckham could tell she had news for him.
“What is it?” he asked.
“I told my team to keep an ear out for word on Timothy. A corporal just found out one of the two militia trucks returned to campus an hour ago,” Ruckley said. “From what the militia told us, your friend Timothy is part of another group that stayed out there to hunt down the collaborators.”
Beckham growled out a curse.
“Did they say where Timothy’s group was last seen?” Horn asked.
“No,” Ruckley said. “But they’re still at the staging area. You can ask them yourselves if you want.”
A loud voice called out behind her. One of the other Rangers was arguing with the straggling crowds.
“Keep moving,” he said in a tone just shy of a shout.
“We need a ride too,” a woman said, pointing at the truck. “Why do they get one?”
“I better handle this,” Ruckley said. “The staging area is between Woodbury Campus Center and Masterton Hall. I’ll meet you there.”
Beckham nodded and tapped the side of the pickup. Horn pulled onto the curb and over the grass to another road curving through a residential area. Then he turned onto Bedford Street and headed for the checkpoints.
Ahead, soldiers and civilians worked together to create sandbag fortifications for machine gunners, and forklifts moved concrete barriers. Razor wire torn down from other areas of the outpost was being redistributed. Snipers and machine gunners perched on the top of the buildings.
The university was quickly transforming into a fortress.
Horn parked in the lot between Masterton Hall and the Woodbury Campus Center. Lines of people snaked away from tents set up in the lawn for temporary housing assignments.
More lines had formed outside a shipping container on the back of a flatbed truck. Soldiers handed out weapons and ammunition to anyone that appeared capable of fighting.
Bo jumped out of the pickup and helped Donna down from the cab.
“You guys go get your temporary assignment for now,” Beckham said. “We’re going to find these militia guys. I’ll come back for you later, okay?”
Donna hesitated, uncertainty crossing her face.
“We promise,” Horn said.
Beckham jerked his chin, and Horn followed him toward a cluster of pickup trucks and Jeeps where about a dozen men in camouflaged fatigues had gathered. They were clearly militia judging by their shotguns, non-military clothing, and unkempt beards.
“Were you the ones chasing the collaborators?” Horn called out.
The men turned from their conversation to look at Beckham and Big Horn. A heavyset bald man with a long goatee hanging to his chest walked over.
“I was part of that group,” he said. “You got a problem?”
“Yeah, we got a problem,” Horn started.
Beckham put a hand on Horn’s arm, trying to coax the man’s burly aggression down a notch. “Problem is we need to know what happened to the other truck. One of our friends was with them.”
“They ain’t back yet,” the militiaman said.
“No shit,” Horn said. “Show us on a map where they went.”
“I can do y’all one better,” the man said. “I can take you there.”
Horn and Beckham exchanged a glance.
“Just a thirty-five-minute drive,” the man said. “My boys and I were thinking about going back out there in the morning. How about we wait until then?”
“We were thinking today,” Beckham said.
The man looked at the sky, eyes narrowed. “We can manage a short trip, but we got to move fast if we want to be back before we lose the light.”
“What do you think, boss?” Horn asked.
“I think this is our best chance,” Beckham said. “Niven made it clear he isn’t sending anyone anytime soon.”
“Better stop wasting time then,” Horn said. He pointed at the man with the goatee. “You driving or you want me to?”
“I’ll drive,” the guy said. “Anyone else coming?”
The other men avoided his gaze.
“The rest of you boys scared of the dark?” the man said, then shrugged. “Guess it’s just us three. Name’s Sam, by the way.”
“Captain Reed Beckham, and Master Sergeant Parker Horn,” Beckham said.
“Nice to meet you, fellas,” Sam said, shaking both their hands. He led them to a single cab Toyota pickup with a mounted M240 in the rusted bed. Beckham went for the passenger side door, and Horn climbed into the back.
The diesel engine of a Humvee roared behind them, and the vehicle pulled up alongside them.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Ruckley growled.
“Timothy was our responsibility,” Horn said. “We promised his dad we would look after him. That’s what we’re going to do.”
“Team Ghost does not break promises,” Beckham added.
“That lady back there—Donna, right?—she was right about Timothy,” Ruckley said. “I hate saying it, but we all know he’s probably already dead.”
“Probably doesn’t mean one-hundred percent,” Horn said.
“Sergeant, I know you regret letting the collaborators get away during that first attack,” Beckham said. “This is your chance to get revenge.”
“Vicariously, through us,” Horn said, leaning on the pickup’s cab.
Ruckley clenched her jaw, fists trembling for a second. “God dammit. You’re putting me in a really shitty position here. If Niven finds out I let you go at this hour, my ass is toast.”
“We’ll be back before he even knows,” Horn said.
“You fucking better be, Master Sergeant,” she said. “All due respect, and all that other crap.”
Extinction Cycle Dark Age (Book 2): Extinction Inferno Page 7