Apache Dawn: Book I of the Wildfire Saga (58 page)

“We’re gonna have company real soon, Chief,” said one of the SEALs.

“Sweet
Jesus
,” said Dr. Honeycutt, head cocked, listening to his stethoscope.
 
“His pulse is through the roof.”

Brenda was shining a pen-light in the President’s eye.
 
“Pupils non responsive, I’ve got blood from the nose and ears—we’re losing him,” she said.

“Sub-conjunctival bleeding,” muttered Dr. Honeycutt, using a flashlight to examine the President’s suddenly blood-red eyes.

Another crash from the door and a small piece broke away when the ax was pulled free.
 
“Open this goddamn door!”
a voice snarled.
 
Threats of courts martial and firing squads were shouted in at them through the half-inch wide hole in the door.

“Leave…leave me in peace,” the exhausted President exhaled in a gurgle of air and bloody froth.

“But—” said Brenda.

“No,” he said, limply raising his right hand.
 
“Too late…you did good…” he tried to find her hand.
 
She gripped his paper thin, weak hand in both of hers.
 
“Sweet girl.”

The President slowly rolled his head to the left and his unfocused eyes sought the SEAL commander.
 
“Will…it…will it work?” he whispered, blood, mucus and lung fluid leaking from the President’s mouth onto his suit jacket.
 
Despite everything, Brenda’s breath caught at the desperate hope in the man’s eyes.

Master Chief Braaten, bristling with weapons, approached and knelt at the side of his Commander-in-Chief without a mask, apparently unafraid of the microbial killer so close at hand.
 
There was an MP-5 in a combat sling harness on his side.
 
A sidearm in the holster on his leg.
 
A grenade launcher on his back, a big knife on his tactical vest.
 
He stared at his clenched hands for a moment.
 
When he looked up, his eyes were distant and empty.
 
She caught herself once more thinking that he had a very handsome face…

“
OPEN THIS DOOR!
” echoed behind them.
 
Brenda flinched, her mind ripped back to the crisis at hand.

I need sleep…hard to focus.

“It—I’d say…yes, sir.
 
I think it worked, sir.”
 
Master Chief Braaten wiped his nose on the back of a thick forearm.
 
He sniffed.
 
“If I was a civilian, I’d be loading up my shotgun right now.”

The President sighed and looked at the ceiling.
 
“So this is how it ends…” he coughed, a wet, sucking sound.
 

That cough made Brenda cringe.
 
She knew this was the end.
 
Of what, though?
 
His life?
 
America?
 
She wondered idly if the North Koreans could track the location of their signal and hone in on where they were hiding, deep under the Los Angeles Air Force Base.

“Never wanted…” the President said quietly.
 
“This…”
 
A tear rolled down his wrinkled cheek and mixed with the blood from his nose.
 
He closed his red eyes and sobbed in silence.

“We’ll get out of this, sir, don’t worry,” promised the SEAL commander.
 
“America will survive this and we’ll return, stronger than ever.
 
It’s what we
do
.”
 

“I hope…” the old man said, face streaked with tears.
 
His eyes were still closed tight in pain.
 
He was very still for a long time.
 
Brenda moved to check his wrist for a pulse.
 
Suddenly the President’s eyes bulged and his body stiffened.
 

“Oh my−what are you doing here?” he said in a voice that sounded eerily normal.
 
Then his body relaxed.
 
His blood-red eyes were still staring straight ahead.
 
The breath slowly escaped his body in a bubbling gurgle.
 
His chest fell one last time and did not rise again.

Brenda felt for a pulse, glanced at Dr. Honeycutt and shook her head, tears running down her face.
 
“He’s gone,” she said, her voice cracking.

A thud behind her announced the infected nurse had passed out.
 
She glanced over her shoulder to see Dr. Fletcher kneel beside the stricken woman.
 
“She’s burning up,” he reported calmly.

The SEAL placed a hand on the President’s shallow chest and lowered his head.
 
“Hail to the Chief,” he mumbled.
 
Brenda had to wipe the tears from her eyes to see.
 
Or was it sweat?
 
In a panic she felt her own forehead.
 
It was warm, but that could have been caused by all the people stuffed into the room.

Dr. Honeycutt gently passed his hands over the President’s eyes.
 
“Time of death…” he glanced at his watch.
 
Brenda could the see the face of the expensive looking watch was a spiderweb of cracks.
 
“It’s broken,” he said with a sad smile.

The Chief of Medicine for All Saints Hospital stifled a laugh.
 
He looked up, “Anyone have a watch?”

“Eight-teen twenty-one,” said a voice choked with emotion in the darkened part of the room.
 
The room was absent of sound except for the continual banging on the entrance door.
 
Everyone had their heads bowed.

Dr. Honeycutt nodded.
 
“Time of death, 6:21pm.”

“IF YOU DON’T OPEN THIS DOOR, SO HELP ME—”

The SEAL commander stood up and with an expression of pure rage on his face pulled the MP-5 free from his side.
 
He ripped the cocking handle on the small carbine back with a vicious pull and brought it to his shoulder.
 
That one movement was so practiced, so smooth, it looked as if he could have done it in his sleep.
 

Brenda knew what was going to happen next, and pitied the men on the other side of the door.
 
She had seen that look in other Americans’ eyes before, back in the Sandbox.

“Yo Coop!
 
What we doin’, man?” asked the tall black SEAL by the door, as he glanced over his shoulder.

“Jax,” replied Master Chief Braaten, switching on his laser sight.
 
“We’re going to follow orders.”

“Hooyah
, Master Chief,” barked the blond-haired giant next to the disintegrating door.
 

A face appeared in the ragged hole, contorted with anger.
 
“Open this
fuckin’
door!
 
That’s an order!” shrieked the acting base CO from the other side of the ax hole.
 
“If you don’t, I’ll have you all
shot
as traitors!
 
The President himself told me—”
   

The other SEALs switched on their laser sights.
 
The handful of red beams lanced out across the empty space in the room and came to rest on the man’s nose.
 
The look of surprise and sudden horror on the man’s face nearly caused Brenda to burst out laughing, despite all the sadness that swirled around her.

Master Chief Braaten glanced at the body of his Commander in Chief and nodded.
 
“I did not come all the way out here, lose half my team and rescue the President, only to let
these
fuckers desecrate his body.”
 
He stood there a moment, perfectly still, aiming at the door.
 

Brenda imagined he was trying to sort out what exactly to do next.
 
If the SEALs went charging out there, they were likely to die, and take a lot of the airmen out there with them.
 
If they let the base security in…what then?
 
Would they all be arrested and tried for treason?
 
Or just the SEALs?
 
Brenda hoped it would be hard for a court martial to convict a doctor for trying to save a man’s life…
 

“Jax, open the door.”

Brenda held her breath.
 
She gripped the edge of the President’s gurney and prepared to duck when the shooting started.
 
Her training kicked in as warning bells screamed in her mind:
Take cover!
 
Incoming!

“Say
what?” asked the tall SEAL.

Master Chief Braaten grinned.
 
Brenda heard the soft
click
of the safety on his rifle being disengaged.
 

“Let’s
rise
.”

C
HAPTER
24

Salmon Falls, Idaho.

U.P. Lake Ranger Station.

T
HE
DOOR
OPENED
AND
Tuck entered, followed by Zuka, who limped on his left leg.
 
“Recon’s done.
 
They got that place locked down pretty good, but it ain’t watertight.”

Zuka grimaced as he collapsed onto a crate and sighed.
 
“Ivan’s got lots of toys, sir.”

“Well, we’ve got some toys too, but we’re running low on ammo,” grumbled Deuce as he looked up from his hastily-made weapons cleaning station.
 
He was sitting on a crate of candles, with what looked to Chad like the parts for a dozen weapons spread out on the floor in front of him.
 
He meticulously rubbed down each part with a cloth and some oil.

“Ivan’s got a lot of that down in town, too,” said Tuck.
 
His face betrayed no emotion.
 
“Spotted at least three ammo-supply dumps.”

“Show me, sergeant,” Captain Alston said.
 
He joined Tuck and Zuka at a table with a map of Salmon Falls.

“Okay, here
we
are,” said the sniper as he pointed toward the mountain just west of town.
 

Chad’s view was blocked as the Rangers crowded around the map.
 
He turned away and saw the Indian sitting alone in the shadows on the far wall.
 
He took a step around the Rangers and walked over to his fellow civilian.

“Ivan’s got checkpoints here, here and
here
,” Tuck was saying.

“Here’s the ammo dump—right next to City Hall,” added Zuka.

“Or what’s
left
of it.
 
They got their BTRs here, and here to block the main access points…”

“Howdy,” said Chad as he approached the man that’d killed the four Russians.
 
“In all the excitement we weren’t introduced.
 
I’m Chad Huntley.”
 
He offered his right hand.

The Indian looked up. His high-cheeked face was covered in a grisly camo pattern of brown and green.
 
The effect gave him a leering smile or a skeletal look, depending on the angle.
 
His coal-dark eyes bored into Chad’s.
 
The man didn’t say anything, but looked back down at his tomahawk and continued to rub it across a whetstone.
 
The tomahawk made a softly grinding
shriiiick, shriiiiick
noise that sounded eerily menacing.

“Okaaaay…” Chad said, dropping his hand.
 
“I just figured, you know, since we were the only two civilians at this party…”

“I’m not taking a long walk with you on the beach, if that’s what you’re going to ask,” the man muttered.
 
“So go ask one of
them
,” he nodded toward the Rangers, still discussing the Russian positions.

Chad frowned.
 
So that’s how it is, eh?
 

“Well, you got a name, or do I just call you Chief?”

“Lot of guts to say that, Paleface
,
” the Indian said.
 
He looked up, anger flashing in his narrowed eyes.
 
Abruptly, he smiled and displayed the white of his teeth in stark contrast to the dark colors on his face.
 
The Indian stuck out his hand, yet that smile still sent a shiver down Chad’s spine.