Finest Hour (35 page)

“We have eight of these, each containing five hundred rounds. Take as much as you want.”

Despite having many thousands of spare rounds, Carr doubted that any of them would ever have a chance to reload spent magazines. In his experience, by the time the enemy was within pistol range, the fight didn’t last long, one way or the other.

“Besides loading and unloading, there are also several safety mechanisms that you must be familiar with. First, there’s the decocker that will drop the hammer safely.” Carr cocked the pistol and used the decocker to manually drop the hammer. “There’s also a thumb safety.” He clicked it on and off a few times. “Remember, if you can see red, it’s ready to fire. Finally, there’s an empty magazine safety. That means that without a magazine in the gun, it won’t fire. Any questions?”

Pinker activated the safety lever and stuffed the Mosquito into the back of his waistband. From the way he handled the weapon, there was little doubt that he had carried a handgun before.

“General,” he said, “while I appreciate the pistol, a handful of us aren’t going to have much of a chance against trained soldiers.”

“That’s true. But in my experience, you fight with what you’ve got. If you have a better idea, I’m all ears.”

Pinker shook his head, belaboring the point no further.

Jack set his pistol back on the table, and it made a heavy metal clang.

“I don’t see why we need something like this in the first place. The bunker’s completely sealed. You said so yourself. There’s no way anyone can get in.”

“We all hope you’re right,” said Glass. “This is more of a just-in-case kind of thing, right General?”

“These pistols are definitely a last resort, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Dr. Tran sighed, and when everyone turned to him, they saw that he had yet to even pick up his weapon. He offered an understanding smile.

“I’m sorry, but I do not use firearms. Not after what I’ve seen them do.” He picked up the Mosquito and handed it back to Carr. “Thank you anyway, General.”

President Glass studied the pistol in front of her, trying to decide which camp to sign up with. Would she be a ruthless assassin or a pacifist who abhorred gun violence? After only a brief deliberation, she activated the safety and placed the gun under the blanket that lay folded across her lap.

Carr glanced at his watch.

“We have roughly thirty-six hours until we open the bunker. That gives us each seven shifts. I suggest you use your downtime to get some shuteye.”

As the others slowly wandered back to their quarters, Rosalyn Glass stayed behind. She moved closer to General Carr and reached out to take his hand.

“Thank you, Kent.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m just trying to keep us alive. I hope everyone appreciates that there are no guarantees here.”

She squeezed his hand and smiled.

“They do. That’s why I wondered…” She hesitated.

“Ma’am?”

“Nothing,” she said with a quick shake of her head.

“Ma’am, there’s a very real chance that none of us are ever going to see daylight again. If you’ve got something to ask me, this would be the time.”

She took a deep breath and slowly let it out.

“General, I was wondering if you might spend the night with me. I would feel safer with you at my side.” She paused. “In my bed.”

The general’s eyes widened and his breath caught in his throat.

President Glass smiled, and it quickly turned into a giggle.

“Who would have thought that I could scare the bravest man in the world with a womanly proposition?”

His lips turned up into a devilish smile.

“There’s no going back from that sort of thing. What’s done is done.”

She patted his hand. “General, I think we’re way past second-guessing ourselves. Don’t you?”

He leaned in and kissed her softly.

“Yes, ma’am, I most certainly do.”

Chapter 21  

By the time the cadets arrived back at their makeshift headquarters, Mason and Bowie were both reasonably dry, albeit a bit disheveled. Captain Artz had left behind a sizable team to guard the bridge in case some of the infected might try to follow. With their new weapons and cache of ammunition, the cadets had been transformed from nerdy kids who’d had sand kicked in their faces to muscle-bound athletes showing off their biceps and freshly waxed surfboards. Their brief foray into combat to rescue Mason hadn’t hurt their confidence either.

Artz stood next to Mason and Leila. Rodriguez, Bell, and Cobb had gathered in a small circle nearby. The rest of the cadets were breaking up to share war stories with their comrades.

Mason looked across the parking lot at the deuce-and-a-half.

“Are the Claymores still in the M35?”

“I had the cadets move them to your truck,” said Artz.

“Claymores?” said Leila. “Those are land mines? Yes?”

“Directional anti-personnel mines.”

“Do you really think we’ll need something like that?”

“We’re going to need everything we can get.”

“Not to butt into your business,” interrupted Artz, “but can I ask exactly what it is you’re planning to do?”

Rodriguez, Bell, and Cobb all quieted to listen in.

Mason took a moment to consider his answer. In the end, he decided that the more people who knew about the injustice, the better.

“Did you hear the recent broadcast by President Glass?”

Artz shook his head. “I thought she was dead.”

“Everyone did until a couple of days ago. That’s when a nationwide broadcast claimed that she was hiding out in the Greenbrier bunker.”

“That’s barely a hundred miles from here,” Rodriguez said, stepping closer.

Bell and Cobb edged over to hear the conversation as well. Bowie pressed up against the lieutenant, and she reciprocated by patting him softly on the head.

“President Glass, if it’s really her, believes that Lincoln Pike tried to have her killed,” explained Leila.

“Her own vice president?” said Cobb. “Man, talk about cutthroat politics.” He cracked up a little. “Get it?” he said, running his fingers over his throat. “
Cutthroat
politics.”

Rodriguez gave him a high five.

Artz shook his head. “This country is falling apart.”

Mason pressed his lips together. “We’re well past that, Captain. The only question now is whether or not it descends into lawless anarchy.”

“My money’s on things becoming a total shitstorm,” said Rodriguez.

“Worse than a shitstorm,” said Cobb. “A shit-nado.” He high-fived Rodriguez again.

“Anyway,” continued Mason. “Now that President Glass has come out publicly, we believe that Pike and his men will have another go at her.”

“Sir, no disrespect,” said Bell, “but how are the three of you going to defend an entire bunker? That sounds like something an army should do.”

Leila looked over at Mason, clearly sharing Bell’s concern.

“We’ll manage,” he said.

Bell bit her lip and turned to Captain Artz.

“Sir, I wonder if a few of us might go along to lend a hand.”

“Sounds like a suicide mission to me,” said Rodriguez. “Pike will probably roll in with tanks. Heavy armor like that will blow the hell out of anything that gets in their way.”

Mason shook his head. “He’s sending an elite special ops team.”

“You know that for sure?”

“I intercepted a communiqué.”

Rodriguez smiled and snapped his fingers.

“Jesus, Marshal, you’re like a secret agent, badass soldier, and lawman all rolled into one!”

“Corporal,” Artz said, cutting his eyes at him.

“It was a compliment, Captain. Really.”

Captain Artz turned back to Mason.

“What do you say, Marshal? Can we be of any help?”

Mason looked around the compound as cadets mingled with one another before bedding down for the night. While the extra firepower might be helpful, most would surely die if they went up against the Black Dogs. That wasn’t a burden Mason was willing to carry.

“I appreciate the offer, Captain, but this isn’t your fight.”

Artz nodded.

Bell, however, seemed unwilling to give up so easily.

“Sir,” she said, “
Ut Prossim
.”

Artz pressed his lips together but said nothing.

“What does that mean?” asked Leila.

“It’s the motto of our school,” explained Bell. “It means
That I may serve
.”

“A noble sentiment,” admitted Mason, “but I still won’t be responsible for the deaths of so many young people.”

Artz thought for a moment.

“What if a handful of volunteers accompanied you? Their choice, not yours.”

Mason still didn’t like the idea.

“I’ll go,” offered Bell.

“Me, too,” said Rodriguez.

“You?”

“Hell, yeah. You said they won’t bring tanks, right?”

“That’s true, but—”

“Then I’m in. It’s way too quiet around here for my taste.”

“Your recklessness will likely get us all killed.”

“If I get outta hand, you can shoot me in the back.” He flashed a toothy grin.

“That I can.”

“Cobb, you’re coming too, right?” said Rodriguez.

“No way. I ain’t going off to get killed.”

Rodriguez shoved him lightly. “I never figured you for a pussy.”

Cobb pushed him back. “I ain’t no pussy.”

“Then man up. This is a chance to save the frickin’ president.”

“What’s she ever done for me?”

Rodriguez shook his head. “You don’t get it. It’s not what she’s done that matters. It’s what she’s going to do. Hell, I’ll probably be made a general. Isn’t that right, Marshal?” He looked over at Mason and winked.

“Oh, I’m sure of it,” he said with a grin.

That seemed to give Cobb pause.

“I’m sure as shit not going to stay a private while they make you a general.”

“So, you’re in?” said Rodriguez.

Cobb shrugged. “I guess.”

Artz chewed his lip, obviously wanting to volunteer.

Mason reached over and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Your place is here with your men.”

The captain let out a sigh.

“I know that, but it still doesn’t feel right.”

“In war, we each do our part.” He looked over at Bell, Rodriguez, and Cobb. “If you’re coming with us, you’d better hit the sack. We leave at first light.”

As the cadets hurried off toward the building, Mason couldn’t help but wonder what their future might hold. One was driven by duty, another by a reckless desire for adventure, and a third was just hoping to reap the spoils of war. Despite his warnings, they had chosen to pit their skills and determination against those of professional soldiers. Whether or not any of them would survive was impossible to say.

All Mason knew for sure was that he and his brave band of misfits were about to make one hell of a last stand.

Chapter 22  

After their encounter with the Vega cartel, Tanner and Samantha decided to retreat from the airport and return to the Mount Vernon Trail. They could hear the gentle roar of the Potomac to their right, only occasionally spotting it through gaps in the thick trees. The trail finally ended as it intersected with the George Washington Memorial Parkway. The familiar concrete arches of the six-lane Key Bridge lay directly ahead.

“Is that how we’re getting back to Tannersville?” she asked.

He grinned. They had recently joked that cities could now be renamed at will, as if they were settlers laying claim to vast swaths of empty wilderness. Tannersville was obviously the side of the river with more violence and mayhem, whereas Samanthaburg offered a quiet, more thoughtful existence.

“It’s as good as any other,” he said, veering up a long grassy hill that led to the bridge’s entrance.

Like virtually every roadway in the city, the bridge was jammed with abandoned cars and trucks. A few drivers had attempted to navigate over concrete barricades skirting the bridge, only to find themselves irrevocably stuck with one wheel hovering over the adjacent sidewalk. Several of the rustic green lampposts had also been plowed over, leaving shards of thick glass scattered across the pavement.

Samantha looked back toward the west.

“It’s going to be dark soon.”

Tanner extended an open hand toward the horizon.

“We’ve still got another hour.”

She wrinkled her brow. “Your hand told you that?”

“It’s an old survival trick.” He turned and faced the sun with his hand raised again. “Every finger between the sun and the horizon corresponds to about fifteen minutes. Four fingers mean it’s an hour until sunset.”

She held out her hand with the index finger lined up with the bottom of the sun. Her pinky was not quite to the horizon.

“Pretty cool.” After a moment, she said, “I suppose I should be thankful that I found you, of all people.”

“Careful. If I didn’t know better, I might think that was a compliment.”

“Of course, it is,” she said, turning back and checking her hand against the sky again. “You know lots of useful tricks.”

“In other words, you’re saying I’m smart?”

“Smart? Uh, let me put it this way. My mom would say that when they were giving out brains, you were at the back of the line, eating cheese puffs.”

He chuckled. “I do like cheese puffs.”

A sad smile touched her lips.

“I miss her.”

“I know.”

They walked for a while without saying anything more.

“She used to say the funniest things.”

He nodded. “I wondered where you got that.”

“What do you mean? I don’t say funny things.”

“Of course you don’t.”

She peered off toward Washington, D.C.

“Where are we staying for the night, anyway?”

“You’ll see.”

Samantha looked at him with suspicion but decided not to press the point. Tanner was as stubborn as a mule and nearly as big as one too.

They crossed the Key Bridge and turned north, passing in front of a concrete building with black and white polka dots painted on the side. The sign out front read “Dixie Liquor.”

When he slowed, she said, “We don’t have time for that.”