The Beginning of the End (Book 1): Toward the Brink (11 page)

The looter in a red varsity jacket with white sleeves stared in open-mouthed shock.

“What’s the matter, tough guy? You look like you saw a ghost.” The Tall Man took several short steps toward the panic-stricken kid. “Such a waste. Such a fucking waste. You get a few beers in you, and you think you can take down a gun store just because the streets are deserted?”

“Please, mister, please, we just wanted to … to …”

“To fuckin’
rob
me is what!” The store owner came rushing out the back door, Remington 1100 held at hip level.

“Oh no, please, sir. I didn’t …”

“What are you going to tell me? You didn’t mean no harm or some shit?” The owner was well and truly riled.

The Tall Man looked on. He didn’t blame the owner for feeling like this. Shit, if it hadn’t been for him, the owner might be as dead as the scum in this service driveway. The Tall Man did, however, want to make sure he wasn’t in the shotgun’s field of fire.

“And I suppose that’s a pen sticking out of yer pants there. You just wanted my autograph, right?”

The street tough looked down the barrel of the shotgun then at the Desert Eagle held by the Tall Man. “I wasn’t going to use it. Honest, I wasn’t.” He made his last fatal move by reaching for the .22 LR revolver he had stuck down the front of his jeans. Whether he was going to hand it over or planned on going out in a blaze of glory, no one would ever know.

The semi-automatic Remington bucked twice in the hands of the store owner. The young thug half-spun around as two blasts of .00 buck ripped into his chest, tearing out chunks of flesh the size of a fist. A couple of stumbling steps ensued before he crashed face first into the asphalt. The Tall Man looked at his handiwork as well as that of the store owner as he placed the Desert Eagle back into his holster.

“That was some damn fine shooting!” he said.

The President ran his fingers through his graying hair. Like most dark-haired U.S. Presidents before him, he’d had little or no gray hairs to speak of before taking office. Now, in his second term, his head was full of gray.

“Aside from the lack of communications, martial law, and an illness of epidemic proportions in Idaho and across the country for several years, which no one thought was worthy of my attention, can anyone at least fill me in on the symptoms of this illness and what’s being done now to combat it?” The President looked around but saw nothing but glum faces that seemingly had a fascination for their shoes.

“Has FEMA been activated, and if they have, why wasn’t I informed?”

That was the big question.

“Sir,” Flint stood and tried to placate the President, “there are all sorts of rumors abounding at the moment. One is that the sick are actually reanimated dead and …”

“What kind of bullshit are you trying to sell me? Are you saying there are zombies walking around Idaho?”

“Sir, that is how they’ve been described. I’m not suggesting anything, sir.” Flint’s hands trembled.

“Mr. President.” Holmes took over from the embattled CDC director. Holmes didn’t fear the President nor the office. “There has been corroborated evidence of the infected vomiting a substance, which has led to the appearance of death for any individual coming in contact with the substance and usually within the hour. No one knows how this could occur, but it has been witnessed by National Guard troops on duty in several of the cities. You bring up a good point, Mr. President; we need to study one of these infected and find out what’s causing their behavior. Then we can decide what’s necessary to thwart the growth while treating the sufferers.” Holmes was indeed a silver-tongued devil. He had a way of making his own plans seem like they were the work of another.

“Yes, Mr. President. I agree too. That is a brilliant plan of yours!” Flint jumped in and seconded Holmes’ praise. Before long, there was general consensus in the room that the President had the right idea.

“Okay, thank you.” The President knew he’d been backed into a corner, and if he fought it, he would come out looking bad. “Do we have any satellite pictures of what’s happening at all?”

The Secretary of Defense cleared his throat. “Sir, a thick cloud has covered most of the state, which has prevented any satellite pictures, but we have sent two drones over Boise from Mountain Home AFB and two choppers over Twin Falls. We should be getting something back soon.”

The White House Chief of Staff could see that the President was tiring from the all this to-ing and fro-ing.

“Gentlemen, may I suggest that until we do get something from the aerial shots, we take a ten-minute recess?”

# # #

“Hold it right there, sonny!” Mulhaven called. “Keep those hands where I can see them.”

Mulhaven stood behind the thin-framed youth who had been leaning on the glass door of the Goodwins’ surplus store as Elliot moved to the left. There was something familiar about this kid, Elliot thought, as he heard Mulhaven tell the kid to turn around real slow.

“Allan Pearce?”

“Elliot? Jesus, Elliot, you and your buddy nearly caused me to shit my pants!”

“Watch the language. There’s a lady present, y’know!”

“Cindy? Holy shit, am I glad to see …” His beaming soon dissipated when Allan saw the pistol tucked into Cindy’s jeans and the pump-action shotgun she carried.

“What’s going on? Why all the guns? And who’s this old guy?”

“I’ll tell you about the guns later. This
old
guy is … is … Say, what the hell is your name anyway? I can’t call you Sarge forever.”

“Riley. Riley Mulhaven.”

“
Riley?
You’re shitting me now, aren’t you?” Elliot said.

“You don’t like my name, little boy?”

“No, no … I love it. Really, I do!”

“Good, ‘cause my daddy named me Riley because he just
loved
the blues, and his favorite was B.B. King.”

“Well, that explains everything then,” Elliot said.

Mulhaven and Cindy laughed. Allan failed to see the joke.

“I think we should get inside. It’s getting dark earlier than usual.” Elliot was searching for the keys in his pocket when a metallic buzz was heard from overhead.

“Listen. What’s that noise?” Cindy cried.

Everyone stopped just short of the door and did as Cindy asked.

Mulhaven said, “Choppers. Military choppers from Mountain Home Air Force Base probably.”

“So that means someone in the outside world knows about the situation?” Cindy asked hopefully.

“It would seem that way, but a couple of choppers ain’t going to help much. I’d say they’re on a recon mission and nothing more.” The sarge shrugged dismissively.

“Look!” Allan Pearce pointed eastward at about a forty-five degree elevation. Two UH-60 Black Hawk choppers were banking into a turn that would bring them on a direct flight over the surplus store.

“Let’s get their attention; they can get us out of here!” Cindy jumped up, waving her arms.

“Let’s not get our hopes up too high just yet,” Mulhaven cautioned.

Cindy put the Remington back inside the SUV then along with Allan and Elliot waved vigorously at the two incoming choppers. Mulhaven casually wandered over to the police vehicle and activated the flashing lights. Elliot stopped waving at once and looked over at Mulhaven.

“I’m really glad to have you with us, Riley.”

One of the choppers dipped its nose and started to come in lower. Seconds later, the other chopper followed suit.

“They’ve seen the lights. Now, let’s hope they see this uniform,” Mulhaven said.

“What could happen if they don’t?”

# # #

During the ten-minute break, everyone went searching for fresh air on the grounds outside the Oval Office after their mandatory bathroom stop.

Holmes stood by himself. He made the deliberate decision not to associate with Flint during the break. While he mulled over the events of the day, the pungent aroma of pipe tobacco filled his nostrils. There was only one person he knew that smoked a pipe.

“Richard! How good it’s been to see you again,” the Director of the CIA said.

“Cut the bull, William, and get to the point.”

“As you wish. This is no accident, is it? No disease outbreak because of a modified vegetable hormone. This has been planned and planned from a long time back. It has all the hallmarks of many early programs the company used to run. Some of which I believe you are very familiar with, right?”

Holmes said nothing but watched the narcissistic director tap his pipe against a tree then gather his custom leather pouch and begin to refill his pipe.

“I refuse to believe the whole thing could be orchestrated by ex-company people and a few confederates from outside the system, however. Are the rumors of your involvement with the Chamber correct?”

Now the Director had taken one step too far. Holmes didn’t care if this was the White House; he was going to teach him a lesson!

“Gentlemen! Gentlemen! Can I have your attention back inside? We have pictures from Boise!” the White House Chief of Staff called out, not knowing he had prevented a fistfight on the White House lawn.

“You’re a man of many talents, Coltrain. I’ll leave you to figure it out.”

Holmes, however, didn’t have to wonder. He knew now that he would become a target of investigation. He could care less. He knew what awaited the rest of the country. The others did not.

# # #

“Sir, a small group has gathered on the street down there. There’s a police cruiser with lights flashing, and they’re waving at us.” The lead chopper pilot said to his commanding officer in the rear of the Black Hawk. “I could land over by that field, sir … Sir?”

The pilot looked back to see his commander’s complexion had turned a chalk-blue and his eyes a fiery red.

“Sir, you don’t look so good. Maybe …”

A thick wash of green bile covered the pilot’s goggles, launched from the mouth of his commander. The cockpit of the Black Hack filled with the stench of a thousand gutted catfish lying in the midday sun.

Everyone on the ground at Goodwin’s Army/Navy Surplus heard the whine of the engine, but Mulhaven was the first to notice the pitch of the chopper, ever so slight as it was.

“Everybody get over there by the wall.” Mulhaven pointed to the bricked partition between two stores. “Do it!”

Elliot motioned with his arm for everyone to do as asked.

“Stay there until I say different, okay?” When there was no reply, Mulhaven shouted, “OKAY?”

He got a chorus of “yes sir” from everyone except Cindy, who answered, “You got it, Riley.”

Mulhaven shifted his attention back to the chopper above. It dipped and lurched before banking hard. Mulhaven’s eyes grew wide as he saw the other chopper was directly in its path. There was no time for evasion.

“TAKE COVER! TAKE COVER!” Mulhaven sprinted toward the others. The choppers were far from being overhead, but Mulhaven knew from experience that debris from the explosion could spread out.

A clang of blades sounded moments before the eruption of flame. Plumes of black smoke rose as jet fuel burned in great balls. Pieces of the choppers flew in all directions, accompanied by smaller explosions as the onboard munitions went up. Mulhaven made it to the safety of the wall and joined his comrades.

“Keep your heads down; keep ‘em down.”

A heavy, ground-vibrating thud was heard as the main body of one chopper hit then hurtled into a baseball field a few blocks away. The crash of glass and the groan of buildings collapsing echoed through the streets as the second chopper plunged into the ground. The saving grace of the near-deserted streets was that there would be no casualties, except for those onboard.

“What the hell happened? Why’d they crash like that?” Allan asked.

“I have no idea, son,” Mulhaven answered.

“I know.” Elliot stood up, looking at the clouds of burned-off fuel and some of the debris that still fell on the street. “The sickness. The green foam sickness.”

# # #

The President’s special cabinet sat silently in the situation room as the White House Chief of Staff passed out copies of the photos that had just came back from the drone flyover of Boise, Idaho.

“There are many more pictures, sir,” he addressed the President, “but they are merely more frames of the photos selected. You can view the rest in your own time on your computer, sir.”

The President opened the manila folder, not knowing what to expect. The first photo sent shock waves through him.

“This is Boise?” He looked up from the folder, hoping that it wasn’t.

“My God.” The Secretary of State voiced openly what everyone else in the room was thinking. The pictures showed a deserted Boise with great clouds of dark smoke rising from several out-of-control fires raging away. Many abandoned cars lay in the streets as did National Guard Hummers, trucks, and armored vehicles. All were shocked by these photos except Holmes and Flint.

Holmes, especially, took note of everything in the pictures and filed it away in his trap-like mind. He would soon have another report to make to someone more powerful than the U.S. President. He couldn’t afford to leave anything out.

“Gentlemen,” the President announced, “the Governor of Idaho called earlier, before communications ceased, expressing his concern and asking that the regular U.S. Army and Marines be activated.”

“Sir,
posse comitatus
prevents the …” the Attorney General began.

The President held up a hand, palm out, effectively silencing the dissension.

“I know all about
posse comitatus,
thank you. I specialized in constitutional law in case you’ve forgotten.” It was a small rebuke but one nonetheless. “However, in this situation, I think it is warranted. Make no mistake here, gentlemen. The whole state of Idaho is under threat, and we need to put into place drastic measures, and do it right away. Martial law has already been declared, but even with the National Guard, active reserve, police, and the sheriff’s department combined, there just isn’t enough manpower available in the state. We need to confine this now before it spreads—as Mr. Holmes and Mr. Flint believe—before the tragedy extends beyond the borders.” The President looked at the Secretary of Defense. “Make it so!”