Scorched Earth: Book 2 in the Thrilling Post-Apocalyptic Survival Series: (Zero Hour - Book 2), Page 4

  “I don’t know how much I can share,” Broderick said.

  “Oh, you afraid that breaking protocol might endanger national security when most of the people in the United States appear to have dropped dead?” Clark asked.

  “Point well taken,” replied Broderick, “no matter how tactless it was made.”

  “In the Marines, my Primary Specialty was being tactless.”

  “I can believe it.”

  The three of them walked along the dirt road in silence again, Clark choosing not to press the matter and Broderick taking some time to choose his words carefully.

  “I’m a part of an offshoot group. A splinter team of the USAMRIID. Top Secret stuff, a team devoted to the detection and interception of next generation biological weapons.”

  “Dang,” whispered Clark.

  “Yeah,” replied Broderick. “I might feel a lot prouder of that fact if the country didn’t just get freaking microwaved forty-eight hours ago.”

  “Let me guess,” said Jackson, “you guys didn’t see it coming?”

  Broderick shrugged. “Actually we did. At least I think we did. Chatter was increasing, we’d actually run several field operations and were starting to gather evidence of a widescale attack. Unfortunately, our team is small, and while we have a decent budget, it’s not limitless. We found out too late and couldn’t react quickly enough. At least that’s how it seems.”

  “So this whole thing was definitely a bioweapon?”

  Broderick nodded. “It has all the earmarks. That’s another reason I need to get back to Detrick. I’m hoping they still have some active intel going on. That they’ve started to develop some kind of counter measures.”

  “How do you even know any of them are still alive?” Clark asked.

  “I don’t.”

  “What about you?” Clark asked Jackson. “You know your girl’s okay?”

  “She was last time I talked to her. Managed to get through to her with a landline two nights ago. Scary stuff was going down where she was, too, but she was still breathing.”

  “Good.”

  Feet scuffing on dirt sounded from behind them and Broderick turned, glaring at the approaching Javier and Mel, who he was tugging along by her free hand.

  “Engines! I hear a car engine behind us! Maybe a truck!”

  “Scatter!” shouted Broderick. “Those trees! Long grass over there! Get off the road!” They scrambled, breaking apart and running like insects scattering under a bright light, leaving the narrow expanse of dirt road clean and clear. Engine sounds grew louder, a cloud of brown dust billowing up from the roadway east of where they’d been walking. Jackson and Clark ducked and crawled over the surface of the road, sliding into tall grass while Broderick, Javier and Melinda ducked behind a thin scrabble of trees and brush on the opposite side.

  Through the sifting cloud of dust, the shape of a brown pickup truck formed, pushing its way through the thickening dirt. It was broad and blocky, a truck of a different age, its wide front pressing down the road like it owned the place. The deep and rough growl throttled in the formerly silent air as the wide truck charged forward, barreling over the dirt. As it neared the crest of the path, its rear tires locked and it shuddered as the vehicle skidded to a rough and loud halt, gravel spinning up underneath the thick frame of the vehicle, rocks and pebbles spraying out from either side.

  It stopped directly between the two hidden groups, its engine idling loudly. From his perspective in the tall grass, Jackson could see a pair of huddled shapes in the front seat of the truck and a third form in the rear bed, back pressed up against the cab.

  Jackson watched out from the grass as the truck sat there, unmoving, its engine idling low, echoing off the slightly curved dirt path underneath it. As he watched, the driver’s side window slowly rolled down, cranking on ancient gears rather than the more familiar electronic mechanism.

  “Y’all need to work on your hide and seek game!” the driver barked. “Especially you in the yellow suit!”

  Jackson lowered himself further to the ground, looking underneath the truck’s undercarriage at the group huddled behind the thin trees on the other side of the road. Broderick’s yellow shoulder was clearly visible jutting out from behind the narrow trunk of a tree.

  “Look,” the truck driver continued. “We’re not out to get anyone. If you need a ride somewhere, we can give it to you. We’re just mindin’ our own business.”

  Jackson looked over at Clark, who returned the glance.

  “All right,” the man said again. “Suit yourselves. We’ll just be on our way—”

  “Hold up!” shouted Jackson, pushing himself to his feet and crawling out of the tall grass. “Hold on. Yeah, we could use a ride.”

  In the grass, Clark closed his eyes and shook his head.

  The man in the driver’s seat nodded to Jackson. “Afternoon,” he said. “Where you all off to?”

  “Eventually?” Jackson asked as Broderick, Javier, and Melinda withdrew from the trees on the other side of the road. “Eventually, I’d like to get to Aldrich, Connecticut. But baby steps, and all that.”

  The driver laughed. “Yeah, I can’t help you with that, but I can at least get you to the next town over. About eight miles west, we’re heading that way anyway.”

  Clark struggled to get to his feet from the grass and slowly walked over toward the truck, following behind the younger man.

  “Much appreciated,” Jackson said.

  “I gotta say, though,” the driver continued, “I’m not all that excited to give you guys a ride, with all of you strapping weapons like that.”

  Jackson looked down, almost forgetting the shotgun he held in his hand. He nodded and slipped the backpack from his shoulder, then eased the weapon into it, nestled next to the sword.

  “No offense,” Broderick replied, “but I’m hoping to hold onto mine. We’ve run across some untrustworthy individuals the past couple of days.”

  “Whatever floats your boat,” the driver muttered. “Just be prepared. This is small-town New England, lots of guys running around with guns, and when they see other guys running around with guns, they get a little nervous.”

  “Understood,” Broderick started to reply.

  “Especially when those guys with guns look like they just might work for the government.”

  Broderick nodded, but didn’t reply to that, instead tossing his M4 up into the bed of the truck, then carrying himself over, one leg at a time. As he retrieved his weapon and sat down on the wheel well, Javier lifted Mel with two hands, pushing her into Jackson’s waiting arms. A few moments later, they were all in the bed of the truck with another man who was part of the driver’s crew.

  “Where you all from?” the man asked. He wore a red flannel shirt, ratty and faded, unbuttoned down the front, revealing a stained t-shirt straining to cover his large midsection.

  “Boston,” Jackson replied.

  “Yikes,” the man said. “Not a good place to be right now.”

  “Tell me about it,” Jackson replied. “That’s why we’re here.”

  “Well, ain’t much better around these parts,” the man replied.

  Jackson narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Broderick lean forward on the wheel well, making sure to pay extra attention.

  “Town we came from,” the man said. “Twenty miles east of here. I’m pretty sure every single person there is dead.”

  “What?” Broderick asked. “How?”

  Underneath them, the truck rumbled to life, the engine roaring and the vehicle surging forward, continuing its bumpy trek down the access road.

  The man shrugged. “Keeled over. Some of them coughed their lungs to mush, others just kind of fell over. I don’t think we saw a single living man, woman, or kid.”

  “Wow,” Clark replied, shaking his head. “What is going on in the world?” He looked over to Broderick, who was leaning back on the wheel well, bracing himself with an arm on the s
ide of the bed. It looked for a moment like he was steadying himself from the man’s report, not just from the bumpy ride.

  “You have any perspective on this?” Jackson asked, looking over at the stunned Broderick. He shook his head slowly, his eyes staring vacantly over Jackson’s left shoulder.

  “None,” he replied quietly. “I have no idea what’s going on.”

  “But you were there, right?” Clark asked. “That place in Quincy? Wasn’t that where it started?”

  “There’s no way it could have spread this quickly from there,” he replied. “It’s impossible.”

  “Well, something is going on,” the man replied. “And it ain’t just around here either.”

  Broderick looked back at him again. “Where else?”

  “Way I heard it… almost everywhere.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, we had power ‘round here up until about twenty-four hours ago. According to news reports before everything went black, there were reported deaths in every state of the country. Supposedly CNN couldn’t even reach their office in Chicago. Like at all. Complete dead end.”

  “Every state in the country?” Broderick asked. “That can’t… I mean it isn’t…” his voice trailed off as he tried to quantify the information he was hearing.

  “Just trying to prepare you folks,” the man said. “Like Jimmy said, next town is eight miles from here. No promises that there’s anyone living, though.”

  The men in the rear of the truck fell silent, the trees streaking past them as tires thumped over dirt covered ruts leading from one dead town to another.

  ***

  “I thought I told you to get out of my command center,” Colonel Reeves snarled as Agents Craig and Kuster approached one of the communications terminals. Lieutenant Hayes looked back over her shoulder as they loomed above her.

  “Colonel, I can appreciate the need for operational integrity, but the fact remains, we have a crisis of potential biblical proportions going on out there and you need all the help you can get.”

  Reeves strode over to the two men and ushered them away from comms to a quiet corner of the otherwise bustling command center.

  “Tell me you guys didn’t start this thing,” he hissed.

  “Colonel, you’ve been in this man’s army for long enough to know that we can’t answer any of those questions,” Craig replied.

  “Then tell me precisely what kind of help you can offer me besides skulking around my communications officer and making her nervous?”

  “We need to find Team Ten. That is of the utmost importance right now, wouldn’t you agree, Colonel?”

  “Absolutely. That’s exactly what we’re working on.”

  “We have assets on the ground in Boston as well,” Agent Craig replied.

  “Why am I not surprised? This whole thing stinks of some kind of agency screw up.”

  “You’re treading on dangerously thin ice right now, Colonel Reeves, and I suggest you walk yourself closer to shore, do you understand me? We are on the precipice of Armageddon here, and if you want to chase me out of here just because I’m wearing a shirt and tie, you go right ahead, but as this nation burns down around you, you remember what you did and who you turned away.”

  Reeves curled his lips at Agent Craig and clenched both hands into fists, but after a moment’s hesitation, he drew in a deep, haggard breath and pointed toward a console to the left of Yolanda Hayes.

  “There’s a comm station right there,” he said. “We have several members of operations who didn’t show up to work today, so just your luck, we’ve got some free real estate.”

  “Only several?” Craig asked. “From what I’m hearing you’re pretty lucky.”

  “And what exactly are you hearing?” Reeves asked. “If I’m going to open up my command center to you, I expect some reciprocation, got it? I tell you, you better be telling me.”

  The two men stood there, nose to nose, Reeves’ thick arms crossed hard over his dress greens, crushing cloth into the scattered rank insignias and medals on his chest.

  Agent Craig’s jacket was off, but he still wore his neatly ironed button-up shirt, though it stood untucked, his tie loosened and resting crooked.

  “Your call, Craig.”

  “Fine,” Agent Craig replied. “Reciprocation. I get it.”

  “Good,” Reeves replied. He turned toward the console. “Get on the horn. See if you can find our team. Then I expect some serious debrief happening later.”

  “Fair enough.” Craig and Kuster strode off toward the communications console, Kuster slipping his jacket off and tossing it over the back of a chair as he approached. They both pulled swivel chairs out from the control panel and sat down, immediately tweaking dials and adjusting frequencies.

  Colonel Reeves glared at the back of their heads, his eyes hot enough to burn through the back of their skulls.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lieutenant Burns waving to him, her pale hand shooting into the air. Peeling his eyes away from the two intelligence operatives, he spun and strode toward her, shoes clicking on the tile floor.

  “What is it, LT?” he asked.

  “We’ve been reaching out to as many local facilities as we possibly can,” she replied. “Lots of silence in response, though we have received word from Chicopee AFB and a few other scattered military installations throughout New England.”

  “So things aren’t totally sideways?” Colonel Reeves asked.

  “I didn’t say that. Everyone we talk to is reporting mass casualty events. Multiple victims statewide, even throughout the installations themselves. Countless dead and dying. Every base I can reach, it’s the same thing, and there are dozens that I cannot reach.”

  “National news is reporting the same,” Lieutenant Hayes said from the Colonel’s left. “Across the nation. Nobody can figure out what’s going on, but if any of these estimates are correct, we could be talking about millions of victims.”

  “Did you say millions?”

  Hayes nodded slowly, the color draining from her face.

  A vision of his wife flashed in the Colonel’s mind, then individual snap shots of his three children, all of them grown at this point, but all of them scattered throughout the country. His eldest son, Gary, Jr. was serving with the Navy overseas, but his middle child, Vicky was working health care in Tennessee and his youngest, Roberta was in college in Alabama. His own wife was asleep in their bed sixteen miles from Fort Detrick when he left. It occurred to him that he had no idea what had become of any of them, and as more of these reports came in, more people throughout the command center would be wondering the same thing.

  Looking down at Hayes he could see sweat forming on the smooth flesh of her brow, her eyes moist.

  “We need to focus, Lieutenant, okay? Can you do that for me?”

  Yolanda firmed her lips and closed her eyes. A brief slice of tears cut through the skin on her left cheek, but she swiftly blinked them away, nodding.

  “Team Ten,” Reeves reiterated. “We need to find Team Ten. Either them or the data they gathered from Quincy, that is our main objective.”

  “We’ve been trying for hours,” Burns said from his right. “We’ve hopped dozens of frequencies, we’ve tried local radio bands, they are just completely off the radar right now, sir. I’m not sure what else we can do.”

  “Get Chicopee Air Force Base back on the line. They're the closest thing we’ve got to boots on the ground. Ask them if they’ve got any helicopters and pilots to fly them, tell them to be ready to go; they may be our biggest hope.”

  Burns nodded firmly. “Yes, sir, on it.”

  Colonel Reeves nodded firmly and turned, walking briskly toward the back of the command center where the research and development quick response stations were set up on the steel counter along the rear wall. Three women and two men in lab coats shuffled from one workstation to another, long gloves pulled over their hands, white lab coats swishing as they moved.

  “Yo
u got anything for me?” the colonel asked as he approached.

  A woman turned, her dark hair pulled tight into a ponytail then tied off into a bun. “We’re working a few angles,” she breathed. “We’ve been able to get some scattered samples from surrounding states air-dropped directly here, which we’re currently examining. Unfortunately nothing from Boston directly, but we’re doing the best we can with what we’ve got.”

  “Any leads on whatever this thing is? It’s getting worse by the second.”

  “It is exactly what we suspected it is, sir,” she said. “Some kind of genetically engineered bioweapon. Very aggressive, very state of the art. We’re still peeling back some of the layers, but this thing is scary complex and completely without mercy.”

  Reeves nodded and the woman turned back to her workstation, moving from the large, box-shaped computer to a slimmer, angular microscope.

  The colonel stood there in the midst of the chaos, a strange sense of calm mixed with impending doom, a certainty that his team was doing everything they possibly could, and that it likely still would not be enough.

  ***

  “What are we even doing here, Smitty?”

  The army green Humvee angled a tight turn around a ramshackle building, tilting left as it made the corner, moving at a brisk clip down the side Boston street. Smoke clung to the surrounding buildings, clumps of dark cotton draped over the late morning sky.

  Bronson Smith looked over at Specialist Gerard Douglas with wide eyes and a light shrug. “Man, what do you want me to do? Sarge gives us an order, we follow it.”

  “The whole city is burning to the ground,” Douglas muttered, shaking his head.

  “Hey, on the bright side, no city traffic,” Specialist Lexington Garza piped up from the back seat. “I’ve been in Boston before, man, it’s normally a train wreck.”

  “Too bad the Red Sox aren’t playing today, probably get some sweet seats on the Green Monster,” said Smith.

  “Dang, man,” Douglas replied. “I wonder if they’re even still alive.”