by Ralph Gibbs
Sergeant Hunter didn’t want to go with Franklin. She wanted to stay with Danica and hit the group head-on and kill as many as the fuckers as she could before she died, hopefully in a blaze of glory. In many ways, Victoria Hunter wanted to die. Other than Gwyn, she’d been the girl raped most often. Gwyn, at least, was out of her misery, having died the previous night. Hunter’s repeated rapes stemmed from her wanting to protect the women and her guilt at letting the base be overrun, so she remained near the front of the van with Gwyn. The men didn’t care who they fucked; they just wanted someplace to spew their cream sauce. At the same time, she couldn’t bring herself to commit suicide and hated herself for it. Maybe if they hurried, she could still find peace in that blaze of glory.
Franklin’s satellite phone rang, and he froze. “Paris, this is not a good time.”
“Have you started the assault?” she asked.
“Apparently.”
“Can you describe where this biker gang is?”
“Now?”
“It’s important,” Paris said so casually that Franklin had a mental image of the woman asking the question while leaning on a desk and sucking on a lollipop. Franklin spent the next few moments hastily describing the layout of the headquarters and parking lot.
“All right, they see it,” Paris said.
“Who sees it?”
“The president, or more importantly the person flying the drone,” Paris said. “Turns out there was an armed drone close by. I contacted my boss right after our call. He briefed the president, and the president ordered a drone strike. It’s good to be the king.”
“Thank you, Paris,” Franklin said.
“Don’t thank me. You can thank the president when you get here. Can you get word to the others?
“No,” Franklin said.
“Shit,” Paris said.
**********
“Where the hell is Franklin?” Danica said as she loaded another grenade.
“How would I know?” Halsey said. “He’s your friend.” Bullets raked their position.
“Sorry,” Danica said. “It was rhetorical.” She leaned up and hastily fired a grenade at the small cluster of bikers forming on their left. Bullets peppered her position as she retreated. The grenade was off its mark but still achieved its goal of keeping the bikers from rushing them. Halsey was keeping a second cluster of heavily armed bikers at bay on their right, but they were making headway toward their position.
“If he doesn’t show up soon, all three of us are going to be rhetorical,” Sacha said.
Halsey looked at Sacha “That doesn’t even make—”
“What the hell is that?” Danica said, as everyone, including the bikers, stopped firing and looked up at the unmistakable sound of an approaching aircraft.
“Holy hell,” Halsey yelled when they heard what sounded like hundreds of chainsaws starting up at once. She pushed Sacha to the ground and jumped on her as vehicles exploded and a line of bikers were shredded into small chunks of flesh and bone.
A moment later, a large aircraft with a chain gun under its nose thundered past less than ten feet above their heads. As it streaked by, everyone could tell that the drone was turning around for another pass. That was it. The surviving outlaws broke and ran.
“I don’t think so,” Halsey said as she fired on anything that moved.
CHAPTER 58
Standing beside a Humvee, Franklin, Danica, and Sergeant Hunter watched as a group of nearly twenty armed soldiers rushed from the back of the C-130 and took up defensive positions. The group which emerged did not look hastily thrown together; these were full-time, well-trained professionals. Although they were attired in identical camouflage uniforms, each wore a distinct patch on their left shoulder indicating they were a mixture of army, navy, and marines.
“Clear,” a soldier said, followed by the others.
One soldier broke rank and walked over to Franklin. “I’m Lieutenant Edward Longridge,” the man said pronouncing his rank as in a heavy British accent. He held out his hand. “You must be Franklin?”
“That would be me,” Franklin said, grasping his hand in greeting. “This is Danica Justice and Sergeant Hunter. Behind me are Airman Sacha and Halsey. The rest of the group is in the hangar behind us.”
“I understand you have an injured compatriot?” Longridge said.
“Yes sir,” Franklin said. “She’s in the hangar. Sergeant Hunter will escort you.”
“Petty Officer Baker, follow the good sergeant, she’ll show you to their injured friend.” Longridge looked around after the petty officer ran off with sergeant Hunter to the hangar.
“The runway’s nice and clear,” Longridge said. “Thank you for keeping me from having to jump out of a perfectly good airplane.” There were audible groans from the nearby soldiers.
“Give it a rest, left-ten-ant,” someone said, forcing the accent and the syllables.
“I keep telling the lads that old joke will be funny again one day. In fifty years, an entire generation will have never heard it.”
“Not if you keep telling it,” another yelled back.
“It was nice to land at a base, for once,” Longridge said. “Normally we have to jump in at night and spend the next several weeks cleaning up.”
“Supply run?” Danica asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” Longridge said. “We secure all the supplies we can destroy what we can’t. This base was on our list though not for another two months. This was more of a testing facility. So, not much in the way of heavy arms.”
“I see you found new friends,” Paris said, stepping off the plane. “Hello, Danica.” Danica ran over and hugged her.
“It’s good to see you again,” Danica said.
“You too. I see you’ve been taking good care of Franklin and not letting him get himself killed.”
Longridge looked at Franklin. “Mr. Franklin—”
“It’s Turnipseed,” Paris said.
“Excuse me,” Longridge said.
“His name is Franklin Turnipseed,” Danica said.
“You and Danica just love telling people that, don’t you?” Franklin said.
“Of course,” Paris answered.
“Never gets old,” Danica said.
“Yes, well sorry, about that,” Longridge said. “Mr. . . . Eh. . . Turnipseed—”
“For the love of God, please just call me Franklin.”
“The outlaws?” Longridge asked.
“Dead or scattered,” Franklin said. “There was a handful out searching the base for us when the drone attacked. I’d say a good ten or twenty survived.”
“I see,” Longridge said.
“We found another dozen captives,” Danica said. “They had them locked in a room inside the headquarters. We don’t know if we found them all.”
“Sergeant Poulson,” Longridge shouted.
“Sir,” Sergeant Poulson said, running up.
“Hostiles and hostages may still be in the area,” Longridge said. “Let’s break the men up into small groups and search the base.”
“Yes, sir,” Sergeant Poulson said.
“Check in every ten minutes,” Longridge said. “Franklin, do you have a place my men can set up camp?”
“Several, though I’m afraid none of them have showers,” Franklin said. “Sacha can show you where.”
“Not to worry,” Longridge said. “The lads are used to it.”
“Speak for yourself,” someone said.
“Franklin, the president wants you and Danica on the plane when it leaves,” Paris said.
“Can we take everyone?” Danica asked.
“There’s plenty of room,” Paris said.
“Then, the sooner, the better,” Danica said.
CHAPTER 59
President Nathanael Dixon and Vice President Marion White studied the map glued to the wall. The council was seated at the table behind them.
“There’s too much border between the United States and Mexico to patrol effective
ly,” Secretary of Defense Richard Stroud said as he poured himself a cup of coffee. He offered to pour a cup for General Angles, but she shook her head. “Not with the limited number of forces we have. The only good news, if you can call it good news, is that the unusually cold weather is keeping many from coming north. However, once the weather warms up, we’ll have a flood of refugees heading into the States.”
“Can we realistically mine the border?” the vice president asked, turning to face them.
“It won’t be easy,” Stroud said.
“Neither was putting a man on the moon,” President Dixon said studying the map.
“Sir, there is two thousand miles of border,” Stroud said. “Why do you think the wall was a failure?”
“The wall was a failure because it wasn’t supported,” President Dixon said, as he continued to study the map. He turned to face them. “The man was too busy congratulating himself as the second coming of Christ to sell the merits of the wall to the American people.”
“You supported the wall?” Marion asked, sounding surprised.
“I didn’t say that,” President Dixon said. “I’m just giving you my opinion on why the wall failed. But, in hindsight, considering what we are facing now . . .” He shrugged. “We’re off-topic. Mr. Stroud, can it be done?”
“Yes,” Richard said. “But it’ll take time. I estimate two or three years for full and effective coverage. On your orders, we’ve started. Most of the traditional, legal, border crossings have been leveled, cleared, and are in the process of being mined. All bridges leading out of Mexico have been destroyed. So far, we have encountered little resistance, but that’s because we caught them by surprise. Next year won’t be so easy.
“Weapons?” the president asked.
“It continues to be just small arms and a few RPGs,” Stroud answered, taking a sip of his drink. “We have indications they’ve started raiding military bases, so it’s going to get dicey out there soon enough. However, we’ve been systematically destroying the bases, heavy weapons and bridges near the border so hopefully, that will slow them down. Eventually, we’ll have a fight on our hands.”
“Has any sort of leader emerged?” the president asked.
“Not yet,” Stroud said.
“Are our naval forces in place?” the president asked.
“Yes,” General Jackson said. “The USS Stennis is operating near Panama, and the Reagan battlegroup is doing the same near Corpus Christi.”
“The research group?” the president asked.
“Scheduled to arrive at Pearl Harbor in three days,” General Jackson said. “The Russians, with Dr. Olofsson and his group should arrive a few days after that, and the Chinese will get there when they get there.”
“Sir,” General Angles said. “I might have a suggestion.” The general paused as if her next words weighed heavy.
“Spit it out general,” President Dixon said, taking his seat at the table.
“I suggest we go on the offensive.”
“Invade Mexico?” Marion said aghast.
“You can’t be serious,” Richard said.
“Yes sir,” General Angles said. “You know the saying, sir. Fortune favors the bold.”
“We don’t have the manpower to take control of Mexico,” Richard said.
“I’m not talking about control,” the general said. “At least not in the traditional sense.”
“Explain,” the president said.
“Sir, you can’t be considering this,” Richard said. “The United States has never initiated a war with another country, without due cause.”
“That can be debated,” President Dixon said. “And it could be argued we have good cause.” He held up his hand to forestall protest. “I’m not saying I’ll invade anyone, but I want to hear what the general has to say.”
“Sir, I’m suggesting we conduct a slowdown action. People naturally flee war. It’s coded in our DNA. If we push into Mexico, do something unexpected, people will flee south. It won’t completely stem the tide, but it will slow it down long enough to put whatever defenses we need in place. Then we can pull back to our side of the border.”
“Richard?” President Dixon said. “You look like you have something to say.”
“Well sir,” Richard said. “Something the general said got me thinking. Are we positive they’re coming north because they think we have a cure? Our intelligence gathering since the plague is spotty. Hell, we barely know what’s going on in parts of the United States, let alone rest of the world. Could they be coming north for another reason?”
“A war,” the president said more as a revelation than a question. “But where? Mexico, further south?”
“Maybe both,” Richard said.
“And who?” the vice president asked.
“My best guess is it’s a bunch of local power struggles,” Walsh interjected. “Made up of remnants of the local drug gangs or the military, which often amounts to the same thing.”
“Drug gangs?” General Angles said, incredulous.
“The drug gangs and the military were the most organized,” Walsh said. “If Central and South America are experiencing a rise in warlords, then they’re the most likely candidates. I imagine there’s internal power struggles taking place in some areas and control for territory in others. That would account for the large number of people fleeing north from different parts of Latin America. It’s a good theory, Mr. Stroud.”
“I think this is something we need to investigate,” President Dixon said. “If something is going on and we can put a stop to it, we can slow down the influx.”
“Mr. President,” said Tech Sergeant Kayla Miles over the intercom. She, to her chagrin, had been promoted to the president’s secretary.
“Yes, Kayla.”
“Sir, your guests have arrived,” she said.
“Thank you. Tell them I’ll be with them in a minute.” He turned back to his council. “Gentlemen, I want to know what’s going on down there. Dispatch a ship along each coastline to investigate. Let’s meet again later to discuss this in greater detail. Right now, I have guests to greet.” He sighed heavily. “South of the border isn’t the only place that’s a problem.”
**********
Franklin, Danica, and Paris lounged on the sofa in the lobby waiting to see President Dixon. It had been nearly six weeks since they’d arrived in Colorado, and as much as Franklin wanted to hunt down Copperhead, the moment he set eyes on Matthew, the desire to kill anyone evaporated. Instead of hitting the road, he spent as much time as possible with Matthew.
“Franklin!” Anita screamed when he walked onto the Colorado tarmac. She pulled Matthew behind her and threw herself into Franklin’s arms. Franklin squeezed her to him and pulled in Matthew.
“I’m sorry about Nate,” he said to her.
For her part, Danica was shocked to see how many people from Charlotte were there to greet them. Toscana gave her a bear hug with more strength than Danica thought possible. Then, with the tenderness of a mother handling a newborn, Toscana cupped her face and lightly kissed her on the lips. It wasn’t a sexual kiss but a chaste kiss of greeting. Even so, Danica nearly melted in Toscana’s arms. She wanted to grab Toscana by the back of the neck, pull the woman into a loving embrace, and explore her mouth with her tongue. Toscana, sensing Danica’s discomfort, pulled back, and even looked embarrassed.
“Welcome home,” Toscana whispered as she took one of Danica’s hands in hers. Danica just smiled and let the tears flow down her face.
“It’s good to be here,” Danica said as she wiped her eyes clear. She was spellbound at all the people, but that spell was broken when Whisper came up and nudged her leg. She reached down and rubbed the dog’s head.
“And who is this?” Toscana asked.
“Whisper. I found him in the woods.”
“Do you pick up strays wherever you go?”
“Apparently. I’ll introduce you to a few other strays I found, later.”
“I l
ook forward to meeting them.”
“We have a nice little community going,” Ruiz said coming up to stand beside Toscana.
“Yes,” Toscana said. “I picked out a nice four-bedroom house for you.”
“It’s not as good as back home,” Ruiz said. “It doesn’t have running water or electricity yet, but scouts have been out looking for generators. You’re first on the list.”
“What?” Danica said shocked. “That’s too much. I don’t need a house that big. And make sure that any generators you find, go to the houses with children, first.”
“You have children,” Toscana said, almost laughing. “Matthew wants to stay with you, and Anita wants to stay with Matthew, and Franklin will want to stay with Matthew. See, your house is already full.”
“Shit,” Danica said, realizing she was right.
Toscana leaned in and said softly, “And maybe soon, Paris will want to stay with Franklin.”
“Toscana and I are in the house next door,” Ruiz said. “Bishop thinks he can get the water running again but suggests waiting until spring. Less chance of the pipes bursting. And . . .” He started laughing. “A couple of the boys killed an elk a few days ago, so, thanks to the Atlanta group, we’ll have a nice dinner tonight. Elk stew.”
The community set up by the Charlotte group was in a housing complex close enough to The Mountain that it provided a measure of security from bandits—not that there were many—but far enough that they were the first residents to move in. Someone had replaced the Spring Lake Village sign with a spray-painted sign that read, “New Goldilocks.” There was even a community center large enough to accommodate everyone. It was where most everyone hung out playing cards or board games when not out salvaging or hunting. Many even slept there, which was why, when they unearthed the first generator, Danica directed that it be hooked up to the community center.
Then, two weeks ago, a stranger showed up looking for her and Franklin. When they were identified, he produced a presidential summons.
