Grave Games: A Collection Of Riveting Suspense Thrillers

by James Hunt

  After dressing, Eric made his way down to the conference room where Captain Howard waited. When he stepped inside, all eyes turned to him. Everyone stood and saluted.

  “If you guys were trying to throw me a surprise party, you did a terrible job,” Eric said.

  Laughter rippled through the room, and Eric caught a glimpse of a smile crack across the legendary stone face of Howard.

  Eric knew what these men and women were offering. It was their respect. And even though he enjoyed hiding behind the smart quips, his humor was betrayed by the glistening redness in his eyes.

  “Now that everyone's here, we'll get started,” Captain Howard said.

  The lights dimmed in the room, and a projection of the Mexican border along California, Arizona, and New Mexico appeared.

  “We received intelligence that the Mexican military is planning on invading at three points. A group of forces is gathering in the Baja Peninsula, just south of Arizona in Sonora, and south of New Mexico in Chihuahua,” Howard said, pointing at each location on the map with a laser pen.

  Eric leaned over to the pilot next to him and kept his voice low when he spoke. “You better hope you don't get sent to New Mexico. Those little dogs might not look like much, but they are mean.”

  Howard clicked forward to the next slide. A picture of General Gallo appeared. He looked as stony as Captain Howard, refusing to smile.

  “General Gallo is their lead military strategist. He is a student of war and is hell bent on reclaiming Mexico's lost glory and territories. He also has direct command of thirty thousand troops,” Howard said.

  Eric looked around, searching for something, but was unable to find it. He leaned back over to his neighbor. “There's more people coming, right?” Eric asked.

  Howard clicked to the next slide. “This is Luke Air Force base just outside of Phoenix. This will be the heart of where we will be keeping our air fleet. From here, we will fly troops into Tuscon, AZ to what’s left of the Davis-Monthan AFB, which will act as our main point of conflict. Phoenix is our line in the sand. If General Gallo's men make it past that point, they'll have nothing stopping them from marching into Nevada and Utah. We don't lose Phoenix,” Captain Howard said.

  Eric's thoughts trailed off to the conversation he had had with Brooke almost two days ago. He hoped she’d gotten out. He couldn't imagine what was going on in the cities now that the government had deserted its people. It wasn't just going to be a fight against the Mexicans. It was going to be a fight amongst themselves.

  “We'll also be keeping troops here in San Diego and at the old Kirtland Air Force Base in Albuquerque. Now, with the exception of a few troops who stayed behind to finalize the moving of equipment at the remaining military bases in the Southwest, most of the places will be abandoned. In addition to General Gallo's movements, I've also received word that there are others who've stayed behind. We don't have the numbers we wished we would, but we're not alone. Now, everyone's main objective is to fend off the Mexicans, but our secondary objective is to help maintain order in the local cities around our posts. I'm working on getting relief supplies sent our way to help with establishing a sense of normalcy, and hopefully that will grant us some goodwill with the people,” Howard said.

  The lights clicked back on, and the projection shut off. Eric counted the number of pilots that had stayed behind. The USS Ronald Reagan housed a wing squadron of eighty pilots. After the president’s order to abandon the region, there were only sixteen left.

  “Now I know we don’t have the numbers we would like to contend with Gallo’s forces, but we will have to make do with what we have. And while we’re on this ship, there will be no talk of those who left because of the president’s message. They were following orders. Each of us understood the repercussions of staying behind. Even though we are no longer a part of the United States Navy, we will still fight like it,” Howard said, slamming his fist onto the table, knocking over a few pens.

  The motion snapped the room to attention, and Eric saw a few of the pilots sit up a little straighter.

  “General Gallo has been instrumental over the past few years in expanding Mexico's military prowess, so make no mistake, we will have a hell of a fight on our hands. Master Chief Petty Officer Pint will hand out everyone's individual assignments. God speed,” Howard said.

  When Eric was handed his manila folder, he stared at it a minute before opening it. Phoenix. He figured that’s where Howard would put him, right in the crosshairs.

  “You know I never did get that nurse change,” Eric said to Howard. “How many men do we have stationed at Luke AFB?”

  “Not enough.”

  As optimistic as Eric had been about people staying behind to help, the reality was that they were going to be on their own. This militia they were forming faced an uphill battle.

  “You’re the best pilot I have. I know it's going to be hard, but it's where I need you,” Howard said.

  Howard's throat caught. His eyes diverted. Eric wasn't the only one who had had a rough couple of days. After a few moments, Howard regained his composure, and Eric slapped him on the back.

  “Don't worry, Captain. I'm sure I'll do something to make you angry at me again later,” Eric said.

  ***

  Captain Howard stepped out onto the deck of the USS Ronald Reagan and felt the sun and heat beat down upon him. He looked over at the slosh of blood-tinged water being sprayed off the side of the ship.

  If this exile continued to stretch out, it would be another civil war. Howard needed to end this as quickly as possible, but he wasn't sure if he would have the resources to do it. He knew his contacts in Washington had the best of intentions for helping him, but well wishes didn't win wars.

  Master Chief Petty Officer Pint ran down the stairs from the control deck, holding a satellite phone in his hands. He handed it to Howard.

  “I could use some good news, Congressman,” Howard said into the phone.

  “We managed to get a care package sent out an hour ago. It should arrive at your location by this afternoon,” Smith said.

  “Where are we at with setting up a pipeline for scheduled deliveries? Gallo is on the move. We should be able to handle his first push, but once he regroups, we'll be dead in the water.”

  “We're working on a permanent solution, but it'll take a little more time.”

  “Time is a resource more precious than water at this point, Congressman.”

  “I know, Captain. How many men were you able to gather?”

  “Not as many as I would like to have, but there are still a few aces up our sleeve.”

  “Captain, I can't stress enough the importance of making sure the Mexican military does not establish a foothold within the Southwest. If they do, it's going to make this a very long-term problem, which I know is something we both want to avoid.”

  “I'm well aware, Congressman. I look forward to an update on the scheduled relief deliveries.”

  Howard ended the call and handed the phone back to Pint.

  “How are we looking?” Pint asked.

  A hose sprayed the remaining pinkish froth from the deck of the ship and into the Pacific. Most of the effects of the conflict had been cleaned away, but Howard knew it was only on the surface. The events that would transpire over the next several days would permeate deep, not just with the people but with the country itself.

  “It's gonna be a dog fight,” Howard said.

  ***

  Eric squeezed his way through the narrow ship halls until he made it to one of the bunkrooms and banged on the door. Eric hoped his friend was still there.

  The door swung open with an angry pull, and Billy held a scowl on his face. Even after learning it was Eric who had woken him, he still tried to slam the door.

  “What do you want?” Billy asked.

  “Billy! Buddy, pal, listen, I need to ask you a favor,” Eric said.

  Eric stuck his arm out to block the door closing in his face just in the nick of time. The
thud from the metal slamming against his forearm rang through the hallway.

  “I... just... need... a minute,” Eric said, his muscles tensing against the strain of the door.

  Billy's strength finally gave way, and Eric barreled into the room.

  “Get out!” Billy said.

  “Easy, bud, I just need one thing.”

  “That's what you said about us not going with the rest of the Navy. You said they wouldn't hurt us. You said people would stand with us!” Billy held up the cast on his arm.

  “I can sign that for you later, but right now I need to know if you still have access to the San Diego database to look up an address,” Eric said.

  Billy dropped the cast. As much as he may have hated Eric, he did enjoy hanging his abilities over other people's heads. It made him feel more important than he actually was.

  “Of course I can. It's child's play,” Billy said.

  “I need you to look someone up for me. Brooke Fontanne.”

  Chapter 4

  The small room was cramped even with only three men inside. All of them were dressed in suits, with American flag pins on the lapels of their jackets.

  Smith snapped his phone shut. Both Daniel and Edwards had remained silent during the entire conversation.

  “Well?” Edwards asked.

  “The USS Ronald Reagan is his. Now he just needs the supplies to help him defend the border,” Smith said.

  Daniel let out a sigh of relief. He hadn’t realized he'd been holding his breath in for that long.

  “So now all we have to do is make sure our supply route is secure,” Smith said. “Edwards, are your people still willing to help?”

  “They're nervous, but they're ready. Although I would like for us to move sooner rather than later, before they second-guess themselves,” Edwards answered.

  “The containers of water, along with the ammunition and food rations, are secure at the airport. Once we get the word from Congressman Edwards, we'll notify the pilots,” Daniel said.

  “You're sure it's a smart move leaving everything in one location?” Edwards asked.

  “It'll be fine. It's a small airport owned under a shell corporation of one of my businesses. Jones won't be able to trace it,” Daniel replied.

  “There are a lot of things we didn't think Jones could do,” Edwards said.

  “We'll start scheduling shipments every other day. That should give Howard the support he needs,” Smith said.

  Once they left the room, they all walked in different directions. Setting up illegal water deliveries would be enough to land all of them in jail. Adding that to the fact that they were supplying the now-exiled Southwest would add treason to their judgment and ultimately end their lives.

  The stakes were high, and Daniel was doing his best to hold it together. He found himself looking behind him far too often, and when he was sitting in his office alone, he would catch himself staring at the closed door, just waiting for armed guards to bust it down and carry him away.

  But once he had voted against Jones’s bill, he knew which side of the fence he set himself on. It might not have been the safest decision, but it was one that he knew his conscience would be able to handle. He just hoped he would live long enough to appreciate it.

  Smith was smart, and Daniel trusted him. There was no way of knowing the amount of dirt and blackmail Jones had on the other congressmen to help swing the vote his way. They were all blindsided that the annexation of the Southwest had passed.

  It was harder now, but not impossible, to save that portion of the country. If Captain Howard could keep General Gallo's men from establishing a foothold in the region, then they still had a chance to work legislation on their end to get the country back on its feet.

  But even if Howard was able to fend off the Mexican military, and they could pass legislation to reinstate the Southwest, it still wouldn't solve the water crisis. That burden still rested with Dr. Carlson.

  That was the one process Daniel was worried about. From what he'd seen of Dr. Carlson, he was not impressed. When Beth had brought him in to meet Smith and Daniel, he’d reeked of whiskey and looked like a homeless man living on the streets.

  Still, Smith said he was a genius. Daniel just hoped the doctor would be able to sober up enough to recreate his process. If he even remembered how.

  ***

  The sound of retching, followed by splashes into the toilet, from inside the bathroom kept disrupting Beth's concentration on her work. She sat at a small, round table made of some composite material and worked on her laptop. Her blouse and skirt were finely pressed, and her blond hair was pulled back tight in her signature bun.

  Jake sat in the corner. He was scrolling through his phone, checking Congressman Smith’s messages.

  Beth's long nails clicked against the keyboard, and her eyes darted to the closed bathroom door once more after another long moan from Dr. Carlson.

  “Not everyone in this hotel room is a recovering alcoholic, so if you could try and keep the griping to a minimum, it would be greatly appreciated,” Beth said.

  More plunks sounded from Dr. Carlson's puking, and Beth shuddered with frustration. She slammed the laptop closed and almost ripped the bathroom door off its hinges. The smell that flew up her nostrils was warm and sour. It felt as though a wave of death consumed her, but she stood firm.

  Dr. Carlson had his arms wrapped around the toilet bowl and was curled up in the fetal position, with bits of vomit on the corners of his mouth.

  “Are you done yet?” Beth asked.

  “Woman, if there were a reincarnation of Lucifer himself walking around in our world, even he would have more sympathy for me than you do,” Dr. Carlson answered.

  “You'll have plenty of time with the devil in your next life, but in this one, we need you dried out and working. We've already lost an entire day with you whining about how hard this is.”

  “I need to go to the hospital.”

  “Congressman Jones is looking for you, and you can bet he'll have people watching hospital admissions and every other corner of this country to make sure you're dead.”

  “If he wanted to kill me, he would have done it already.”

  “Well, should I give him a call, then, and let him know you're here?”

  “Go for it. At least he'll put me out of my misery so I don't have to listen to your incessant yapping.”

  “The clock is ticking, Doctor.”

  ***

  After another hour of vomiting, he was dry heaving. Despite his stomach's persistence, the only thing that came out now was hot bile.

  Dr. Carlson pushed himself off the bathroom floor. His arms shook, and his legs wobbled. He grabbed the towel rack and used it to help steady himself.

  The pounding in his head was extravagant. His entire body felt as if it was under the weight of a semi truck. He took a few shuffling steps forward and then stopped, leaning up against the cool wall of the bathroom for support.

  If he could make it to the bed, he would consider it a victory. His entire body was covered in sweat. His muscles twitched from their eager cries for more alcohol.

  He landed his feet on the soft carpet of the bedroom and shuffled forward another few steps. He swayed back and forth, using every bit of strength left in him not to collapse.

  Another couple short strides and he finally grabbed the thick comforter of the queen-sized bed and pulled himself on top. His face rubbed against the slightly scratchy fabric.

  Dr. Carlson felt the weight of sleep crush him, and as his eyelids shut, the only thought that entered his mind was that he didn't think he'd ever wake up.

  ***

  The first instinct that Dr. Carlson felt when his eyes opened wearily was that he wanted to inhale the biggest steak that he could find. But he wasn't greeted by the filet mignon of his dreams. Instead he was surrounded by two men dressed in well-tailored suits and the succubus who had dragged him here.

  “Dr. Carlson?” Smith asked.

  He d
idn't respond. Maybe if he pretended he was dead, they would go away.

  “Dr. Carlson, it's David Smith. I'm the congressman you worked with three years ago, trying to get your formula passed in the House,” Smith said.

  “Well, you did a shit job,” Dr. Carlson said.

  “Apparently the lack of alcohol in his system doesn't diminish his charm,” Beth said.

  “Dr. Carlson, I know you're probably exhausted, but we need you up and running immediately. I'm sure you've heard about what's happened,” Smith said.

  They weren't going to leave him alone, no matter how much he tried to ignore them. Dr. Carlson pushed himself up off his stomach and rolled over to his back.