“Sure, sergeant. I have it right here.” The officer turned slightly away from him as if to remove paperwork from a side pocket, then quickly stepped forward and thrust a knife under Milton’s chin, piercing his brain.
Death was slow enough for Milton’s eyes to widen in shock, yet fast enough to prevent nothing more than an autonomous reaction of his hands fumbling at his duty belt holster before he convulsed once then dropped to the floor.
The killer looked both ways, then down, tilting his head to study the prone form of the unbeliever he had just sent to God. Muttering a half remembered prayer, he grabbed Milton under the arms, leaving the knife in place to minimize the blood flow that was slowly leaking from the wound.
He dragged the body to an unused storeroom, using the passkey one more time; he pushed the door open, dragged the body behind some crates, knelt down with his head bowed and eyes closed in prayer before he removed the knife, closed the eyelids and covered the body with a tarp. Judging by the layer of dust on the crates, the body wouldn’t be discovered for quite some time, if at all. He wiped the blade off on the tarp and slid it back into the special sheath sewn inside the pocket of his pants. One last look around to verify that nothing else was disturbed, he then left the room, made sure the door was locked, checked the hallway and unhurriedly strode back to the now waiting elevator. Cicero took several deep breaths to calm down or he would be giddy when he got back up to the operations level.
The holy cleansing had started. Hallelujah, hallelujah.
***
Chapter 11
Idaho Falls, Idaho
Jimbo Morrison finished his meal, walked outside the little room, dropping the utensils into a bucket for later washing. The small group that he had been with on that night that they had left the National Guard armory had stumbled upon an abandoned warehouse. As he climbed the steps to the roof, his mind played back the events that haunted his dreams.
He was finishing his meal in the mess tent erected in the parking lot of the Armory. Melody sat beside him chattering away about how he was a hero and saved half the school. Berg was polishing his glasses the whole time. Jimbo was tempted to ask him if it was a nervous habit when a young looking officer, captain’s bars on his collar, a new set of ACU’s, helmet tucked under his arm walked over to the table and announced that the group was to get ready to board the truck to the university. He advised them to gather their things, form up into lines behind the trucks and listen for directions. Jimbo shoveled the last of the food into his mouth and then tossed the tray into the garbage on the way out of the tent. The kids were joined by adults then directed to the truck by soldiers with slung rifles. He looked around; soldiers were rushing everywhere, carrying boxes, crates, ammo cans. In the distance there were sirens, police, fire, he couldn’t tell the difference. Climbing into the back of the truck, he found a seat about three people from his sister with Berg across from him, some girl with the name of the community college on her sweatshirt sitting next to him. He was in the middle of the troop bench, and with the canvas cover over the top, could only see out through the back and through the gaps around the cab. As he sat there the sun was starting to drop lower in the sky. Looking around at the rest of the people, he took note of the adults, some disheveled and others dressed for work, even an aged grandmother in her bathrobe. The loading took more time than projected; the sun had gone down long before the little convoy was ready to leave the secure area around armory. The trucks and their Hummer escorts started up, engines idling, heavy exhaust billowing, before moving out onto the main roads. Master Sergeant Hathaway, the soldier who had introduced himself to their small group and knew that Jimbo played football, was in the trailing Hummer accompanied by two other soldiers.
Jimbo watched the streets go by, strangely lit yet devoid of traffic. Sitting where he was in the back of the truck, his view of the outside world was only little glimpses out the back from an odd angle or a flash of color between his fellow occupants. What was eerie was the quiet. None of the passengers spoke unless they put their mouth to the other person’s ear to be heard; the only constant was the rumble of the truck, the smell of military grade diesel, heavily treated canvas and sweaty bodies. He was tired, even though he had slept for some hours earlier in the medical tent, his body was telling him to sleep, the vibration of the truck making him nod off only to jerk awake when the truck made a direction change. He gave in, his head drooping, eyes closed as sleep took him. His dreams were a mix of remembered football games, riding his bike with his friends, being in his truck at the drive-in with Charlotte, walking into the bathroom at the wrong time and catching Melody stepping out of the shower, his dad throwing a football to him. Had anyone looked at his face they would see a grin of happiness on his features.
He jerked awake when the truck came to an abrupt stop and he was thrown against the person next to him as the tires locked up, brakes squealing. He looked around the interior; it was much darker than before. A lone streetlight cast its glow over a portion of the interior, making the passenger’s faces seem unnaturally pale. Everyone started talking at once, complaining or asking questions. Jimbo turned as much as he could and tried to peer out between the cover and then down between wooden seat back. All he saw by looking down was asphalt and the side of the truck. The convoy had stopped for a reason. Working his fingers against the tie downs, he was able to pull the overhead cover far enough away to see that they were stopped at an intersection. Some of the soldiers were outside the vehicles, weapons ready, by the desert painted Hummer that had been second in line. The other Hummer, the one with all the antennas that the officer had gotten into, was nowhere to be seen.
“Just a short delay folks nothing to worry about.” The voice belonged to Hathaway, who had come up from the trailing Hummer, this one still painted the original woodland pattern, to stand at the tailgate of Jimbo’s truck.
“What’s the delay soldier?”
“How long will this take?”
“What’s the problem?”
Everyone tried to ask questions at once. Hathaway held up his hands for quiet, a warm smile on his face until everyone stopped trying to talk over each other.
“People, people, when I find out more information I’ll pass it on. This is just a short delay.” A soldier jogged up to from the parked Hummer in front, leaned close and whispered into his ear. The warm smile faded as Hathaway listened intently. The soldier straightened back up, looking at the senior non-com for direction.
“Excuse me just a minute folks.” he walked a short distance away before conversing with the soldier. The young corporal looked nervous, his eyes darting around at the darkened buildings and empty streets as he listened to the master sergeant, the conversation looked stern to heated as Hathaway asked questions and the soldier responded with negative shakes of his head. Jimbo watched the senior man grab the younger soldier’s load bearing harness and give him a slight jerk.
“You understand me, soldier?” Hathaway’s question carried over the short distance to the truck. Everyone was engrossed in watching the interaction when a short burst of auto weapons fire came from further down the street. Some of the women screamed and one man actually fell to his knees in the middle of the truck bed, tears running down his face as he looked up hands clasped together, lips muttering as he beseeched his god to save him. Hathaway pulled his rifle around to the front as he ran past to the parked cargo truck and to the other Hummer, still idling in the middle of the intersection. He leaned down to the driver’s side, words were exchanged that Jimbo could see but not hear over the rumble of the idling truck. Hathaway motioned with his left arm and hand in the direction of the firing. There were several more bursts from further up the street. Hathaway stepped back as the Hummer sped off in that direction.
“Who has contact?” Hathaway demanded over the radio mike clipped to the shoulder of his vest. Jimbo craned his head to watch him. Hathaway walked back to the front of the truck, continuing to speak into the hand mike.
; “Charlie Lead, say again your last?” he requested. Jimbo could hear static then a garbled voice over the rumble of the truck engine.
“Say again. Charlie Lead, say again.” Hathaway demanded into the radio. More shooting came from the direction that the Hummer had sped in, several long bursts, a couple of single shots, maybe from a pistol then a large caliber automatic heavy weapon, sounding like a giant typewriter on backspace, echoed down the empty streets. Hathaway remained looking in that direction.
“Master Sergeant what’s happening up front? Where’s Captain Steele?” A shaky voice called out from the cab of Jimbo’s truck, a squeal of un-oiled metal as a door was opened.
“Private, you get your ass back in that truck and close that fucking door.” Hathaway ordered. The truck vibrated a little when the door slammed shut. The passengers were quiet now, Jimbo looked around, some were hugging each other tightly, eyes wide with fear. A middle-aged couple was holding hands, the man softly and slowly caressing his wife’s face in an attempt to calm her, his eyes sad as if resigned to his fate. He saw Berg and the college girl, sitting close to each other, Berg’s arm across her shoulder as she tucked her head into his chest. He caught Melody’s eye, she was sitting more towards the front, looking around fearfully. From where she sat, close to the cab, she had no view but directly out the back.
“Charlie Lead, Charlie Lead, respond.” Hathaway continued calling. Sporadic firing continued then abruptly stopped. A loud, almost inhuman scream followed by a single shot then sudden silence. The eerie stillness descended like a thick fog. Jimbo could hear the blood rushing in his ears as he strained to hear something, anything over the idling truck and his pounding heart.
“Valdez, Axtell, get up here!” Hathaway yelled back. The Hummer behind started up, pulled around his truck, drove onto the sidewalk then back over the curb onto the street before stopping next to the senior NCO. Hathaway leaned down to speak to the driver. He stepped back as the Hummer accelerated to the middle of the intersection recently vacated by the previous Hummer and stopped, its engine farting and idling in the stillness as the soldier on the passenger side crawled up through the top hatch, jacked a round into the .50 heavy machine gun, swinging it in the direction of the now ceased shooting, staring intently into the darkness. Hathaway walked back to the rear of Jimbo’s truck.
“Sergeant what’s happening?”
“Who’s shooting?”
“What’s the problem?”
“What happened?”
The questions started all over again until Hathaway put his hands up, motioning for quiet.
“People, I don’t know what’s happened. The lead element was firing at something, what, I don’t know yet.”
“What made that scream?”
“Are we in danger?”
“Why is that soldier manning that big gun?”
“Is there something up there?”
Hathaway motioned for quiet once again.
“It’s just a precaution. We don’t know what the problem is; I’ve requested supp... assistance from base.” Hathaway caught himself before he said something that might increase panic in the already frightened civilians.
“How long is this going to take sergeant? I have a meeting tomorrow I need to be at.” Jimbo looked at the man asking the question. He was dressed in a dark business with a briefcase on his lap, appearing totally unaffected by the events of the day, tapping his watch to make his point clear. Hathaway looked at the man, shook his head in disbelief.
“I’ll do what I can to get you to your meeting sir. It’s only a slight delay.” Hathaway walked to the front of the truck, speaking into his clipped radio microphone.
“Charlie Four to Charlie Lead, Charlie Four to Charlie Lead. Charlie Four to Charlie...” The heavy machine gun on top of the Hummer opened up cutting off Hathaway’s voice. Several bursts were fired as Hathaway jogged over to the vehicle.
“What the fuck you shooting at, Axtell?!”
“Thought I saw something, Master Sergeant.” Axtell cut loose another short burst.
“Jesus Christ, Axtell! Did it ever occur to you that there might be some civilian stragglers or our own men out there trying to get back to us?”
“Sorry, Master Sergeant.” Axtell replied sheepishly. Jimbo pried the canvas away from the side of the truck and watched Hathaway as leaned in and spoke with Valdez. He couldn’t make out what was being said.
He watched Hathaway walk to the back of the Hummer and unclip the one antenna that was in the down position, letting it spring up to vertical before walking around to the other antenna, pulling it down and clipping it. He leaned in the passenger window and said something to the soldier inside before he walked to the antenna he had just pulled down and let it spring up to match its twin on the other side. Hathaway muttered something as he walked back around to the driver’s side of the Hummer. He looked back at the truck then back down the street. Over the idling Hummer and five-ton truck, he thought he heard something, sounded faintly like moaning. Hathaway walked back to the cab of the truck, climbed onto the running board and spoke quietly to the two young soldiers inside. Jimbo strained to hear what was being said.
“You keep your goddamn eyes peeled. No fucking around. Stay in the truck and watch for hostiles. Got that?”
“Sure, Master Sergeant.” they both chimed in. Hathaway looked over at the private sitting on the passenger side.
“Dunmire, take your fucking finger off the trigger and safe that weapon,” he said quietly but with enough menace to make the young man remove his finger from the trigger and place it alongside the trigger guard.
“Sorry, Master Sergeant.” Hathaway nodded a little.
“Just keep your shit together. Stay frosty.” He stepped down and walked back over to the Hummer, leaning in the passenger window, said something to the soldier inside again before he straightened up and looked down the street. The five-ton engine sputtering and dying made him jerk his head in that direction. He walked back over to the truck.
“What the fuck, Wilson?”
The private nervously tried to restart the truck, grinding the starter but to no avail.
“Sorry, Master Sergeant.”
“Don’t apologize, dumbfuck. Start the damn truck.” The private was sweating heavily now, trying to start the big truck. Hathaway slung his rifle in disgust, climbed onto the front bumper and unsnapped the hood release. Hathaway stared intently into the engine compartment, using a small penlight he dug out of a pocket on his vest hoping to find the problem quickly, like a loose wire or battery connection. Not able to see what the problem was, he jumped down, walked to the driver’s door.
“What’d you do?”
“Nothing, Master Sergeant, honest. It was running then it stopped.”
“Well no shit.” Hathaway climbed up on the running board and looked at the dash. Shaking his head in dismay he saw the problem right away.
“Private, how long have you been driving this truck?” he asked as he looked at the young soldier.
“All day, Master Sergeant, why?” Hathaway shook his head again.
“Did it ever occur to you to fuel the goddamn thing up?” He kept his voice low so as not to announce this new problem to the already frightened passengers. The private’s eyes got real big when he realized that he hadn’t done that since this morning.
“Sorry, Master Sergeant. I didn’t think I’d run out. This was just supposed to be a shuttle run; I thought we’d back in plenty of time to refuel.”
“You’re not paid to think numbnuts. I’ll tell you when you can think.” Hathaway stepped down, trying to find of a way out this problem. He quickly thumped his fingers against the spare fuel cans strapped to the running board of the truck. Empty. He looked around, no cars on the street so siphoning gas was out. Taking fuel from the Hummer was out, that would leave two vehicles with maybe a half tank each and the five-ton was a guzzler no matter how close the emergency shelter might be. He stepped back up on the running board.
“You two, hand over your flashlights.” He took the lights, stepped back off the truck, walking to the back.
“OK people, we have a slight problem. This truck has a mechanical issue.” Before he could continue, several people tried to speak at once.
“Shut up!” Hathaway yelled. Everyone stopped talking and looked at him, stunned, as the nice guy persona was now replaced by the no nonsense seasoned veteran.
“Everyone just shut up!” He looked at the frightened, cowed people packed together. “Now listen up. We’re going to walk to the emergency shelter; those of you who have difficulty walking any distance will ride in the Hummer. The rest of you will walk in an orderly fashion. No stragglers. It’s only a couple of blocks from here.” He unlatched the rear gate of the truck, letting it drop with a loud metallic clang.
“Fuck that!” a loud voice yelled out, startling almost everyone. The people turned to look at the well-dressed businessman.
“What was that, sir?” Hathaway asked.
“I said fuck that. No way am I walking anywhere. My tax dollars pay for the National Guard. No damn way I’m walking when I can ride.”
“Sir, I don’t think you grasp the severity of the problem.” Hathaway fixed the man with a glare that could have melted ice. “This truck isn’t going anywhere. It’s broke. The shelter is only a few blocks from here. Now get your ass on this street. Now.”
“You can’t talk to me like that. I’m a civilian, you have no right, I’m not one of your mindless soldiers.” Jimbo was sure that Hathaway was about to climb in and literally toss this smug asshole out on the street.
“Fuck him.” the kind faced older woman dressed in a soft blue bathrobe and matching slippers said before climbing down.
“All he ever does is complain. Let him stay and rot. Good riddance to him.” She added once she was on the ground next to Hathaway. Several people started giggling as the outburst. Her climbing out and down caused others to follow her example until it was just Mr. Business Suit left in the dark interior.
Up From the Depths: Book 4 Movement to Contact Page 11
