Up From the Depths: Book 4 Movement to Contact

by J. R. Jackson

  “How is he?” Sharon asked. Burnett looked up with tired eyes.

  “He’s stable for now,” she replied. “I don’t know what kind of permanent damage there will be. I’m not an orthopedic or a vascular surgeon,” she said shaking her head slowly. “We got the bleeding stopped but there was a lot of muscle damage. The bullet passed all the way through the lateral quadriceps and chipped his femur.”

  Burnett paused and looked Sharon in the eyes.

  “I’m only an anesthesiologist. I put people under and monitored them. I never did this kind of work.” Sharon put her hand on the other woman’s arm.

  “It’s OK, you did what you could,” she said reassuringly.

  “Allie did most of the internal work, I just assisted,” Burnett stated tiredly.

  “Get some rest,” Sharon said. “You need it.”

  Burnett nodded then walked away towards her room. Sharon watched her go then looked at the door to the medical room. She reached out and gripped the handle, hesitated then opened the door. Inside, in the center of the room lay Stone. Next to him Allie Drewett sat looking at him. Stone’s damaged leg was wrapped in bandages from his hip to his knee. Stone’s bloody pants and bandages were stuffed into a garbage can at the foot of the bed. A makeshift IV stand made from a broom stick and a wire coat hangar duct taped to a straight backed chair was at the head of the bed, its tubing running to Stone’s arm. Drewett looked up with red rimmed eyes and managed a smile when Sharon entered.

  “How is he?” she asked.

  Drewett sighed heavily before replying.

  “He’ll live, but there was some serious muscle damage. I don’t know if the muscle will even work,” Drewett shook her head. “I’m not a doctor. I assisted a couple of times but never did anything like this,” her voice trailed off. “If he doesn’t get some kind of infection, I’ll be surprised. There’re all kinds of bad things that can happen. If infection sets in, he could lose his leg,” She paused shaking her head. “If he walks, big if right there, it won’t be for a while.”

  Sharon nodded looking at Stone as he slept. She stood there for a few minutes, silently praying that the man on the bed would live before she left the room, her eyes watery.

  ***

  Site R, Raven Rock Military Complex (RRMC)

  “When I became president, I wanted to do something great,” Hamilton Jefferson Wood said holding his wife’s hand. “I wanted to be in the history books as a president that did something beneficial for his country.” He watched for a response from his wife. “We’ve lost so much and so many people its mind numbing. There is no New York anymore. Los Angeles is a dead zone. Hell, even D.C. is just a spot on the map and a footnote in the history books.” He looked at his wife hoping for some kind of response. “I don’t even think we can reconstitute the government. This all happened so fast there wasn’t time to get everyone out,” he said referring to the COG plan that would have safeguarded the line of succession to the presidency.

  “We’ve lost our industrial areas. It’s only a matter of time before we lose everything else.” He looked down at the floor then back up at his wife. “Dana, I may very well be the last president this great country has and one that through inaction has doomed its citizens to death.”

  Wood dropped his head to the blankets and wept silently. Dana’s fingers twitched then softly gripped her husband’s hand. Wood felt the twitch and looked up. His wife’s hand was gripping his own. His eyes moved up to her face. Dana Wood’s eyes still stared at the ceiling but from the corner of one eye, a small tear appeared and rolled down the side of her face.

  “Dana?” Wood asked. Her eyes blinked twice.

  “Oh my God! Dana!” Wood exclaimed standing up and hugging her tightly. She was unresponsive except her hand which twitched and her eyes rolled to look at him.

  “You always hated to see me cry,” he said holding her tight to his chest realizing that maybe there was a glimmer of hope left.

  A two-tone siren accompanied by a flashing red light jarred him from the moment. Looking up and around he tried to think what that meant. The door to the room burst open admitting Grayson.

  “Sir! You’re needed in the Situation Room!” Not waiting for POTUS to respond, Agent Grayson grabbed Wood by the arm and pulled him out of the room as medical staff rushed in.

  “Erwin, what’s happening?” Wood asked confused as he was dragged towards the Situation Room.

  “I don’t know, Mr. President, but NORAD is on the line,” Grayson said grimly. The detail stopped outside the doors and took up flanking position as the Presidential Detail SAC opened the doors. Before those same doors closed, members of the Secret Service Tactical Response Team joined their brethren.

  Wood looked around the room, still confused about what was happening. Dunlavy, Packwood, General Harrelson and Admiral Romero were already present. On the large LCD screen, General Wilbur’s image stared into the room.

  “General,” Wood said after taking a deep breath.

  “Mr. President, I’ll come right to the point,” Wilbur’s image said. “Satellites have picked up a large number of detonation blooms in central China and the Russian plains.”

  Wood hung his head then slowly shook it before looking up and asking a question that he already knew the answer to.

  “What kind of detonation blooms?”

  “Nuclear, sir,” Wilbur replied.

  “Is it ongoing or has it stopped?” Wood asked.

  “Ongoing, sir. It would appear that whomever is still in control in Russia and China have reached the point where they feel a nuclear response is the only way to stop the further spread of infection,” Wilbur stated.

  “Where exactly are these detonations occurring?”

  “From what we’re seeing, the Chinese have nuked the shit out the area around the Yangtze River. It looks like it was done to stop the advance of the infected and cover the withdrawal of a large military unit. Whatever unit it was, it didn’t make it. Estimates at our end show that the devices used were in the 10-15 kiloton range,” Wilbur reported.

  Wood took two steps forward, pulled out a chair and collapsed in it. Leaning forward, he rested his head in his hands.

  “Do we have any contact with any NATO commanders?” he asked the room.

  “No sir,” Wilbur replied. Wood looked sideways at Dunlavy.

  “No, Mr. President,” the DIS employee replied.

  “General Wilbur,” Wood said raising his head and looking at the electronic image. “Are there any indications that these detonations and, I’m assuming coincidental launches, are targeted at any other locations outside of the affected areas?”

  “No sir, we’re still piecing it all together over here but they appear to be strictly regional at this time.”

  “Thank you, General,” Wood stated as he rose from his chair.

  “Sir,” Wilbur’s image said. “I’d recommend that we move all remaining forces to DEFCON 2 if they aren’t already.”

  “Noted. Thank you for informing me of this situation.”

  Wilbur’s image disappeared from the screen.

  “Mike, what the hell is going on out there? Can you get me in contact with anyone?” Wood asked. “For God’s sake! I need to talk to someone in NATO to find out what the hell is going on over there.”

  “I’m sorry sir. I wish I could. We’ve tried everything but two cans on a string. We’re only able to talk to those units you already know about,” Dunlavy stated.

  “Gentlemen,” Wood said addressing the two flag officers that represented the remaining JCS. “What options do we have at this time?”

  “Sir,” Harrelson began then looked over at his naval counterpart. “We concur with General Wilbur; any remaining forces that aren’t already at DEFCON 2 should be moved to that posture immediately.”

  “That’s all fine and good,” Wood said. “But I want to know what could happen if both of those nations and whomever is still alive over there decides to push all the buttons and launch all th
eir toys.”

  “Mr. President,” Romero said then cleared his throat. “Sir, if Joe Chinaman or Ivan the Russian decides to open up their nuclear arsenal, we have contingency plans in place for that. Considering the deployment and placement, it looks like they’re attempting to incinerate as many of the infected as possible using tactical nukes, not ICBMs.” Romero stood and activated the global map on the same LCD that Wilbur’s image had been. Using a laser pointer he began to explain.

  “As we discovered, the infected move more easily on undisrupted terrain. The locations where nukes were used are areas that are flat generally speaking. The only locations that slowed them down were natural or man-made choke points. To us the use of nukes on our own soil is tantamount to genocide. To other cultures that’s not the case. If I was in an untenable situation, surrounded by thousands, possibly millions of those things and I had access to tactical nukes I’d damn sure use them as a last resort. That way I’d be sure that whatever this infection is, it would be incinerated along with the host.”

  Wood stared at the map as Romero pointed out each location. He had grown up in an age where a nuclear war wasn’t the major threat whereas a terrorist cell with a backpack nuke or dirty bomb had been. He understood the basics of tactics, choke points and area denial but the thought of using a nuclear weapon inside the borders of his own country, in the major cities where these infected seemed to congregate, still left a bad taste in his mouth.

  “I understand, Admiral.” Wood leaned back in his chair. “Bring up the map of the US.” Romero tapped the screen to get the menu then selected the map of the United States.

  “Overlay the current infected areas,” Wood directed then watched as several states turned red while small sections of others remained green. “Is this the latest?” he asked.

  “Yes sir, as of 1400 today,” Dunlavy chimed in.

  The entire Midwest, the Great Plains states were slowly turning to red as the flow of infected spread out into those states from the large cities. Small sections of other states had green areas while others had only a single green dot. Wood stared at the map in silence for several minutes then nodded slowly. Infection was in all the major population centers. The infected needed to be contained within those centers if there was to be any chance of survival.

  “General Harrelson, Admiral Romero, I want you to conference in General Wilbur and find out who and what we have left in operational status. Then I want the three of you to work on some options, containment options, that don’t include the use of tactical nuclear weapons. I want to know the best options you can come up with including targets, locations of the largest concentrations of these things that we know of and possible ways to slow or completely stop their movements using conventional munitions. When you’re finished working on that, I want a realistic assessment of tactical nuclear options and strike packages,” Wood directed ignoring the shocked looks. “I want to know all the options available for containment and eradication.”

  “Sir, the use of tactical nuclear weapons would be catastrophic. We’d incur casualties far more than what we already have,” Romero said. “You’d be condemning those that have survived ...”

  Wood raised his hand in a stop gesture at Romero.

  “Mike, what’s the estimate on the loss of life so far?” Wood asked not taking his gaze from Romero.

  “Sir, we can only estimate from before we lost all contact with civilian authorities. What we can extrapolate from that data and accounting for the continued spread of infected, I can only guesstimate that we’re at 60 million dead and climbing. It would be uncountable on a global level,” Dunlavy said.

  “Admiral,” Wood said, lowering his hand, “I’m not going to sugar coat this for you. People are fucking dead. People are still fucking dying. We have a good chance to prevent that from happening. Tactical nukes are on the table as an option unless you have some magical plan you can pull out of your ass that somehow saves the lives of those citizens who aren’t infected. If you have such a plan, I’m all open to it. Until that plan appears, you will follow my orders and work on containment measures that include everything remaining in our arsenal. Do you have a problem following that order?” Wood asked.

  Work stopped and the room fell silent with only the slight swish sound of the ventilation system and the mechanical murmur of the numerous computers creating sound. All eyes looked at Romero.

  “No, Mr. President,” the admiral finally said. Wood held his gaze a bit longer before he turned and left the room.

  ***

  Chapter 24

  Joint Base Lewis/McChord, Washington State

  Captain Ernest Holroyd, OIC of ODA-181 stood on the running board of his MATV panning binoculars over the deserted buildings of the Fort Lewis Logistics Center. Rain and wind pelted him as a winter storm rolling in from Puget Sound moved inland. He saw nothing moving around the buildings, of course the fact that the buildings they accessed were locked every time they left didn’t mean that the infected hadn’t found a way inside. The warehouses were old, dating back to when the installation had been known as the Rainier Army Depot and Fort Lewis was only known as Camp Lewis, a tent city. Lowering the binoculars, he stepped inside the vehicle.

  “Let’s go,” he said settling into the front passenger seat as Sergeant Upton swiveled the ring mounted .50 to point at the dark windowed buildings they were passing. The large vehicle moved forward while trailing behind it were six UGVs, two 1114 up-armored Hummers, a HEMITT and the Warpig. The Warpig was a heavily modified 1078 LMTV that was now a mobile weapons platform similar to the gun trucks of the Vietnam era but equipped with far more firepower.

  The convoy rolled into the Logistics Center and split up, each section heading for their designated area. Holroyd surmised that this trip was one of the remaining few before winter hit full force. His headset clicked twice indicating that perimeter security was set. His vehicle stopped, straddling a set of railroad tracks that paralleled one of the many large warehouses while the UGVs rolled up the loading ramp and idled by the sliding doors. Soldiers ran over from the Hummer, opened the door and stepped aside as the UGVs drove in. The soldiers stepped inside and slid the door shut.

  He thought about the men inside the Warpig that was bringing up the rear of the little convoy. It was an open top truck and with all this rain, he was sure those men weren’t real comfortable. If they weren’t comfortable then they wouldn’t get lax. Or at least he hoped that was the case. He mentally shook his head. With only three operational detachments left, and 141 being at less than full strength and not likely to get replacements in the near future, the operational tempo had increased to a point where the ODA’s were split into smaller elements and taking on expanded mission objectives. Holroyd knew that 141 could pull personnel from the B and C teams to bring them back up to full strength but there would be a transitional period before they meshed together. That time frame was detrimental given the current status of events in CONUS never mind OCONUS. Bringing his thoughts back to the present, he scanned the empty buildings of the Logistics Center.

  Now came the waiting part.

  With all the noise the vehicles made, there was a good chance any infected that were still on post would be drawn to their location. Kind of like a twisted Pied Piper.

  ***

  Chapter 25

  Firebase Cascade, former City of Tenino, Washington State

  “OK, Michelle one more push and you got it,” the Special Forces medic directed as he crouched between her legs waiting for the baby’s head to crown.

  Christie Martin stood at the head of the bed gripping the young girl’s hand. Michelle pushed one more time and her baby entered the word with a wet sound, a squeal then a cry. The medic expertly tied off then clipped the umbilical cord and handed the newborn off to another woman who was acting as his nurse before he started cleaning up the mother. The only doctor in town, Paul Stanton a member of the MAG, stood off to one side observing. It had been years since he had delivered a baby but
he still knew the basics. He was gloved up and gowned, ready to step in if there were complications.

  “It’s a girl, Michelle,” Christie announced as she watched Evelyn Stanton, Paul’s wife and a registered nurse, clean the baby and wrap her in a blanket.

  Michelle looked up, tired and worn out from labor but still smiled when her baby was brought over. The medic stood up, smiling at Doctor Stanton as he stripped off his gloves. He was going to get a lot of practice in this particular procedure as there were six other women that were in various stages of pregnancy. Between him and other medical staff from the A, B, and C Teams, there were more than enough trained personnel to handle this type of medical procedure. He much preferred a child birth to traumatic injuries like those he had treated on many battlefields.

  “I’m going to call her Hope,” Michelle said as she held the little bundle of life.

  Trent Burrows peered around the door frame and into the room. He had been waiting in the hallway since Michelle had gone into labor several hours ago. Christie motioned for him to enter. Burrows hesitantly stepped inside the room, not sure how to act or what to say.

  “Look at this, Trent,” Michelle said. “Look what we did.” Burrows knew the child wasn’t his but he and Michelle had agreed to accept it as his. Michelle had had a long conversation with both Christie and Trent about who the real father was and it was decided to put that in the past and live in the present.

  In a changed world, one that was now savage and deadly, there would be a small positive glimmer of renewed life.

  ***

  Interlude

  “Fucking piece of antique dog shit!” Senior Chief Petty Officer, retired, George Thomas exclaimed as he beat a pipe wrench against a steam valve. He had been trying to get the valve to turn but no matter how hard he tried, it wouldn’t budge. On the deck beside him were several cans of lubricants, degreasers, rags and a large spray can of WD-40. Sweat ran down his face and dripped onto the steel deck forming small puddles. His shirt was soaked as was the waist band of his pants. Leaning back against the bulkhead, he wiped an arm across his forehead and stared at the valve as if that would make it turn.