“No, we're okay.”
“Okay, cool. Hey, Amanda?”
“Yes?”
“If you see Randy, can you tell him I’m looking for him? I still need him to show me his boat.”
“Of course.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.” Foster turned and headed toward the door. He opened it and stepped outside, not waiting to see if Amanda was following him.
Amanda waited a silent count of three before she started to follow Foster. As they walked unknowingly in tandem, she studied his posture. From the way he was holding his shoulders, Amanda could tell that Malcolm was struggling to keep his feelings in check.
If what I did was the right thing, then why do I feel so bad about it? Amanda thought to herself. After that conversation, she felt less clear on where things stood between the two of them. Was he really okay with her decision? Or was he only saying what he thought she wanted to hear? It was a confusing mess, but right now wasn’t the time to try and sort it out. Amanda pushed the thought to the back of her mind and continued to follow Foster back to the house.
“Where’s the fire?” Foster asked.
“Mud room,” Sams answered. “Nick had a breakthrough. I think you’re going to want to see it.”
“Great,” Foster said. He took three steps toward the mud room, which was located on the opposite of the ground floor, before stopping. He turned back toward Sams and asked, “Are you coming with?”
“No need.” Sams smiled. “I’ve already seen Nick’s invention.”
“Gotcha,” Foster said. He turned and resumed heading toward the mud room alone.
Two minutes later, he’d reached his destination. He tapped twice lightly on the closed door before opening it and stepping into the room. As he did, Foster saw Walker was bent over a collapsible card table. The man seemed to be completely absorbed in whatever he was working on. Foster stood there quietly, watching his movements. He couldn’t figure out what the man was doing or whether he should stay.
“Staring at a guy while he's working and not saying a thing is kind of rude,” Walker said quietly.
“Sorry,” Foster answered. “I didn’t want to interrupt you if you were doing something critical.”
“It's critical, but I don't mind that interruption.”
“Fair enough. What are you working on?”
“I've been thinking about your dagger.”
Foster's eyebrows shot up.
“Not that one, asshole,” Walker said. “I’m a married man.”
“That doesn't stop some guys.”
“It does with this one,” Walker continued. “Your dagger contains a mixture of metals, including silver. I started thinking about what weapon has worked against Reapers. Then I started considering how well the Reaper bullet worked, too. I reached the somewhat amateur conclusion that the monsters are allergic to silver.”
“Not allergic,” Foster corrected. “Our resident doctor says it sends Reapers into anaphylactic shock and they die.”
“And here I thought they were werewolves.”
“Yeah, except for the fact they travel in packs, are active at any time of the day or night, and aren’t limited by whatever the moon might be doing.”
“Don’t forget some of them talk and have armor plates covering half of their bodies, too.”
“Yeah, that was a pretty crazy thing to discover,” Foster said. “Then there’s the troop like behavior. It’s like something is telling them where to go and what to attack.”
“Somebody at a much higher pay grade or a lot of extra letters after their last name is going to have to figure that stuff out,” Walker admitted. “I’m worried about what other abilities they might have that we don’t even know about yet.”
“Me too, buddy,” Foster added.
“Anyway, let’s get back to the experiment,” Walker said. “I don't have all the right equipment to create new knives or spears. Plus, silver is a pretty soft metal. It can chip or break pretty easily. The ideal weapon composition might be a mix of metals with just enough silver included to trigger a Reaper’s fatal reaction. I just don’t have the equipment or know-how to create a blended weapon from scratch.”
“So, what am I looking at?” Foster asked.
“An experiment. The short explanation is I soldered silver onto a few of our existing knife blades.”
“Wait, what?”
“Think of it as a long strip of silver on the knife blade. If it works, it'll kill the Reapers no matter where you stab or slice them. If it doesn't, well then it's still a sharp knife. You still can bury it in their heads.”
“I like it,” Foster said. “How many knives have you coated?”
“Two, for now,” Walker answered. “I figured one for Sams and one for me. No offense, but we have the most training in hand-to-hand combat out of everyone in the group.”
“None taken. Like you said, if the solder doesn’t work, either one of you can still eliminate the hostile with it.”
“I don’t have any reason to think it won’t, but I’d feel a lot better after we test it.”
“How much material you got left?” Foster asked. “Could you do any additional knives?”
“Probably just another knife or two. Why?”
“Maybe somebody else in the group would want an experimental weapon. Definitely better than having no weapon at all.”
“Yeah, maybe,” Walker said. “I was thinking of asking Gregory if I could give one to his son.”
“I think he’d be more open to it than offering his eleven-year-old a Glock.”
“Yeah, probably.”
“You got a name picked out for your treated knives yet? Maybe Reaper Knives? It would go with your Reaper Bullets.”
“Nah, the bullets were special.” Walker grinned. “They killed a Reaper that was hundreds of yards away. This is just a little dip in some melted silver. Until these things prove they’re special, they don’t get a special name.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
The satellite phone on Foster’s left hip suddenly began to ring, and Walker looked at it quizzically.
“Is that who I think it is?”
“You bet,” Foster answered. He pressed the button on his phone and then said, “Black?”
“One and the same,” SWAT Sergeant Vince Black replied. “I'm checking in to see how you guys are doing. This is a good time to talk?”
“As good as any,” Foster answered. Are you guys still in the city?” He saw Walker motion he was leaving the room. Foster gave a quick nod of acknowledgment and turned his attention back to the phone call.
“Negative,” Black answered. “Sixth District fell while we were on a mission.”
“How the hell did that happen?”
“Same way lots of other places go under. An overwhelming number of Reapers attacked, and everybody had to bail or stay and die.”
“Okay, so where are you guys at now?”
“Offshore. We’re on an island.”
“Wait, what? An island?”
“If you keep making me repeat myself, this is going to take a long fucking time.”
“You got a hot date or something, Sergeant?”
“Not hardly. But I really don’t feel like giving you a long-winded, blow-by-blow explanation.”
“Then give me the short version instead.”
“Fine. We got an offer from the Lieutenant Governor that was too good to turn down,” Black said. “We had to rescue his daughter from a building at University of Penn. In return, he provided enough helicopter transport to get everyone from the precinct to Hope Island.”
“Never heard of it.”
“Me neither until the mission briefing. It’s off the coast of Rhode Island.”
“How’d the mission go?”
“I lost four men, but we rescued the princess.”
“Damn.”
“Actually, she's not really a princess, but—”
“Yeah, I get it, Black,” Foster said. “I’m sorry you lo
st some of your men. Anybody I know?”
“Uh-huh. Nico. Hawkins. Diaz. Graves.”
“Damn. I liked all of them. I’m sorry, man.”
“Thanks,” Black said. He paused for an uncomfortable moment before adding, “So where are you at, Foster?”
“Rehoboth Beach.”
“Really? With all of this shit going down, you’re taking a vacation? That’s kind of ballsy.”
Foster chuckled. “Actually, Charles has family here. We've connected with them and are planning on getting everyone out of here by boat.”
“Do you actually have a boat? Or is this one of your pie-in-the-sky ideas?”
“Yeah, we do. Charles’s son-in-law owns one. It’s big enough to fit all of us on, but I'm not sure where we're going to go,” Foster said. “We have to get fuel and other supplies secured first.”
“Well, that's kind of why I'm calling you,” Black said. “The guy in charge of the military here seems like a decent enough cat.”
“This cat got a name?”
“Yeah. Captain Tom Abrahams,” Black said. “Anyway, Kimball kept insisting I tell him about some of your findings about the Reapers. So I did, and that’s when he got real interested. Now he wants to talk to you.”
“What's to talk about? The damn things are deathly vulnerable to silver.”
“I know that. You know that,” Black said in a low voice. “But they don’t know that. You figured it out there in the field, and that’s a proven fact. That’s some very valuable intel. You take that and anything you've learned about the Reapers since we last talked and share it with Abrahams. Especially if it’s anything that could help the military kick more Reaper ass.”
“Uh-huh. What's Abrahams willing to offer in return?”
“If the intel you provide is good enough, it should be your golden ticket for bringing your group here. Which I’ll point out is currently 100 percent Reaper-free.”
“Sounds promising. What's it like there?”
“They're a small island in the middle of the ocean. Got some lodging, still everybody's pitching in to work on stuff. Some of the soldiers are still doing scavenging missions. We've been tasked mostly with base security here on the island.”
“From SWAT to security guard,” Foster quipped. “Sounds like a bit of drop in stature.”
“And that’s perfectly fine with me. I’m happy to make sure to do my part here.”
“This is Vince Black, right? The same guy who used to lead a group of bad-ass SWAT guys that kicked ass and took names every day?”
“I’m still the same guy. Except my mission has changed. Right now, it’s to make sure this place stays safe.”
“At this rate, Black, they’re gonna have you riding a desk in another month.”
“I doubt it,” Black said. “I’ve only seen one desk on the island, and that’s in Captain Abraham’s office. If I’m working from there, then a lot of bad shit has happened, because I’m not part of the military chain of command.”
“Good point. I was just busting your balls because I can.”
“Uh-huh. Anyways, the good news is they haven't had a single Reaper attack. It looks like those bastards won't cross the ocean.”
“Really? You're kidding.”
“Have you ever known me to kid?”
“Not about stuff like this.”
“Exactly. So let's set up a time where you can talk to Abrahams. Knock the captain’s socks off, and maybe you'll be playing cards with my guys before the end of the week.”
“Sounds like a plan. When do you want to talk?”
“Let's keep it simple,” Black suggested. “How about twenty-four hours from now?”
“Sounds good. I'll make it work on my end.”
“Great. I gotta run. Black out.”
“Hey, Black?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for setting this up. It could be a helluva opportunity for my group.”
“Uh huh. Talk to you tomorrow,” Black answered before hanging up.
Foster stepped out of the room and saw Walker was waiting in the hallway.
“What was that about?” Walker asked.
“A possible escape plan,” Foster said. He proceeded to fill Walker in on what Black had told him.
“Very interesting,” Walker said. “I just wonder what kind of ropes it comes with.”
“Don't you mean strings?” Foster asked.
“Nope. If you’re dealing with the military, they’d never use something as thin as string.” Walker smiled. “There’s definitely at least one rope attached to that deal.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
After the meeting with Flores and Weindahl mercifully ended, President Vickers insisted that she had to have something to eat before tackling any other pressing issues. Special-Agent-In-Charge Nash had calmly led her through a winding series of corridors until they reached the staff entrance of the kitchen. Once inside, Vickers was pleasantly surprised to see the staff had a hot roast beef sandwich and French fries waiting for her. She felt a little guilty eating it while many Americans were likely eating whatever they could find while avoiding the Reapers. But feeling guilty wasn’t going to stop the Reapers. She needed a solid plan of attack to put down the monsters for good. Now with a solid meal finally in her, she felt reenergized and ready to tackle the challenges, emergencies, and problems waiting for her.
Several hours later, she was in another meeting with General Weindahl. He had finally arrived by helicopter so the two of them took over the conference room to meet face to face.
“Rasheed, do you need any motion sickness medicine?” Vickers asked. “I can ask someone to get it for you.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Weindahl said. “I’ve already taken it.”
“Excellent. What’s our combat effectiveness?”
“Currently holding at 19 percent,” Weindhahl said. “Once we realized the Reapers were focusing their attacks on our bases, we began moving personnel to more secure locations. Those locations do include some offshore bases.”
“That’s good. I just wish we’d been able to do that before the attacks began.”
“Indeed. Hindsight is always 20/20 and correct.”
“Yeah, it is.” Vickers sighed. “Where are we with our top-tier operators?”
“Fortunately, those haven’t been hit as hard. We had a number of overseas operations in the works when the Reaper outbreak began. As a result, Navy SEALs are operating at 80 percent effectiveness. Rangers, Delta Force, and Special Forces are all reporting in at 70 percent of normal capacity.”
“That might be the best news I’ve heard all day. I want all of them moved to our offshore bases and ships. That way, we can stage future operations for them from far more secure bases.”
“It’s a sound idea, but I’m not sure that’s possible,” Weindahl said. “Some of them are still engaged in covert missions and are operating under radio-silent conditions. Others are active in other non-covert tasks that our allies are extremely dependent.”
“Like what?”
“Militia training. Embassy security consulting in certain hot zones, like the Middle East.”
“Any Reaper movement in those areas?”
“No, not yet,” Weindahl said. “Like I mentioned earlier, there’s some reports of early Reaper activity in Canada and Mexico. But so far, we’re not hearing any Reaper sightings overseas.”
“Well, I suppose that will have to pass as good news for now,” Vickers quipped. “Any chance of our allies sending troops to help?”
“We haven’t reached out yet,” Weindahl admitted. “We’ve been entirely focused on containing the problem within our own borders.”
“Uh-huh,” Vickers said slowly. “Rasheed, what aren’t you telling me?”
Weindahl sighed. “I’m concerned about asking for outside help,” he said carefully. “We had arguably the largest military force in the world prior to the Reaper outbreak. By disclosing our current diminished military strength,
it could alert our enemies that we are vulnerable to a new outside attack.”
“You think China or Russia would make a move on us?”
“I can’t rule it out as a possibility,” Weindahl said. “At the very least, I think asking our allies for help would send them into a panic.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Even at our current depleted levels, some of them have smaller military forces than we do. I suspect their immediate reaction would be to refuse aid and focus on protecting their own country instead.”
“I still want every special operator not engaged in an active mission moved offshore.”
“I’ll see what we can do.”
“Not good enough,” Vickers argued. “I want the orders to move them put into action ten minutes ago. Do you catch my drift?”
“Yes, Madam President.”
“Look, I know you hate the idea of running away,” Vickers said. “Heaven knows, I hate it, too. But right now, we don’t know what the biggest weakness for the Reapers is besides a bullet in the head. Our special operators are our elite fighters. If we can hold them in reserve, then we still have them for future battles.”
“I-I will give the order to move them.”
“Excellent. Any news on establishing research centers?”
“It’s still in the works.”
“See if you can get them to pick up their pace. I want to hear they’re operational in the next twenty-hours.”
“I’ll stress the urgency, Madam President, but I can’t guarantee they can have all of the needed equipment and personnel in place that quickly. It’s like we’re ordering a pizza, ma’am.”
“Rasheed, I want results, not excuses. The sooner those researchers can come up with something that kills these bastards, the better.”
“Did you have something specific that I should direct our scientists to pursue first?”
“Right now, I’m not willing to rule out anything that could help us defeat our enemy,” Vickers said. “I do think a cure is probably the least desirable option right now. We’re dealing with millions of Reapers within our borders. Manufacturing, distributing, and administering a cure nationwide would take months, if not years. And that’s not factoring how long it takes the eggheads to come up with something that works.”
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