Flashpoint Box Set, Vol. 1 | Books 1-3

by Ellis, Tara

  “Stop!” Patty gasped. Standing, she turned her back on Caleb and hugged herself. That wasn’t a conversation she was prepared to have.

  “This isn’t something that can be avoided,” Caleb pushed, sounding angry. “What are you going to do, form another committee? Because I hope you’ll put in a good word for me.”

  Patty choked back a sob and spun on him. “That isn’t fair!” she yelled. She knew he was referring to the blood thinner medication she’d given him the night before. “You’re vital to Mercy. We can’t lose you.”

  Caleb pulled her close then and wrapped her up in a tight hug. She cried against his chest, not caring for the moment if she appeared weak or vulnerable. No one else was there. This was her Caleb. If she couldn’t be transparent with him, if she’d already lost herself, then she might as well just walk off into the mountains, because none of it would be worth fighting for.

  “Chief Martinez and Tane Latu are going to help me set up some transponders this afternoon,” he said into her hair once she fell silent. “If we can get them working with line-of-sight, we should be able to establish handheld radio contact within the valley.”

  Patty took a cleansing breath and centered her emotions. She felt better. Having a good cry always helped and she was thankful to have someone she could trust and lean on. Looking up, she offered Caleb a weak smile, happy for the change in subject. “I thought all of that stuff was blown.”

  Stepping back, Caleb took her hand and they walked down to the garden. With the sun rising, the heat was already starting to seep in. “Tane has some electronics background. When he was talking about the radios with the fire chief, they ended up taking one of the handhelds apart and, long story short, Tane was able to cannibalize enough parts to get a few working. The chief had some brand-new, out of the box without batteries in them, so I guess it wasn’t too difficult,” Caleb explained. “The transponders are a lot harder, but Aaron brought him back a couple things from Helena that Tane needed and he thinks we might be in luck now.”

  “This is great!” Patty threw some weeds off to the side and thought about the implications. Logistics was one of their bigger problems, as far as time went. She spent nearly half the daylight hours riding to and from their house, and all over town, just to talk with people and spread information. If they actually re-established instant communication, even limited, it would be a huge step forward. She wondered again why she was just now hearing about it, but then realized that he’d been sound asleep when she’d arrived home the night before. She’d slept at city hall for three out of the past four days. Even though their world had been instantly reduced with the flashpoint, the terrain was suddenly bigger and more difficult to traverse, and everything took more time to accomplish.

  “I spoke to Al last night,” Patty offered, excited to add her own good news to the conversation. “He gave me a list of parts he needs that I passed on to Aaron. With them, he might be able to get a motorcycle running.”

  Caleb paused with a weed in his hand as he thought about it. “We’d need to work on getting some of the roads cleared, and of course fuel is scarce, but it would certainly be good to have in cases of emergencies.”

  “It’s been a week,” Patty realized. “A week today since the flashpoint. I know we’re a long way off from being okay. Regardless, at least we’re managing better than most, based on all the information you’ve gathered.”

  “Not all of us in Mercy are,” Caleb countered.

  Patty yanked at a particularly tough weed and thought it much like the hold-outs Caleb was referring to. “Right.” It came loose with a large clump of dirt and she shook it out to fill the hole back in. “While I understand why some people don’t want to be a part of our collaborative effort, they’re going to pose a problem eventually.”

  “It’s over fifty people, Patty.” Caleb grabbed a hoe and went to work on the wider aisles. “What happens when some of them realize they can’t go it alone and come to you for water or food?”

  Patty leaned back on her heels and peered up at Caleb. “We’re making it very clear to them that if they chose not to be a part of our interworking community now, there won’t be an option to do so later.”

  “‘…we understand only the individual’s capacity to make sacrifices for the community, for his fellow man.’” Caleb leaned on the hoe while he spoke.

  Patty knew her husband well enough to catch the undercurrent of the saying, but she still had to ask. “What’s that from?”

  Caleb stared at her stoically before answering. “Adolph Hitler, from the manifesto Mein Kampf.”

  Patty’s face reddened. “You’re comparing me to Adolph Hitler?”

  “No, Patty. Of course not.” Caleb dropped the garden tool and knelt down in front of her. “I just want you to remember, throughout all of this, that sometimes it’s easier to side with the ‘greater good’. To let a committee handle a difficult decision so you can wipe your hands of it and we can theoretically sleep better at night.”

  Patty tried to pull away when he reached for her hand, but he grabbed on tight and pulled her closer. “I don’t know what you want from me,” she insisted.

  Caleb shook his head. “I want you to follow your heart. You’re a good person, and sometimes, what looks better on paper and reads well in a meeting isn’t the right choice.”

  Conflicted, Patty struggled to grasp his meaning. Then, she thought about Chloe’s face in the meeting yesterday, and her reservations when she saw the young man given an inhaler. She thought about Melissa silently handing her the bottle of blood thinner pills for Caleb. She imagined Old Man Summers sitting alone up in his cabin at the end of the road, refusing to be a part of anything. He’d lost his wife a couple of summers ago and hadn’t been the same since. Would she deny him water if he asked for it a month from now?

  “Keep your committees,” Caleb urged, watching her face as the emotions played out across it. “Just make sure that everyone knows who their leader is. So that when the hard calls come, when the really hard ones need to be made, they’ll still listen to you.”

  Chapter 21

  GENERAL MONTGOMERY

  Cheyenne Mountain Complex, Colorado

  The picture was creased and faded, having traveled the world in the general’s suitcase for more than twenty years. He sat staring at it, alone in the bunker meeting room, deep below Cheyenne Mountain. It had been what…three years since he’d looked at it? The young, attractive woman with honey-colored hair glowed with happiness. She had been happy then, cuddling their son to her chest. They’d been married for less than five years and she had no idea what sort of life they were staring down the barrel at.

  Andrew traced his son’s face with a finger, trying to memorize it. How long would it be before he forgot what he looked like? Most of the current pictures of him were all digital. Stored on his phone or online. That was all gone now. In a blink, his grandchildren were all but erased from his world.

  Clearing his throat, Four-star General Andrew Montgomery straightened in his seat and dropped the photo into the bottom drawer of the desk he sat at. They had all suffered a great loss, but he didn’t reach his rank or position by being a committed husband or father. His wants and needs came after those of the nation. That would never change.

  Janice finally divorced him after he’d made general yet still refused to retire. When he’d accepted the new position at USNORTHCOM five years ago, she went to New York instead. He glanced up at the map on the wall and all of the red marks on the east coast, including New York, then pulled a stack of papers in front of him. There was work to be done.

  Barely twenty-four hours since the shooting at the base, and Walsh already had hours’ worth of data for him to pour over. Sighing, he saw by the old-fashioned clock on the wall that it was only ten in the morning. Maybe he’d get his second cup of coffee before delving into it. Before he had a chance to stand, there was a knock at the door, followed by Walsh entering without waiting for a response.

  �
�Sir,” Walsh said formally, moving to stand in front of the desk. “Did you have a chance to look through my reports yet?”

  Andrew studied the other man for a few seconds before answering. There was a strained formality between them that hadn’t been there since they first started working together several years before. “No, Colonel, I was just about to start. Perhaps you can hit the highlights?”

  Walsh took a seat and folded his hands in his lap, still avoiding any direct eye contact. “I’ve reassigned personnel as requested, to both Peterson and the FEMA office in Denver. There haven’t been any further…incidents.”

  General Montgomery tilted his head at the comment but didn’t respond to it as he sat back down and rifled through the papers. “Status of the caches?”

  “We’re using the chopper to drop the pallets at what we’re calling Camp One, located midway between Colorado Springs and Denver. The deployment is already underway, with over two dozen boots on the ground. But…”

  The general looked up expectantly. “Yes?”

  “Sir, you saw for yourself how many people are fleeing the cities. There’s a lot of thirsty, hungry, sick, and scared refugees on the seventy miles of interstate between Denver and Colorado Springs.”

  “Which is why it’s an ideal location for the camp,” General Montgomery said evenly.

  “Right, and as soon as that bird started dropping pallets early this morning, it was like a beacon. We’re facing a situation similar to what we saw at Peterson yesterday, unless we figure out a way to control the influx of refugees. I simply don’t have the manpower to control them. It’s going to take days to deploy the tents and equipment. Right now, my soldiers are reduced to handing out bottled water and protein bars to deter them from rioting.”

  “No,” General Montgomery said with some force, causing Walsh to look at him sharply. “If we handle our emergency resources like a soup kitchen, we’ll never establish any shelters before they’re overrun. We’ll be back at square one.”

  “Then what do you suggest?” Walsh’s voice rose an octave. “Do I have to remind you that these people are becoming more desperate by the hour and we’re the only ones offering any sort of lifeline?”

  “It would seem that I am the one who needs to remind you of what our mission is.” The general leaned forward then, doing his best to speak with a level tone. “This isn’t a short-term crisis. If we treat it that way, we’ll lose what little tactical advantage we have and all will be lost, Colonel. We won’t be able to recover, at least not fast enough to save the thousands of people who are out there right now dying a slow death.”

  Colonel Walsh leaned forward then also, so that their elbows almost met in the middle of the desk. “That’s the issue, sir. These caches were never meant as long-term solutions. They’re geared to keep a task force and limited number of survivors self-sufficient for seventy-two hours, and can be extended to fourteen days with assistance. We’re already supplementing Camp One with supplies from the mountain to broaden its scope, but it’s still not going to be enough to meet the needs of what they’re seeing out there.”

  General Montgomery sat back and picked up a pen, tapping it on the top paper while working the problem. It was two-fold: a lack of control and supplies. It called for extreme measures. His pen stopped moving. “Set up a military exclusion zone.”

  “Sir?”

  “Martial law has already been declared, making our recovery a military operation. The camps will all be handled as military exclusion zones. I want your soldiers to establish the boundaries of the camp and then shut down Interstate 15 both north and south of its borders.”

  “Roadblocks?” Walsh looked skeptical.

  “There might not be working vehicles, but people are still using the road to travel,” the general said with some frustration. “Until the camp is set up and can be properly secured, no one passes through. I’ll arrange to have water stations established so we can at least offer that much.”

  Walsh nodded. “That might work. Although the logistics to erect enough of a roadblock to keep anyone from simply walking around will be a challenge.”

  Andrew tried not to groan out loud. He had a growing sense of disappointment in the colonel’s ability to think for himself. “It doesn’t have to contain the whole camp, at least not at first. Use whatever local resources are available to create fences. Refugees will have the option to turn around, or walk around, and if they try and enter, they will be met with swift repercussions.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Non-lethal force will be used first, and if that fails, lethal measures are authorized.” General Montgomery squinted at Walsh. “It’ll work. Once we’re able to offer shelter and meet their basic needs, we’ll gain control, but we must establish authority now.”

  “I’ll go to the site myself after we’re done here and oversee it,” Walsh replied. “If we can work with some of the local residents, we might be able to get some help with the fencing in exchange for food.”

  “Good,” General Montgomery said crisply. “Excellent idea. As you already pointed out, these shelters are temporary fixes. We need to always be looking at our long-term objective.”

  “Which is? Realistically, I mean,” Walsh added when the general glared at him. “Obviously, we want to eventually assure the survival of as many people as possible. We aren’t going to accomplish that with these camps. We don’t have any other supplies coming, which means when it runs out, we’re restricted to local resources. We’ll need working farms, permanent shelters, and natural reservoirs.”

  “I’ve already got personnel researching those options,” General Montgomery said. “Based on your reports from our own state and others, most major cities, or even those of moderate size, aren’t habitable.”

  “No,” Walsh confirmed. “You know we’ve only had continued contact with the western and some central states. We have to assume that anyone south or east of Nebraska is either already dead, or will be, from gamma radiation, so we aren’t even talking about them. The rest of us? Between fires, accidents, illness, riots, and now lack of water or starvation, places of high population aren’t livable. We’re already seeing water-borne illnesses cropping up and thousands are dying from simple dehydration.”

  “What about state and local government resources?” the general asked.

  Walsh reached out and thumbed through the top two pages on the general’s desk. “Here,” he directed, pulling one aside. “This lists the state guard’s we’ve had contact with and their status. And this one,” he pulled the next sheet out. “These are the county department of emergency managements we’ve also spoken to. Well, not literally, of course. It’s all through ham radio controllers.”

  General Montgomery glanced down at the abysmal lists. With upwards of fifteen states that should still be viable, they were concerningly short. “Issue the same directive to all of them. I realize that some are civilian, but since we’re under martial law we can work to get military contingents assigned at all levels. Number each camp by state designation and require daily reports.”

  Walsh squirmed in his seat. “There’s going to be some push-back from the local governments that are still functioning, and Vice Admiral Welling isn’t going to be happy about it. He’s demanding a meeting again, sir.”

  “I don’t care about anyone’s feelings or territorial claims,” the general barked. “Remind them that if they want our continued support, they’ll comply.” He squeezed the bridge of his nose to literally push back against the tension headache that grew stronger at the mention of the vice admiral. He was the Deputy Commander of USNORTHCOM prior to the flashpoint and had been a thorn in his side ever since he declared martial law. “There’s already a scheduled meeting of the joint staff this evening. Whatever he has to squabble about can wait until then.”

  “Yes, sir,” Walsh said in a drawn-out way that indicated they both knew the vice admiral wouldn’t be happy. “What kind of continued support can we offer the local governments?” Wals
h asked, getting back to business. “Yeah, our initial caches are larger than theirs, and we have some working machinery, but this will come down to food and medical supplies.”

  “I’m sending out teams to Mount Weather and Raven Rock.”

  Colonel Walsh sat back in his chair, stunned. “Sir, those caverns are nothing more than mass graves now. You know we had radio confirmation that they were all dying from acute radiation exposure on the first day. No amount of rock could protect them from gamma radiation.”

  “You’re being short-sighted again, Colonel!” General Montgomery reprimanded. “Mount Weather was FEMA’s emergency operations center. There’s a literal treasure-trove of caches there. Since Raven Rock is so close to them, and housed upwards of five thousand government employees, it stands to reason they might be worth a visit, too.”

  “They’re tombs,” Walsh insisted. “And they’re more than fifteen hundred miles away. Not to mention the logistical nightmare of moving the caches once we have them.”

  “Those are the details I’ll leave up to you,” General Montgomery said. “It’s part of our long-term solution. Figure it out. There’s also a document we need to retrieve from Mount Weather.”

  Walsh, clearly unhappy, crossed his arms over his chest. “The Survivor’s List.”

  Montgomery nodded. The Survivor’s List was a compilation of six thousand five hundred key people, with names and addresses, considered vital to the survival of the nation should a catastrophe or apocalypse strike.

  “There’s a fair amount of personal at Ellsworth Air Force Base in South Dakota,” Walsh replied. “They’re slightly closer and more than capable of deploying some recon for us. I can get them to the mountain to retrieve the list and then come up with a plan to move the supplies.”

  “Make it happen.” General Montgomery stacked the papers back up and then hesitated, knowing that Walsh would resist his next order. He glanced down at the drawer where he’d dropped the picture. There were going to be a lot more sacrifices needing to be made. “We’ll need to establish supply lines.”