His voice was muffled beneath the scarf. “We should take shelter in that house over there.”
Gwen tightened the scarf over her head and readjusted the blankets around her body. She eyed the ranch-style house sitting on the edge of the forest. “No, we should keep going.”
Jake studied her warily. “Gwen, it’s mighty cold out here, and there ain’t no guarantee we’ll have shelter in the woods, and we sure as hell ain’t making it through by nightfall.”
“That’s fine. We ride until we get to Farmington.”
Jake removed his scarf so she could see the angst on his face. “It’s too cold for that. Once the sun goes down, we are looking at the temperature dropping into the teens. It ain’t good for the horses or us.”
Gerald chimed in. “I agree. It’s cold and we could use a break.” His jaw was just as broad as his father’s, and when it settled, his look impersonated a stubborn bulldog. He pushed his lips up under his nose with a willful nod of his head. He wore quilt-lined black coveralls and a black stocking hat.
She shared an eye with Gregor. She knew he would go along with whatever decision she made; he was loyal like that. Hank sat on his horse, his teeth chattering and his rifle slung diagonally across his puffy-coated back. He appeared to have had enough of the cold for a lifetime.
She shook her head no. “We go on. Every minute counts. The longer we’re gone, the more that will die.”
“You’re pregnant. You need rest,” Jake said.
Gwen pulled her scarf down her face. The cold wind bit and nipped like a pack of wolves at her skin. “We keep moving.”
Jake pulled his scarf back up over his face, muttering something about Reynolds and mules and asses. He clicked his tongue forcing his red mare onward.
Flicking his reins on the backs of the two larger draft horses, Kenny said, “Get on now.” They picked back up at a slow walk. “Get on now,” he repeated louder. The two horses pulled a bit quicker.
They passed the Shimek State Forest sign and entered the woods. They made it about a mile in before the light faded and the temperature dropped. She could see the men around her hunker down on their animals against the biting wind. Hats were pulled lower, coats drawn tighter, and heads dipped to deflect the freezing onslaught.
The animals and group slowed as the hours ticked by. Gwen grew tired and she felt frozen to the seat and the rock of the wagon. Her eyes dipped and she shook herself back awake. Jake led them forward using a flashlight to spot-check their route in the layer of white snow guided by the thick unmolested timber of the Iowa state forest on either side.
The forest gave way to a clearing and a cluster of buildings. The group slowed down and Jake led them to a silver-sided barn. The wagon slowed to a halt. “Why are we stopping?” she mumbled. Jake hopped off his horse and stiffly made his way toward her. He took her in his arms and lifted her off the wagon. “Stop.”
“Now, I see there’s a few of ya, but just move along.” A man pumped a shotgun, the international signal to make haste in your departure. Three men stood near the road guns in aimed at them.
Jake stopped with Gwen in his arms and glimpsed in their direction like he was escorting her to their wedding suite.
“What you doing with that one?” the voice shouted.
Raising his voice over the howls of the wind, Jake said, “We’re freezing. We need shelter.”
“Don’t take too kindly to strangers making demands.”
Jake made himself bigger, puffing out his chest. “Where’s Bart?”
“Who’s asking?”
“Tell him Jake Bullis’s come looking for his payment.”
“You tell Jake to get the hell on out of here before he takes a slug to the chest.”
Frosted air exited Jake’s nose. “You tell that dirty no good scoundrel Bart that he better pay before I get the sheriff involved.”
The man laughed. “Sheriff Donnellson? That old goober? He’d rather march around town and shake hands than uphold the law.”
“I guess we’ll have to fight it out then.”
Hank and Gregor leveled their weapons at the rival men.
Jake waved them down. “I’ll handle this, guys.”
The men marched within a few feet of Jake.
They stared at one another for a moment. The other man sucked in his cheeks, staring up at Jake, and then lowered his gun and shook his head.
“Coming in here like a bunch of cattle rustlers. Jeez, man. I almost shot you.” His eyes narrowed. “And I ain’t paying nothing.”
Jake shook his head. “I ain’t asking for payment. Just a place to stay.”
Bart nodded. “Boys, go clear out some stalls for their horses.” Then turning back to the newcomers. “Get on inside.”
The entire group marched down a snowy driveway and the young men took their horses.
Deer carcasses hung in the trees near the house. The deer were stretched longer than normal, their insides removed leaving them hollow. The frigid outside acted as refrigeration for the animals. Four-wheelers and snow mobiles sat on the front lawn if it could be called that, along with another dilapidated shed and a camping trailer.
Heat blasted them as they entered the home, stinging their cheeks. A black iron wood stove pumped out heat in the corner, and along the wall, a fireplace danced with orange flames.
“Make yourselves comfortable, I’ll put on a kettle,” Bart said and disappeared.
Gwen plopped down on a beige couch and sat for ten minutes before she removed her hands from her swaddling of blankets and clothes. She faced them toward the fire, enjoying the heat that reddened her skin. The warmth took its turn thawing her frozen limbs.
Bart returned with metal cups in his hands which he distributed to the group. Gwen took a cup, scalding her hands, and she didn’t care one bit. He stood near the door watching them for a moment.
“Can’t say I know these boys, Jake. Where’d they come from?” He took a sip.
Jake’s cheeks were red from their reintroduction to heat and he cupped his mug in his hands. “That’s Gregor and Hank.” The men nodded. “From Michigan.”
“Well ain’t you a long ways from home.”
“We are,” Hank said. He stood as close to the fire as he could.
Bart peered at the men, expecting a longer answer, and when he didn’t get one, took another sip of his hot drink. “And I don’t believe we’ve met.”
“I’m Gwen Reynolds, Mayor of Hacklebarney.”
“Now, that don’t sound right.” Bart’s face crinkled in puzzlement. “I thought George Dobson was the mayor of Hacklebarney.”
Gwen let the cup painfully heat her hands. “He was.” She eyed him.
He pursed his lips and nodded. “As you can see, we don’t get too many travelers in Shimek, and I don’t hear too much about what’s going on out there. Everything I hear on the radio sounds like madness. When I heard anything. Damn thing’s quit working.”
“Things are bad,” she said. “We got a war on our hands.”
“With who?” he asked, his brow furrowing. “Ain’t the Ruskies, is it?”
“No, it’s the dead.”
“Dead? Shouldn’t be too bad if they already dead.”
Her lips formed a thin grim smile. “The sickness you heard about raises the dead back to life as monsters.”
“Jesus.” He rubbed his neck. “You can understand my misgivings, but that sounds crazy.”
“Worse than crazy. My grandparents’ farm is now a militia training base. The military’s got us trying to hold the river against the dead.”
“Jesus. I just can’t believe this.”
“Believe it. The dead are coming.”
Bart breathed a sigh. “What brings you out here?”
“There’s an illness in our camp. We need medicine and we welcome anyone who wants to fight.”
Bart shook his head no. “I’m sorry. You’re welcome to look at our first-aid kits, but I don’t think you are going to find what you’re lo
oking for.” He took a sip as he thought. “Did you try the medical center in Donnellson?”
“We did. They’ve been emptied.”
Bart scratched a gray and black stubbly cheek. “That’s a shame. Farmington might have something.”
“We’re headed that direction.”
She eyed him expectantly.
“My boys and I are doing fine here. We can handle whatever comes our way.”
Gwen nodded. “If we get overrun on the river, the dead will march through here and consume everything. Your horses, you, and your boys. The battle is on the river.”
“You’ll have to forgive me. We’re a cautious lot.” His head bobbed slowly as he chewed her words like a gristly steak. “I’ll think on it.”
She eyed him.
Bart raised his tin cup in salute. “I’ll leave you be then for the night.”
“We’ll be off early.
“I’ll see that Patrick and Pete make sure your horses are well-watered and fed during the night. They dehydrate fast in the winter.”
“Thanks, Bart,” Jake said, shaking hands with the man. Gerald and Kenny did the same.
The men bedded on the floor with Gwen on the couch. She sat with her phantom boy, watching the flames of the fire die down into glowing coals before sleep took her.
JOSEPH
Cheyenne Mountain Complex, CO
A video window opened on Joseph’s screen. The long face and slender shoulders of Colonel Byrnes appeared. He sat at his desk in his small office filming himself on his computer. He folded his hands in front of his body, resting them on his desktop, and cleared his throat. His gray eyes pierced the camera.
“If you’re viewing this, I’m gone, taken, imprisoned, and most likely dead.” His words cut into Joseph. They were the words of a man acknowledging his own death with cool complacency.
Hollis chomped in apprehension behind Joseph.
Colonel Byrnes’s face settled into his natural glower while he stared at the screen. “I’m not sure how we got here. I can’t tell you how much it pains me to see our nation ravaged by the scourge of Primus Necrovirus. We’ve all sacrificed so much to ensure our survival, yet our government is failing the people it has sworn to protect. As a man of science and the military, I never would have imagined a failure of this magnitude. I would never have imagined myself in this position.”
Joseph studied him unblinking, his eyes drying, not wanting to miss a word or phrase the colonel said. Everything felt surreal. He waited for Byrnes to tell the camera that it was all a joke, but he knew he wouldn’t. Desai reached over and took his hand, squeezing it for support.
“We’ve made a miracle vaccine in record time. More testing is still needed as well as mainstream production, but this truly is a gift from God. As a man of science, I have always been skeptical of the existence of such a deity, but this discovery is nothing short of a divine intervention on man’s behalf. My team has worked a miracle and deserves complete and utter recognition, especially those that have perished at its hand.”
Joseph stared down at his hands for a moment. The death of his team member, Dr. Weinroth, rubbed salt in the raw wound that was his heart.
“Our success is but dry ash in the mouth of a nation that deserves better. When you are done, read the attached document. Our government has no plans to distribute the vaccine to anyone outside the Golden Triangle. It’s meant to be a tool of control rather than a chance at life. It is meant to bring the remainders of humanity to their knees as loyal slaves rather than free them from certain death. This is not why we developed the vaccine. We developed the vaccine to save people. To continue mankind’s existence, not control them.”
Byrnes’s eyes flashed to his door and then he leaned closer to the camera. “We aren’t the only ones. Even now, we’ve started sneaking the vaccine to safe houses within the Golden Triangle, but it will only be enough for a fraction of the people. We must ensure the people get the vaccine.” He glanced at his door again. “Others are willing to go even further, but I need not mention what that may entail.” He took a deep breath, sucking in air through his mouth and exhaling. “Many things will be said about me. Let this be a record of my actions and the reasons I have taken such risks with my own life and others. We will find a way. It’s our duty as Americans to stand for the weak and see that justice is done. We are the Sons and Daughters of Liberty.” He reached forward and turned off his camera.
Joseph leaned back in his chair and the other two doctors were quiet as they contemplated the colonel’s words. Hollis rammed his hand back into his bag of crackers, rummaging for more food.
“So Nguyen was a member too?” Desai said.
“Must have been. “
Hollis munched thin crisps between his teeth.
“We have to know what set them down this path.” Joseph moved the cursor to the PDF document and double tapped the mouse.
It opened an official US government document marked TOP SECRET. He read it word for word. And each and every one slipped off the page like poisoned food falling from his mouth as he whispered them in silence.
“Operation Homefront: Phase II. Non-Distribution order of the Primus Necrovirus vaccine. Centralized control of all vaccine production. Neutralization of dissidents. Disarming of surviving populations. Fortified labor camps. Food and personnel levies in exchange for vaccine.” Each bullet point of the government’s contingency plan made Joseph cringe. “Are you reading this?”
Desai nodded her head, her brow wrinkled as she read. Hollis wiped crumbs off his shirt. “I wish I didn’t know this.”
“Vaccine for loyalty. Neutralization of dissidents. Sounds more like execution of dissidents.” Joseph looked back at him. “Forced labor camps for food production. All control coming from the Triangle.” He jabbed his finger at the screen. “Signed by the vice president. This is their plan for the future of America.” He shook his head in disgust.
“Looks like a roadmap for tyranny,” Desai said.
“Or guaranteed survival of the government,” Hollis said.
Joseph folded his arms over his chest. “There has to be a better way than this. We can’t sit by while people are exposed to the deadliest virus known to man with nothing to protect them from its exposure. This vaccine was meant to save lives, not hold them hostage.”
Hollis’s jowls shook with his head. “We created this vaccine for the government. It’s not ours to decide how and when it’s distributed.”
“No. This isn’t right. People need this vaccine. We have no right to keep it from them. For God’s sake, people are getting butchered out there. You saw the models. We only have a seven percent survival rate with mass application of the vaccine,” Desai said.
Joseph cut her off. “They want to keep it for themselves even if others will surely die. We are doctors. We created that vaccine for benefit of all. This is not who we are.” Joseph rose to his feet and stuck his chest out. “MIM was a collaborated effort between all those that were left. And we did it. I’ll be damned if I sit by while our government fails to save its own people.” He eyed the other doctors. “We take a stand right here just like Nguyen and Byrnes. I say we join the Sons and Daughters of Liberty.” He stuck out his hand. “Who’s with me?”
Hesitantly, Desai stood, joining Joseph by his side. “I agree. It’s our duty.”
Joseph smiled at her. “If you’re in, put your hand on top of mine.”
She draped her hand over his. He could feel the heat coming from her skin. They eyeballed Hollis, expecting a response.
Hollis snorted in irritation like a bull they’d been poking with sticks. “This is ridiculous. Do you know what happens to men like me outside of here? I can’t run and I can’t handle a weapon. My survival is dependent upon this place and you want me to betray it.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “And the government while I’m at it.”
Joseph pointed back at the computer still showing the second phase of Operation Homefront. “Look at that.” Hollis glanced o
ver at the monitor. “That is not why we’re here. That isn’t what a government that’s run by the people for the people does. Those are the actions of a dictator, not a president.”
“You two are like the goddamn Hardy Boys.” He sighed, shaking his head. “I’ll do it, but I’m telling you. I’m not running anywhere, and if you expect me to leave this mountain, I won’t do it.” He tepidly put his hand over top the others. “I can’t believe we are putting our hands in the middle like a bunch of teenagers making a pact.”
“Even better. Thank you, doctor.” Joseph nodded. “We make a pact. We find and free Byrnes and aid the Sons and Daughters in their cause.” Joseph eyed Desai first and then Hollis. “For MIM, for Byrnes, Nguyen, and Weinroth.”
Desai followed suit. “For MIM, Byrnes, Nguyen, and Weinroth.”
“Hollis?”
He rolled his eyes. “For MIM, Byrnes, Nguyen, and Weinroth.”
STEELE
Camp Forge, IA
The fire sizzled and sparked in the parlor fireplace. Fieldstone surrounded the fireplace’s arch, leading upward to a thick wooden mantle beam. An old worn musket with a rusted-out barrel rested there, a bayonet folded backward running along the bottom.
“When’s the colonel supposed to reach out?” Thunder asked. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
Steele sat at John Reynolds’s writing desk, his fingers interlocked in front of him. The polished wood was in bad need of being refurbished. “Six o’clock.”
Thunder’s eyes glanced at the rustic gold-rimmed timepiece on the far end of the mantle. “He’s late.” It read three minutes after six.
He’s never late. “He’ll call.”
The green rectangle sitting on the writing desk glowed with power, but no voices came through. The crypto-capable high-frequency radio resembled an old ammo box turned on its side. Each commander holding the Mississippi had one. It had better function with an antenna, and Steele’s wire antenna ran the height of the old farmhouse.
The high-frequency radio lit up. Steele snatched the black-corded telephone receiver. “This is Steele.”
“Captain Steele, this is Captain Heath, United States Marine Corps.”
The End Time Saga (Book 5): The Holding Page 10
