“I see, sir.”
“Drop the sir. We are behind closed doors, and I heard what you said back there. You don’t have to like me, just do as you’re told.”
Kinnick nodded. “Understood.” He took a sip of the brown liquid.
“I prefer the vice presidency to the presidency anyway. It’s like being the backup quarterback on a winning football team. You get to get all dressed up and win, but you don’t have to put in all the blood, sweat, and tears. No one blames you for losing the game.”
Kinnick breathed a laugh into his drink.
“Unless the starter goes down in the fourth quarter and the home team needs a score,” Kinnick said.
Brady laughed.
“You’re only one play away from starting.” Brady sighed. “But between you and me, I never liked the guy that much anyway. Too much of a tight ass, by-the-book kind of fellow. Not really my thing.”
“Me neither,” Kinnick said. He laughed outright, almost feeling ashamed for laughing at the most certainly dead president. He stifled his laughter by taking another sip of his scotch.
The vice president scrunched his forehead together. “Would you want to be the president when the country went under? If some smart asshole ever writes a history book about the end of the world, they are going to have all sorts of horrible shit to say about me.”
Kinnick quietly shook his head no.
Brady leaned back in his chair one hand on a leather arm, the other holding his glass. “I was hoping for a second term out of the guy, pad my stats. No one likes to say it, but you make a lot more money if you’re a two-termer. Speaking engagements. Book deals. Businesses want you for your political connections. That’s when you make the big bucks. Then it’s the easy life,” Brady said. He stared vacantly at the wall.
“The easy life,” Kinnick said to himself, muttering into his booze.
“To the easy life.” Brady held his glass up. Kinnick did the same and Brady slung back the rest of his scotch. He leaned forward to the table. “Slide it over. I’ll get us another.”
“I’m not finished,” Kinnick pleaded. Half the brown liquid remained.
“Slide it over. That’s an order, Colonel, from your commander-in-chief,” Brady said, snapping his fingers together. Kinnick tossed the rest of the mocha-colored liquor back. The sheer amount of the booze stung but still didn’t burn his throat. He was never a lightweight, but he hadn’t drank in awhile or eaten for that matter. He slid the glass over the table to the vice president.
The vice president snatched up the glass and headed over to the decanter. He poured a tall glass of scotch in one and stopped mid-pour of the other as he thought of something.
“You know, General Travis chose to stay behind. We tried to get him to evacuate early on.” Brady peered back over his shoulder at Kinnick.
Kinnick’s head buzzed a bit, and he felt more relaxed than he could remember. “I know that, sir.”
The vice president brought the topped-off glass back to Kinnick and set it down in front of him. Brady plopped back down into his chair.
“Within two weeks we had lost global communications. Power grids are a touchy thing. Our fail-safe measures weren’t prepared for this kind of strain on both resources, especially the people.” He shook his head. “We assumed the worst about the Pentagon and fell back to our contingency facilities. When those went down, we moved to the next facility.”
“The Pentagon is gone. I spoke to General Travis as it was happening.” The fear in the old general’s voice would stay with Kinnick to the end of his days.
“I’m sorry to hear that, but maintaining operations on the East Coast was not a viable strategic option.”
Kinnick broke in. “The vice president must know what was happening to his men. Not only that, but units were rallying in the Midwest with no orders. Hundreds and thousands of soldiers were stranded when the C-130 Hercs stopped coming.”
Brady gave him a grim smile, staring down at this drink. He jutted his chin out a bit.
“Not a fun decision to make. I heeded the advice of my generals here, but I gave that command. Their lives are on my shoulders.”
“You left them hanging. No orders. No hope.”
Brady pounded his fist on the table. “I fucking know that. Communications were limited. Most of our military has been annihilated. Most of the nation has been eradicated. We needed to focus on something that we could hold.”
“So you threw men in their way. Mere speed bumps as the enemy rolled over them?”
Brady leaned his elbows on the table. “And we are grateful for their sacrifice. It gave us breathing room to figure out what the hell was going on. Now we are fighting back and securing our future, however shitty it may be.” He threw one hand out and took a swig with the other, daring Kinnick to contradict his words.
Kinnick set his glass down. “Our soldiers deserve better than that. The American public trusts us to help them.”
The vice president shrugged. “We can’t help them if we can’t help ourselves. This is it. We’re surrounded. Let me show you.” He snatched up a remote control and flicked on a large TV that hung on the wall. A map of the United States appeared.
“Come over here. See this for what it is. Look,” Brady pointed with his liquor glass.
Kinnick stood up and walked over to the vice president. Brady stayed seated as he gestured at the map. Every major city was red. The eastern half of the United States was all red.
“We consider all of the eastern half of the United States of America unsalvageable. We will not conduct operations east of the Mississippi River until our situation has drastically changed. My generals are projecting five to ten years.”
“Five to ten years?” Kinnick said in disbelief. “That’s a long time for the people out there to survive on their own.”
“We don’t have the manpower to control the area, so we’re leaving it alone until we do. Could be sooner, I don’t know.” The vice president turned an eye on Kinnick which he ignored.
Kinnick pointed at spaced-out red lines that ran through the bulk of the prairie Midwest. Iowa, Nebraska, the Dakotas, Kansas. “What are the lined areas?”
“We’ve been calling it the MidDeath. Because of the low population and lack of large cities, those areas are considered within a salvageable area of operations. After we spread our reach here, we will work on pushing through and clearing out those areas. Hopefully, we can use it to resettle misplaced persons and continue agricultural operations to keep the living fed. Unfortunately, for now, they are on their own. With limited resources, we must focus on the survivability of the mountain region first.”
“What about the West Coast?” The West Coast was also painted crimson. The bloody edges splashed up on the Rockies.
Brady took another drink of his scotch and ran a hand over his thinning hair. “There’s been a lot of debate over the West Coast.”
“What’s the debate?” Kinnick asked, fearing the answer. He couldn’t tell if it was the booze that was making him woozy or the predicament of the nation.
Brady got out of his chair and went back to the scotch decanter. His back turned to Kinnick as he spoke. “Whether or not to nuke it.” He tipped back the crystal decanter and topped off his scotch. “Another drink, Colonel?” he said, holding up the decanter. Only about a quarter of the liquid remained. He clinked ice in the glasses.
Kinnick nodded, dumbfounded, staring at California and the Western Seaboard. Brady placed a glass back in his hand. He stood near Kinnick, eyes judging the map.
“Almost sixty million people live between here and there.” Brady shook his head. “Whew. Good stuff.” He looked at his glass. “Sorry, lived there. Past tense. General Daugherty tells me that if we can eliminate the smaller threat that flanks us, we can more safely address the threat from the East.”
“There has to be a better way,” Kinnick said softly. He shook off the idea. The alcohol and the thought of nuclear holocaust gave him heartburn rising up rapidly
in his chest.
“I’m open to suggestions, of course, but when you are surrounded by enemies on all sides, my plays are limited.
“There must be people still alive out there.”
The vice president patted Kinnick’s shoulder and walked back to his seat. “Trust me. It’s not something I’m happy about. I’m no expert on fallout, but my generals tell me the Rockies give us a natural barrier from radiation, fallout poison clouds, and the like. Not to mention it keeps the breadbasket of the nation safe from contamination for rebuilding efforts, and most of our military bases are in the east. You aren’t the first person to find this option drastic.”
Kinnick knew the man spoke the desperate truth; his rationale was that of a man on the brink.
“You want to drop nukes on American soil. You want to drop nukes on Americans,” Kinnick said aloud. He wasn’t sure if he said that for himself or the acting commander-in-chief.
Brady cocked his head. “Former Americans. You’ve read the executive order. Both of us know that those aren’t Americans anymore, and even if there were living, breathing people trapped inside those zones, they’re as good as dead within the month anyway. No clean water, no food, hundreds of thousands of the infected trying to kill you. It’s a death sentence if you live there.”
Kinnick turned away from the map and took his seat, using the arms to help himself down. “You can’t do this.” The scotch had loosened his tongue quite a bit.
Brady’s eyes grew large. “What else would you have me do? The remainders of the Joint Chiefs are recommending this. It will shift the tide of the war more in our favor. It clears our strategic flank, giving us a single front to focus on. This isn’t normal war, Colonel. This is make the right play or checkmate you’re dead. No one will be left if both coasts overwhelm us here.”
“Please.” Kinnick shook his head and rubbed his hands across his brow. “Let me think on this. I will find a better way. I brought Patient Zero here. Give the doctors some time to find a cure.”
The vice president’s eyes narrowed. “Those doctors in Cheyenne? Find a cure? Ha, that could take months, even years. Or from the latest briefing, never.”
“We can hold until then.” Is that the booze talking?
Brady’s eyes lit up as if Kinnick had proposed a dare. “Can we? The decisions I make are for an entire nation. It’s not just the West Coast. I have to consider the survivability of this government and the people that depend on it.” Brady took a long sip of his scotch.
“No one envies your position. Dear God, it’s a terrible one, but please give me time. I will come up with something,” Kinnick begged.
Brady gave him an unnerving smile, and for a moment, Kinnick thought the man had cracked.
“Well, you want the responsibility so bad. Come up with something,” Brady said.
Kinnick’s mouth stuck open.
“Don’t stare dumbstruck. That’s an order. Make me a plan to save millions. The generals say it’s impossible.” The vice president shrugged his shoulders. “You say it’s not. Prove it. Be daring. Be great.” He raised his eyebrows. “Do something worthwhile for Christ’s sake.” He slurped up some scotch and crunched the melting ice from the bottom of the glass.
“I. Sir, I’m not sure what to say.” Kinnick could feel the sweat beading on his forehead in little droplets. The smell of the scotch was making his stomach turn over, or was it the scotch in his stomach?
Brady guzzled the rest of his golden-brown alcohol. “Don’t say anything.” The vice president stood up abruptly. His glass banged loudly on the table as he set it down. Kinnick tentatively followed, standing upright.
“You have twenty-four hours, Colonel, to come up with a plan to save the Western Seaboard.”
STEELE
Little Sable Point, MI
Two pickups parted ways so the motorcycle scouting party could drive back through the entrance to Little Sable Point. The pickups rolled back into place, sealing the ring of vehicles as if they were settlers in covered wagons on the wild frontier. Tess was there waiting for them.
Tess stopped pacing as they flicked off the engines. Wrapping a thick arm around Half-Barrel, Steele strained to lift the heavy biker off the back of the motorcycle.
“What happened?” she demanded. Her eyes were a sparkling obsidian.
“A pack of infected got in too close while we were stopped. Half-Barrel had a heck of a time.”
Steele helped the 300-pound plus man limp to a nearby chair.
“Must of been at least a hundred of them,” Half-Barrel breathed as he got settled.
“Prolly get that knee propped up and ice if someone has any. Take a couple of these,” Steele said tossing the man a bottle from the satchel.
“Where’d you get those?” Tess asked him.
“Came across a pharmacy in Pentwater and took everything that hadn’t been picked over. Not much. Generic anti-inflammatories, a few painkillers people couldn’t identify, none of the good stuff, heartburn medicine, diabetes meds, anti-fungal cream. Figured it’s better to have it and not need it than need it and not have it.”
Tess watched him, her eyes unwavering in her judgment. “I’m glad you came back.” Her lips curled upward as if she held in the funniest joke ever told but didn’t want to share it.
Steele leaned out of Half-Barrel’s earshot. “Between you and me, the pack was like six infected, and Quarter-Barrel fell off his motorcycle when they closed in, pinning himself underneath it.”
She gave Half-Barrel a sly glance, rubbing her tattooed arms. Scaled green and red dragons crawled up her forearms all the way to her shoulders.
She looked amused. “I’m glad you brought him back in one piece. He may be a simpleton, but he’s our simpleton.”
Steele nodded. “Everyone here has been generous. It’s the least I could do.”
She peered up at him. “You should think about staying for awhile. We could always use the help.”
“I’ll consider it, but I must find her.” He looked over her shoulder at the camp.
“Is Pagan’s crew back?” Steele asked, looking down at her.
“No. We haven’t heard anything. I was hoping you would have an idea.”
Steele checked his six. “I don’t.” He looked out at the ring of vehicles surrounding the lighthouse. His eyes ran over the mishmash of whatever vehicles and supplies people had when the outbreak started or what they had acquired since then. Could we defend against a horde? What about a determined enemy force? These people were mere nomads. No, they are only refugees.
“He’ll be back if he knows any better.” She reached up, tugging at his beard playfully.
Steele could only stare back in surprise at this woman he hardly knew holding his beard hostage with her fingers.
She released him. “We’ll talk later,” she said, walking away. Steele watched her go, confused as men are with women. Is she hitting on me? No, can’t be. She knows I’m with Gwen. Girl Code, right?
A light finger on his shoulder drew his eyes away from Tess’s backside.
His beautiful blonde stood there. “Gwen,” he said with a smile, feeling shame but not knowing why.
“What’d she want?” she asked. Her eyes watched Tess and turned back toward him with suspicion.
“Checking on our supplies we found.”
“Did you find any signs of Mary?”
“Nothing.” Frustration cloaked his insides.
She straightened his coat, staring down at it then back up at him. “You’ll find her. I know you, and I know your will.” Dark circles had formed around her eyes. Combined with her pale skin, those dark circles made it look like a terminal illness was lurking inside her.
He reached out and touched her face gently. “Are you okay? You don’t look well.”
Tears rushed to her eyes, and she looked like she wanted to break down and cry. It scared him a bit. She hadn’t shed any tears since Pittsburgh. She was a strong woman, and it was easy to overlook that she had been
through so much between the outbreak, her captivity, and the loss of friends and family. When she became vulnerable, it was difficult for him to watch her struggle.
She had hardened over the last few weeks, and now, he was on the verge of getting the exact opposite. The mystery of this female continued to elude him. Will they ever make sense? In fact, the more he aged, the more he realized he would never understand them, only learn to skim the watery surface of the female mystique.
She wiped a teardrop from the corner of her eye. “I’m fine. What was she saying to you?” she said, eyes still watering and her face set in a pout.
“I was only telling her what we found out there.”
Her eyes narrowed as if he were in a conspiracy against her.
He reached for her and gently gripped her shoulders. “I’m not sure what I can do to help.”
She removed herself from his hands by shifting her shoulders. “You can’t.” She covered her chest with her folded arms closing him off. She looked away from him toward the ground. “What’s our plan?”
“I’m not sure.” He gazed around the camp. “Not sure I want to drag myself back out in the wilderness without more information on where my mother went. This isn’t a bad base to search from.”
Her eyes shifted. “You remember what happened on Mount Eden. No place is truly safe.” Mount Eden, a giant military base and government continuity of operations center atop of a mountain in Virginia had been overrun in thirty minutes.
“You’re right.” The idea of a false sense of security was always in the back of his mind. Little Sable Point would get swarmed under in thirty seconds by a horde half that size. The thought soured his whole mood.
She looked like she was about to tell him something, but she choked it down.
“Pagan still hasn’t returned yet with the other Red Stripes. If he doesn’t return tomorrow, that’s a bad sign. Something bad is happening south of here.”
The Rising (The End Time Saga Book 3) Page 10
