“Or what's left of it,” Brooke responded.
All but the passenger-side windows to the cruiser were smashed. Bullet holes peppered the driver-side doors and engine. Both rear tires were blown out. The sand around the vehicle was mixed with bits of rubber, glass, and shell casings.
The cruiser was tough, but Brooke was skeptical it would run. Still, that didn't stop her from climbing into the driver’s seat and plugging her key into the ignition. When she turned the key, all she heard was a click. It was dead.
Brooke rested her forehead against the steering wheel. She hung from the wheel, afraid that letting go would eradicate any chance of surviving. Then, like a spasm, her fist pounded the dash violently. The sting of the blow lingered. She smashed her shoulder into the door and stomped to the cruiser's hatch.
Bullet holes had pierced the gas cans and remaining water tanks. Both leaked onto the cruiser’s floorboard. Brooke lifted one of the backpacks and found that it dripped water and stank of fuel. Everything was soaked.
Brooke slammed the hatch closed. The cruiser rocked from the force of the swing. Her face was beet red. She kicked the dirt, and an explosion of sand flew into the air. This can’t be happening. Not now. Not when we’re so close.
Brent walked sheepishly up behind her. He took in the damage to the cruiser then looked at Brooke.
“Why don't you come inside?” Brent asked.
Brooke turned around. Her laughter was desperate. She raised her hands in the air, surrendering to the situation.
“And do what? Stay here for a couple days until more people come and overwhelm us? Or maybe until we run out of water? Or food?” Brooke asked.
“It could do you some good to rest,” Brent answered.
“You don't fucking get it, do you? This place is dead. We have to leave, and we can't walk out of here with enough supplies to survive.”
“We have food and water.”
“For how long? Hmm? How fucking long?!”
The veins in Brooke's head and neck pulsed. Her face was purple from screaming. She wiped snot and saliva from her mouth, which were replaced by the gritty taste of sand. She was so fucking sick of that taste.
“Look,” Brent said. “You have two options right now. The first is to trek into the city to look for transportation and supplies, which we can tell you is a nightmare. Or you can stay here, recoup, and try and figure out a plan to get your family safely to wherever it is you need to go.”
Brooke softened. She knew he was just trying to help. The wave of adrenaline that had propelled her for the past hour began to recede. Rest didn’t sound like a bad idea.
Brent escorted Brooke back inside. The room was small. A single window on the far wall provided the only view outside. A tattered mattress rested in the corner. It had no sheets, no pillows, and was slightly warped on the end. Brooke collapsed on the mattress, and Emily walked in and curled up next to her. John entered and sat next to the entrance. When Brooke closed her eyes, they seemed to lock shut.
It was the faint hint of smoke that woke her. She opened her eyes and blinked several times, adjusting to the darkness. Emily was still curled up next to her stomach, and John was passed out by the door. There wasn't enough space for all of them on the twin mattress. Brooke gently brushed John's hair off his forehead and whispered in his ear.
“Hey, why don't you get some rest on the mattress. Get off the hard floor,” Brooke said.
John obeyed absentmindedly. He stumbled over to the mattress where his sister lay and collapsed, barely opening his eyes in the process. Brooke kissed the tops of their heads and exited the room.
Brooke followed the scent of smoke and the sound of whispering voices. There was a faint glow in the front of the building. It moved like a wave across the beaten walls and worn floors. She kept her steps light. She wanted to hear who was talking and what they were talking about.
“I don't know if her being here is such a good idea, Brent. We don't know anything about her.”
“And she doesn't know anything about us. Not everyone's out to hurt us, Tim.”
“But what if she's part of a scout party? What if she's working with the Mexicans?”
“Then why did all of her gear get destroyed? They wouldn't waste all those supplies for a hoax.”
“I'm just saying we need to be careful. That's all.”
Brooke tiptoed to the back of the building. All of this seemed like a bad dream. She kept closing her eyes, expecting to wake up, but she never did. She'd spent so much time avoiding other people because she knew desperation drove people to do dangerous things.
If these people were really that bad, they would have killed them in the street when she first arrived. But they didn't. They entered an agreement with one another, and both held true. Maybe it was time to ask for help.
8
General Gallo's fist smashed the figurines on his military map. His officers kept their heads down.
“How could this happen?” Gallo asked. “We have more men, more guns, and more bullets than they do. This is an embarrassment!”
Colonel Herrera gently raised his head. His soft eyes found Gallo, and he spoke carefully. The general had a reputation for having a temper and following through on threats.
“General, we were unable to mobilize all of our troops. We underestimated the Americans’ military prowess,” Herrera said.
“Military prow—? I don't care what it takes. I don't care if we have to sacrifice one hundred thousand men. That is our land! That is our country!”
Each statement the general made was punctuated with the pounding of his fat fist into the table. The wood sounded as if it would break under the force. But it was much more likely that one of the general's council would fall victim to punishment long before the table did.
“General, the Americans, they had better planes, better ships. We couldn't contend with them.”
The small-faced captain who made the statement shrank back into his seat after seeing the look Gallo gave him. His fellow officers sitting next to him inched their chairs away from him, trying to create as much space between themselves and him as possible.
“I gave you the same equipment the Americans have. I know that because I bought it from them. If you couldn't beat them with it, then it was your own incompetence that handed us defeat,” Gallo said.
The captain's face flushed red. “General, I'm sorry. We will not fail next time.”
“No. You won’t,” Gallo said.
The general grabbed the back of the captain’s chair and slammed it to the ground. The captain spilled onto the floor and skidded across the rug.
Gallo pulled the pistol from his belt and fired a 9mm bullet straight into the captain's skull. The flash of the bullet exploding out of the gun illuminated the already-dim room. All of Gallo's officers recoiled at the sight of their comrade's now-exposed innards. Many of the officers crossed themselves and uttered their respects in whispers.
The smoke from Gallo's pistol filled the air. The scent of blood, lead, tobacco, and sweat was powerful. Gallo tossed his pistol onto the captain's body and turned to his men. The lamp's light above them caused shadows to accentuate the darkness under Gallo's eyes.
“We do not lose again. Do we understand?” Gallo asked.
The officers at the table nodded emphatically.
“Someone clean this up,” Gallo said.
The machine hooked up to Eric's hospital bed beeped rhythmically. His breath fogged the oxygen mask over his face. His eyes fluttered open and closed. The white fluorescent lights were incredibly bright, and it took Eric a while for his eyes to adjust.
Eric pulled the oxygen mask off himself, and the machine beeped wildly. A nurse rushed in and pressed a few buttons, and the noise stopped.
“How are you feeling, Lieutenant?” the nurse asked.
“How do I keep winding up in hospitals? When I signed up for the Navy, I was told it was fairly safe,” Eric said.
He yanked the tubes and suction
cups off him and jumped out of bed. The hospital gown he wore flapped open, exposing his backside.
“Lieutenant, your gown,” she said.
“It's okay. I don't charge for the first five minutes, but after that it's going to be twenty bucks an hour.”
Eric walked down the hallway toward the exit. His lily-white cheeks greeted the remaining staff, and gasps and laughs followed in his wake.
The sun was bright outside when Eric opened the doors. After taking a minute to adjust to the sunlight, Eric spotted Colonel Brack and marched over to him, the back of his open gown flowing in the hot wind.
“Afternoon, Colonel,” Eric said. “Looks like we made it through the first bout.”
“Lieutenant, you should still be in the medical facility until your attending physician clears you. And you should be wearing clothes.”
“I thought I'd try and get a little sun.”
“I'll debrief you when you're released.”
The playfulness in Eric's eyes waned. “Colonel, what were our casualties?”
The colonel tucked his clipboard under his arm, giving Eric his full attention.
“We lost three jets, one hundred boots on the ground, and six tanks. I'm still waiting to hear from New Mexico and San Diego,” Colonel Brack said.
“That can't be as bad as what we thought would happen, right?” Eric asked.
“No, but Gallo's forces weren't the massive numbers we expected. Once he regroups, I don't think we'll have the resources to stop him. Now, if you'll excuse me, Lieutenant.”
Colonel Brack returned his attention to the clipboard and marched off. He turned to yell back at Eric, who was still standing there in the middle of the base, “Go back to the medical ward, Lieutenant.”
Eric gave him a wave, and a burst of wind blew his gown up, exposing everything. A truck rolled by, and the driver let out a whistle. “Hey, I am NOT a piece of meat!” Eric said, tying the back of his gown together.
The colonel was right. If what Eric had seen yesterday was only a fraction of what Gallo had in his arsenal, then they wouldn't be able to survive another fight. Without more men, more planes, and more guns, there wasn’t really any chance.
The nurse attending to Eric watched him walk back inside the hospital, his gown loosely strung together. She put her hands on her hips and cocked her head to the side, looking at him with a sense of bewilderment and curiosity.
“Enjoy your stroll?” she asked.
“I need to know where you put my uniform,” Eric said.
“You're not going anywhere until you're cleared to leave.”
“Look. I know this must be hard on you, what with how you must feel about me. The conflict raging inside of you, trying to figure out whether to help the noble, physically fit, incredibly handsome patient that you've fallen in lust-filled love with, or following your chain of command,” Eric said, grabbing the nurse's hand and massaging it between his own. “But sometimes your heart is worth taking a chance on.”
Eric felt something pinch his left shoulder. He looked down to see a syringe sticking out with the plunger pressed all the way down.
“What's that?” Eric asked.
“A sedative.”
“At least buy me a drink firs...”
Before Eric could finish, he collapsed to the floor in an unconscious heap.
The office was dark except for one lamp. The yellow light was filtered through a green lampshade, casting Jones’s office in a similar color. His jacket hung from the back of his chair, and the cuffs from his sleeves were unbuttoned and rolled halfway up his arms. His constant wearing of long sleeves and suits masked his thin frame, but with his sleeves rolled up, one could see the outline of bones covered in liver-spotted skin.
Jones massaged his temples. He was the only one left in the office. He'd been hunched over paperwork examining water prospects in South America for the past three hours. He checked his phone for the time. Nine-thirty.
This was a task he would have normally given to one of the interns, but it would raise questions that he didn’t want to answer at the moment. The climate in the country was incredibly fragile. The vote to exile the southwestern states had brought on some violent backlash, but he knew that was to be expected.
However, the president's address hadn’t had the wide-reaching effect he hoped it would. The protests in different cities along the east coast was something he hadn't predicted. Of all the times for the American people to grow a backbone, now was the worst.
Jones knew Smith and Daniel had begun working on their countermeasures as soon as the vote was over. His sources were telling him that they were coordinating with one of the congressmen from Oregon. Water, fuel, and food were being smuggled into the region to help reinforce what little military stayed behind to fend off Mexico’s advancements. It wouldn't matter for long, though. Once Gallo's men took over the southwest region, whatever American military presence was left would be eradicated.
After that, the protests would stop and the attention would be turned to either waging war against the expanding Mexican government or forging an alliance, which Jones would assist with. He just hoped that General Gallo was as good at winning wars as he was at spending money on military expenses.
The other obstacle in his path was Smith’s acquisition of Dr. Carlson. He knew Smith was trying to get the doctor to recreate his work, but he couldn’t figure out where the congressman was hiding him.
Jones’s phone buzzed at the top right-hand corner of the desk. It was an unknown number, but judging by the time of day, he knew who it was.
“What is it?” Jones asked.
“You told me that all American troops were pulled from the area,” Gallo said
.
“And that was the order given. We couldn't help that some stayed behind in desertion.”
“Then why didn't you come in to remove them?”
“You're telling me the force of your entire military can't handle a few abandoned military posts?”
“My men can handle it.”
“Then I suggest you regroup and crush what's left so we can both get what we want.”
Jones clicked the phone dead and tossed it back onto the desk, disgusted that he had to deal with such violent ignorance. That was one thing he had always despised about the general. The general had no tact, no political awareness. He'd spent too much time in the military ordering people around.
Perhaps the biggest difference between the two of them was their weapons of choice. Gallo had chosen the sword, and Jones had chosen the pen. Each needed the other. But just like every other relationship forged in blood and secrecy, there were issues with trust.
Eric felt groggy when he woke up. His vision was still blurred, but he managed to make out the steel handcuffs around his wrist that were attached to the bed rail next to him.
“Nurse!” Eric shouted.
Eric pulled at the cuffs and shook them, clanging the metal together until the same nurse from earlier walked in a few moments later. She wore a sincere smile across her face, and her head was tilted in the familiar cock to the side.
“Lieutenant, how are you feeling?” she asked.
“Normally I don't mind foreplay, but I need you to take these off now.”
“The doctor will be here in just a minute. Don't go anywhere for me.”
The nurse gave a lighthearted laugh that Eric mimicked. He continued the loud barrage of smacking metal, which woke his bedside neighbor, who hushed him.
“You shh yourself!” Eric responded.
Once the doctor came in, examined him, and gave him the thumbs up, the nurse removed the handcuffs. Eric rubbed his wrist where the tight piece of steel had kept him hostage. Eric jumped out of the bed and landed right in front of the nurse who had locked him down.
“It’s always the quiet ones,” Eric said.
“Goodbye, Lieutenant.”
The moment Eric was dressed, he made a beeline for Colonel Brack’s office. The colonel was alone looking o
ver some paperwork when Eric walked in.
“Lieutenant, it's good to see you with clothes on. What can I help you with?” Brack asked.
“Sir, I would like to request a unit of men to scout the city,” Eric said.
“We can't afford that type of risk right now.”
“Colonel, I don't think we can afford to sit here and wait for Gallo to wipe us out. We might be able to recruit some fighters from the city and utilize any supplies that are still there.”
Brack took off his glasses and set them down on his desk. He rubbed his eyes. The colonel had relied on the sunlight pouring into his window to help him read, but the sun had almost disappeared beneath the horizon.
“Let me get this straight. You want me to give you a unit of men so you can go into a completely chaotic and disordered environment to recruit people to fight for the same country that abandoned them?” Brack asked.
“Yes, sir.”
Brack rose from his chair and walked around to the front of his desk, which he leaned back on. He crossed his arms and squinted at Eric for a few moments before he spoke.
“Then you better make it count,” Brack said.
9
Daniel quietly closed the door to his daughter’s room. Gabby was sound asleep on her bed, and Daniel still had a children’s book tucked under his arm. His slippers patted the wooden floors of the upstairs of his house as he walked down the hallway to his son’s room. A soft smile wavered on his face.
The door to Kevin’s room creaked slightly as Daniel pushed it open. Kevin lay on his stomach on top of his bedsheets. The music from his ear buds thumped loudly as he flipped through the pages of a gamer magazine.
Daniel knocked his knuckles against the door hard, and Kevin pulled his ear buds out.
“Hey, Dad,” Kevin said.
“What are you listening to?”
“Just some music.”
“Don’t stay up too late. You have that math test in the morning.”
“I won’t. Night, Dad.”
“Night.”
Daniel pulled the door closed and headed across the hall to his own bedroom. He flicked the hallway light off, and when he walked into his own room, he could see Amy already in bed. She wore a lacey nightgown, and her hair was curled.
Surviving The Collapse Super Boxset: EMP Post Apocalyptic Fiction Page 175
