Collin cocked an eyebrow at the madman. “Palasides? You mean Palestinians?”
“Them too, fuck’em all. They gonna get what’s coming to ‘em.”
“No, Mac. That will not happen, not under my command,” Collin said, speaking slowly and enunciating each word clearly.
Mac threw up his arms. “Who died and made you president?”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Collin turned, shifting to get comfortable, stuck in that place between sleep and consciousness. He was dreaming, yet aware he was dreaming and not fully in control.
He looked down, noting the fine fabric against his skin and the custom cut of the dark suit he wore. Looking up, Collin realized he was standing in a hangar. Military not civilian, and bustling with activity. Airmen and soldiers strode to and fro, carrying out their duties. Each one nodded as they passed by, as if they knew or respected him, but were unwilling or too scared to make direct eye contact.
The hangar smelled of jet fuel and sweat. Warm, stagnant air made a tiny rivulet of moisture trickle down his spine underneath his uncomfortable dress shirt, where it pooled in the curve of his lower back.
Several people stood near him in matching dark suits. Three men and two women. His security detail? Five people seemed excessive. Then he remembered what was happening. Massive unrest. Riots. Attacks on government officials. But what did it have to do with him? The answers eluded him.
“Secretary War,” a young airman said as he approached and saluted.
Collin returned the salute. After years as First Sergeant, a senior non-commissioned officer, it still felt odd to be saluted.
“What are we looking at, Staff Sergeant?” he asked.
“Air Force One is inbound, sir. It should arrive within fifteen minutes,” Staff Sergeant Walker said.
“Thank you.” Collin turned to leave.
“Sir?” Walker asked, tentatively.
Collin looked back. “Yes?”
“They are both on board, sir. Washington has fallen.” Staff Sergeant Walker looked disheartened.
“Both, huh?”
“Yes, sir. Air Force One departed Washington, picked up Vice President Stonewall at Selfridge, and they are headed here.”
“Selfridge?” Collin asked.
“It’s in Michigan, sir.”
“I know the location. Why was Stonewall there?”
“That’s above my paygrade, sir.” Walker shrugged.
“Mine too, apparently,” Collin said. “Any other news?”
“No, sir.”
“Very well. Thank you, Staff Sergeant. Carry on,” Collin said.
“Good evening, sir.”
They saluted again and the Staff Sergeant walked away.
With his security detail in tow, Collin strode outside to wait. Malmstrom Air Force Base had a unique history stretching back to before World War II. These days, the Great Falls, Montana base was home to part of the Air Force Global Strike Command and the 341st Missile Wing, in charge of the Minuteman III intercontinental nuclear missiles. As Secretary of Defense, and considering the nature of the threat against America, Collin was conducting an inspection of the site.
The 341st stood on strategic alert, so there was that. Collin prayed he wouldn’t be required to relay an order from President Pittsley to use them.
As for the reason why the President and Vice President were en route to his position, it was beyond him. Especially given the fact Washington D.C. had fallen. Putting all three of them in one location was a strategically bad move.
Suddenly, sirens wailed and lights flashed. His security detail flinched and tightened up their perimeter, but they didn’t usher him inside. Moments later, a firetruck and an ambulance raced out onto the curtain along the runway from the depths of a neighboring hangar.
Collin looked around and spotted one of his few remaining staff members running toward him. Without waiting for the young woman to cover the entire distance, he strode toward her.
“Sir, Air Force One reported a problem with the President. The doctor on board is incapacitated and POTUS needs immediate medical assistance,” Technical Sergeant Willow said.
“Jesus Christ!” Collin snapped. They didn’t need this now. Keeping President Pittsley healthy was vital to pulling things together once the worst had passed. “Is it the fever?”
He rolled in his sleep. Tension from the scene seeped out of his pores and trickled down his temple to his pillow case.
“They wouldn’t specify, sir.”
“We should move into the hangar, sir,” Agent Faber said.
“Thank you, Tech Sergeant.” Collin dismissed Willow before following Agent Faber inside. She hustled off to work. He looked at Faber with skepticism. “You expecting a problem?”
“Better safe than sorry, sir. We don’t need any unnecessary exposure,” he said in his usual matter of fact tone.
“Let’s wait in the vehicle then. We’ll need to meet the plane out on the tarmac after the emergency vehicles leave.” Collin motioned toward his black armored car. It would have melted into the shadows if it weren’t for the silver rims.
Collin sat in the backseat and waited for the plane. He thought about his family, the country, and his role in keeping things running, or at least, limping along. Only in wild brainstorming sessions had he ever gamed out scenarios like this with his staff. Reality was nothing like they thought it would be.
“Sir, Air Force One is on approach,” Agent Faber said, glancing back at him.
He nodded.
They watched as the massive jet touched down and slowed to a taxiing speed. It turned back around and approached the area near the hangar. Staff on Malmstrom was low. The fever seemingly reached its dark tendrils into every corner of America, so only the emergency vehicles and his own car drove out to meet the jet. Under normal circumstances, they probably wouldn’t be allowed near the plane for fear of car bombs. Now it was no problem.
The plane’s engines were still winding down as Secretary of Defense Collin War stepped from his vehicle to greet the President and Vice President. To his astonishment, the Vice President exited first, a break from the usual protocol.
Collin stood near Air Force One’s built-in stairs, waiting for the emergency personnel to do their job. Vice President Stonewall waved the EMTs along.
“Hurry, there’s no time to waste,” he said.
Collin watched with curiosity. This was history in the making. Not the kind of history he’d dreamed about being a part of, but Collin knew the old saying “We don’t get to pick the hand we’re dealt.”
Two Marines looking smart in their crisp uniforms stepped up to the ramp as Vice President Stonewall descended. Both Marines saluted Stonewall, which he returned.
“Mr. Vice President, how are you?” Collin asked.
“I’m fine, Collin. The President, well, not so much.” Stonewall’s face twitched, like he was fighting back the urge to sneeze.
Collin saw movement behind the Vice President. It was the EMTs bringing the President down on a stretcher.
“What the hell is going on, sir?” Collin asked. “Where’s the President’s doctor?”
Stonewall turned so they could both watch as the EMTs skillfully maneuvered on the stairs, keeping the bed as flat and steady as possible. They were standing about twenty feet away, almost leaning on Collin’s car.
When Collin glanced at the Vice President, he saw the man’s head drooped and shaking.
“Are you okay?” Collin asked. Tension grew in his chest, making his muscles feel taut. He stepped closer to Stonewall.
“Step back,” Stonewall said with a choked voice. When he looked up, tears streamed down his pale face. “Stay away from me. Just in case.”
Where was the Vice President’s Secret Service detail? What the hell had happened to the President? And why was Stonewall blabbering like a fool?
“Damn it, man! What is going on?!” Collin shouted. He didn’t care if he offended Stonewall. What were they going to do, replace
him?
“That’s close enough.” Stonewall backed up a few paces. Now, he stood near the trunk of the car, facing Collin.
Agent Faber got out of the vehicle, but the rest remained inside. “Sir?”
Vice President Stonewall looked at Collin with the face of a madman. Wild hair, red eyes, and a face streaked with tears. The man suddenly looked twenty years older than he was.
“Washington fell. Did they tell you yet?”
Collin nodded.
“It was horrible. The people grew restless and scared. So, so scared and hungry. So many people were getting sick that keeping up basic services was becoming a real challenge,” Stonewall said. He put his hands on the trunk and bowed his head again.
“What happened?”
“They rushed the White House. Desperate, frightened people. And the protestors, always the protestors, and none of them survived,” Stonewall said, staring into the distance.
“What do you mean? They all dropped dead?”
Stonewall’s face contorted in confusion as he was pulled from his memory. “What? No, of course they didn’t drop dead. It was much worse than that, Collin. They began to climb over the fence, force their way through the gates, screaming, shouting, stomping, thrashing ... my God, what have we done?”
Collin could hardly believe it. He stood in shocked silence, listening to his friend crumble to pieces right there in front of everyone.
“Then the shots rang out. I don’t know who started it, but it’s clear there were shots from both sides. So much banging and screaming. There was blood on the lawn of the White House, blood like you wouldn’t believe. The White House protection units just ... they just carved them down like animals. Americans dying right there on the lawn suffering under the same automatic weapons that were in place to protect them as a nation.” Stonewall moaned and turned away, hunching over like he was going to be sick.
“Sir?” Collin couldn’t tell if the man was hurt or just distraught. “Sir? Damn it. Faber, call a doctor!”
“No, I’m okay. I’m fine, really.” Vice President Stonewall stood up and faced Collin. His eyes glistened with tears, but held a steady gaze. “Please forgive me.”
“Of course. But I have to ask – what else happened?”
“We lost. Simply put, there were more bodies rushing the White House than the Secret Service had ammo to contain. Response times for other units were delayed by traffic jams and protests and loss of personnel.” The Vice President wiped his nose and sniffed loudly. “We barely made it to Marine One before being overrun.” Then he lowered his voice like he was telling a secret. “They shot them. Everyone who chased us.”
Collin leaned forward to listen.
Clearing his throat, Stonewall continued. “We saw fire erupt as the chopper flew away. Last report I heard said the White House was gone. Burned to ash along with the Capital Building.”
“My God. They’re both lost?” Collin couldn’t believe it.
“Most of the members of Congress have been taken by the illness. A few scattered back to their districts to be with their families, but it’s unlikely they’ve survived.”
“What are you telling me?”
Stonewall took a deep breath. “I’m telling you that the last major remnants of the US Government are now sitting on this tarmac. Right here in Montana.”
Collin stared at Stonewall. His gut spun like a tornado. It all happened so quickly. No one was safe, no place left untouched.
“We should ...” Collin’s tongue was like sandpaper. “Let’s get inside.”
Behind the Vice President, the EMTs began to lower a stretcher down the stairs finally exiting the aircraft. On it laid the President. A white sheet covered him from his chest down. His face was ashen, and it was immediately clear the President had succumbed to the fever.
The Vice President heard them coming and glanced at the President.
“Come on, sir,” Collin said. Stonewall was going to have to be sworn in as acting President. He reached out to guide him to his car, but the man jerked back.
Vice President Stonewall reached down and pulled a small pistol from his waistband. It looked absurdly tiny in his hand.
“Jesus,” Collin said, motioning with his hands. “Put the gun down.”
“No, stay back.” Stonewall raised the gun to his temple.
“You’re about to be sworn in as President,” Collin said. “Don’t do this. We’ll pull through.”
Car doors clicked open and Agent Faber was pulling Collin back. The other agents formed a half circle around the Vice President. One of them tried to talk him into submission. It looked like the agent was making progress for a moment, but then Stonewall aimed the gun at them.
“Stay back!” he shouted.
Collin fought against Agent Faber; he didn’t want to see his friend kill himself or commit suicide by cop.
“Do you know what this is?” Stonewall asked.
When no one responded, he smiled sadly.
“It’s Booth’s gun. Yes, that’s right, the gun that killed President Lincoln. I took it when they began moving our Nation’s treasures into the vaults. I couldn’t let it be forgotten.”
“Sir, put the gun down. Please, sir,” one of the agents said.
“Stonewall, you don’t want to do this,” Collin pleaded.
“You don’t get it, Collin. The President is dying, and I have the fever too.” He looked at Collin with his bloodshot eyes. Truth and regret pooled up and ran down his cheeks. “We could have stopped this. We knew what might happen, but we did it anyway. Anything to help appease the people, right? We could have saved the world. We could have changed it. This gun changed history once, let’s see if it can do it again.”
Vice President Stonewall raised the gun back to his head.
The agents began to converge in slow motion.
“No!” Collin shouted. He broke free and rushed forward as well.
The crack of the pistol was quieter than he expected. All of them were too slow. Stonewall slumped to the ground before they reached him. A cloud of smoke rose above his body as the odor of the spent black powder lingered in the air.
Collin froze in his tracks. The Vice President was folded on the ground like a discarded doll, his legs buckled under him, and his back arched awkwardly. Blood splashed out of his skull onto the tarmac.
“No! No, no, no,” Collin shouted as he bolted upright in bed. Sweat dribbled down his temple and dripped onto his heaving chest.
He remembered it all clearly now. It wasn’t just a dream.
It was a memory.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Collin pulled his front door shut behind him. He took a deep breath of the fresh morning air. It was refreshing after such a disturbing dream. As he came down the steps, which still needed to be repaired, he noticed Koby and Doctor Horner walking in his direction.
He raised his hand in greeting. Koby nodded and Julie smiled.
“We need to talk,” she said and kept walking past him.
Collin glanced at Koby, looking for an answer. Koby shrugged and motioned toward the house.
With a sigh, Collin turned around and began to fish in his pocket for his keys. “What’s this all about?” he asked, climbing the creaky stairs to his front door.
Julie stood cross-armed on the porch, looking quite stern.
“We’ve got a situation,” Koby said quietly.
“You know, I have to say I prefer the mornings where I wake up and you have breakfast on the table,” Collin said.
Koby laughed.
Collin opened the door and led them inside. As Julie passed by, she handed him a folded paper.
“Chew on this,” she said.
“More HAGS fliers?” Collin asked with a groan. He unfolded it like a dirty diaper, his face twisted in revulsion.
“Not HAGS,” Koby said, smirking at the way he handled the note. “But this might actually be worse.”
They were in the living room, standing around. Collin glanc
ed at the note, then up at his friends. He motioned for them to take a seat before slowly sitting alone on the loveseat.
After reading over the photocopy of a handwritten note, he let out a low whistle.
ATTENTION: Goshen is under threat.
Traitors invite the enemy into our backyard.
Arm yourselves and protect your family.
Like Satan, they will draw you in before striking.
Snakes are the spawn of the Devil.
Fight FIRE with FIRE.
Viper blood must be shed before their settling.
Bar entrance to our foe who has slain your kin.
We repeat: Do not let them in.
Stand with us and you are family.
Stand against us and your end will be timely.
Collin scoffed at the flier. “Did a nine year old write this? And where the hell did they get a photocopier?”
“We have electricity, which means anyone with a printer could do it. Well, a printer and ink too, which I think is the most impressive part,” Koby said. “How did it last so long?”
Collin rolled his eyes.
“They probably did it from my office,” Julie said. Her cheeks grew red. “And they destroyed it. Trashed everything. Whatever wasn’t broken the night you woke up is now ...” She flicked her hand. “Gone.”
“This wasn’t just left for us. These things are all over the place,” Koby said, grimacing. “It’s like that flier drop all over again.”
Collin set the paper down on the coffee table and leaned back into the loveseat. So, Pendell and Logan are gone. He discovers his son is alive, and Anna is murdered. Now Julie loses her lab, too. It’s almost too much. At least she’d had her work to distract her from Anna’s death and give her purpose. Now there was nothing. Collin sighed. Her strength in the face of so much loss was impressive.
“How many fliers?” Collin finally asked.
“Probably hundreds.” Koby shrugged.
“And the lab? Is anything salvageable?”
Julie shook her head slowly, scowling.
Everyone was pissed; this was the last thing they needed right now. On top of the situation with HAGS, and the drunk asshat Mac, they didn’t need more drama. They needed a break from bad news. All the joy he felt at the town’s response to Pendell’s death had quickly evaporated.
Living for War: The Collin War Chronicles Page 4
