Living for War: The Collin War Chronicles

by W. C. Hoffman

  “Here we go, Koby. Stay awake, man. You watch me okay, look at me.”

  Koby nodded. “Hurry.”

  Collin took the webbing, wrapped the closest leg, and used the arrow shaft to twist it down tight. The blood slowed and then trickled to a stop as if someone had closed off a faucet. He tied it off so it wouldn’t unwind and moved to the next leg.

  The belt went around the worst leg. This one looked like the bone was broken down by the ankle. Collin tried not to look too disturbed because Koby was staring at him intently, but his stomach felt like a category five hurricane.

  When he was done, Collin nodded at Koby. “You’ll be okay. I know it hurts like a bitch, but you stay strong.”

  “What the fuck was it?” Koby’s face was pale and he was sweating.

  Collin worried about him going into full shock. “Someone’s death sentence, but not yours,” Collin said, taking Koby’s hand again. His grip was still fairly strong. “I have to get Dr. Horner. You know that, right?”

  “Hurry up, fucker.”

  Collin laughed a little. Sweat trickled down his temples.

  “Okay,” he said. The t-shirt he’d used to douse the flames was lying useless on the floor, so Collin balled it up and shoved it under Koby’s head. “Don’t look and don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

  Koby closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Hurry.”

  Collin patted Koby on the chest, stood up, and cautiously opened the door. Flames still licked the walls in the hallway, but they’d mostly died off. Collin sprinted down the hall, praying for no other surprises.

  They will pay. Dearly.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “The winds of change are blowing, and you better fall into line or you’re going to be swept aside the gale.”

  The words he whispered into Mac’s ear echoed in his mind as Collin ran, shouting for Dr. Horner. Julie hadn’t arrived at the hospital, so he bolted down the gravel road toward her house.

  Doubt crept in as he ran. Had confronting Mac led to the attack? If he had locked up or beaten Mac, would Koby still have been injured? Collin wondered if perhaps he should have dealt with it the way Major Logan or Pastor Pendell would have. After all, the townsfolk weren’t committing the terrorism.

  Were they?

  Or, did the rest of Goshen view things the same way Mac did? Was he actually the cause of all the unrest? Collin couldn’t help considering it was his own fault. Then Collin realized he wouldn’t let Mac’s skewed view of reality corrupt his own. Rather than tearing apart the community, Collin believed he could be the fulcrum upon which the well-being of Goshen hinged.

  Collin bounded up the steps to Julie’s front door. He pounded on it, shouting her name, but no reply came. He peered in the windows. Nothing.

  Looking up and down the street to no avail, Collin shouted again. “Julie! Dr. Horner! Help!”

  No response.

  Collin ran down the steps toward the center of town. She might be at the church, or the cafeteria, or possibly at the market. A small group of people came around the corner as he was running.

  “Have you ...” Collin panted. “... seen Dr. Horner?”

  Dismay creased their faces as they noticed Collin covered in blood, but one of the ladies nodded and pointed down the road.

  “I saw her heading toward the market not five minutes ago,” she said.

  Collin waved a quick thank you and bolted off.

  What seemed like several minutes later, Collin skidded around a corner and began shouting again. Surprised passersby stared at him as he resembled a mad man. Tables lined with fruit, vegetables, ammunition, and various other commodities whizzed by in a blur.

  “Move, move!” Collin shouted at people to clear a path. “I need Dr. Horner. Emergency! Emergency!”

  A hand shot up in the air. “Over here,” Julie called out.

  “Hospital – now!” Collin yelled, sucking air. Knowing they’d have to run back, he put his hands above his head, trying to catch his breath.

  She hustled through the crowd toward him. “What in God’s name is going on?”

  “It’s ... Koby ... explosion,” Collin said.

  “Is he ...”

  “Alive ... for now,” he said, motioning for them to go. “Run.”

  Julie surprised Collin with how fast she was, and he had to work to keep up.

  “You go, I don’t need help,” she said, barely breathing hard despite the quick pace.

  “Morgue ... legs shredded, had to ...” Collin gasped. “Tourniquet on each leg.”

  Julie cursed and sped up. “GO! Find the bastards!”

  Collin slowed and walked to catch his breath. I gotta workout more, he thought. Physical fitness was a routine he’d maintained since his years in the Marines, Collin remembered that. Since he’d woken up from the fever, he only worked out with the Eagles infrequently.

  The Eagles.

  Turning down a side street, Collin made for the high school gym as fast as his legs could take him.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The gym door crashed open as Collin rushed in, startling a dozen Eagles prepping gear in the gym. Everyone flinched and one guy who was crouched down tipped over. Shouts went up and more than one weapon started to raise in his direction, although they quickly dropped.

  Shift change, Collin thought. Sweat streaked his face and dripped off his chin from running all over town. He stood quietly for a few moments, catching his breath again.

  “Sir, is everything okay?” asked Specialist Turnbull, one of the scout snipers.

  Collin frowned and shook his head. “There was an attack at the hospital. Two attacks, actually. Earlier, Davies and Patterson were killed and just a few minutes ago Kobyashi was severely injured.”

  “What are your orders, General?” Turnbull asked, his voice turning to stone.

  “Specialist, get everyone not on guard duty to gear up. I need a strike force, and I’d like you on overwatch. Once it’s dark, we roll out,” Collin said. “Details to come.”

  “Yes, sir.” Specialist Turnbull spun away and went to the locker room to notify those inside.

  “We can be mission go in five, sir,” Sergeant Wilson said, striding out of the locker room. He was one of the other high speed, dead shot snipers.

  “No need, Sergeant. I want the target and the town to be asleep. The less people who observe us, the better. Not everyone is on our side,” Collin said, a strategy forming in his mind. “Actually, I’d like you to lead one of the teams. I’ll get back to you on details. I sent Specialist Turnbull to round up the other Eagles.”

  “He told me, sir,” Sargeant Wilson replied. “Just let me know when you’re ready.”

  “Get everyone assembled and meet me at the hospital at zero two hundred hours. For now, I’ll take two soldiers who are already prepped.” Collin walked toward the locker room with Wilson following. Considering the threat, Collin thought it was prudent to use his often neglected vest and rifle.

  A couple of moments later, Collin walked out of the high school with two Eagles, Privates Egon and Potter. They looked eager and were certainly happy to join him.

  When the three of them arrived at the hospital, Collin was surprised to see four Eagles already guarding the hospital. They saluted him when he approached.

  “At ease,” Collin said. “What brings you four here?”

  “Dr. Horner saw us when she was running by, sir. She asked us to guard the building and let no one out and let no one other than you in,” Specialist Tanner said. He pointed at two of the soldiers behind him. “These two helped Dr. Horner move Koby. Then she sent them back out.”

  Collin smiled a little on the inside since Julie knew he’d come back.

  “What’s going on, sir?” Private Egon asked, looking shocked.

  “There was an attack earlier that claimed Davies and Patterson, and then another one that seriously injured Koby.” They must not have heard, and Collin hadn’t spoken the whole way over. “Private Egon, Private
Potter, you two fall in with these guys. Specialist, looks like you’re in charge here until Sergeant Wilson arrives. I’d recommend getting a couple of two-man teams on roving patrol around the perimeter. You guys stay sharp and weapons hot. I don’t want any other Eagle or innocent casualties. And when Sergeant Wilson arrives, send him in to notify me. Other than that, I’ll leave you to it. Carry on.”

  “Yes, sir,” Specialist Tanner said.

  Collin rushed inside, practically flying through the hospital down to the morgue. When he arrived, the room was empty. On the floor was an obscene amount of blood. The puddle was smeared, footprints tracked all about, and lines where the soldiers must have wheeled away a gurney with Koby on board decorated the floor.

  Julie probably had Koby in the ER, so Collin took a few minutes to inspect the booby trap that almost killed them. He un-slung his rifle and used the flashlight attached to the handguard to light up the hallway.

  The huge fireball that accompanied the explosion indicated fuel like gasoline or possibly diesel had been used. Collin was under the impression all the gas had gone bad. Most people didn’t realize gasoline and other consumer fuels didn’t store well over the long term, and he was sure the refineries had shut down years ago. Yet somehow, HAGS still had fuel for their choppers. Apparently, nothing was out of the question these days.

  Burnt paint and wood tinged the air with a putrid chemical scent that made Collin crinkle his nose. Ceiling tiles had collapsed in the blast and littered the floor. He kicked pieces out of the way, looking for clues. While the floor failed to reveal anything useful, the walls seemed to speak his language.

  Melted to the wall were pieces of green plastic. He thought for a moment why it seemed familiar to him. Once upon a time, he played with plastic Army men. When he’d grown older, he melted a few to make more “realistic” battles. The plastic melted in much the same way as the stuff on the walls. However, there was too much for it to be from something that small. Collin rubbed his chin and let his eyes drift out of focus. Military-style gas cans? Or canteens? Both seemed like realistic possibilities.

  Nothing else looked out of place. Collin was familiar with explosives and their effects, but not investigating explosions. He was no detective and that frustrated his efforts. So, he turned his attention to his friends.

  Julie might need his help, so he walked down the hall to the stairwell. As he jogged up the stairs with his flashlight bouncing around casting harsh shadows, he realized the last time he was in the stairwell was with Julie’s daughter, Anna.

  Thinking back on that first night, he’d felt lost but alive, tired yet energized by adrenaline and the threat of unknown persons attacking him. Collin was grateful to have found Anna.

  A yawn escaped as he pushed through the door and made his way down the hall to the ER. There were enough lights still working for him to turn off his flashlight and sling the rifle over his shoulder.

  Connected to the ER by a short hallway was an operating room. On the door was a yellow sticky note. On it, scribbled in awful handwriting, was a short note:

  Collin,

  You gave him a chance with the belt. His leg is gone, but he might still make it. Stay out in the waiting room. I will come get you if needed.

  Julie

  Feeling slightly deflated and worried for Koby, Collin walked away to take a seat in the waiting room as the doc had instructed. Placing the AR-15 across his lap, Collin took a seat in the corner of the waiting room. He kicked his feet up on the table that was still covered in dusty old magazines, leaned back in the thinly padded, plastic chair, and pulled his canteen out. A long drink of cold water refreshed him. It cleared his throat of the charred taste in his mouth from poking around downstairs. Then, for some reason, he felt an urge to pray. He smirked to himself.

  Praying hadn’t done a damn bit of good for the people of Goshen so far.

  Still, he couldn’t tell if the urge had been a genuine connection with the Lord, or the ingrained dogma from decades of a world that no longer existed telling him prayer helped. Collin yawned again as he found comfort with a stretch and leaned his head back against the wall to wait for Julie.

  He cradled his rifle close, just in case, and fought the urge to sleep.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Ever so slowly the Z-monster pulled him down, and before he knew it, Collin was snoring softly.

  Something heavy and wet landed in Collin’s hands. His eyes snapped open and he was kneeling on the ground, cradling the Vice President’s head as his life gushed out onto the tarmac. Hands gripped the man’s body and pulled him back.

  Collin stared at his hands which were sticky with blood. He really did it. Vice President Stonewall actually shot himself. The fever had struck the leaders of the free world, or what was left of it, and again he found himself covered in another man’s blood.

  “Fuckin’ hell,” Collin said. He watched as the agents checked Stonewall, but it was painfully clear he’d succeeded in ending his life.

  Agent Faber looked back at him, a grim look on his face. “Sir, we need to get you out of here.”

  “Where are we going?” Collin asked, wiping his hands on his coat. “Where is the Speaker of the House? We need to establish a chain of command.”

  “He’s gone, sir,” Agent Faber said. Someone must have spoken in his ear, because he spoke into a mic in his sleeve. “Along with the pro temp. Right now, we’re checking on the Secretary of State. Negative, we know we already lost Secretary Fairchild to the fever.”

  “Sonofabitch!” Collin couldn’t believe they’d lost everyone in the line of succession, and had no confirmation on the Secretary of State. “Where is Suzanne ... er, Secretary Clark? Has she made it stateside yet?”

  “Like I said, we’re checking, sir.” Agent Faber helped Collin to his feet.

  Collin glanced down at Stonewall. He’d always seemed like a strong leader, but in the face of certain death, he’d crumbled. Or had he wanted to retain a measure of control? Hard to say.

  “Have a seat in the car. We’re going to do a sweep of the plane, sir.”

  “Thank you, Faber.” Collin nodded and gave the big man a pat on the shoulder. Ever since his security detail from the Protective Service Battalion of the US Army Criminal Investigative Division contracted the fever, President Johnson ordered Secret Service protection for him. An order that turned out to be prescient.

  It took less than fifteen minutes for the remaining agents to clear the plane. Although why they felt the need to do so eluded Collin. Both the President and Vice President had been aboard.

  Agent Faber knocked on the window before opening the door. “Let’s go, sir.”

  Collin grabbed his briefcase from the car; apparently they wouldn’t be coming back. He didn’t want to lose any of his work.

  “Any word on Secretary Washington?” Collin asked as he stepped out of the car and started toward the President’s jet.

  “When you get inside, go to the conference room, sir. I’m told you’ll be briefed there,” Agent Faber said.

  Collin recognized the conference room. Once upon a time, before the fever, he’d flown with the President to brief him on a variety of issues. Wood paneling lined the walls. A large rectangular desk took up the majority of the room, and an array of leather chairs occupied most of the remaining space. A pair of phones sat on the table, along with a remote control for the large TV mounted on one of the walls. He knew from experience the TV was meant for teleconferencing, which he’d done many times sitting in his office while President Johnson flew around the world.

  Sinking into the chair, Collin blew out a heavy sigh. His heart was still racing from the stress. The nation was on alert, his bosses died, and he sat alone on the President’s plane without knowing where the hell he was being shuffled off to.

  Too much uncertainty, he thought. We need to get a handle on the situation.

  A door closed behind him. Collin glanced over to see who it was and nearly choked on his heart.

&
nbsp; “Brady!” Collin said as his young boy ran into his arms. “What are you doing here?”

  “Sergeant Pearson told me we had to meet you. So, the plane stopped to pick me up,” Brady said. Confusion clouded his face as he pulled back from the hug and glanced around. “Where’s mom?”

  Collin wondered if this was why Air Force One had stopped in Michigan. Why would they stop just for his son? He appreciated it for sure, seeing his son made his chest swell with pride, but his presence here didn’t make any sense.

  “Actually, I don’t know. No one told me you’d be here,” Collin said, making a mental note to ask.

  “What happened to your hands?” Brady stared down at the blood.

  Collin cursed and rose from his chair. He didn’t want to have to explain what happened. Apparently his son hadn’t heard the gunshot. “Let me get cleaned up.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, buddy. I’m fine. Have a seat, I’ll be right back.” Collin smiled at his son.

  Brady sat in the chair he just vacated. Collin rushed to the bathroom to wash his hands.

  “Agent Faber, where the hell is my wife?” Collin shouted.

  Another agent stepped near the open door and said, “Agent Faber is busy, sir. But I can tell you we haven’t had contact with Mrs. War’s security team for almost four hours. No worries though; she has a fantastic team. Comms have been a wreck for everyone. I’m sure she’s fine, sir.”

  Collin frowned at the news as he scrubbed away the last bit of the Vice President’s dried blood from its stubborn grasp on his cuticles. “Okay, thanks.”

  The agent stepped away.

  When he returned to the conference room, Collin saw Brady was no longer alone. Across the table from his son sat someone he’d only met briefly at a dinner party in D.C.

  “Justice Austin, this is a pleasant surprise,” Collin said to the Supreme Court Justice.