He imagined whole armored divisions clogging the interstates, driving up from Mexico with scores of infantry and command personnel, tanks, APCs, mobile missile systems and artillery. He figured they’d brought along plenty of supply trucks, too, and let’s not forget radar and air defense batteries. All of it would be needed, and more, especially for an assault on a land mass the size of the USA.
If he was right, then the apparent Russian-coordinated computer hacks and EMP assault had left the US military and its civilians without communications and basically defenseless, except for small arms and munitions, a smattering of EMP-proof vehicles and other limited tech and, of course, explosives. None of which would matter in the end, against an overwhelmingly superior force. Anyone who resisted would be mowed down like animals.
Bunker prayed that Daisy and the others hadn’t run into any of these squads. Otherwise, he’d have yet another rescue mission to plan. Or more dead bodies to handle.
His heart wanted to let the emotions in, but his brain fought them back. Now wasn’t the time for concern. He needed to think positive, keeping his head clear and mind sharp. Plenty of time had passed since his friends departed. Chances were, if they’d kept driving and never stopped, they made it back to Clearwater before the Russians arrived in this area, he convinced himself.
Normally advance units didn’t travel solo, meaning this Russian unit was off on its own, possibly sent here to rendezvous with the men in black. Yet the team he’d killed spoke perfect English—not a hint of Russian—so he wasn’t sure if this Russian team would consider the Pokémon Squad friend or foe.
Could be either, he decided, wishing he’d gotten into position sooner. If he’d been able to observe how they first rolled up into the camp, he’d know the answer based on their approach tactics.
The buzz of activity below was furious, with three-man squads scrambling to the various cabins with their long guns held high and tight. Each team took position around the entrance to a different building, moving methodically and with purpose.
Their entry protocols were the same each time: one soldier would approach the doorway, spin around backwards, and kick the door open before stepping aside. The other two operators would immediately scramble inside from flanking positions and sweep left and right to clear.
A lone soldier stood in front of the vehicles, barking orders with his arms folded and legs still. His booming voice was confident and deep, echoing a hail of Slavic syllables across the clearing. Bunker didn’t speak Russian, so the words were nothing more than gibberish when they landed on his ears.
Ramblings of a commander, he decided, keeping his eyes locked onto the scene below.
A troop flew out of a shack on the right, carrying something other than an AK-47, the preferred weapon of communists. It was about the size of a small toaster, though flatter and a white color.
Bunker was too far away for an accurate assessment. He didn’t have a pair of binoculars or a scope on his rifle—only the non-magnified Leupold DeltaPoint Pro sight, designed for close quarter battles. Compact, durable, and rugged. Not ideal for long range targets or surveillance.
He thought about working his way closer, but his options were limited. The ridge in front of him dropped off sharply and he didn’t have climbing gear. So that idea was out.
The only other path he could see was to his right. It led down to the clearing, but the forty-foot-wide rocky trail was devoid of cover. They’d see him coming and unload a barrage of hurt. He was no match for the armament they carried, or the manpower. They’d overrun his position in minutes.
If he had a Barrett .338 Lapua Magnum with a full tactical setup and a spotter, he would have been tempted to take a sniper shot aimed at the commander. But his rifle’s range was limited, and so was his marksmanship, leaving him only to observe.
The commander took the device from the soldier and walked a number of paces away from the front of the BTR-80. He stopped next to the wooden platform Bunker had discovered earlier that day.
Bunker could see it clearly from his elevated position—a raised plywood structure with the letter ‘X’ painted across the middle.
The commander began to fiddle with the device in his hands as more of his men gathered around, forming a semi-circle behind him. A full minute ticked by before any of them moved again. This time, they all craned their necks, including the commander, focusing on something in the sky.
Bunker looked up to see a black speck high above. It wasn’t one of the predatory birds he’d seen before. This was something else. Something hovering. Something that wasn’t riding the air currents in a hawk-like fashion.
Its altitude began to drop, heading down with focused speed and direction. When it reached the height of the surrounding trees, it gave off a constant whirling hum.
“A drone,” Bunker muttered, realizing the commander was holding the remote-control device. The drone and its controller must have been more hardened pieces of equipment, capable of withstanding an EMP event. On the other hand, they might have been stored in a protected area, then launched after the pulse hit the area.
The man’s body language gave Bunker the sense that the Russians came here specifically for the drone, as if it belonged to them. If his revelation was correct, then the Pokémon men were part of this incursion and not adversaries. The ramifications were huge—Americans colluding with a foreign military. Americans who knew the cyber-attack and subsequent EMP was scheduled to take down society.
He’d heard about the Deep State within our own government but never thought they’d act against innocent civilians. Someone planned this—traitors. Men and women planning against America with subterfuge on their minds, simply to further their own agenda of control at all costs.
The descent of the four-prop mini-craft was balanced and precise, and it landed on the platform’s ‘X’ with a gentle touch. The drone’s footprint covered the entire half-sheet of plywood, telling Bunker it was four feet in width.
The commander waved his hand at the soldier who’d brought him the control unit. The man promptly went to the drone and picked it up. He turned the quad-copter sideways, then retrieved something from its underbelly and gave it to his boss.
A storm of ideas roared in Bunker’s mind, none of them good. Either the aerial unit was hovering in standby mode when Bunker and his team took out the men in camp, or it was on a long-range mission and had just been called home by the commander.
If he remembered correctly, civilian models required an operator at all times. Plus, they were limited in range, speed, and battery time.
However, military versions could remain airborne much longer and be preprogrammed with specific mission specs. Many of them carried night vision cameras, while others could be outfitted with an array of lethal weaponry.
If the micro-copter was hovering in standby mode and included a high-resolution camera, then the soldier had just retrieved the video card. If that was true, then everything he, Daisy, and Franklin had done must have been recorded.
Bunker gulped, realizing he’d made a grave mistake.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
Deputy Daisy Clark put her foot on the brake pedal of the Land Rover, then depressed the clutch to allow the antique vehicle to coast into a slow, rolling stop. She moved the shifter knob to the center position, testing for resistance to make sure it was in neutral.
Stephanie King was in charge of the Land Rover parked in front of her, having pulled over to the side of the road only seconds before. Jeffrey and Megan were with her, their heads barely visible above the top of the back seat.
“Why are we stopping?” Franklin Atwater said from the seat in the back, his tone weak.
“Not sure,” Daisy answered, engaging the parking brake while keeping her eyes locked on the Land Rover in front.
Stephanie opened the driver’s door and hopped out, then sprinted across the two-lane road to a stand of bushes. The woman disappeared inside, her hands tearing at the top button on her jeans.
; “Looks like another pee break,” Daisy announced to the black man lounging in pain behind her.
“That’s what? Number three?” his voice cracked.
“Yep. Small bladders. Maybe we shouldn’t have spent all the extra time hydrating before we left. Paying the price now.”
“It sure would be nice if she could coordinate the stops with the kids.”
“A group pee? Yeah, good luck with that.”
“It is possible, even with kids.”
“As a father, you have to know that’s never gonna happen, right? Not in a tense situation like this. Even I’ve been holding it back.”
Franklin hesitated before he spoke again, sounding defeated. “Yeah, you’re right. Just wishful thinking.”
Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop!
“What the hell was that?” Daisy snapped, whipping her head around to the right. Her eyes went in search mode, looking past the steel guardrail protecting the vehicles from the steep cliff just beyond.
“Sounds like gunfire!” Franklin said, groaning. “Quick, help me out of the truck.”
Stephanie stumbled out of the bushes with her hands pulling at her pants, trying to hoist them up from her thighs. She headed for the open door to her Land Rover, her stride uneven and awkward, no doubt due to the friction from her skinny jeans.
When Daisy got out of the truck, more gunfire rang out, sounding like a string of firecrackers going off.
She ducked out of instinct, then yanked the passenger door open and helped Franklin out. The man’s knees wobbled, but he was able to stand, his left hand pressing on the wrap around his opposite shoulder. The cloth was a deep shade of glistening red, indicating the wound had started bleeding again, probably from his sudden movement.
“You don’t look so good,” Daisy said, keeping her arm wrapped around the towering man’s waist.
“I’m okay. Just a little lightheaded. Get me over there. I need to see what’s going on.”
When they reached the steel barrier, the sound of gunfire changed in pitch from distant pops to powerful bangs, echoing across the landscape below. Her eyes followed the roadway as it snaked its way lower, navigating the contours of the mountain range.
Franklin must have done the same thing, pointing at an angle across her body. “There, three o’clock.”
Daisy followed his finger and found the cause of the ruckus, about two thousand feet below their position. There were four military-style vehicles parked side by side, their camouflaged hoods aimed at the forest nearby.
“What the hell is going on?” she asked, seeing a series of flashes from both sides of the battle.
“Some kind of standoff.”
“Is it the Russians?”
“Could be. Or it’s just some kind of roadblock. Possibly the National Guard. Can’t tell from here.”
“Why would civilians be firing on the National Guard? They’re the good guys.”
“Good point. They wouldn’t. Not unless there’s a serious threat.”
“Then it must be the Russians.”
“What’s going on?” Stephanie King asked from the left, just as the gunfire stopped.
Daisy swung her eyes, finding Stephanie’s. The woman stood near the back of her truck, leaning against the rear quarter panel with her hands latched onto the sides of the metal.
Daisy looked, but didn’t see the two kids with her. A good thing, she decided, figuring Stephanie told them to stay inside and keep low. She flashed a quick hand signal, directing Stephanie to the guard rail. “Looks like there’s a standoff between the military and civilians. About a mile below us on the road.”
“What did you mean a second ago when you asked Franklin about the Russians?”
“Didn’t Bunker explain it to you?”
“Explain what?”
“The possible invasion.”
“Invasion? Are you serious?” Stephanie asked, ducking her head lower as she stepped closer. Three more gunshots rang out, this time sporadic and spaced apart.
“Yes. Now stay back. Let us handle this.”
“How? How can you handle it? Franklin’s barely able to walk. Even if he could, we can’t fight the Russians. We need to get the hell out of here. Right now!”
“And go where?”
“Anywhere but here! We’ve got kids to protect.”
“She’s right,” Franklin said, wincing in pain. “We need to get moving.”
“What about Jack?” a boy’s voice asked. It was Jeffrey, standing behind his mom with eyes wide.
Stephanie whirled around in a flash. “Jeffrey, I told you it wasn’t safe out here.”
“But we have to warn him, Mom. He’s all by himself.”
Stephanie grabbed her son by the shoulders, turned him around, and nudged him back to the Land Rover. “Go back inside right now like I said. I need you to help keep Megan safe.”
“Boy’s got a point,” Daisy said to Franklin, hoping for some advice.
“Bunker can look out for himself. We need to get Steph and the kids out of harm’s way. That’s our number one priority right now.”
Daisy felt a sudden increase of weight on her shoulder. Franklin was getting weaker and leaning on her. She turned him around and led him back to the truck. “Where do you suggest?”
Stephanie was now standing with Daisy, pointing at the firefight below. “Well, I can tell you one thing, we obviously can’t continue back to town. Not with all those men down there.”
“My place,” Franklin said in a matter-of-fact tone. “I’ve got food stores and a decent first aid kit. We’re gonna need both.”
Stephanie shook her head, looking defiant. “I don’t think so. The last time we were at the stables, my son and I were kidnapped. So was your daughter. And you both know how that turned out. No, you need to pick a better place; otherwise, we’re not going.”
“Wait, I have an idea,” Daisy said. “One that’s closer. On Old Mill Road.”
“Tuttle’s place?” Franklin asked.
Daisy nodded as the video player in the back of her mind played an image of Tuttle’s corpse lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood. She and Bunker had killed the men involved with that home invasion, so it might be a safe place to hold up for a while. “That man has been prepping all his life for a moment like this. He’s got a massive stockpile of just about everything, including guns and ammo. My gut is telling me we’re gonna need it.”
“Can’t argue with you there,” Franklin said.
“Yes, I like that idea, too,” Stephanie added.
Franklin continued. “But we should stick to the back roads. Wouldn’t want to run into another armed convoy. If there is one, you can bet—”
“There’s more,” Daisy said, finishing his sentence. “Good thing these trucks have four-wheel drive.”
“And plenty of gas. Let’s go,” Stephanie quipped, turning and walking toward the Land Rover parked in front.
Daisy made a mental note to drive ahead of the others as they got close, planning to run inside and hide the bodies. That was assuming, of course, they were still there. The men in black could’ve moved them after they took her and Bunker hostage for interrogation. Daisy wasn’t sure what she was going to do about all the blood on the floor.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
Ten minutes earlier . . .
Misty Tuttle turned her head and locked eyes with her fiancé, Angus Cowie, as the two of them hugged the leaf-covered ground with their chests, her hand squeezing his.
She was thankful for a great many things in her life, but nothing more so than the massive oak tree they were hiding behind at the moment. It was one of the biggest trees she’d ever seen in Clearwater County. Had they’d taken a different evasive route, they never would have found it before the hunt patrol stopped to take position on the two-lane highway. Sometimes you make your own luck and other times, luck finds you. This was the latter.
Her logic screamed at her to get up and run, but her heart kept her body frozen in the spongy bed of oa
k leaves, nestled cheek to cheek with the love of her life. She worried that the troops gunning for them could hear her heartbeat thumping away in her chest, nearly breaking free from its cage.
Misty knew this might be their last moment together, so she gave Angus a slow, tender kiss. She wanted to remember how magical his lips felt for all of eternity.
His touch was heaven, filling her heart with levels of bliss she never thought possible. Every time he was near, her body electrified, igniting something deep inside that she never knew was there.
The feeling was beyond spiritual, something that words could never explain. Even after their years together, her love for him had never waned. Not for a second, completing all she was as a woman and as a human being.
She pulled away from the kiss and ran the tip of her finger across his slightly upturned mouth. Every inch of him was beautiful, even the smallest of details. She looked into his soulful eyes, her voice now a whisper. “I love you, sweetheart. I have since the moment we met on the side of the road that day.”
“I’m sorry I got you into this mess,” he answered in his distinct Australian accent, his volume low and purposeful. “I should’ve known this would happen. Only an idiot would think they’d stopped looking for me, even back here in the States. Everyone in the trades knows the rules—no one steals from Mother Russia and gets away with it.”
“I know baby, but you did it for the right reasons. That’s all that counts. I’m so proud of you.”
Her mind suddenly went into flashback mode, remembering the day they first met. It was shortly after high school, back when her life was out of control and without meaning. Beer bongs and casual sex had filled her weekends up to that point, leaving her yearning for something more out of life. That’s when he came along and gave her existence meaning. She couldn’t help herself, latching onto the most amazing man she’d ever met.
Misty originally thought Angus hailed from Great Britain, his sexy accent stealing her heart with the very first syllable. Of course, she soon learned she was wrong. The dark-haired, physically fit man was from a small town in Australia, someplace far removed from Europe or anything London related.
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