by JK Franks
Solo walked away from the twitching body as Kaylie walked up, drew her pistol and shot a single bullet into Abe’s head. Turning around, she looked at Bartos with tears in her eyes. “Is it true?”
The pistol was still in her hand, and Bartos hoped it was empty. “I—I don’t know honey, Scott didn’t know, but he thought that . . . that yes, she probably was. Your dad hasn’t mentioned her in any of the broadcasts.” He went to Kaylie, but she turned away. Jack shook his head slightly at Bartos then eased up beside her and gently put an arm around her. He took the gun from her hand.
DeVonte and Angel slipped out of the crowd and over to Bartos. “Man, what the fuck? What did he do?”
Bartos glared at the boy. “He spoke to me without permission. Do you have permission?”
DeVonte took a step back. “You’re joking, man, you love me. We all know that. What’d Abe really do?”
“He sold us out, DeVonte. He just put this whole town right in the crosshairs of those fucking Messengers.”
Bartos kicked the dead body as he walked by. Solo was wallowing in the sand and yapping like a happy puppy. Fuck, that dog even scares me, Bartos thought, still unsure of whether he’d actually given the final kill command to the dog.
Jack was sitting with Kaylie at a picnic table when Bartos came up. He didn’t sugar coat it. “I’m sorry you had to see that, Kaylie, but I think it was important that you did. He’s just one of a bunch of people like that out there. They’re after your dad and they’re coming after us. The stupid and the lazy are all long dead. The ones left alive are smart and cunning . . . some are still good people, many more are not.” He sighed heavily. “I’m going to get your dad. If you want to ride shotgun, you can.”
Jack began to protest, but Bartos cut him off. “Jack, you and Angel are in charge, and you have a shitload of work to do. We have a storm about to hit, farmers coming to take shelter, and a crusading army of Christian jihadists on their way.” He took a deep breath as a shadow crossed his features. “We had plans for one or two of those things, but not all at once. “
“How long are you going to be gone?”
Bartos looked at his friend. “Ten hours. If we’re not back by then, we aren’t coming back.”
“How the hell are you going to manage that?”
Bartos took his keys out of his pocket. “Secret weapon.”
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Rural Mississippi
An hour later, Bartos had the Pontiac GTO near 100 on Highway 50. They were headed in the direction of Jackson. Kaylie was watching the GPS while Solo lay curled in the rear seat. It was admittedly not the most sophisticated of plans, but Bartos was counting on speed and audacity over well-planned strategy.
“We stay on this to Hattiesburg then catch 49 toward Jackson,” Kaylie said.
Scott was going to kill him, and Todd too. He didn’t like any of this, but he did fucking love this car, and for that, at least, he was happy for the opportunity to open her up on the highway. He had made a few improvements, all of which were subtle. The trunk was now dominated by an armor-plated spare fuel tank and the noisy headers had been fed into a sophisticated muffler system that canceled the throaty roar of the beast from within. While “the goat” was quieted, she was not tamed. The engine performance was better than ever. He had also added steel armor to the doors and over the radiator and installed steel shutters and gun ports on the windows that could be slid up as needed. If she had an 8-track player, Bartos thought, she would be the ultimate road warrior.
“We have to cross near several major cities and a few interstates,” he told Kaylie, wanting her to be prepared. “The good thing is we’ve mapped most of the roads up to within fifty miles of your dad.”
“So, you think this is going to be easy?” she asked, her eyes still red.
“No, but it may be doable . . . at least the first part.”
They rode in silence for several hours. The roads were clear of problems until they got nearer to the state capital. Jackson was the largest city in the state, though not large by the nation’s standards. Kaylie had turned them onto numerous smaller roads to avoid some of the more obvious choke points. Still, they saw hard, angry eyes following them from every neighborhood that had survived so far. More than once Bartos noticed people running for cars or trucks, presumably to chase after them, but he was hitting speeds above 120 now. Not much was capable of catching them. They made it to Jackson in just over three hours.
“I told your dad I’d make contact again in an hour.” Bartos had stopped on a rise that overlooked a large forested area ahead. “He said the Messengers are based mainly up here,” he said as he pointed to the map in Kaylie’s lap. “His GPS location is here.” Another stab. “And we are right here.” The map now had three red circles on it that Kaylie marked with each of Bartos’ points. Each was about the same distance apart. Bartos estimated the time in his head. “We have about twenty minutes before we have to move. Get some food, pee, whatever else you need. We won’t stop again until we get to him. Get all the guns up front with you. Chances are we’ll be using them.” While Kaylie got out of the car to follow instructions, he checked the weapons he had at hand and began mapping out an exit route. He did not want to go back the same way they had come.
An hour later they had made it deep into the woods in the direction of the GPS coordinates. There had been no response on the radio from Bobby yet. Kaylie kept calling him as they drove.
“Hey, sweetie, that you?”
“Daddy!”
“Hey, K, can’t talk long. Afraid they may find us. Just wanted to hear your voice.”
“Bartos said you were hurt, are you okay? How is Mom?” There was a slight delay, and she could see Bartos shaking his head. Get his location, he mouthed impatiently.
“I—I’m okay, hon, I‘ll be okay. I can’t talk, I hear someone coming. They may have found us.”
“Dad—Dad?” Bartos pulled the car to a stop as the pair saw movement ahead of them. Kaylie dropped the radio and she was out the door running.
“Solo! Out, patrol.” Bartos grabbed his gear and flanked Kaylie as they watched several armed black men follow a haggard looking man and a small boy out of a shack.
Bobby recognized his daughter and relief melted his features for a moment before panic took hold once again. “Kaylie! What are you doing here?” he asked as she flung her arms around him. “I told Bartos to stay away, you shouldn’t have come.” He shook Bartos' hand, but also glared at him.
“Why?” Kaylie was clearly a little hurt at her father’s reaction.
“Man, you needed a ride. We take care of our own, brother. She’s one of us, you are one of us.”
Bobby sighed and nodded. “Kaylie, Bartos, I want you to meet someone.” Bobby looked around the yard. “Jacob, where are you?”
They looked around: the boy was holding onto Solo, hugging him and scratching his ears. The dog was clearly enjoying it. “What the fuck?” Bartos couldn’t believe his eyes. “Solo doesn’t do that.”
Bobby laughed. “Jacob has a way about him.”
Quick introductions were made between the newcomers and Bobby and Jacob’s kind hosts, the Simpsons, before Bobby started grabbing his gear. Then he thought better of it. “I’m assuming my daughter's group has supplies,” he said to Tremaine. “You good people keep what’s left of this.” He removed the food and other supplies from Jacob and Jordan’s packs as well.
Bartos was rushing them through the goodbyes, but he said nothing as Bobby and Kaylie took Jacob over to his mom’s grave. He watched as the boy said goodbye. Kaylie had taken the news of her mother’s death as well as could be expected. He knew she would deal with it later; for now, she was focused on her dad and her new little brother’s loss. Seeing them together, this was the only way Bartos would ever think of the boy: he was their family.
They were back on the road in fifteen minutes. Bobby was not looking good. He had urged Tremaine and his family to go into hiding. He was sorry they
couldn’t take them along.
“We not getting in that car with dat dog any ol’ how,” Mahalia said laughing. “You go get, we got yo radio, we can call you once the craziness be done.”
They ran into the first roadblock soon after turning onto the paved road south. Three motorcycles blocked the road. Bartos slowed and opened his door slightly. “Solo, clear. Bobby, can you shoot?”
“Uh, yeah, maybe.” He held up the M4 and chambered a round. “Those are Judges, man, don’t take chances.”
“I’m not,” Bartos said as he slid the armor plating in place over the windows. Kaylie slipped her weapon out from the gun slot.
Just as Bartos had instructed, she waited on Solo to move on the rear target before she leveled the sights and took out the man closest. Bartos then floored the accelerator. The final Judge was clearly overwhelmed to see one colleague being mauled by a dog while the other’s head exploded. The muscle car heading right for him didn’t register until it was too late. The front bumper sheared off the man’s legs at the knee. His torso and head hit the roof just behind the windshield. Bobby gasped from the backseat. He had just learned that his Kaylie was no longer a little girl. He looked over to place a reassuring hand on Jacob who was curled in a ball in the footwell beside him.
Bartos slid the GTO to a stop to let the bloody dog back in. He eased up out of the vehicle to look at the roofline, now smeared with blood. “Oh, yeah, that’ll buff out.” He slipped back into the driver’s seat and floored it again, heading for the next turnoff.
Chapter Seventy
USS Bataan, Gulf of Mexico
Scott and Todd were kitted out in tactical gear. Both men had been issued night-black camo to go over a very thin wetsuit—just in case they wound up in the water at some point. They were also each issued dive watches, survival packs, and a very compact first aid kit. While they would not be part of the assault team, the platform could hold surprises, so they were provided with essentially the same gear as the assault team. Todd slipped the SOG Spec Elite knife into its sheath with an approving look.
“You are loving this, aren’t you?” Scott asked.
“Hey, getting to play soldier again at my age? Hell, yeah!”
They had spent much of their time on the base going over basic mission protocols, call signs, hand-to-hand combat drills, and weapons practice. Scott was still sore as he eased out of the wetsuit and packed it in his gear bag. Like any survival situation, your gear was only as good as your knowledge. He and Todd had spent hours with the team reviewing every item, every detail. While they couldn’t match the soldiers’ years of training, they did not want to be a burden to the operation either. Besides that, as Todd had indicated, it was all pretty fucking cool.
An ensign called out for Scott to follow him to the radio room. Assuming it was an update on the assault, Scott put the headset to his ear anxiously. “Go ahead, this is Scott.”
“Uncle Scott, it’s Kaylie.”
Eighteen hours later the Naval assault team was getting ready to depart, so Scott and Todd were headed to the hangar deck. Garret nodded as they walked in. “Captain Ramos, you want to add anything?” Ramos was the commander of the Special Warfare Group. His dark-skinned, weathered face was punctuated by a thin mustache.
“Gentlemen, the weather is worsening quickly down range. The truth is, it’s now close to the limit regarding mission parameters. We’re looking at a Category 1 hurricane. It is expected to reach the Devil’s Tower oilfield around zero-five-thirty. That will be our go-time. We have our orders, you are familiar with the AO. Advance scouts and sniper teams are already in hides on surrounding rigs relaying intel. The force strength appears to be what we expected: around 100 hostiles. We will follow the execute plans as incoming information says the medical teams are isolated on a single floor. Once the rest of the platform is secure, only those of you in full bio-gear will enter that section. Non-lethal weapons only beyond that point. Our two civilians here,” hooking a thumb over at Scott and Todd, “will be brought over once the AO is secure. They will initiate contact with the research team. Is that clear?”
“Hooah!” came the instant response from all.
“We know we can expect a fight. These guys are trained like us. Kill shots only, we can’t fuck around with them. You have the insertion maps. At go-time, Alpha team will be fast-roping down while the snipers take out the first targets. Then Bravo and Delta go to work. We will deploy from and exfill back here to the Bataan for transport back to the fleet. They will take charge of the bio-lab and personnel once secure.”
One of the SEAL team members stepped forward. “Sir, what is the abort code for today’s mission?”
Ramos looked at Garret briefly. “There isn’t one, Braxton. We either complete the mission, or we die out there. No one is coming to get us if it goes sideways. Is that a problem for anyone?”
“Sir, no, sir!” came the loud and unified response.
Garret stood up, “Gentlemen, good hunting, and stay safe.”
The Airboss called out to them from his console, “Wheels up in ten, gentlemen. Head on out to the bird with your gear.”
The ‘bird’ this time, was an obviously borrowed Eurocopter HH-65 Dolphin. The chopper was a garish red and white instead of the normal Navy gray. It would ferry Todd and Scott to the, hopefully secured, oil platform. Scott looked out at the angry looking sea. He felt very uncertain of flying in this weather. Todd put his hand on Scott’s shoulder and smiled. The howling wind and the sounds from the chopper made any other communication impossible.
Once inside the cabin of the craft, they both donned headsets so they could speak to each other and listen in to the pilot’s instructions.
“The shit you get me into, man,” Scott said with a forced smile.
Todd readjusted himself to try and find a comfortable position. “Tell me about it, brother.” He paused before continuing. “Scott . . . are we good?”
Scott answered immediately, “Yes, Todd, we’re good. We may not always agree, but I respect you, and I trust you. I see the need to do this, though I admit it scares the shit out of me. Are we really flying out in a hurricane?”
“You’ll be fine, man. These birds are used by the Coasties to fly into hurricanes for rescues all the time.”
“No, Todd, I’m not scared for myself, I know these guys will take care of us. I’m scared about whatever DJ has in that lab. Are we supposed to transport a deadly pathogen in a hurricane? It doesn’t sound good.” Both friends were uncertain how the Navy could possibly take the platform without heavy casualties on both sides, but Ramos and his men seemed hyper-confident. Was that just bravado? Surely, they realized this enemy would be unlike any other they had faced.
Todd nodded, his face resolute. He reached over the gear bag and offered his hand to his friend. “It’s crazy, that much is true. No one I would rather have by my side, Scott.”
“Same here, brother.”
Both men felt the volumes of history and emotion embedded within that simple statement. The battles—their losses and victories. Todd had asked his friend to save his town, and Scott had managed to do so, with his help. Their friendship was barely a year old, but the bond was as tight as family.
The pilot circled a finger in the air to someone out on the deck. The engines revved, the cabin shook and then they were going up and away from the enormous ship. The attack on Devil’s Tower was underway.
“Scott, I know you weren’t in the military, but you have been in battle. Put Bobby and all that other stuff somewhere else for now. Focus on this mission.”
He nodded, “I know, I know.”
Todd put his hand on Scott's shoulder. “Today is just one of those long, grueling bike rides you talk about. You know, when the wind is relentless, and the hills are never-ending? Just when you think it can’t get worse, it does. How do you make it home on those days?”
Scott thought about it, “I . . . I focus on what’s in front of me.”
Todd smiled, “One mi
le at a time. That’s what we do today, one mile at a time. We go in and identify DJ, help the team secure the facility, and get the hell out with the kid. Difficult, but not complicated. We can do this.”
The chopper skimmed the tops of the mountainous waves. The craft jerked and bucked like an enraged bull. “For now, my focus will be on keeping my breakfast down,” Scott said. “Those waves have to be forty feet high! I’ve never seen anything like it. No way those fast boats can manage through this, can they?”
“I’ve seen them do some amazing things, but this does look beyond the limit,” Todd admitted. The whole thing was scary as hell. If the maelstrom below was anything like what was going on twenty miles ahead, it was going to be a day of epic proportions.
Chapter Seventy-One
Devil’s Tower Oil Platform, Gulf of Mexico
“Apex Two-two this is Apex Actual.” The pilot had switched their headset comms over to the tactical command channel.
“Go for Two-two,” came the response.
The time on Scott’s G-shock DW-6600 watch read 04:32.
“All units active, go hot on my mark. Three . . . two . . . one . . . Mark.”
Scott and Todd leaned over, focusing on the sounds in their headsets. It was impossible to know who was speaking, but they followed as best they could. Some voices were very recognizable, like Ramos’ and Perez’s, but others they could only guess at. Even though they had only spent a few days with the men, they were already beginning to think of them as brothers.
One of the Barracuda Interceptor stealth boats had been swamped, and the crew was out of action and awaiting rescue. One of the underwater crews was having comms issues and so had only intermittent contact. Neither of those problems was felt to compromise the mission according to command.
