“Gear issue?”
“Sorry, I meant Electronics Issue. The night before we left, I couldn’t find Gear Issue, so I stopped in there. Guy gave me this, said he’d been told to give it to me.”
“Damn. Must’ve been something that Daniel guy requested. For some reason, General Armstead really likes him,” Aaron replied.
“Probably the beer he brews,” Serrano suggested, before asking, “Who gave it to you?”
“Pretty sure it was that pudgy guy with the dark hair and glasses. The one with the scar on the top of his head?”
“I see. Yeah, nice guy,” Serrano replied. “Scar looks nasty.”
“Yeah. Anyway, he said calls wouldn’t work unless we were in the big cities, but that text messaging should work. The thing is that I’ve gotten several, but they’re all just random letters and numbers.”
“That’s weird,” Aaron said, reaching back towards the young man. “Can I see?”
“Sure,” Paul replied, passing him the phone.
Aaron looked at the screen.
71 42 90 10 20 31 51 63 22 71 71 42 53 62 30 61 53 43 61 93 71 00 52 23 53 83 74 71 20 33 10 10 41 51 63 42 50 93 21 51 42 30 41 43 51 42 21 61 00 10 81 21 60 81 83 62 33 71 82 40 22 10 94 42 94 81 20 63 41 71 20 00 51 42 94 62 40 42 52 51 83 63 60 91 61 90 62 10 73 51 53 83 71 71 00 00 62 94 62 63 33 61 10 71 42 41 30 92 32 33 40 82 30 00 51 62 81 91 41
74
“Crazy,” he said, shaking his head. “Maybe the guy programmed something wrong,” he said, passing it back.
“Yeah, maybe.”
Serrano felt a tingling in the back of his neck, like something was wrong about the whole thing. Why would the phone be given to Paul, of all people? That Daniel guy seemed nice enough, but he didn’t seem like the clingy type that would need to check in on the young man constantly. The guy had served in the military for twenty-four years, if Serrano remembered correctly, so he’d surely understand that sometimes you’re not able to talk. So why the phone?
“And the guy at Electronics Issue said Daniel has one of those phones?” he asked.
“No,” Paul replied, “but he said if I needed anything to write it down on the piece of paper he had on the counter. I wrote down a request for him to program one just like this for Daniel. Seemed weird, like he’d been expecting me, even though I had no plans of going there. I was just there to ask for directions to Gear Issue.”
“That is weird,” Serrano replied, his mind working as he watched the Stryker vehicle in front of them. He couldn’t figure out what it was, but there was something there, something that wasn’t right.
“Hey, Paul?”
“Yeah.”
“Have you sent any texts?”
“What? No, I figured that part’s broken based on these weird messages.”
“Good. Don’t. No calls either,” Serrano replied, raising his head to look into the rearview mirror. Paul felt his stare and looked up. When their eyes met, Serrano added. “Something’s not right. Until I figure it out, we’ll just stay silent and observe.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Oklahoma City Protective Zone, Oklahoma
Day 4
As Captain Sean Fitzgerald looked across the room at his family, he wondered how things that had already been terrifyingly bad could have gotten even worse. Up until this point, he’d believed that not only had he done things right, but that God had been on their side, looking over the four of them and keeping them safe when all seemed last. It was the reason they gathered together in the center area of their living quarters each night and prayed to the Lord, thanking him for all that he’d done to protect them.
The family survived the initial insanity of the outbreak, which ran through the Fort Hood Army base like wildfire, by hiding in the basement of their assigned quarters. Fortunately, due to tornado preparedness requirements, they’d had enough water, food, clothing, and bedding to remain in the basement for two, long, frightening days and nights as they waited for the worst to pass.
Finally, after the sounds of screaming, car crashes, glass breaking, and gunshots ceased, Sean had instructed the family to wait below while he checked the world outside.
What he’d found upon emerging was nothing short of apocalyptic. Looking up and down the street they lived on, he saw smoke rising from several houses, while two others had dead bodies strewn across the neatly manicured lawns in front of them. Yet another home had a large white SUV partially embedded in its side, with the body of a middle-aged blonde woman he recognized as Kelly Simpson, wife of fellow Captain and pilot Brad Simpson, hanging from the passenger side door. Brad’s unmoving body laid face down on the stone pavers that led from the driveway to the front door.
At the intersection half a block away, a fire truck had somehow collided with both an ambulance and a Jeep. The two smaller vehicles had taken the worst of the collision, but the fire truck had become incapacitated as well and sat there dark and immobile, with the only remaining sign of its crew being the prone form of someone in firefighter gear lying in the middle of the street.
But for all the horror he saw, he saw little movement, and with that being the case, he decided to take advantage of the opportunity. After doing a quick but thorough survey of their home, he returned to the basement, retrieved his wife Kathy, son Michael, and daughter Christina, and took them back into the home, where they quickly loaded up clothes, water, food, and Sean’s service revolver before rushing out to their SUV.
As they approached the intersection, Sean realized he had no idea where they were going. At that moment, Kathy did as well, and asked him exactly that.
“Where are we going?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. Away from here.”
“But where?”
“Doesn’t matter. Wherever we go, it’ll be better than this.”
“No,” Kathy said, shaking her head as she looked at the dead firefighter through the passenger side window, “it could be worse. Those things could be alive.”
With his heart pounding rapidly in his chest, Sean guided their SUV through the intersection and onto the cross street. He drove another three hundred feet, then pulled off to the side of the road. Looking all around them, he saw more death and destruction: fires, wrecked vehicles, dead bodies, broken windows and doors. But again, no one and nothing moving.
“You’re right,” he said, nodding slowly. “It could be worse.”
Pulling out her iPhone, Kathy checked it. She’d missed dozens of calls. “What about your work?” she asked.
“Good idea,” Sean replied, reaching into the center console and retrieving his phone. Like his wife, he’d missed a lot of calls. ‘Reception in the basement is shit,’ he surmised. He called the Squadron Commander.
No answer.
The XO.
No answer.
When he came to Brad Simpson’s number, he shook his head and moved on.
Further down the list, he saw the number of Chief Warrant Officer O’Sullivan, the squadron Weapons Officer. Bringing his finger towards the name on the screen, he hesitated. The man was something else; rough around the edges and known to frequently overindulge in alcohol, he was also built like a house and a complete puppy dog around children.
He pressed the number. The sound of the phone ringing came through the car’s speakers, courtesy of the preconfigured bluetooth connection.
“Yeah, who the fuck is this?” a slurred voice asked through the phone.
Sean panicked briefly at the man’s profanity, looking for where to disconnect the phone from bluetooth. In the backseat, Michael and Christina giggled.
“I’m serious. Who the fuck is this?”
Holding his hands up, Sean shook his head. “Hey, Warrant, it’s Captain Fitzgerald.”
“Who?”
“Fitz, Warrant.”
“Ah yeah, Fitz…” the sound of the man drinking came through the speaker, followed by the man’s voice again. “So, you’re still alive then.”
Sean looked at his wi
fe. “Yeah, my wife and kids and I are all okay, thankfully.”
“Good,” the man replied. “That’s good, lad. Keep that pretty wife and those cute kids safe.”
“I’m trying, Warrant,” Sean replied. He didn’t need to ask about the man’s family. He had none. A lifelong bachelor, the man had never been seen with the same woman more than once. Not that he was a womanizer, however. The two instances Sean had seen the man in the company of a woman had been nearly two years apart.
“Listen, Warrant,” he began, taking a deep breath, “I tried getting ahold of the Colonel Rikers, but he didn’t answer.”
The man scoffed. “Of course he didn’t.”
“I’m sorry?” Sean asked, confused. “What do you mean?”
“He can’t answer.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because I killed him.”
Both Sean and Kathy gasped. Frowning at her husband, Kathy reached out, snatched the phone from Sean’s hand, and turned off the device’s bluetooth before handing it back to him.
Taking another deep breath, Sean willed his heart to slow down. It didn’t comply.
“What are you saying, Warrant?”
“I’m saying the man was attacking the other pilots here at the Squadron HQ, and I had no choice. I put a bullet in his head before he killed me.”
“Oh my God…”
Sean heard the man take another drink. “That’s right. XO, Major Thompson, Major Kelley, Captain Morehouse, Captain Lemon, even that pretty young thing, Second Lieutenant Guild. All dead.”
“Jesus Christ…” Sean muttered.
“Sean!” Kathy whispered.
He held up his hand in response. He couldn’t deal with her disapproval of his language at that moment.
“Yeah, lad. It’s just me and the old liquor locker here at H.Q. We’re getting good and comfortable.” He took another drink. “I’d ask you to come by, but I’m guessing you’re on your way to Oklahoma City right now.”
Sean frowned and looked over at Kathy. Covering the phone, he said, “Warrant says we should be heading to Oklahoma City.”
“What? Why?”
“I’ll ask,” he replied, before removing his hand from the phone. “Why would we be going to Oklahoma City, Warrant?”
“Because that’s the closest Protective Zone, mate. Haven’t you been listening to the radio?”
Reaching out, Sean jammed the power button for the car’s sound system. He heard nothing but static. Realizing his mistake, he switched to the AM band.
A calm but forceful male voice came through the car’s speakers.
“.... -anciso, Oklahoma City, Indianapolis, and Boston. Citizens are advised to proceed to the protective zones immediately. The government will not be working to secure other cities until a much later date. All entrants will be subject to a four day quarantine in the outer tent city, during which time they will be provided protection, food, water, and temporary shelter. After required quarantine, entrants will be allowed into the city and provided with more permanent accommodations. . . . . . This is the Emergency Broadcast System with an urgent message for citizens of the United States. Protective zones have been established in San Francisco, Oklahoma City, Indianapolis, and Boston. Citizens are advised…”
Sean and Kathy listened to the message in its entirety twice before he reached out and turned off the radio. Looking in the direction of the Army base’s front gate, Sean saw dozens and dozens of cars jammed together on the road, completely blocking the exit.
“Warrant?”
“Yeah, mate?”
“I’m gonna need you to stop drinking.”
“What? Why the fuck would I do that, mate?”
“Because I’m gonna need a copilot if we’re gonna fly to Oklahoma City.”
Looking at Kathy, Michael, and Christina, all tightly bound and secured in their chairs with rags stuffed in their mouths, Sean wished he’d taken them anywhere else. All three of them wore the same expression of fear and trepidation.
Unable to ease their concerns, he looked away.
The door to the room opened suddenly. A man he’d only met once, shortly after they’d landed on the base, strode into the room. Relatively short at around five-foot eight but muscular and fit, the man’s uniform was, unlike everyone’s else’s, clean and pressed, with razor sharp creases.
Stopping in the middle of the room, the man looked first at Sean’s wife and children, then at him.
“Captain Fitzgerald, it’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Colonel Walters asked, smiling with a weird, almost alien smile.
Sean said nothing, choosing instead to simply stare back at the man.
Walters shrugged. “Ah, well, whatever. I mean, what difference does it make if you and I met a day, a week, or a month ago? Right now, all that matters is why you’re here. Am I right?”
Sean continued to glare at the man for a moment, then nodded slowly in response.
Walking behind Sean’s family, Walters placed his right hand on Kathy’s shoulder, making her flinch, and his left on Christina’s, making her shy away. Sean felt his blood begin to boil at the sight of the man’s intimidation, but the seven heavily armed Soldiers standing around him made it clear that it would be futile to try anything.
“I know what you’re thinking,” the Colonel said, before looking down at Sean’s family. “Right now you’re upset, and I don’t blame you for feeling that way AT ALL.” He removed his hands from Kathy and Christina, then reached out and messed with the hair on Michael’s head.
“But here’s the thing,” he continued, still grinning as he looked at Sean. “I give you my word that as long as you do what I ask, they will be safe. Not one hair on their heads will be harmed. They’ll be kept fed, clothed, and secure until you’ve completed the mission.”
Sean glanced at his family, then back at the Colonel. “So what is it you want?”
Walters strode forward in an awkward manner, one that looked as if he were trying to exude cocky arrogance but that came across as trying too hard.
“It’s quite simple, actually. You fly the helicopter to the rendezvous point, where you’ll meet a man named Sommers. I’ve put him in charge of the operation. If you want to see your family again, you will follow his orders, understand?”
Without waiting for a response, Walters continued. “Together you and the other men I’m sending to meet up with him will get me the little Mexican girl.”
“I see…” Sean said, wondering what the catch was.
Walters held up a finger. “Now, I’ll be honest, Captain Fitzgerald. There will be bloodshed. I’m saying that right now so that there is no confusion. It will be violent, and it will be bloody. The men that have the girl will NOT want to give her up without a fight, okay?”
Before Sean could respond, he went on. “But it’s important that you do not hesitate. You listen to the orders of the man I put in charge of the mission without question. He will get the job done. I believe that.
“And if you follow his orders, I’ll let you and your family go back to your quarters freely.”
He chuckled softly. “Heck, I’d even let you all leave the P.Z. if you wanted, though I wouldn’t recommend it.”
“Really?” Sean asked, glaring at the man. “And why is that?”
Walters smiled as he brought his hands up. “Because once we have the girl, we’re going to create a vaccine.”
His eyes narrowed suddenly. Stepping forward, he stared into Sean’s eyes with a sudden intensity.
“And I’m going to control who gets it.”
Walters stared at Sean for another moment, conveying how serious he was. When the moment passed, he looked at Sean’s head.
“Tillerson,” he said, simply.
“Yes, Sir?” one of the men behind Sean responded.
“Make sure Captain Fitzgerald gets a haircut.”
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Five Miles from Webbers Falls, Oklahoma
Day 4
M
oving quietly through the underbrush, the three men blended in perfectly with their surroundings as they closed in on their objective, all the while looking intently for the right spot to stop for a better view. Placing each foot down slowly and carefully, the men accepted the soft crunching sound of oak leaves being pressed under the feet as long as they were able to avoid the branches and twigs that would snap with greater resonance, revealing their presence. They also knew the rushing sound of the Arkansas River, which was close to a quarter-mile wide at this point, would help mask their sounds. Even as the fallen branches and leaves created potential issues for the men as they moved through the foliage, the widespread branches of the massive, sixty-foot tall Shumard Oaks and Sweetbay Magnolias created thick, layered canopies that kept the men hidden from view as they closed in on the bridge.
When they were just over three hundred yards away from the river’s edge, Staff Sergeant Jeffries held up his fist, signalling for the men to stop. Hearing their soft footsteps cease, he leaned to his left and peered up towards the bridge that crossed the river. He could see the back ends of trucks that were parked perpendicularly across the bridge, part of the roadblock they’d been warned about by the family they’d encountered earlier that morning.
He told the others to hold their position, then moved up the embankment to get a better view. When he did, he settled in, sinking further and further into the bushes before removing the compact binoculars from his breast pocket.
There were six vehicles parked across the road: A van on either end and four trucks parked with their back end facing oncoming traffic. It wasn’t a bad move. Men could hide in the bed with weapons, and if they took gunfire, the engine compartments of the trucks would largely be safe.
Six men lingered in and around the roadblock. Three of them stood in a small circle, talking and joking. One man dozed in one of the truck beds, while two others paced back and forth, not even bothering to keep their weapons with them as they did. A lone man smoked a cigarette as he looked off to the south. For the most part, the men appeared to be well armed but poorly disciplined.
Surviving Rage | Book 5 Page 25
