"So I might have been lying to you earlier when I told you that was everything I had," Matty said, pulling out the back-up flash drive. “I made myself a copy just in case.”
Donald’s grumpy expression connoted an impending violent outburst. He raised his hand to take the drive, but oddly, he pushed the small device away and said, "Thank God. I’m putting you in charge of this information now. Keep it safe. No matter what happens.”
"Whoa,” Matty mumbled, looking down at the seemingly mundane device. “I kinda feel like Frodo."
At the same time, every head turned toward the medical room, from where a painful roar resonated.
“What was that?” Ryan asked, lifting his rifle.
Matty frowned. "Charlie must have told Dylan.”
“About what?”
“About Ally. She was Dylan’s sister and one of the people Agent Hause killed.”
Then came another roar, followed by the banging of metal trays and additional brute sounds of displaced anger.
“Alright people,” Donald Quick began, “we need to get moving. Every second we waste is one we don’t have. I’ll meet you in Air Force Two. We'll make contact with the Secretary of Defense once we’re airborne. Sergeant Fikejs, have your men work with the Secret Service and lead the civilians out and get them boarded.” Donald turned to the pilots and asked, “What’s the fastest you can get us in the air?”
"From inside the cockpit? Thirty minutes," the most senior captain answered.
"Then I will be holding you to that.”
A pair of Secret Servicemen trailed Donald as he departed.
“Alright,” Fikejs said, gathering his men, “you heard the boss, get topside and assist with the cattle call. Mack, Case you’re the least personal, so you’re with me.”
“Ah, that hurts, Serg.”
"Truth does that sometimes,” Fikejs said before turning to Matty. “How's your group?"
"Group? It’s just Charlie, Dylan, and the two girls now. Everyone else is dead."
Fikejs pointed down the hallway. "Mrs. Romero is a good woman. She's a psych doc. Keeps odd hours, so I’ve talked with her a coupla times. She’s helped a lot of people here with PTS. Those girls’ll be in good hands."
Charlie came around the corner with Dylan slumped over his shoulder.
Dylan had a fresh dressing wrapped around his midsection. The cotton should have been white but the abdominal movement split stitches. His eyes were swollen, wet from tears and red from rage. Despite the sedatives and strict orders from the doctors, Dylan appeared ready to fight.
"Promise me, no one kills that Agent but me! When we find him, he is mine!"
The Marines wanted blood for the loss of two of their own, but Dylan's request was not contested.
“Come on, Dyl, let’s get you horizontal and ready for transport.”
“Mack, Case,” Fikejs began, but a radio call interrupted him.
"Staff Sergeant, you ain’t gonna believe this, but I have a plane inbound on short final. What are our orders?"
"Plane?”
“You think it’s Agent Hause with a change of heart?” asked Case.
“Unlikely,” Fikejs said before transmitting, “Attention all Secret Service and military. Wait until I get up there. No one shoots. I repeat, no one shoots."
0929 hours
"So much for a welcoming party," Jones grumbled from inside the cockpit.
A mix of handguns and assault rifles were pointed at the twin propeller plane, and one soldier in particular signaled for the engine to be turned off. Behind the armed line of Marines and Secret Service were dozens of scared, exhausted-looking people in a single line, boarding Air Force Two.
"Do it," West ordered. "I'll figure out what's going on."
"I'm just happy to be out of this poor excuse of a plane. The cracked leather armrests have been like sandpaper to my arms, the carpet is filthy, it reeks of vomit, and there isn’t even enough room to stand.”
"You're not going anywhere,” West said, pushing Albert back to his seat. "Travis, watch him. Wait until I give you the signal to come out."
West jumped out of the Cessna 340 and immediately raised his hands in the air, though his casted left was limited. He limped slowly toward the Marines and shouted, "Do not shoot! My name is Sergeant Major Craig West! I repeat, do not shoot!"
"Make a hole, Marines," one finally answered, passing through the soldiers. "I’m Staff Sergeant Fikejs. Better have a good reason for landing on restricted government property Sergeant Major West."
"West!” A voice shouted out from the tree line. It was Matty making his way through the cluster of civilians. "West, it's me! It’s Matty!”
Surrounded by a shield of Secret Serviceman, Donald Quick trailed Matty. “Let me through! Move aside Marine! What’s going on? Who are these people? What are they doing here?”
"Mr. Quick, this is West. He’s the one Agent Kim and I were telling you about. He's cool, don't worry. I vouch for him."
West’s injured and disheveled appearance did not incline Donald to readily believe Matty, but eventually he said, “Fine, Sergeant Fikejs, tell your men they can lower their weapons, but I want each of them searched. I will take no unnecessary risks.”
Fikejs whistled back to his men. "Friendlies. Lower your weapons.”
“Mr. West,” Donald continued, “it would appear that we have much to discuss, but now is not the time. Once we get airborne, I will need a full debriefing.”
“Understood.”
"I can't even tell you how glad it is to see you guys," Matty said after an uncomfortably long hug.
Pushing Dylan’s stretcher, Charlie had taken longer to arrive at the reunion.
“Glad to see you made it,” West said, shaking Dylan’s hand.
Barely holding back another rage-fueled outburst, Dylan acknowledged West with a head nod. Charlie tried to say "hi," but with his vocal cords too sore, it sounded more like a moan.
"His voice is kinda shot," Matty said for Charlie. “Long story, but you’ll need to hear it.”
“Ditto. How’s your eye, Charlie?”
Charlie motioned for Matty to respond. “Charlie told me the doctor said he’ll lose vision in that eye. Could be twenty-percent, could be total. He said he won’t know until it fully heals.”
“We’ll do our best to make sure it heals the best it can.”
Charlie nodded in gratitude.
Matty squinted his eyes as he looked at the Cessna. "Looks cramped. Did everyone fit in there?"
“No. En route to the truck we got split up with Nick, Steve, Eddy, Jenny, Lisa and Kelly. They are somewhere north east of here. We planned to search for them on our way outta here. It was just Alex, Jones, Clint, Travis and me for the assault. Clint didn't make it. But the rest are inside. We are even heavy a couple people.”
"So Alex got Ambrosia?”
“No.”
“But he’s not infected anymore?”
“Yes.”
“I’m confused.”
“Wait a sec,” Staff Sergeant Fikejs interrupted after completing a thorough pat down of West’s person. “You’re saying one of your people got infected, didn’t get the vaccine, but is still alive?”
"Yes.”
“Care to elaborate, Sergeant Major?”
"We think Alex might be immune. Like your situation here, we have a lot to talk about.”
"More than you know,” Matty said, processing the information.
Fikejs whistled for a pair of Marines. “Sergeant Major, we are going to need to search your people, too, but don't bother unpacking. We’re Oscar Mike in forty-five.”
“Understood.”
For the next ten minutes, Matty and West filled in the other, detailing but summarizing the events since splitting up. Even a few Marines stuck around to listen to the trials, successes, and failures.
"Sucks about Clint, but I’m happy you got Shanna back,” Matty said, smiling sadly for the loss and gain. "At least you have good news.
You guys destroyed all the Ambrosia! And Alex, I can't believe you might be immune!"
“You and me both. I’m still trippin’ out about it. The bites are healing too, I think. At least they look less gross.”
Unable to broadcast to the group, Charlie used Matty as a medium.
"Charlie says he likes the idea of using this Albert guy to get to Liz Baron. He’s in. Dylan too once he’s good.”
“West, I don’t mean to nay-say, but how are we going to do this? Half of us are injured or out of commission. Our team isn’t looking so hot, even if we do have his scumbag ass,” Alex said, nodding to Albert.
“We’ll do as much as we can. Plan first and improvise what we have to.”
"Well, we’re under orders to rendezvous with what's left of the government back east, but it's all politics. I’m not sure the suits will be so quick to include you. Or be so quick period,” Fikejs commented.
Mason had a rifle over his shoulders. He spat a wad of chewing tobacco to the ground and snorted. “Politics. Fuckin’ joke if ya ask me. Knowing them they’ll take their sweet ass time, and Liz Baron will be long gone, Agent Hause, too."
"Correct me if I’m wrong, but what I believe our Staff Sergeant is surreptitiously suggesting and the idea my uncultured cousin is attempting to convey...is we are supposed to be on that plane," Flenderson said, nodding off to Air Force Two, "but we want in on whatever crazy plan you're thinking of. That is, if you have room for us grunts.”
“No correction needed,” said Fikejs.
“Uncultured? I think that’s one of the nicer things you’ve said about me, cousin. But ya, that sounds about right.”
“Oo rah,” came a collective reply from the other Marines; one with a deep seated anger for vengeance.
“Appreciate the support,” replied West, folding his arms. “But so you know, where we are going and what we plan on doing isn’t going to be political. It’s going to be hard, fast and bloody.”
Fikejs looked back at his men, all of whom nodded their heads in unwavering support. “We like hard, fast and bloody. Count us in.”
West nodded subtly at Donald Quick who was busy flipping through papers on a bench. “You sure the chief won’t care about his troops deserting him?”
“He won’t even know we’re gone,” Fikejs answered, smiling. “Besides, the C-40 is too heavy, and I still have five Marines on their way back from Blue Springs.”
Ringo gave his neck a quick crack. “We’ll just tell Mr. Quick that us grunts will sacrifice our cozy seat and hitch a ride with you.”
“Then we can detour wherever we want,” followed Ryan.
“If the time ever comes that we’re put in front of a court-martial, we can say we were just following the President’s orders,” said Mack.
“Or blame it on the apocalypse,” joked Mason.
“If we stop the LIFE Corp once and for all, I think they’ll be pinning medals on you.”
“But one step at a time,” Fikejs said, gazing questionably at the raggedy Cessna. “I think we’re going to need something a little bigger and faster than a twin prop. Only problem is, all our pilots are designated to the C-40.”
“Won’t be a problem. We have a pilot of our own,” West said, scanning the airfield and the dozens of abandoned business jets spread throughout. “And from the looks of it, a few options that’ll hold our numbers.”
0957 hours
Inside the cockpit of a Dassault Falcon 7X, West hovered over Jones’ shoulder. “How long ‘til we are up in the air?"
Jones fidgeted his body to get comfortable in the captain’s chair. "I don't know,” he replied, flipping switches and pressing buttons that prompted the flat screen systems to come alive. “I'm not used to this setup. I’ll need a few minutes to orient myself."
"Typical white guy, always full of excuses," Travis joked.
"Ha-ha very funny.”
"Hey guys, I'm still white," Alex called out while digging through a bag. "But I'll allow it, and Jones you deserve it. Hey West, where's the sat phone? I want to try again."
West pulled the phone out from his lower cargo pocket. "Let me know if you get through."
Alex snatched the phone midair, hustled out the door and pressed send. "Please be there, please be there,” he mumbled, then shouted back, “It's ringing!"
“West, before you go, there is one thing you should be aware of.”
“What is it, Jones?”
“Assuming we find Steve and the others, there will be over twenty-five of us total. Weight most likely won’t be an issue but there aren’t enough seats. People will have to sit on the floor.”
“Noted. If you need me, holler.”
“How’s that, Dyl?” Charlie asked, reclining the seat back to its furthest configuration.
“Good.”
"Alright, buddy. Hang tight. I'll be back in a few minutes, just need to help the Marines load."
"Hey bro,” Dylan said, grabbing Charlie’s arm. “Can I get something for the pain?"
Shanna happened to be stowing a bag of medical supplies across the way, and joined the conversation. "Charlie is it? I can take care of Dylan if you want to go help the others.”
“He’ll be in good hands, Charlie, don’t worry.”
“If you say so, West. Alright, Dyl, I’ll be back in a bit. We re-sutured the stitches you broke, so remember to try to stay as still as possible.”
"Hi, Dylan, my name's Shanna. Give me a sec. I'll see what I can find.”
“Much appreciated, ma’am.”
While Shanna dug through the supplies, she noticed West lingering behind her. “I'm fine, Craig, really. I know we haven’t had a chance to really talk, but go do what you have to. We’ll talk in the air."
West gently squeezed her shoulder, and then headed to the back of the jet. He passed by Matty who found a sleeping mask and earplugs, and despite the cluttering and clanking, joking and banter among the laboring Marines, he was fast asleep.
“Sergeant Major West,” called Fikejs from outside the aircraft. “A moment?”
“I’m retired, Staff Sergeant, just West. What is it?”
“In that case, just Fikejs. Wanted to give you a heads up...we have limited ordnance on hand. Couldn’t take much without the Secret Service gettin’ suspicious.”
“Then we’ll have to scavenge.”
“Not necessarily, West. Tell him, Ringo.”
“Me and the guys know of a couple ammo dumps in New York and Pennsylvania. Could be tapped from the initial outbreak, could be our one stop shop. Couldn’t hurt to check ‘em out.”
“Whaddya think, West?”
“Sounds good to me. Write up their locations and- heads up!”
The screeching turbines from Air Force Two’s departure were deafening. As it rolled past, Ryan plugged his ears as West and Fikejs had. Ringo unfortunately didn’t react fast enough and was subjected to momentary deafness.
As he stared at the departing airliner, Fikejs said, “How’d Mr. Quick take the news?”
“I told him I wouldn’t be giving him a face to face debrief, but I reassured him the trip to The Shelter was only a couple hours and we would talk there, in front of the other cabinet members.”
“Knowing him, I’d say he didn’t like that one bit.”
“No, he did not. Wanted to hear my report before the others,” West said, sharing a chuckle with Fikejs. “In the end, I made it clear I would not separate from my group again.”
“Speaking of your group, what’s up with Mr. Immune?”
West looked over at Alex who was pacing back and forth.
“His cousin was with the part of our group who got separated. He’s been trying to get hold of them. Hasn’t had any success the last couple days though.”
"West! It’s Steve! He picked up!" Alex yelled back, glowing with happiness. "West, they are a few miles west of Donner!"
“Travis, grab the Utah map and get out here."
“Roger that.”
“So this
plan, you think it’ll work?” Fikejs asked while handing Mason the last duffle bag.
West did not answer right away. His gazed was fixated on Alex as he talked with Steve. The smiling, the laughter; he knew the indescribable feeling of reuniting with a loved one.
“Yes, I do,” West replied confidently. Before he could elaborate, however, he noticed Alex’s demeanor change.
Near the runway marker 1A, Alex stopped pacing. His face grew pale, then he lowered his arm and a moment later, the phone slipped through his fingers and settled on the grass. He let out a barbaric roar then took off, sprinting far away from everyone.
"Hold that thought, Fikejs. I'll be right back."
West hustled over and picked up the phone. Travis trailed behind him, map in hand.
"Hello? Steve? This is West. What just happened? Alex took off without saying..."
As Steve explained, Travis spread out the map. In seconds, West pointed to the mountain road where their group first split. Then his finger found the city of Donner, and sliding just to the right, it located a useable rendezvous point.
"There's a private airport about twenty-five miles to your east by northeast. Can you make it there?"
"Ya, I think so. Donner had some cars. We could probably get one of them running. Might take us a few hours to get to the airport though."
"That’ll work. We are still at the bunker but will be leaving soon."
"So what then?"
"Something big is coming if you want to be a part of it."
"Okay, we’ll get packed up and on the move. See you guys soon."
West ended the phone call, then turned to Travis and said, “Let’s get these coordinates to Jones.”
“Will do, but what’s up with Alex?”
West stared into the tree line where Alex had disappeared. “Nick didn’t make it.”
Travis frowned and mumbled the Spanish word, “Mierda.”
“I know.”
From next to the stairwell, Fikejs whistled. “West, we’re all packed and ready to roll. Just got the radio call from my men; they are thirty minutes out.”
The Longest Road (Book 3): The Other Side Page 64
