“I heard you like earplugs.” He said, grinning.
Jonathan shook his head, looking away. “That was messed up.”
Serrano reached over and smacked him on the shoulder. “Hey, just messing with ya. Seriously, though, can’t have earplugs on under the headset. Gotta be able to hear when we need to pass information.”
Jonathan nodded, trying to explain. “Yeah, sorry. The uh, tech sergeant? He suggested I put them in so I could get some sleep.”
Orlosky leaned over Serrano, bringing his bearded face closer to Reed as he looked at him, his face a mask of indignation. “You’re listening to a fuckin’ Air Force tech sergeant? Chili here’s tryin’ to keep you alive. He’s in charge, regardless of where we are.” The other men nodded, looking at Reed with disapproval.
Orlosky shook his head, sitting back. “Besides, Air Force…”
Serrano put up his hand, bringing the man in check. “Alright, it’s all good. We got him back, didn’t we Doc?”
Jonathan shook his head begrudgingly. “Yes, yes, you did. I thought I was being smothered.”
The SEALs broke out in laughter again, shaking their heads.
Kim looked over at him, a serious look on his face. “Lesson number one, Doc: don’t ever fall asleep around these assholes. They’ll fuck with you just for fun.”
Jonathan nodded again. “Got it.” He decided to test the waters a bit. “Did they ever get you?”
Orlosky laughed again, pointing at Kim. “Fuck yeah, we did. Over in Iraq this guy fell asleep on top of an ammo crate that was on a pallet, so we lifted it and put it out in the middle of the dirt soccer field. We got the guys together and set up the game, then started it while he was snoozing away.” He threw his head back, his laughter barking into his mic.
Jefferson chimed in, elbowing Kim. “Yeah, scared the shit outta him and he fuckin’ rolled off the ammo crate and landed in the dirt just as one of the guys kicked the soccer ball in his direction.”
Kim stared at Reed, his expression deadpan. “Caught me right in the face as I was still trying to figure out where I was.”
Reed turned away, trying not to show his amusement. “Damn.” He muttered.
“Yeah. Damn. I think your earplug thing wasn’t that bad.”
Reed smiled, looking back at the man. “I’m not a SEAL.”
Kim smiled in return, showing his teeth. “Good point.”
“Alright,” Serrano began, getting their attention, “We’re about 40 minutes out and we need to review things before the jump. Skee will be the first out, followed by Jay Jay. Doc, you’ll be third. Kim, then Spider, then me. Our drop will take about two minutes. Doc, watch Skee’s and Jay Jay’s chutes. When you see theirs pop, pull your cord.”
“Will do.”
“Fellas, we hit the ground and we come up weapons hot. No idea who or what may be around the golf course, so we gotta be ready.”
Jefferson’s voice came in through their earpieces. “Weapons posture?”
Serrano stared at each SEAL in turn. “We’re coming in hot. You see someone closing on you, be ready to take ‘em out. Anybody out there who sees a team of badass muthafuckin’ SEALs dropping out of the muthafuckin’ sky and doesn’t run - they’re looking for trouble. You got me?”
Almost simultaneously, all four men responded, “Yes, Chief.”
“Alright. Any other questions?”
Reed raised his hand.
Collectively, the team turned and stared at him, disbelief on their faces. Skee, Jay, Jay, Spider, and Dash looked at their leader, raising their hands as if to say ‘what is this?’
Serrano twisted in his seat, bringing his torso around to face Jonathan. “Are you actually here, on an aircraft cruising at thirty thousand fuckin’ feet, surrounded by Navy SEALs, raising your hand?” He put his own hand up for emphasis.
Jonathan brought his hand down, thoroughly embarrassed. “Sorry. I was just wondering if what you said meant I should have my gun out and ready, too.”
“See, now that’s actually a good question, and the answer is ‘no.’ The boys and I will handle any hostiles that show. You stay clean and in the middle of our formation at all times.”
Jonathan nodded, looking down at the flooring of the aircraft. “Okay.”
Serrano nudged him. “We good, Doc? I ain’t tryin’ to fuck with ya anymore. Just know you’re the reason we’re here. You and whatever it is you need to get from Doctor Roberts.”
“I understand.”
“Alright. Team, thirty minutes ‘til go time. Make head calls, grab your last bite, whatever you gotta do, get it done now.”
Feeling a ball in the pit of his stomach, Reed unbuckled his harness and stood, feeling the need to move. He stretched his long frame to each side, feeling the muscles loosen up as he did. Stepping carefully between the SEAL team members, he made his way forward in the aircraft, passing a stack of ‘box lunches’ on his way to the bathroom. Once inside, he relieved himself, washed his hands, then proceeded to splash water on his face. He looked at himself in the mirror, staring into his own eyes as water ran down his face. ‘This is crazy,’ he thought, as his mind flashed through everything that had happened over the last two weeks. He missed his life in Chicago, where his two-thousand square foot condo looked out over Lake Michigan from the twentieth floor of the waterfront building. He missed driving his Audi r8, even if he spent a lot of time in traffic back in the city.
Now, suddenly and unexpectedly, he missed something else. Something he hadn’t seen coming.
He missed Lisa.
“Alright, guys, it’s go time! Get in position!” Serrano clapped each man on the back as they passed, lining up in front of him so that he could bring up the rear. As the most experienced among them, his position in the rear would allow him to watch his teammates (and Doctor Reed) during the descent, and, if needed, assist them.
The rear cargo door was open, the wind whipping behind them furiously as they waited for the glowing red light to turn green. Once it did, Tech Sergeant Andrews would assist them with timing as they made their way to the edge of the ramp and off into the open air.
Jonathan’s heart pounded in his chest, looking at the early morning sky above the city. The massive smoke clouds were terrible for visibility, but they were creating an amazing display of pinks, oranges, reds, and purples. Knowing the speed they’d be traveling, he knew the only chance to admire the colors was there, on the aircraft.
The light turned green and the rest was a blur. Before he had a chance to think about what was happening, it was his turn.
He didn’t allow himself to think of what he was doing, moving forward as guided, until he was stepping off the edge of the cargo ramp.
Reed dropped, falling away from the aircraft, flying through open space, contorting his body to spin around so that he was facing downward. Happy that the experience he’d gained during previous parachute jumps had made the move seem routine, he felt a surge of confidence growing inside of him until he looked downward.
Hurtling towards the earth at over one hundred miles an hour, he realized he had a problem.
He couldn’t see Skee or J.J.
CHAPTER FIFTY
The White House, Washington, D.C.
The treadmill bounced slightly under President Martinez as her feet struck it smoothly and repeatedly while she maintained her nine-minute mile pace. She was on her fifth mile, and she was covered in sweat. While she normally only worked out once a day, she’d been running twice a day since returning to the White House. With little else to do besides watch her countrymen and women die while waiting for Doctor Chang and his team to find a cure, she needed something to fill her time.
When the machine beeped, letting her know she was done, she hit the stop button, skipping the ‘cooldown’ period the machine recommended. She’d take her time getting back to her quarters. That’d be enough of a cooldown. Grabbing her towel from the bar on the side of the treadmill, she wrapped it around her neck before grabbing a pair
of disinfecting wipes.
One of the two Secret Service agents stepped forward. “We can get that, Madam President.”
“Thanks, Derek, but I’ll get it.”
Lately it seemed like her mind was moving a hundred miles an hour as she contemplated everything from the virus, security precautions for the present and (if there was one) the future, preserving foreign policy and relations, and, above all, whether or not there was anything else she could be doing.
At this moment, she relished the simplicity associated with the act of cleaning the machine. Using the wipes, she cleaned the machine, removing all traces of her sweat from the bars, screen, and side railings.
Stepping away from the machine, she tossed the two wipes in the trash can near the water cooler. James, the other agent, passed her an ice cold bottle of water, which she thanked him for before opening and drinking from.
After returning to her quarters, showering, and changing into her usual business attire, she was reaching for her sensible flats when her hand paused as it passed over her walking shoes.
She needed to keep moving. Sitting at a desk, alone with her thoughts was proving to be unproductive.
Setting out to walk through the massive building, Derek and James quietly fell in behind her. Since her return to the White House, the two were never far from her side.
Walking through the empty hallways, she found herself, for probably the thousandth time, in awe of the building’s massiveness. During normal day-to-day operations, the place was a constant buzz of activity, with people moving from place to place constantly, always seemingly in a hurry.
In contrast, the building now seemed almost like a mausoleum. dimly lit, high ceilinged, and eerily quiet. Each chance she got, the President glanced through the windows, preferring the bright light of day to the filtered light that colored the interior of the White House.
In her hand was a file folder containing the latest updates from Mount Weather, covering both the state of the country (terrible, and getting worse by the minute), the state of the research team’s progress (essentially on hold while they waited for Doctor Reed to return), and the current status of Seal Team Eight and Doctor Reed (no update yet, only details regarding each member of the team and the doctor).
President Martinez considered all these things in her mind as she walked, putting one foot in front of the other, the sound of her heels hitting the marble tiled floor echoing through the halls.
Was there anything else they could be doing?
Was there something she was missing?
Was there any way to help the citizens of the country?
All questions seemed to lead to the same answer.
No.
Rounding the corner, she saw the Oval Office up ahead. It felt too strange to sit and work there under the current circumstances, so she bypassed it, exiting the West Wing and heading back towards the main residence.
Climbing the stairs, she made her way into the “Yellow Oval Room”, thanking the two Agents as they took their normal spots in the hallway on either side of the door. She plopped down on a chair in front of a coffee table, setting the file on the end table next to her. Sinking down into the cushions of the chair, she gazed out the window, looking out across the lawn. Although this room offered tranquility, part of her wished the room faced in the other direction, towards Pennsylvania Avenue, where crowds of people had assembled a week ago and still remained, growing more and more restless by the day.
They wanted answers. They wanted information. They wanted to know their government had identified the problem and was working to fix it.
They wanted hope.
And she had nothing to offer.
Gazing down at the coffee table, she noticed one of Lizzie’s dolls underneath it. With the quarantine of the White House, the cleaning crew had been barred from the residence, and the barebones essential cleaning was being provided by the handful of Navy Sailors who remained behind with her and her staff. The young men and women worked long hours, cooking and cleaning for them and she had been thoroughly impressed with their professionalism and work ethic. The fact that they hadn’t had time to vacuum this area was irrelevant.
Reaching down, she picked up the doll, recognizing it instantly.
It was her.
As the country’s first female president, countless companies had rushed to make female dolls with long brown hair and tan skin, clad in jackets, blouses, and skirts. Some, like this one, even had ties.
Looking at the doll, a feeling of melancholy came over her. She was supposed to be a symbol of hope, someone young women all over the country could look at and be filled with a sense of belief that with hard work and dedication, anything was possible.
But how would history treat when all of this was over? The country was dying around her, and she could do nothing to stop it. Sure, she’d authorized the military to set up safe zones in San Francisco, Oklahoma City, Indianapolis, and Boston, but that hardly seemed like enough. She’d given Chang and his team all the permissions and access they could possibly need in their efforts to identify the cause of the virus and find the cure, but that was a no-brainer. Any president would have done the same.
She’d spent countless hours on the phones with other heads of state, assuring them the virus had never been intended to hurt their countries, that the United States was also suffering, and that they’d share a cure as soon as possible if/when was found. Again, any president would have done the same.
So where did that leave her performance as President? If she were truly honest with herself, she’d have to rate it as average. Nothing great, nothing terrible.
Simply Okay.
Bringing the doll close, she sniffed it, smelling her perfume. Lizzie had asked her to give it a small spray so that she could cuddle with it when she was away on business, and she’d been happy to do so.
Folding the legs to put the doll into a seating position, she set it next to her on the couch.
Glancing around to make sure no one else was there, she looked over at the doll.
“Well, we’re really in it now, aren’t we?”
The doll’s smile was a weak attempt to cheer her up.
It was mid-afternoon when Derek had burst into the Yellow Oval Room in a panic.
“Madam President, we have to evacuate now!!” He rushed over to where she was and grabbed her arm, lifting her forcefully from her chair. Although she was the Leader of the Free World, force was authorized in times of imminent danger, so she thought nothing of it.
“What is it?”
“The people at the gate. There are infected out there. It’s spreading rapidly.”
“I have to see.”
“What? No! We have to go.” Derek pulled her towards the door, but she resisted, yanking her arm away and rushing across the hall, then through the Closet Hall, and to the window that looked out onto Pennsylvania Avenue.
What she saw made her wish she’d simply left when Derek first grabbed her arm.
At the gate, the masses moved frenetically, like an amorphous mass, swaying one way, then another, as the men, women, and even children lashed out at one another. Bodies fell and in some cases were thrown aside, colliding with the hardened metal of the gate. They fell to the ground in heaps, piling up at the base of the gate.
Soon the bodies were stacked high enough for the uninfected to climb them and jump towards the top of the fence. Though they all failed to reach it, it was clear that eventually the pile of bodies would grow high enough that they would eventually reach the top.
“Okay.” President Martinez said, turning back to face Derek. After seeing the savagery exhibited by the infected, her stomach felt queasy, and she had to take deep breaths to settle her nerves. Stepping out of the Closet Hall back into the main hallway, she forced Derek to detour back to the Yellow Oval Room, where she grabbed the doll from the couch and tucked it under her arm, intent on returning it to Lizzie when they returned.
Racing through the massive building
, Derek led her outside and onto the South Lawn, where Marine One was already waiting to take them back to Mount Weather, its rotor blades spinning rapidly.
Within minutes, the aircraft was airborne, heading back to Mount Weather Ops Center. Frustrated at being forced to leave, she wondered if her presence there had actually accomplished anything.
Was anything she was doing making a difference?
CHAPTER FIFTY ONE
“Hold it steady while I pour the concrete,” Daniel instructed, showing Brenna how to hold the level against the post while holding it upright. Once the concrete around the post firmed up, they left the post in place and moved on to the next one while the concrete finished hardening.
Across the yard, Serafina, Ashley and Paul strung the razor wire between trees, wearing the gloves he’d brought back from the building supply store. While Ashley wasn’t thrilled about Paul working with them, his height was proving to be an asset, and together the three of them were doing a great job, alternating between barbed wire at the two foot level, razor wire at the four foot level, barbed at six, razor at eight. It was both formidable and effective.
Once Daniel returned home, the family hadn’t wasted time before beginning the work of establishing a perimeter for the home, understanding that if the infected showed up, they’d likely crash through windows and doors, destroying their own bodies if necessary in an effort to find their prey. While Daniel had plans to place boards over parts of the windows for protection, Serafina and the others made it clear that they needed natural light in the cabin if they were going to stay there long term.
Immediately after breakfast, they’d worked for three hours on the fences, Daniel and Brenna setting eight posts while the others had successfully set up the multiple levels of wire around the entire right side of the property.
Surviving Rage | Book 1 Page 50