With her head down, she didn’t see the three mutants who survived the explosion or when they were tore apart by the soldiers in her squad, and the machine guns on the HUMVEEs. They came out of the building, leaping from the second floor like it was an easy step, only to die on the grass.
Chopper growled and barked and tried to pull away, but Amanda held him.
It was all over 15 seconds after the first grenade was fired.
They did it three more times, taking out two more upper floors and the back door area. Only when Chopper stopped growling and led Amanda and her squad inside the building, did everyone start relaxing. Seven mutants were killed, but no one was injured from the platoon.
Less than three hours after arriving on the academy grounds, the straight truck was had enough computer equipment to make even the most hard-core geek weep. When the truck was full of the computers the general had asked for, library books were carefully stacked until no more could be put in the 24-foot straight truck that had been painted flat black.
The Academy was 18,000 square acres nestled into the Rocky Mountains. If there was anyone alive, they had to have heard the noise from the attack, but the perimeter scouts hadn’t seen anything while the others worked.
DeBusk was a stickler for doing one stage of the mission completely before starting the second stage, and it wasn’t until the straight truck’s overhead door was closed and locked did he go over to the commo HUMVEE. “Start your gear, Private Hahn.”
Amanda and Chopper walked around the area while the communications specialist called out on every channel of the CB and the Army frequency the SOS had come in on.
Twenty-five minutes after he started, one of the scouts called out. “Movement, one thousand meters south, southwest!
“White flag!” the scout reported looking through binoculars.
“Keep your weapons at the ready,” DeBusk reminded them. “Saunders, report.”
“Chopper saw them, but he didn’t even growl. Now he’s licking his nuts, sergeant. I don’t think they are a threat.” Her team laughed and DeBusk, who was feeling a little higher-strung than usual, couldn’t help himself. He had to laugh at the report.
“Okay everyone, be ready anyhow, I’m going to go meet our guests,” DeBusk told everyone.
The two men were former cadets who had hid out in the mountains after the plague and when the mutants started killing and then eating the bodies littering the campus. They were the two remaining from the five known to have survived. The others had died either by accident or by trying to work their way back to the campus for supplies. The two survivors repaired a radio from a wrecked HUMVEE, but the battery died. They’d seen trucks on the freeway a few nights before and came out of their hiding place when they heard the shooting. It had taken three hours to walk to the convoy.
* * *
Jerry’s call for cease fire came at a terribly coincidental time. There was a knock at the cellar door where the children and Cindy were still huddled.
Cindy had kept them calm through the gunfire, and though there was some crying, Cindy sang to them to keep them calm.
LT, thinking the fighting was over, opened the door without checking to see who was knocking. She’d been told that Josh and Natalie would be coming through the door in case of evacuation and thought it would be them.
Cheryl grabbed the little girl by the throat before the door was fully open. The other kids were startled. They went from being happy the battle was over to as quiet as they’d ever been.
Cindy started to scream but Cheryl pointed the gun at her. She then noticed the crib. This was something else that was new on the farm since she’d last been here -- they were having babies.
Good, Cheryl thought to herself. Another hostage for her to use. She pointed the gun at the crib in which baby Adam was sleeping quietly with a bottle and put her finger to her own lips. She said very quietly to the terrified teen: “Shhhh. Not a word,” she said just above a whisper. “Not a sound.”
Keeping Kellie’s little friend between her and the others, she pointed for them to leave out the door she’d just come through.
Cindy was the last out and attempted to pick up the baby, but Cheryl wouldn’t allow it. As she was leaving, she told the teen, “If I hear any one of those children screaming, the baby gets it first, and then this one.” Cindy, face red in fear and hands shaking turned and Cheryl pushed her roughly through the doorway with her foot and kicked the door shut.
She then turned to the little nine-year-old.
“Where are they?” she asked, slowly and quietly and with fury LT could hear in the crazy woman’s voice. The little girl backed away. She was so afraid now, more afraid than she’d ever been in her short life.
LT didn’t say anything. Cheryl didn’t know if she was being brave or was just too afraid. Her lips were trembling and she had her hands crossed in front of her.
“Oh don’t worry little girl. Your hands wouldn’t stop a bullet from this. It’d rip right through your hands and blow your heart right through your back. You’d scream in pain but no one would hear you because your lungs will fill up with blood and you’ll drown and bleed to death. Now tell me where they are.”
LT, afraid and unable process anything Cheryl was saying started to turn and run deeper into the cellar. Cheryl caught her by the collar of her shirt before she got two steps. She pulled her around and pushed her in front as a shield. It was time Cheryl got back in control of things and they started up the stairs.
Whispering in the girl’s ear she said, “open the door.” The child hesitated and Cheryl grabbed her by the back of the neck and began squeezing, her finger tips digging deep into the little girl’s neck. She then slowly cocked the gun and pushed it to her ear. “Do it.” LT, crying and choking at the same time, opened the door.
The Padre saw LT first and smiled. He was as happy as everyone the battle was coming to a close. He was just realizing the little girl was crying and there was a stranger behind her when the realization of who it was hit him.
He tried bringing his weapon up.
From 12 feet away Cheryl shot the man who had dedicated the last few years of his life to bringing people forgotten by society closer to God. The noise of the gunshot so near her ear made Hannah jump, but she couldn’t scream because Cheryl’s grip on her neck was making it hard to breathe.
The Padre, who just the night before had performed his first wedding ceremony, that of Jerry and Kellie, felt the sting of the bullet entering his neck. He lost control of his body and fell to the floor as the bullet lodged his spinal cord.
Of ways to die, Journey “Padre” Stone thought to himself as the final darkness closed over him, this wasn’t as painful as he thought it was going to be.
Kellie, sitting at her desk with her back to the door, jumped at the shot and saw the Padre fall. A spray of blood splattered her surveillance monitor and desk. She turned to see Cheryl with her little LT held in front of her as a shield.
Hate boiled inside of Kellie as it had never before in her life. The former special education teacher, who had lived through an abusive husband, the end of the world and her family, survived three vigilante and zombie attacks and being shot in the stomach felt more hate than she thought one person could feel.
She felt her gut clench when she saw the face of the intruder who had just killed her friend and protector, the Padre.
The word hate couldn’t encompass how much revulsion Kellie had for the woman who was standing there with the smoking gun that had killed the Padre, grinning visciously with perfect white teeth and choking Hannah.
The woman had shot her, had almost killed Randy and Danny and was the cause of the battle that had just ended. She’d caused many deaths and was now choking a little girl Kellie loved as if she were her own.
Hannah whimpered as her hands tried unsuccessfully to free herself. Cheryl tightened her grip on the little girl’s throat until she shut up. Kellie’s gun was at her feet. She’d never be able to reach it and s
hoot the crazy woman holding the little girl. She was also too far away from the microphone to let Jerry know she was in trouble.
“Well, well, well,” Cheryl said, waving the pistol at Kellie. “I thought I’d killed you already. Now get that farmer boyfriend of yours down here or I swear to God, I’ll kill you after I put a bullet through this little girl’s head.”
Cheryl’s newest plan was to use Kellie and the little girl to control Jerry, forcing him to surrender of the farm. Of course she’d kill them, but right now she wanted to control him just as he had controlled her.
That plan fell apart with the next sound Cheryl heard. It was the sound of a gun’s hammer being pulled back with a distinctive “schnick.” The sound came from the gun being pushed into the back of her head.
“Well, well, well, babycakes. You want a second chance at killing me too?” Randy asked, pushing his dad’s Desert Eagle hard into the back of Cheryl’s head. “Ain’t gonna happen.
“Drop the gun now. You hurt that girl and even God won’t recognize what’s left of your pretty face.”
* * *
Over the next three months, the Salvage Platoon from Fort Carson went on 11 more salvaging excursions and three rescue operations. No one had been hurt on any of the missions except when Pvt. DeNelis tripped over an exposed length of cabling and broke his wrist.
The non-perishable food supply safety net had grown to 90-plus days. Buildings had been cleared for other sundries as well, things like toilet paper and toothpaste, deodorants and soap. The general knew these supplies would eventually run out, but for now, breathing room had been extended.
The platoon’s operation orders, training and leadership was so successful, buildings on base were being cleared of non-essential equipment to store the supplies that were coming in. The straight truck was supplemented by two more and a semi with a flatbed.
Chopper was the real success for the platoon and Amanda, DeBusk and Nila all insisted the dog not be overworked. A dozen other dogs had been found and tested, but most were feral now, too wild to be of use. There were a few hopefuls in training, but that was still a work in progress.
The 12th mission was the last mission Amanda would go on for the 1st Mid-America Defense Force. The platoon was headed to Peterson Air Force Base on the east side of Colorado Springs. A weak signal had been picked up by the communications squad at Fort Carson. The signal had been on the short wave upper side band. The commo man could only make out “Peterson” and “base,” but it was enough for a mission to be mounted.
Two semis were prepped and readied for the mission. They would bring back about 18,000 gallons of fuel if they could find it. Two straight trucks would also accompany the five HUMVEEs in case they found anything worth salvaging.
Peterson was only about 45 minutes away from Fort Carson, but it was an area that hadn’t been explored or cleared yet.
The convoy left early in the morning as always, on a day when clear skies were forecasted. It was a pleasant drive with the summer sun in their face only for the last few miles. Chopper was getting used to the missions and seemed anxious this morning.
DeBusk ordered the convoy to the airstrip but changed his mind when he saw six 5,500-gallon refueling trucks, parked and ready to drive. They’d have to be checked out, but this would be a good find. There was a fence around the trucks and a lot of clear area for visibility. He positioned two HUMVEEs of each end of the area.
Pvt. Evans was detailed to open the front gates and the soldier took very few minutes to break through the locks and chains. He swung the gates open and DeBusk had his driver drive slowly through the gate. DeBusk was on his Gatling gun but didn’t see anything. He called Amanda to dismount to have Chopper check the area.
Chopper jumped out of the truck and loped over to where DeBusk was parked. Amanda ran behind the dog with her weapon at the ready. Four of her squad were jogging up behind her. Chopper cleared the area quickly, even took a minute to mark one of the 30,000-gallon fuel tanks.
Amanda waited beside DeBusk’s truck until Chopper came back to her. He’d just sat down and she walked up to him, kneeling down to congratulate him for a job well done when they heard a gun shot in the distance. Amanda felt a stinging beneath her arm and she covered Chopper with her body. She then started feeling weak and a little sick. Something stung in her back, but she had her arms around Chopper to protect him so she couldn’t feel for what it was.
Chopper was barking furiously at something as Amanda fell to the ground, unable to hold onto the dog any longer. She heard machine gun fire and orders being screamed as her helmet hit the pavement.
Consciousness slipped away from Amanda. In the seconds before darkness closed over her, she recalled the last words Shep had uttered before he passed.
All Amanda could work up the effort to say was “Daddy.”
* * *
Tony reached Ft. Benjamin Harrison on the short wave three days after the battle.
Colonel Russ Hammond, commander of the Ft. Benjamin Harrison military community, became an admirer of Jerry’s when he heard the full story.
Hammond had struggled with an especially harsh winter in Indianapolis, a turncoat officer who had nearly succeeded in taking over the base and ruining nearly all the stores the colonel and his men had been collecting, and a cultural dispute.
Jerry told Hammond everything, including what Keith had done for them. That information gave Hammond reason to relieve Smith of his command.
Hammond had not been a fan of Smith’s. The lieutenant colonel was always asking for more female personnel, more food and more trained military people. Hammond had told him many times through his commo specialist that Smith needed to do more work on making his own community survivable or move the entire compound up to Ft. Benjamin Harrison.
When the colonel heard about the “invasion” Smith had authorized and the loss of life that had befallen too many, he was angry. He got his best officer to put together a squad to go to Ft. Knox and remove the lieutenant colonel of his command and offer the people there a choice.
The personnel, both military and civilian at Ft. Knox had been given the choice of moving to the greener pastures of Indiana or continue to try to make a go of it at Ft. Knox, sans the military leadership.
It was nearly unanimous to abandon the military base and head for a community that was flourishing. It took less than a day for the civilians to pack up what they had to drive the 160 miles to Ft. Benjamin Harrison.
Lt. Col. Smith would never have allowed a vote if it hadn’t been for the 10 heavily-armed men and women who showed up very early one morning and took over the guard posts without firing a shot.
A young Hispanic lieutenant, backed by a female NCO with a SCAR Mk 17 rifle that had been locked and loaded, relieved Smith of his command at 0517 hours, 17 minutes after the first guard post was taken over.
The only soldier injured in the take over was one of the defenders whose jaw was broken when he didn’t shut up when instructed. The NCO had quieted him with the butt of her rifle.
* * *
Amanda woke up 15 days later. A nurse was standing beside her bed, looking at the monitors and writing notes on a clip board when she noticed Amanda’s eyes fluttering open. “Hey, you’re finally awake,” the nurse said to her, then pressed the button for the main desk.
Word spread quickly throughout the military compound that Amanda had awakened. Parker ordered two guards at each end of the corridor and told them no one except the doctors and nurses were allowed near Amanda’s room without her or the doctor’s permission.
It was another six hours before Amanda could talk and the next day before she could have visitors. The first three were General Parker, Sgt. DeBusk and Chopper.
The dog was in such a hurry, he skidded by the door and had to come back. He crashed into the bed when he got in the room and Amanda had never been so happy to see anyone. His wagging tail slapped into everything and he nearly licked the skin off Amanda’s hand.
The ge
neral and sergeant were right behind him. Parker was smiling and there was pure joy in her eyes. DeBusk, who seldom smiled, had a warm grin on his face. She greeted them, smiling and glad she would finally get some answers.
After the sergeant hung his head and tried saying it was his fault, it was the general who cleared things up. “It was no one’s fault except the bandits. They were the ones who shot you, Amanda,” the general explained. “You were ambushed by 24 bandits who were going to try and ransom all of you for some women.”
Amanda closed her eyes and shook her head slowly. “That doesn’t make any sense,” Amanda said. “There are a lot of women on the base. They could have come up peacefully and made a home here.”
“Well, we’re not real sure what they were all thinking. All we know is they were being led by a maniac. Two of the 24 got away, but from the one wounded man we captured we were able to put together bit and pieces of it.
“The leader of the group was a religious fanatic and when the end of the world came, he thought he was the messiah. Forty followed him out from Kansas City on foot, walking to Utah, but only 24 believers made it this far.
“When they got to the air base, they heard our comm boys on the radio and set up the ambush for some reason. The bandit who shot you saw the dog and thought they would be found out so he shot at Chopper. You got in the way and were hit. The first bullet hit just under your left arm. The second hit in the middle of your back. The vest you were wearing saved you from dying on the pavement.
“Your squad was already shooting back, and Robert saw you hit the second time and then saw blood. He knew at least one shot had gotten by the vest. He put his driver in charge of the counter-offensive and dragged you back to your truck. He held pressure on the bleeding and Pinkston got you back here in less than 25 minutes.
Hell happened (Book 2): Hell Revisited Page 26
