but on our own readiness to receive him; not on the chance of his not attacking,
but rather on the fact that we have made our position unassailable."
- Sun Tzu, The Art of War
Jon Brewer walked into the Command Center and reported, "We’re bringing the convoy vehicles around now."
Trevor glanced up from the papers spread on the big desk and acknowledged, "Good."
"How tough is this going to be?"
Trevor answered, "I don’t think it’s going to be hard. We hit the Cross Valley Expressway, bypass the city, get on the Interstate, and we’re at the airport. About forty minutes unless there’s stuff in our way."
Jon did an about-face and, as he left, said, "Everything will be ready in a few minutes."
Trevor returned his attention to the papers.
Not much had happened in the ten days since the raid on the warehouse. During that time, Trevor concentrated on consolidating the situation around the estate.
The Brewers, Shep, and Sheila lived in the main mansion. Sal, Danny Washburn, and Evan Godfrey stayed in the three apartments above the garage. Omar and his family occupied the A-Frame with Nina in the rooms above their garage.
The Rheimmers welcomed four of Stonewall’s followers to their farm. Better still, five more of Stonewall’s troop used supplies from an Agway warehouse to re-start another dormant farm. That meant more crops, more cattle (some found grazing aimlessly in countryside) and more hope for the growing band of survivors.
Those of Stonewall’s crew who remained at the lake took residence in a quaint cluster of homes just past the Methodist Church where Sal ran his kitchen.
Despite Omar's chain-smoking, he proved invaluable. Earlier that week, he led a scavenging party to the Environmental Sciences Department at the Penn State Lehman Campus where they secured a supply of doped N and P type silicon: essential ingredients for building solar panels. Combined with the "charge controller", batteries and "inverter" in storage at the mansion, Trevor possessed the materials for a solar power array.
A work crew cut the tops off several trees to give the estate a better view of the southern sky, the best angle for collecting solar radiation.
Still, Omar warned that the long dark days of winter neared. Therefore, traditional generators would remain the primary energy source. Unfortunately, the limited quantity of portable generators could not meet the growing demand. Some of the occupied homes around the lake relied completely on candles for lighting and fireplaces for heating.
Of course, the new homesteads—including the new farm—conspired to spread thin Trevor’s most valuable resource: the Grenadiers.
Back in early August, the estate's garrison counted more than 60 dogs of various types. Disease, accidents, and engagements claimed several K9 lives during the summer. The search for Nina Forest sacrificed another nine. Four more had been killed or mortally wounded since.
The K9s' charge now included guarding the estate, two farms, and several homes around the lake. Furthermore, at any one time at least four bitches carried pups. Therein lay some good news: as many as 100 new Grenadiers would mature to fighting age by spring.
Interestingly, the canines mated within breed lines, maintaining the unique advantages and specific roles of each pedigree. They did their part in the grand scheme. More links on more chains, Trevor supposed.
The idea of specific roles carried over to many of the humans, too. Omar's tinkering would be critical in the times ahead, but that was obvious as was the contributions from warriors such as Shepherd and Nina.
Finding 'diamonds in the rough' satisfied Trevor even more. For example, Danny Washburn could fight fine, but his lighthearted attitude provided relief from the gloom. Others, such as Sal Corso and his kitchen, found a niche beyond the battles.
Kristy Kaufman—one of Stonewall's 'officers'-- insisted on wearing make up and clothing looted from the finest stores and carried a mirror to check her hair—which she did often—and her outfits always matched. This fascination with propriety and luxury did not come from vanity, but personal dignity: she refused to yield to the Apocalypse.
In the old world, Kristy worked as an Accounting Director at a bank. Trevor tapped her organizational skills to track the community in terms of their needs, residences, skills, and more. With help from Lori Brewer, Kristy managed a census of sorts.
Stone stepped away from the desk and onto the balcony. 'Indian Summer' had faded and a cold October breeze chilled his arms. He would need a jacket for the day's work. Still, the goose bumps came not from the chill but from anticipation.
He considered today a test. He knew they would never truly go forward if they did everything piecemeal therefore, multiple tasks lay on the day's agenda.
Last night, K9 patrols caught scent of hostiles near the village of Noxen to the north; some kind of pack animals. At dawn, Trevor had dispatched a war party of Rottweilers and Huskies to confront, assess, and eliminate the threat.
In addition, Omar would lead a team to the new farm for a review of essential needs including water supply issues and the possibility of rigging a solar power system there.
Each task—the K9 war party and Omar’s work force—ranked as important. However, neither matched the magnitude of the raid on the airport.
During Nina's tour of duty at a rescue station outside of Philadelphia, she heard radio chatter that an army tactical air support unit abandoned prize equipment at the Scranton/Wilkes-Barre airport. Trevor organized a strike force to reach the airport and grab any goodies.
On any other day, such a raid would be a big project. On that day, it was but one of three projects. Trevor knew that he needed to be aggressive to maintain the momentum of his mission. He knew that soon ‘survive’ must change to ‘fight’.
---
An assault team mustered in the driveway. Trevor joined them after throwing a camouflage jacket over his black T-shirt and heavy gray pants.
The group chatted excitedly as they checked guns and utility belts.
Trevor had amassed a small army for the mission and they dressed the part. Jon Brewer, "Bear" Ross, and Danny Washburn wore green BDUs. Nina Forest and Jerry Shepherd dressed in their SWAT tactical outfits. Garrett "Stonewall" McAllister completed the line up in his heavy confederate coat, hat, and sword, all snatched months ago from a South Carolina museum.
As they prepared, they shared lighthearted jokes and jovial conversation, except for one person: Nina's stiff lip and narrow eyes suggested the levity grated on her. She ignored the talk and focused on strapping tight a pistol-packed rig. Nina stretched her leg and rested a foot on the tire of a Humvee as she worked the Velcro of the holster around her upper thigh.
Danny Washburn stopped in the middle of a joke about a hitchhiking nun and a truck driver. He stepped to Nina then slowly--intently--caressed his eyes over her outstretched leg.
Danny said, "Say baby, do those legs go aaalll the way up?"
"They go all the way up," she said. "All the way up your ass."
He moaned, "Ooo…hey, I’m just kiddin’ ‘round."
"ATF, right? That’s all you guys ever do, kid around. One word for you: ‘Waco.’"
That one word recalled the death of numerous ATF agents during an infamous 1993 raid.
"Why you--"
"Relax," she said without a smile in sight. "I’m just kiddin’ ‘round."
"Hey, easy does it," Trevor broke in as he rested his M4 carbine on the roof of the Humvee and tied his boot.
Danny Washburn said, "I think your friend here is looking for trouble."
"Trouble?" Trevor finished with the laces, stood, and gave Nina an inquisitive stare as if deciphering a code on her face. "No, she’s not looking for trouble."
Danny came back, "Well she’s looking for something."
The edge in Danny’s voice dulled. He liked Danny for that; things rolled off his back.
Trevor agreed, "Now that’s true."
"What’s true?" Nina asked.
"Oh, I am, am I?"
"Yep," he sounded very matter-of-fact. "But you don’t know what it is. I don’t think you even realize you’re looking. Not really. Not yet."
"Oh brother. Let me guess. Am I looking for true love? Prince Charming? Do I need to go find a frog to kiss?"
Washburn quipped, "Ribbit."
"Nah," Trevor shook his head.
"Well, are you going to tell me? What am I looking for?"
"I’ll tell you," he took two steps closer and found Nina’s blue eyes with his own. For a moment--not long enough for others to notice but Trevor noticed--for a moment something else reflected in those eyes. Something greater than cold and ice. "I’ll tell you. But not now. When the time is right. When I have to."
He winked and turned away.
Her brow crinkled.
Trevor waved the K9s into the Winnebago and commanded everyone to, "Saddle up."
Washburn leaned to Jon Brewer and joked, "I know what she needs. She needs a good--"
"Whoa there," Shepherd, lurking nearby, stopped him. "It’s too early in the day for me to have to go and knock you down, son."
"Hey," Washburn held his hands aloft in a ‘no offense’ gesture. "I didn’t realize she was your honey, pops. Kind of robbing the cradle, don’t you think?"
Shepherd ignored Washburn and ducked into the Humvee.
Jon told Danny, "Honey? More like his daughter."
Jon emphasized ‘like’ but Washburn mainly heard ‘daughter’. The former ATF agent turned pale and hurried to the Suburban.
Trevor sat in the RV’s driver’s seat and started the vehicle. From there he saw a sight he had not seen in a long time: Sheila Evans walking across the mansion grounds. She strolled with an arm on Sal Corso.
Sheila forced a smile and waved to Trevor.
---
The autumn sun slowly rose higher as the convoy drove through the "Back Mountain." The golden beams lacked the strength of only a month before, barely pushing the temperature above fifty degrees. A few white, puffy clouds dotted the blue sky and carried rapidly on the wings of a cold breeze.
Mixing with the clouds, a massive ‘V’ of Canadian geese—real, honest to goodness birds that belonged on Earth—headed south. Trevor wondered what sights those birds would see on their long journey. He wondered what they would find when they returned to the lake next year.
The convoy’s path followed the main thoroughfare passing shopping centers, professional offices, and cemeteries. All of the man-made scenery looked dull and bland compared to the sea of rusty red and orange erupting across the forested slopes and woodlands. The advance of fall burst like fireworks through northeastern Pennsylvania, painting a tapestry of brilliant colors that would last a few weeks until the tree branches turned barren.
The trio of cars drove through the rock cut marking the end of the ‘Back Mountain’. At that point, the road morphed into a raised highway above the suburbs lining both sides of the Susquehanna. Creatures large and small moved down there but the caravan raced along, not stopping to observe.
As the expressway swept eastward, the northern neighborhoods of Wilkes-Barre climbed a slope toward the valley wall and overlooked the highway. A ridge of commercial buildings stood watch above the road; quiet retail temples that had been a thriving shopping district only four months prior.
The route banked sharp to the north and the convoy aimed for an exit that bridged the expressway to I-81 north. That exit went beneath an overpass where graffiti on a concrete strut asked, Why Have You Forsaken Us?
Two miles along the Interstate, they saw their first "hostile" lumbering through a far-off neighborhood. The featureless, lanky black figure stood six stories tall. Trevor thought it a walking shadow. It did not notice the convoy.
After fifteen more minutes of driving between toppled tractor-trailers, crashed cars, and flocks of crows feasting on decaying flesh, they reached the airport exit.
Located on a plateau alongside Interstate 81 and under the shadow of the Montage Mountain Ski Resort, the small ‘international’ airport incorporated two runways, one large terminal, a traffic-control tower, and a series of hangers and small buildings.
Parked cars and shuttle buses—including one overturned—sat discarded outside the terminal. A mass of skeletal remains lay near the main entrance, apparently burned to the bone by whatever fire had damaged the building's fascia.
The convoy bypassed the terminal by breaking through a security gate and driving directly onto the tarmac.
A split and burnt fuselage littered one runway. More planes of various sizes slept near boarding ramps and hangers. Luggage from an abandoned baggage cart had sprung open sending t-shirts and underwear across the grounds.
Trevor's team drove to a hanger on the south side of the airport where two army deuce and a half cargo trucks stood. Several crates lay outside the trucks as if they were in the process of unloading when something interrupted their work, yet no bodies or signs of conflict.
The convoy halted and people poured out. Trevor sent K9s swarming into the hanger while Woody Ross and Shep inspected the army trucks.
Nina jogged to the front of the hanger. In the distance, beyond the tarmac, lay open air and a magnificent view of a mountain range. As beautiful as that view was, it was not nearly as beautiful—to Nina—as what waited in front of the hanger.
"Jackpot."
---
Jon rolled the hand truck full of ordnance from the hanger.
"Careful with that," Nina Forest advised as she examined the pilot’s helmet in her hands.
In front of the hanger sat two Apache attack helicopters in near-perfect condition, having been armed, maintained, and fueled before their unit disbanded.
What had happened to that unit they may never know. Nonetheless, two of the military’s most effective close-support craft were theirs for the taking, and Nina Forest could fly them.
During her stint in the National Guard, Nina was primarily restricted to flying Blackhawk transports but she had experience with Apaches, too, because her commanding officer had been impressed by her instincts and wanted to see how she handled those birds-of-prey (he also drooled over how she looked in a flight suit).
She handled them quite well but army protocol did not allow her to fly them in combat. Instead, she trained for and flew several ferry missions.
Apache helicopters have two seats with the front cockpit earmarked for the gunner and the back for the pilot. However, both cockpits offer redundant controls, making it possible to either fly or shoot or both from either position.
The Apaches were not the only prize. The day’s lucky strike included a topped-off tanker truck full of aviation fuel.
Nina did not need to consult with their ‘leader’ to know the best course of action: she would fly one of the choppers to the estate and the ground team could drive the tanker home.
Nothing to it.
Rockets and chain gun rounds presented a bigger issue. A fair supply existed at the hanger, but the local police station or even the 109th Field Artillery armory in Kingston would not have that type of ordnance on hand. They would need to use the Hellfires sparingly.
"Okay," she announced to everyone in earshot. "I guess I’ll fly one now and then we can come back tomorrow for the other one."
A voice suggested, "Why not take both?"
Trevor Stone strolled casually from the shadowed confines of the hanger. He wore a flight suit and helmet.
---
"This isn’t a game," her voice crackled over the headset as Trevor punched ignition switches for the main rotor. "Seriously. You don’t need to impress--"
"Hey, Forest," Trevor transmitted. "Don’t worry; I’m sure you’ll do fine."
He could hear her growl over the mic.
The rotors spun to full power. He worked the pedals and stick.
The first Apache, with Trevor at the helm,
lifted off the tarmac. The second followed.
Jon Brewer gaped as the helicopters rose above the hanger then banked to the southwest. The deep thump-thump-thump of the helicopter blades echoed over the plateau and bounced off the picturesque mountain range.
Stonewall--standing next to Jon--said, "I was not aware that Mister Stone had experience with such machines."
Jon muttered, "Wow."
Trevor's revelation that he could fly the Apache shocked Jon even more so than Nina. He knew what Trevor would tell him: the same thing he told him when he asked where Trev had learned how to shoot and clean an assault rifle; where did he learned tactical hand signals; where had he learned how to fix generators.
I just picked it up.
Jon shook away his disbelief and gathered the ground convoy together including the new, fully loaded fuel truck. The time had come to return home.
---
Nina glared through the cockpit window at the other helicopter, her gaze nearly violent enough to knock Trevor’s Apache from the air.
As for Trevor, he sat in the pilot’s seat, amazed. Everything on the control panel appeared familiar to him. He knew the purpose of each button.
Yes, there, counter-measures. Okay and those are the fire suppression systems. Oh yeah, that button activates the targeting controls linked directly to the helmet.
Radar? Clear. Orientation? Slightly banked but hey, no one is perfect.
But the lighter-than-air feeling…
He snickered.
Lighter than air in such a heavy machine? Silly sounding, but true. The beast, as massive as it felt, glided through the sky above the highway as if hanging from an invisible rope.
He glanced down at the world. The homes and the buildings all looked small and fake, conjuring memories of the train table in his grandpa’s basement; the one with the Lionel engines and blinking RR crossing signs.
Trevor suddenly felt lightheaded. The orange and red trees of autumn, the houses, the highway…they faded…
…desert, flat and featureless stretching as far as he could see. Plumes of thick black smoke rising from the horizon and filling the sky ahead, blocking the sun in an oily veil.
Beyond Armageddon: Book 01 - Disintegration Page 17
