by Kyle Pratt
When the general came on the line, Caden briefed him on the events since he left the meeting in Olympia.
“You’ve had a busy few days.”
“Yes, sir. I wondered if there is any further guidance on containment procedures or … well, things are moving so quickly.”
The general sighed. “Ah … yes, we should have passed information to area commanders more rapidly. From coast to coast the situation is tense and very fluid.”
Caden felt relief at not being alone, but concern that the situation might be worse than he thought.
The general breathed deeply then continued. “You’re correct to emphasize law and order. Let the medical people treat the sick and dying. The pandemic is moving swiftly and … well I can’t say more over the phone, but—”
Brooks bolted into his office. “Gunfire at the bridge east of town!”
Chapter Fourteen
East of Hansen, Thursday, September 24th
Nelson reached for his rifle. “Did some trigger happy redneck shoot at us?”
Zach slowed the vehicle thinking it might be the men on the checkpoint. His eyes darted from person to person. Several guns pointed in their direction, but they didn’t seem to be shooting.
Another shot rang out.
Voices clamored and yelled.
Nelson cursed and spun around in his seat.
A deputy waved the Humvee ahead.
Zach pressed the gas.
A bullet pinged off the back of the vehicle.
Others manning the checkpoint waved the Humvee forward.
A soldier in MOPP gear sprinted aside the vehicle.
“Rearview mirror,” Nelson shouted.
An angry crowd surged toward them. Zach slowed the vehicle and the soldier jumped in.
“Where’s the other guy?” Zach pressed the gas.
“She’s dead. Someone shot her, and then they all came at me, like some crazy zombie movie.”
Forty yards ahead two bulldozers formed a blockade at the end of the bridge. They formed a narrow angled opening. Vehicles had to slow to a crawl to make the sharp turn. At the speed they were going, the turn would be impossible, but if he slowed down the surging crowd would be on them. Zach sped up.
“Hey!” Nelson yelped. “What are you …?” The roar of the engine, gunfire and angry shouts smothered the rest of his words.
“Brace!” At the last moment Zach slammed the brakes.
The Humvee slid past the first dozer and stopped inches from the second.
“Run,” Zach shouted as he opened the door and jumped out.
The soldier and Nelson leapt from the vehicle. “And you called my driving crazy?”
“Go!” Zach yelled and looked back at the throng. “Go! Go! Go!”
Nelson and the other soldier ran through the checkpoint with Zach close behind him.
A few feet away Sergeant Roy stood on the treads of the dozer and yelled into a bullhorn. “Under the martial law decree this is an illegal assembly. You are ordered to clear the bridge. If you do not, you will be fired upon.”
The crowd continued slowly forward.
Zach climbed up on the treads next to the sergeant and peeked over. Several civilians on the blockade fired at the crowd as he did. Zach cringed at the thought of shooting neighbors. “Do we need to kill them?”
“We’re firing over their heads for the moment,” a nearby deputy said. He glanced at the Humvee. “Good job. It blocks most of the entrance.”
“Thanks.”
Sheriff Hoover climbed onto the treads and, using some sort of launcher that Zach had never seen, fired a canister near the lead edge of the crowd.
As the cloud billowed over the crowd, Zach turned to the nearby deputy. “Is that tear gas.”
The deputy smiled. “Yes, it is.”
Bullets pinged and ricocheted off the dozer, but the mass of people stopped and fell back. A pickup and two large cars moved through the crowd. The people slid in behind the moving cover.
Sergeant Roy set the bullhorn down. “I saw one soldier jump in the Humvee with you. Did you get both from the far end of the bridge?”
Zach looked about and spotted the guy he picked up. With his gas mask off, but otherwise still in his MOPP gear, the soldier sat against a wall of sandbags staring straight ahead. “That new guy is the one I picked up.” Zach pointed. “He said the girl was dead.”
Sergeant Roy’s face blanched. He nodded, stumbled off the dozer, and walked to the young soldier.
Zach returned his attention to the crowd. “What do they hope to accomplish? They can’t get through here.”
“We just need to keep them out,” a nearby man grumbled. “When they get hungry they’ll leave.”
“These are civilians.”
Zach turned at the sound of Sergeant Roy’s voice. With a hand covering one ear, the sergeant spoke into a phone. He described the situation and asked when he should order the men to fire.
“Most aren’t armed,” Roy protested into the phone. All blood seemed to drain from his face. “Yes, sir,” he mumbled.
The last plume of tear gas cleared.
The cars on the bridge surged forward with the mob right behind them.
* * *
Morton, Thursday, September 24th
First Sergeant Fletcher pulled his gas mask up and breathed heavily. He still didn’t feel well and what Lieutenant Brooks said only made him feel worse. “Are you kidding me?” he mumbled.
“What was that First Sergeant?” Brooks asked.
“I was saying sir, that between the looters and the sick and dying the situation in Morton is lousey.”
“Are you under fire?”
“We have been, but no sir, not at this time.”
“Well, our people here are being shot at right now,” Brooks said with frustration in his voice. “We’re shorthanded and the situation is growing worse.”
“That would be my assessment of this place also.”
“I’ll advise Major Westmore of your appraisal.”
* * *
Hansen Armory, Thursday, September 24th
“Yes,” Caden shouted into the phone. “Shoot at the mob if they’re shooting at you.” He hurried toward two waiting Humvees. “I’m on my way, but I won’t reach you before they do. Don’t let the rioters breach the checkpoint. Stand your ground and fire.”
“Yes, sir,” Roy mumbled.
Shouts and the sound of gunfire boomed from Caden’s phone and then the connection ended. “Brooks!”
The XO came around one of the vehicles. “Yes, sir?”
“Let’s hurry. How many soldiers do we have?”
“Ten. That’s everyone but the sick and wounded.”
“Twelve counting us.” Caden looked over the assembled young soldiers. They weren’t ready for combat, and the conflict before them looked like the worst kind, neighbor killing neighbor. With a sigh he wondered how he would react fighting someone he knew. “Everyone needs to be in full MOPP gear. There will be infected people in the mob. Defend yourself and the checkpoint. If a rioter surrenders try to take them prisoner, but do not unnecessarily expose or endanger yourself or your fellow soldiers. However, we must keep the virus out of Hansen.”
As the two climbed into the vehicle Caden shouted to the driver, “Go!” Turning to Brooks he asked, “When will Fourth Squad arrive from Alder Lake?”
“They’re still an hour out.”
“What about Second Squad?”
“They’re healthy and I ordered them back from Morton, but they’re thirty minutes out. Fletcher isn’t happy they were pulled. He believes the situation there is deteriorating.”
Caden nodded grimly. “The situation is deteriorating everywhere.”
* * *
Morton, Thursday, September 24th
First Sergeant Fletcher ordered Second Squad to pull out and head for Hansen. The smoke from burning buildings irritated his nose and throat. No more could be done on this street. It would burn to the ground. Looter
s would move on. The dead would be cremated and the sick … well, they had rescued as many as possible. The few firefighters still on duty in Morton fought another blaze near the hospital. “Move to the next street,” he shouted to nearby soldiers and then repeated the command over the radio. He returned his gas mask to its proper position on his face and moved forward with his men.
The elementary school, which now served as a large isolation ward, and the hospital, were behind them as they moved east through the town. Ahead on his left stood city hall, a red single story building with an American flag still fluttering above. It appeared undisturbed, but nearby stood several shops with broken windows and doors.
Fletcher could understand, if not condone, stealing food from a grocery store, but why had looters broken into the coffee shop? It seemed a senseless act of an increasingly senseless mob. Months ago the beverage had disappeared even from the black market. What were looters looking for in the coffee shop? Scones?
He waved his arm, signaling the soldiers to follow him.
Shots echoed off the nearby building.
“Where did that come from?” Fletcher shouted as he scanned nearby buildings.
A soldier pointed to the next street.
More shots rang out.
Static crackled over the radio, and then a voice, “First Sergeant, looters on Division Avenue.”
“You two,” Fletcher barked, “guard the intersection of Main and Second. You four follow me.” Leaving Private Spencer and another behind, Fletcher and the others ran toward the shooting.
Nearing an intersection, Fletcher held up his hand signaling those behind him to slow. Corners were always a hazard.
Shots rang out.
Fletcher dove behind a nearby car. Then he noticed blood.
* * *
East of Hansen, Thursday, September 24th
Rapid gunfire, angry shouts and screams, greeted Caden as he stepped from the Humvee. He drew his pistol and gestured with the other arm for the soldiers to follow as he sprinted the last yards to the checkpoint.
Like medieval soldiers climbing the walls of a castle, some of the mob reached the tops of the dozers, but not much farther. Most were killed; a few lucky ones were captured.
Veteran soldiers avoided such a direct daylight assault. But these were not experienced soldiers. They were desperate and afraid civilians. Caden knew from experience the spirit of the attackers would quickly fade, but until then all he could do is defend the position.
Townsmen, deputies, and soldiers stood shoulder-to-shoulder on the treads of the bulldozers. The dozers wouldn’t be moved. The gap between the two heavy machines was the weak spot. There, in the place where cars could have driven through, someone had wisely stopped a Humvee, blocking most of the space between the dozers. But rioters were still getting to the vehicle, using it for cover, and some got past.
Kneeling behind a line of sandbags Caden noticed a lone soldier next to the Humvee firing rapidly, and keeping most rioters pinned down behind the truck. “Help protect that spot,” Caden shouted. Then he pointed to nearby sandbags. “Get behind cover and protect the gap.”
Only as he moved closer did Caden realize the lone soldier was Zach.
Several armed men broke through and fired.
A soldier beside Caden screamed and collapsed.
A man grabbed Zach’s rifle, attempting to wrench it from him.
Another aimed a shotgun at the boy’s head.
Caden fired on the armed man.
Rapid gunfire thundered.
Boom.
A flash blinded Caden. His ears rang. His eyes couldn’t focus. He stumbled and fell to the pavement.
Chapter Fifteen
East of Hansen, Thursday, September 24th
Sheriff Hoover and Lieutenant Brooks each held out a hand. Caden grasped both and stood.
“You okay?” Hoover asked.
Caden did a quick check. He blinked blurry eyes and his ears rang, but he spotted no blood. He nodded. “I’ll live.” His voice sounded muffled. “What was that?” he said louder.
Hoover grinned. “A flashbang grenade. They’re really good for stopping this kind of trouble. Fortunately, we still had a few.”
“Where did you throw it—at my feet?”
“You were closer than I wanted, but if I didn’t use it right then a lot of people were going to die. Including you.”
“Thanks.” He shook his head trying to clear it. “I guess. Is the fight over? Did we lose anyone?”
“Fight’s over,” Hoover said. “For now.”
“Three of our soldiers were wounded.” Brooks nodded toward the medic as he walked by. “Nothing serious. We believe Private Suzanne Moore was killed at the far end of the bridge, but we haven’t recovered her body. Also, we don’t know the status of the nurse working with the sick at the camp on the other side.”
“How many civilian casualties?” Caden looked around.
Brooks shook his head. “We’re still figuring that out. One wounded from our side of the bridge. There were losses among the rioters, but it looks like more were injured than killed.”
Caden nodded, thankful that deaths had been limited. “No one enters the town until Private Moore and the nurse are returned to us.”
“That may take some time,” Brooks said.
“So be it.” Ears still ringing, Caden stode off to talk to his soldiers and inspect the checkpoint.
Thirty minutes later he stood over five pale and shaky recruits. They were in shock and would soon be headed to the hospital, but were otherwise unhurt.
Brooks walked up beside him holding several pages of notes. “Forth Squad arrived from Alder Lake. Second Squad will be here soon.”
“Has everyone been accounted for?”
“Yes.” Brooks glanced at the papers in his hand. “The nurse is shook up, but fine. The sheriff says none of his people were injured. Sergeant Roy is with the wounded members of Sixth Squad at the hospital.” Brooks listed their names. “And, we recovered the body of Private Moore.”
She was so new Caden struggled to remember her face. “Do we know who killed her?”
“No.” Brooks shook his head.
“Tell the sheriff. I want an investigation. The guilty must be punished.” Caden rubbed his chin. “I saw Zach here defending the checkpoint. Is he okay?”
“When I checked with the armory, Nelson said he walked home after the conflict.”
Walking and hiking were known Zach traits. Caden figured he was fine. “I need to talk to the prisoners.”
Caden approached a group of handcuffed men sitting in a semi-circle. Three soldiers stood behind them in full MOPP gear and with rifles in hand. Caden stopped about twenty feet away. “The nurse was checking you for the virus. If you were healthy, we would have let you through. Why did you attack the checkpoint?”
One man coughed. “My wife died this morning.”
The men on either side of him scooted away.
After a resigned glance to each, he continued. “If I don’t get treatment soon I’ll die, but that nurse was never going to let me in town.” He laughed. “I’m closer to the hospital now then I was an hour ago.”
For several moments no one spoke. Then, in an angry voice, a man with dark hair and rough, stubble filled face said, “You wouldn’t have let any of us into town. You would have let us die or killed us just like they did in Yakima.”
Colonel Hutchison’s area? Caden had an uneasy feeling. “What happened in Yakima?”
“You know.” He spat on the ground.
Caden shook his head. “Pretend I don’t. Tell me.”
“I’d heard rumors for days that they were killing people and forcing others out.”
“Rumors,” Caden said. “Just rumors.”
With hate-filled eyes, he stared at Caden. “Then my wife got sick. An ambulance came and took her away. An hour later soldiers arrived dressed like you.” He pointed to a guard in full MOPP gear. “I asked where my wife was. They said she was de
ad.”
“Are you saying they killed her?” Caden asked incredulous.
“It had only been an hour. She wasn’t that sick.” He shook his head. Tears filled his eyes. “Me, my kids and wife, we left Las Vegas a couple of months ago. The Chinese control it, and if you don’t cooperate, you don’t eat. We packed what we could into the car and left.” He shook his head. “That’s what we’ve been living in—our car, but we thought it would be better in the American-controlled states.”
Caden nodded. He would have done the same. “The soldiers that came to your house, did they do anything else?”
“They waved guns at us and told us we had one hour to leave town. We loaded everything from our campsite back into the car. I kept asking about my wife. Where is the body at least, so that I could bury her? They said the dead were being buried in mass graves. That just ain’t right. They followed us to the edge of town, to a checkpoint just like this, and told us to just go away. You asked why I attacked.” He spat again. “You soldiers killed my wife. My family is sick. What choice did I have?”
* * *
Morton, Thursday, September 24th
Pain surged after Fletcher spotted the blood. He leaned back against the tire of the car, carefully pulled aside the jacket and pulled up the shirt. With the fingers of one hand he spread the wound and, using the other, he wiped the blood.
The medic came alongside him. “You okay First Sergeant?” Several other soldiers huddled close to him.
Fletcher carefully inspected the wound along his abdomen. He sighed. It was only skin deep. It would hurt and need stitches, but he would live. “Yeah, just another scar for my collection.”
The medic opened his pack. “Let me look at it.”
Fletcher turned. “How many guys are shooting at us?”
“Sit still,” the medic commanded.
A soldier, with his M4 resting on the hood of the car, looked down a scope. “I see three guys in the electronics store across the street, one on the first floor and two on the second. I’m guessing they were looting and got caught off guard by our patrol.”
Another soldier grinned as he loaded rounds into a magazine. “Apparently they don’t want to pay the penalty for looting.”
Several laughed.
