“We don’t just leave our patients, dammit!” Newton shouted.
Jen gave Sandra a meaningful, exhausted look. They were all tired, but Newton had been here for days. He was starting to lose his cool.
Rick’s raspy breathing pulled them back to the table. All three of them moved into position as his muscles started to spasm.
“Sandra, grab his legs, Jen, you take his arms,” Newton ordered.
Sandra was careful not to hold Rick down too hard at first, but he continued convulsing and jerking violently, forcing her to hold him tighter. Blood-tinged fluid dripped from his ears. His eyes rolled up into his head a moment later. Sandra could feel the life slipping away from the officer
“Jesus,” Newton said. He checked the dressings over the man’s matted hair. Blood was running freely from the bandages, and his breathing was shallow.
“Someone get me a BVM,” Newton said.
Sandra reached for the bag-valve mask with her left hand and continued holding Rick’s legs with her right. A kick knocked her grip away. She grabbed the BVM, handed it to Newton, and then grabbed both of Rick’s legs. He kicked and jerked harder in her grip.
Newton placed the mask over Rick’s face and started pumping air into his lungs. The officer kicked so hard it sent Sandra stumbling backward.
“Sandra!” Newton snapped. “Do your job!”
She rushed back to her position as Rick’s eyes suddenly popped open. Newton slowly pulled the BVM away, and Rick took in a long, deep gasp of air. Dazed, but seemingly aware, he looked at Newton and then at Sandra.
Blood seeped from the holes in his head, running down his forehead like red tears. His lips moved, but no words came from his mouth.
“Officer Nelson, can you hear me?” Newton said.
Rick closed his eyes, and his body seemed to relax on the table. Sandra reached out for his wrist.
“Doctor Newton, I’m...I’m not feeling a pulse.”
Newton pressed his stethoscope to Rick’s chest, but after a moment of listening, Newton shook his head.
An eerie silence passed over the room. Without the usual chirp of medical equipment, the lack of noise was beyond unsettling.
Sandra put her hands on Rick’s chest. She looked to Jen and Newton, and shouted, “Somebody help me!”
Jen grabbed the BVM mask and gave Rick air while Sandra pushed down on his chest. They fell into a steady rhythm to resuscitate him.
“Come on,” Sandra said. “Come on.”
Rick’s eyelids remained closed, but they twitched with every push on his chest. Newton stood watching with a solemn look. He might have given up, but Sandra was not going to let him die without a fight. He had a wife and baby girl at home, and Sandra knew all about being a single mom. That child needed her father.
Newton finally moved back to the table and checked Rick’s pupils while Sandra and Jen continued CPR.
“His pupils are fixed and dilated,” Newton reported. “It’s over.”
Despite the signs of what likely was a brain herniation, Sandra continued pushing, over and over. A minute passed. Then two. Her hands were numb, but she kept pumping in hopes of restarting his heart. Jen continued to help, but she was watching Sandra like she was crazy.
“Sandra,” said a voice.
She felt a hand on her shoulder but shook it away.
“Sandra,” Newton said again, louder and firmer. “He’s gone, Sandra. We can’t do anything for him, I’m sorry.”
Jen pulled the mask off Rick’s face, but Sandra made one final push on his chest. Bloody fluid continued to ooze from Rick’s ears and the burr holes.
She finally let out a sigh of defeat. Tears blurred her vision. One plummeted onto the table, mixing with blood.
CHARLIZE MONTGOMERY RAISED her binoculars at the coastline from the bridge of the USS John Stennis aircraft carrier. Dressed in a loose-fitting Air Force sweatshirt and sweatpants, she felt more like a college student preparing for an all-night study session than the new Secretary of Defense. Albert Randall, her longtime bodyguard, stood next to her. He still hadn’t changed out of his charred and filthy Air Jordans.
“Are you okay, ma’am?” he asked when she stumbled slightly.
“I’m fine.” She pressed the binoculars to her eyes. They had finally reached Florida, but the sight of the Sunshine State didn’t cheer her up. Her mind was halfway across the country with the unit of Marines searching for her son. They still hadn’t radioed in with any information, and she was growing impatient.
I should have gone myself.
Covered in sores from her extensive burns, Charlize knew she wasn’t in any shape to travel. She had only just begun recovering. The doctors had her on a strong dose of antibiotics, and they were hopeful that they’d be able to counter the effects of the radiation she’d been exposed to. But the burns would take time to heal, and required constant attention.
Albert reached out to help steady her as she wobbled again.
“Did you take your pain meds?” he asked.
“Yes,” she lied. The pain continued to make even minor tasks difficult, but the alternative was worse. The pills made her so tired she could hardly function. She was the Secretary of Defense now, but she was spending more time in the hospital than the command room.
“Ma’am, I really think you should...” Albert began to say.
She turned toward him, frowning. A sharp reply was on the tip of her tongue, but she held it back. Clint, her chief of staff, had died not long after the chopper had airlifted them from the ruins of Washington, D.C. With her son missing and her brother stuck in some godforsaken town in Colorado, Albert was her only real friend here.
“I want to say goodbye to Clint before the ceremony tonight,” she said. “Will you see if you can arrange that?”
Albert hesitated.
“I’m fine, really,” she said.
“Okay, ma’am.” Albert turned to leave, but he shot a concerned look over his shoulder before ducking through the open hatch.
All around her, sailors were working at their stations. She felt like she ought to be doing something, too. Waiting to hear about Ty was torture. There was nothing worse than being helpless to protect your child, and this was the second time she had failed him.
Get it together, Charlize. You can’t lose it now.
She pressed the binoculars back to her eyes, trying to focus. The aircraft carrier was two miles east of Palm Beach. Cars were zipping down the road as if nothing had happened. The coordinated EMP attack that had knocked out electronics in most of the continental United States hadn’t reached southern Florida. After the devastation she’d witnessed at the nation’s capital, Charlize had never expected to see a thriving American city again.
“Sight for sore eyes, isn’t it, Madame Secretary?”
Charlize lowered her binoculars to find Lieutenant Janet Marco standing next to her. The XO jerked her long chin toward the porthole windows.
“Seeing civilization, I mean,” Marco said.
“Funny, I was just thinking that.”
Marco folded her arms across her uniform. “Someone waking up from a coma in Palm Beach might not even know the rest of the country was under attack. There’s still power, police officers, and working vehicles. A hundred miles north, it’s complete chaos.”
“So I’ve heard,” Charlize said with a sigh. “How about an update on the North Korean sub?”
The Lieutenant hesitated and then said, “We think there are two out there, but they’re very hard to detect. They must be relying on battery power and are managing to come to snorkel depth where we’re not looking for them. We lost several of our satellites during the attack, so that leaves us with airborne radar. Except we’re also low on aircraft. What wasn’t fried by the EMP is being used for evacuations and supply drops on the mainland.”
“Our priority is finding those subs and stopping another attack,” Charlize said. “We need to reallocate our aircraft and create multiple Helicopter Maritime Strike squ
adrons. Get someone on the horn who can make that happen. Those North Korean subs can’t evade detection forever.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Marco said with a grin. She turned to leave, but Charlize grabbed her arm.
“Wait. I’ve spent too much time recovering from my injuries and not enough being briefed. I want a better picture of what’s happening in Florida.”
“Absolutely,” Marco said, gesturing for Charlize to follow. She led them to a station with dual monitors. Several officers stepped away as Marco spread a map of Florida across the surface.
“The cutoff line is here,” she said, drawing a line south of Orlando. “The grid is down everywhere north of that line. We’ve deployed resources to all major highways and are concentrating on holding back refugees here and here.”
Marco pointed at Highways 95 and 4 south of Orlando. “We’re hearing some pretty ugly reports. There have already been thousands of deaths on the highways.”
Charlize picked at her bandaged hand while she listened. The country was under martial law, and although President Diego was ultimately in charge, he had tasked Charlize with directing the men and women out there trying to keep law and order. So far, she felt like she hadn’t been able to do anything to help.
She studied the map and said, “When I was deployed to Iraq and Afghanistan, I saw a lot of things from the sky—crumbling infrastructure, highways clogged with refugees, and despicable violence. But I never thought I would see it back home. I don’t see how we can come back from this.”
Marco narrowed her eyes slightly like she was trying to figure out if Charlize was being serious.
“This is the United States of America, ma’am. Not Iraq or Afghanistan. We will recover, just like we have from every other attack since the founding of our great nation,” Marco said.
“You’re right,” Charlize said, feeling a little embarrassed. She shouldn’t have expressed her doubts. “We will come back from this stronger than before.”
A smile beamed across Marco’s face. “Yes, indeed, ma’am. I’ll go make that call about those HMS squadrons.”
Charlize nodded and moved away from the maps. She walked with a renewed sense of energy and a thirst for answers. She reached up out of habit to tuck her hair behind her ear before remembering that it had been cropped to almost masculine shortness. Instead, she straightened her sweatshirt and walked over to the man in charge of the ship.
“Good afternoon, Captain,” Charlize said.
It took Captain Dietz a second to turn from the view, but when he did, he offered a half smile. “Secretary Montgomery, how are you feeling today?”
“I’m fine,” she lied. “Have you heard anything about my son?”
“No, not yet, but rest assured, I sent our best team to find him. Lieutenant Jeff Dupree is spearheading the mission. Man’s a hero. If anyone can find him, it’s Dupree.”
The name meant nothing to Charlize. She huffed in frustration. “That fire team was deployed yesterday, right? When can I expect a SITREP?”
Dietz paused, his wind-weathered forehead creasing in deep thought. “My family is out there, too. In the radiation zone in Virginia.”
Charlize clenched her jaw, realizing how she had sounded. She wasn’t herself today. Constant worry and the pain from her injuries had her on edge.
“I’m monitoring the situation and will let you know as soon as we hear something from Lieutenant Dupree,” Dietz said. Behind them, Marco was gesturing for the captain to pick up his headset.
“Ah, maybe that’s him now,” Dietz said.
She took a step back and waited as he listened to the incoming message. His features suddenly hardened, and he glanced up at Charlize. He cursed under his breath as he pulled off the headset and stood.
“Everyone, listen up. We have a contact detected on the sonar. Sound the alert, Lieutenant, and order the evacuation of all top-level officials.”
Marco nodded and turned to another officer to carry out her orders.
“We’re evacuating?” Charlize asked. “Is that necessary?”
“Our anti-submarine warfare officers have picked up more pings on the sonar, but they still haven’t been able to get a lock on whatever craft is out there. Admiral Luke has made the decision to—”
The wail of an emergency siren cut him off. It was the same sound she had heard right before D.C. had been hit by the nuclear warhead. On the flight deck, crews ran toward their aircraft. Rotors fired on a pair of Seahawks and an Osprey.
“We need to move, Madame Secretary,” Albert said. Somehow, he’d managed to reappear by her side right when she needed him. Just as they were about to leave the room, Marco waved at Charlize.
Albert gave his approval with a nod. He followed her over to the Lieutenant’s station. Marco held up a finger as she listened to her headset. Albert tapped his right burned Air Jordan on the ground nervously. A moment that felt more like an hour passed before Marco slipped the headset off. Her features remained stern.
“I have bad news about your son, Madame Secretary.”
She could barely hear the XO over the sirens, and at first she hoped she’d misunderstood. Then she felt Albert’s gentle hand on her shoulder.
“Tell me,” Charlize choked out.
Marco hesitated. It was the first time she’d ever seen the eager young officer balk at following an order. “Lieutenant Dupree’s team has reached the Easterseals camp, ma’am, but they haven’t found any sign of survivors.”
Dupree was having a hell of a time not throwing up in his CBRN suit. He bent down to examine another body. The young woman lay face down in the dirt outside one of the lodges that served as dormitories for the campers. Her exposed skin was covered in blisters and sores. One of the blisters had recently popped, oozing out a trail of pus.
Over his career he had seen a lot of nightmarish scenes, but dead children with radiation poisoning was a new level of horror.
He bumped the comm link in the helmet to report the death to the pilots, who would relay the info to Lieutenant Marco on the USS John Stennis.
“Black 1, this is Fox 1 confirming another casualty,” Dupree said. “Still no sign of Falcon.”
“Copy that, Fox 1.”
Dupree looked over at Sharps and Emerson. The two Marines stood guard with their M4s cradled across their chests as they scanned the surrounding area for anyone that might still be alive. The odds of that were growing slimmer by the minute. They had searched the camp for an hour without locating a single survivor, and they were running out of places to look.
To the east, McCabe and Rodriguez exited another lodge. McCabe stood on the porch and motioned for Dupree to join them. He glanced down at the dead woman one more time. Leaving her out here alone seemed wrong, but they didn’t have time to bury these people.
“Clear this lodge,” Dupree said to Emerson and Sharps. The men nodded, but they didn’t look eager. The scene was taking a toll on all of them. He jogged through the central gathering area and past a large fire pit ringed with benches. Branches shifted in the warm breeze, reaching for the bluffs that flanked the camp like medieval guard towers.
“No sign of Falcon,” reported Snider over the comms.
“Have you searched those sheds we saw on the way in?” Dupree asked.
“Yes, sir,” Snider said. “Runge just cleared both of them.”
Dupree cursed. Where the hell was this kid? They had found several dead counselors and staff members over the past hour, but the numbers weren’t adding up. It appeared many of the children were missing, including Ty Montgomery.
Had someone beat his team here and evacuated the others?
He jogged the rest of the way to the other lodge, where McCabe ushered him inside.
“Sir, I think I found the kid’s bunk. Come take a look.”
Dupree jogged up the ramp that led to the cabin, and Rodriguez opened the swinging door to let them inside.
The room was furnished with about a dozen beds, some of them set up for spe
cial needs children. Toys and stuffed animals were scattered on the floor. Dupree stepped over a blanket crumpled on the floor. The mess was yet another sign of a quick and possibly chaotic evacuation.
But if these kids had been evacuated, where were they now?
McCabe walked down the aisle separating the bunks. Dupree followed him to a bed with wheelchair access and the name “Montgomery, Ty”. A model F-15 fighter jet lay on the sheets.
“Check out the inscription,” McCabe said.
Dupree picked up the model and read the bottom.
To Ty - Dream big and someday you will soar to reach your goals.
“Where the hell is this kid, LT?” McCabe asked. “And where are all the other kids?”
Dupree set the model jet back down gently. “Good question.”
They met back outside where Rodriguez was waiting. To the west, Emerson and Sharps emerged from the lodge where Dupree had found the dead woman.
“Snider, Runge, give me a SITREP,” Dupree said into his mini-mic.
“About to enter the main lodge for a second pass, sir. Stand by,” Snider said.
“The kids have to be here somewhere,” Dupree said. He wasn’t sure if he was talking to his men or himself. He waved for Sharps and Emerson to join him near the fire pit with Rodriguez and McCabe.
“Found a few dead kids back there, LT, but not our target. The kids were hiding in a closet,” Emerson said. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”
“Jesus in heaven,” McCabe said. He made the sign of the cross over his CBRN suit.
Dupree remained silent, using the time to think. A drop of rain pelted his visor as they waited. He stared out at the outside world like a fish inside of a bowl. Within minutes, the sky opened up, sending sheets of rain over the camp.
“What is this black shit?” Sharps asked, holding up a glove covered in what looked like wet ash.
“People, trees, buildings...” McCabe said.
Sharps eyes widened. “What do you mean?”
“It’s what’s left over when the world burns,” Dupree said.
“Is it toxic?” Sharps asked.
Trackers 2: The Hunted (A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Thriller) Page 6
