“This guy has got some big fucking balls,” Monroe said with a laugh.
“Or a death wish,” Daugherty snapped.
Brady laughed, making sure to get some alcohol in his mouth between laughs. His laugh was loud and boisterous as if he were at a college bar instead of the War Room of an acting president.
Daugherty squeezed an eyebrow in-between his fingers. “Strategically, this plan doesn’t make sense.”
“Hold on, Chuck. He’s an amusing fella. I mean this is the colonel who found goddamn Patient Zero.” The vice president drank some more booze, shaking his head. “You have to be a little crazy if you undertook that mission and came out alive. Clever plan, but the answer is, no.”
Kinnick blinked rapidly, digesting his rejection. What? Not even a shot?
“Sir, with all due respect. Give me a battalion and I will protect your flank.” Kinnick stood erect, hands at his sides, chin up, chest out, eyes forward.
“The vice president’s right. It’s too much to risk on the backs of men. We will conduct our nuclear strike and be assured our flank is protected. We will not hope that your plan works. We will rain fire from above and know we are secure,” Daugherty said.
The vice president smiled at Kinnick, who felt like the man might outright laugh at him. The vice president shrugged his shoulders as if he didn’t care anymore. “I’m leaning toward General Daugherty’s plan. Eliminating the cities where most of our population is concentrated will greatly relieve pressure from our battle plan.”
Kinnick put his hands on the table, leaning in. “Give me two hundred soldiers and I will protect your flank. If I can’t hold the flank, you can unleash a hell on our country that has never before been seen in the history of mankind. Let me try. Let me give you the opportunity to say we did everything we could in our darkest hour to prevent a holocaust beyond imagination.”
General Monroe watched him, taking in his words, his chin nodding. He turned to the vice president. “Sir, Colonel Kinnick has a point. We still have options on the table. Hold the nukes in reserve. Let’s see what he can do.”
“You want to waste more lives on this fool’s errand? Those are our boys he’s leading to the slaughter when we’ve already lost so many,” Daugherty said.
“What will happen when you have to look your children in the face and tell them what you’ve done?” Kinnick said, his voice rising.
Daugherty’s mouth clamped shut. An ashamed anger settled over his features. “I will tell them that I helped win an unwinnable war so they could have a future.”
“A future where they will scrape a life out of the ashes. Will you leave out the part where you incinerated half of the country?”
“I will tell them that what was done needed to be done.”
The vice president swirled the ice around in his glass. He lifted a hand partially in the air, calling the debate to a stop.
“Kinnick, you’re crazy, and I like you. General Daugherty, you’re a strategic mastermind, but I would love to have some plausible deniability on this one. Eventually, when this is over, there will be questions,” he said. His eyes stared through Kinnick. “I’m inclined to see if you can work a miracle. I’ll give you four days to secure and close off the routes into Colorado, but General Monroe, do not weaken our perimeter here.”
Kinnick smiled, knowing that he had probably signed his own death warrant, but it gave the nation a chance to hold onto some of its purity.
“Thank you, sir.” He turned to the broad Army general. “General Monroe, would you be willing to donate your 2nd Special Forces battalion? Perhaps a Stryker company.” Visions of the large personnel carriers plowing over infected danced in his mind followed by attack helicopters rocketing the infected into fiery pieces. “We will need to get the attack choppers to loosen them up before we go in.” Kinnick grabbed his map and started to roll it up.
Monroe grimaced. “I would give you an entire division if I could, but I can’t. The most I can spare is a single company of men.”
Kinnick’s heart sank. He would need more than that to stand a chance. He turned to Daugherty.
“We will be hard-pressed, but with heavy air support we will hold.” Kinnick gulped. The look on the general’s face was one of disgust.
“Air support will remain concentrated in the Colorado Springs area. Our resources are not infinite, and we must maintain the integrity of this operating base.”
Kinnick looked back at Monroe, his only real advocate in the room. “Only a hundred and fifty men, sir?” Without air support, we’ll die.
Monroe nodded, thick jaw clenching. “Less. Most of our units have been pieced together and reorganized. You will make due, of that I have no doubt. Or the vice president will order the destruction of the entire Western seaboard.”
STEELE
Little Sable Point, MI
Thunder had instructed the volunteers all morning. He cursed and pointed and explained in detail everything he could about firearms. The sun had made an appearance but only enough to dull the chill in the brisk air. The pale yellow circle traveled to the middle of the sky above them.
Steele had listened as Thunder spent hours going over the nomenclature of the weapons. He explained the merits of weapons safety with repetitious focus on not pointing the weapons at one another. It was a foundational rule of gun safety, and people needed a constant reminder. The recruits took apart their weapons piece by piece and put them back together again as Thunder instructed them on familiarization.
In the afternoon, Steele took over. A mild breeze traveled down the beach and through the dunes.
“Leave the weapons and follow me,” Steele instructed. A couple of volunteers set their weapons down. Others looked at him, confused.
“We can’t take them?” Alex asked. The college student had picked up the weapon with some aptitude, enough aptitude for Steele to hope that he may become an asset to the group someday.
“Won’t need them,” Steele said.
“What if infected come around?”
“You can run back. We won’t need to go far.”
“What’s the point in training on these things if we don’t get to use them?”
Steele walked closer to the young man.
“Not until you get more training. I don’t want you shooting me by mistake. Now, let’s move!” Steele shouted. Alex set his gun down slower than Steele would have liked, but they all followed him into the dunes leading to the beach. They lazily made a single file line. Nervous chatter sounded off between them.
Steele drew them to a halt near the washed up bodies of the slain infected. The small waves tossed and rolled them like the carcasses of dead fish. Max looked at him questioningly as they approached the stinking bodies, covering his nose and mouth with the sleeve of his sweatshirt.
“They smell terrible,” Max said from underneath his sleeve. The stench releasing from the bodies was compounded by the water lapping and tussling them. Steele poked at one with the tip of his boot and flies burst into a black rain cloud.
Steele faced them and gave him a smile. “Yes, they do, Max. Everybody grab a body. You want to shoot. Well, here’s your target.”
The line of volunteers didn’t move. They shifted in the sand, staring at their disgusting task.
“I feel like that was pretty clear,” Steele said to them.
“We can’t use cardboard or something?” Hank said. He was an overweight, retired factory worker from a furniture company in Grand Rapids with thinning hair.
“Not as good as the real thing.”
“What about the bodies by the campers?” Max asked.
“Because they don’t have heads,” Steele responded. To everyone else, he said, “I wasn’t joking. Grab a body or you’re done here.”
Margaret tied a red handkerchief around her head like a Wild West bandit and marched forward. Larry trailed behind her, his beer belly jiggling as he walked down the beach.
“What are you waiting for?” Steele commanded. “St
eve and Max, grab this one,” he said, waving at them. “Alex and Hank, grab that one. And you two grab that one over there. Try and get the ones with the most head still remaining.” He put his hands on his hips and watched his volunteers struggle.
A limp body is difficult to pick up and carry. A waterlogged, dead, limp body was even worse. Steele watched as Max puked onto the sand. Nathan struggled but held it in, the black man gritting his teeth to hoist his body. Hank heaved, breathing hard, and Trent dragged a body by himself like he had bagged a prize buck.
Steele held his stomach contents in and made sure that they didn’t see that it made him feel equally as ill. Never show them weakness during turmoil, and they will follow you for it, said one voice in his head. Never make them do something you wouldn’t do, said the other.
“Damn it,” he said under his breath. He marched down to the water. A body lay in the surf, rocking with the charge and retreat of the waves. The dead man’s head lay twisted on its side, mouth open as if during his last breath he had called for help, but Steele knew it only called for the flesh of the living.
Steele covered his face with a green and black shemagh. Tess had given it to him out of a stash of Pagan’s clothes, saying that he had used it during his military deployments. Steele was grateful. The shemagh was an amazingly versatile piece of clothing. Originally used throughout the Arab world, it had been adopted by Westerners frequenting or fighting in the region. It could be wrapped in dozens of different styles to protect one from the heat, wind, cold. It could be used as a tourniquet, sling, pillow, or a bag. In Steele’s case, he used it for protecting his nose from the onslaught of rotting flesh.
Steele unsheathed his dagger and crouched into a squat. Slipping his dagger into the soft spot between the spine and head, he made sure he wasn’t picking up a yet functioning infected. Getting his heels under him, he hefted the body. The torso and head flopped to the side, but he managed to get a shoulder underneath it. Sickening pops and noises rippled inside the dead infected. A scattering of black and orange beetles, ticks, and bugs scrambled for safety after being exposed to the light.
“Heavy fuck, aren’t ya,” he said to himself. Readjusting the dead man’s weight, he double-timed back to the camp. He made sure to beat the volunteers, tossing his body down into the dune grass before the others. Lead by example. Show them the correct actions to take. You are a leader, not an office manager.
His volunteers straggled in gagging and complaining.
“Alright. Grab those logs and prop these bastards up. I want their heads leaning upright. Spaced out every five yards.”
When they were finished prepping their targets, he surveyed their work. Dead bodies stood upright, tongues out, eyes white, horrific gore-covered mouths hanging open.
“Good. Now, for some fun stuff. Everyone to the camper.” Their speed was agonizingly slow as they made their way to the camper roof. Steele joined them, dropping a box of .22 ammunition at their feet.
“Two at a time, we are going to shoot the bodies out there. Some of you may be wondering why we are using the dead bodies. It is scientifically proven that when people shoot things that look like other people, they are much more likely to get the job done in real life. With round bullseye targets, the results are significantly lower. This is a form of conditioning. If you don’t think you can handle it, no one will think less of you, but this isn’t the right place for you.” He stopped, waiting for any of them to leave. They stayed, eagerly waiting for more instruction.
“I don’t care about body shots. That training is obsolete now. I want everyone to aim for the head. A head shot will kill both people and the infected, body shots only people.” His volunteers nodded. Having a blank slate with the trainees made them much easier to train. He wouldn’t have to retrain the commonly taught “center mass” shooting technique. The rules had changed and he was adapting with them.
“Larry and Margaret, would you like to go first?” he asked. Larry took the gun in his hands. Margaret shook her head no. She looked down toward the ground, unable to meet his eyes.
“What’s the matter?” he asked her.
“I’m nervous,” she complained.
“You came to me because you wanted to learn to fight. Now, I’m offering you the opportunity and you say no?” He gave her an incredulous look. “Please don’t waste my time.”
Her eyebrows dipped on the sides making her look scared. “I want to learn, I really do, but can I shoot something else?” She pointed at the propped up bodies. “You know, something other than them.”
“No, you shoot the dead. This is a proven form of firearms training. You will see how the bullet affects the human body. It will lessen the shock when it happens for real. And it will happen. You will kill the infected or somebody else, but in this world, you will kill. This training will give you the edge to do the things that need done and worry about the effects later. Do you understand?”
“Yes, but…” she trailed off.
“You can go back to using a shovel, in which case you are useless to me, or you can learn how to shoot a gun and protect yourself and your family.”
She stared down at the infected bodies. The bodies sagged onto their stakes.
“My family’s gone,” she whispered. He held the gun out near her body. “I couldn’t fire Brian’s gun. I hated that thing in the house. He was always harping about self-defense and the like, but we both knew we could never use it. Then the infected broke inside and massacred him while I watched. I haven’t heard from my kids since the end of August. They were up at university for welcome week. I’m not stupid. I know what that means.”
Steele sighed, pushing his bottom lip into his mustache, sealing his mouth. “No one can replace them, but you have a family all around you. You’ve survived, and these people need you to learn how to fight. So the same things that happened to Brian won’t happen to Larry. Or Max. Or Nathan. As hard as it is, this is your family now.” She looked around him at the faces of the other volunteers.
“Take the gun, Margaret,” Steele said, pushing it further into her hands.
Her hands hovered around the stock of the gun. “I’m not sure.” Her eyes darted up at him. “You can call me Margie. Only Brian called me Margaret.”
“I’m sure.” He nodded his affirmation. He looked across at Larry. “Larry, you sure?”
Larry’s bald head bobbed up and down.
“Steve, you want Margie here?”
Steve gave a slight nod. “Yes, I do.”
Steele leaned closer to her. “We all need you. You’re here for a reason. I’m giving you a second chance to save your people.”
Her hands wavered as she accepted the weapon and magazine.
“You made the right choice,” he said to her. He moved on, looking at the rest of their faces. “Now. Let’s go over some of the basics. From far away, it is easier to shoot from a more steady kneeling position. It will allow you to support your off arm while you shoot. Kneel first.” Margie and Larry kneeled. “And sit back on your foot.”
“Load your weapons and keep them pointed downrange.” Magazines tentatively inched their way into weapons.
“You ain’t going to break them. Slam those mags in,” Steele yelled.
Magazines clanked as they were forced into place.
Steele knelt in-between them. He sat back on his strong-side leg with his support-side leg upright. “Now, watch the way I do this.” He brought the butt of his M4 up to his shoulder and kept it tight to his shoulder pocket, the place between your shoulder and the edge of the pectoral muscle. His pressure was firm yet relaxed enough to allow his shoulder to absorb recoil. He let his support arm tricep rest not on his knee, but into the meat of his leg next to his knee. “Depending on how high or low your optic is will determine where the butt is going to sit in your shoulder pocket. I don’t want you moving your neck all funny to get a sight picture.” He looked up at the others, gauging whether or not they understood. Completely enthralled eyes watched his ev
ery move as he taught a beginning shooter’s course.
“I don’t care that the gun wavers a bit as I aim. I care that the crosshairs are hovering near where I would like them to be. A trigger press is never fast. Remember slow is smooth, smooth is fast. Only as fast as you can be accurate. As I pull the trigger, the weapon will fire. After it fires, the trigger resets. I want to take the slack out of the trigger after every shot because this shortens the amount of time between shots. I don’t care that the head is fuzzy in my sights. I will not anticipate the carbine firing but will know that it is going to fire only when I am pressing the trigger.”
Bang. The carbine went off and a dead infected man’s chin disintegrated into his neck revealing white bone beneath.
“Does everyone understand?” he asked, lowering his M4. Wide eyes stared back at him and they nodded vigorously.
“Good.” He stood back up in the middle of the shooters.
“Everyone. The line is hot. You may begin firing.” He stood between them, ensuring their safety as well as watching their shots.
Bang. Larry fired first. Sand waved up at them from behind the bodies in a shameful hello. Not comforting. Bang. More sand sprang up. Bang. The infected man’s shoulder twitched. A leg wiggled. A few bodies jerked, but mostly the sand took the brunt of the punishment.
Margie knelt, still holding her gun. Her eyes were drawn down to it. She was mesmerized by it. Steele stood near her, shadowing her with his frame.
“Margie, you may fire your weapon,” he said, loud enough to make sure she heard him clearly.
She jerked as if she had been shot. Her eyes drifted up to him and her shoulders slumped. Her crow’s-feet deepened on her face in a grimace that settled into a sad smile.
The End Time Saga Box Set [Books 1-3] Page 93
