Burning Skies (Book 2): Fallout

by Druga, Jacqueline

  San Antonio, TX

  Where was she?

  “We will find her,” Huang said. “She is in the area.”

  General Liu was fuming. He had just received disturbing numbers from his region on those infected with the virus. What he wanted to do was tell on her, call her superior and inform them she was out of control and her master plan was weak and was placing China in danger. She had no superior. Her uncle, the president, was her superior and there was no going to him. At least General Liu was one of the very few who knew that information.

  Things had taken a turn in the previous few days, albeit small on scale, Liu could see them building toward something else.

  They failed to secure the military leaders. They were out there somewhere. If the situation was reversed and the US invaded China, General Liu would be plotting his defense and resistance and would do so with an upper hand because he knew his own country.

  He began his search for Agent Shu as soon as his reports were in. There had to be a mistake, he called the head of the bio defense division of the army, a man Liu had known and served with for years. His information about the weapon used didn’t match up with the numbers he was seeing.

  “It depends what the distribution method was and how many places they left it,” his friend said. “This weapon is a supped up version of Hand, Foot and Mouth. It is only deadly if the fever peaks or the sores get infected. It is however, debilitating for the patient. We outlawed that weapon.”

  Liu knew it was illegal, against rules of engagement which any good soldier followed.

  Shu was not a soldier.

  She was a weak-minded, power-hungry woman who wasn’t going to secure victory. In Liu’s mind, she was securing death for millions of people and not just Americans.

  Sergeant Huang did not stay back as he always did, he stayed close, telling Liu it was because Shu was surrounded by agents when they found her in the office of the mayor.

  “We are doing the best we can,” Fen said to the mayor. “But our hands are tied, and help is limited until we receive full authorization. We won’t get that until the surrender is secured.”

  “You’ll never get the surrender,” the mayor said.

  “Then your people will die from this horrendous sickness.”

  General Liu stepped into her line of vision. Fen peered up. “Leave us,” she said to the mayor. “And you, Sergeant,” she spoke to Huang, “stay in the hallway.”

  When the room was cleared she slowly stood, walked over, and closed the door.

  “One point seven million,” General Liu said. “One point seven million Americans are on the brink of death from a virus that does not have that high of a fatality rate.”

  Calmly, she responded, “We need to help it along.”

  “That’s just those dying, the number grows each day.”

  Fen shrugged it off and returned to the desk.

  “The higher the number the more resistance will build.”

  “Just as I thought, you are here to chastise me when you should be doing your job.”

  “What job?” Liu asked. “Check on camps. I am concerned about the events here, the ones happening right now and the ones that will happen.”

  “The attacks?”

  “Yes. Agent Shu, I implore you, as a military man and one who knows war, I implore you to send back the ships we have waiting in the ocean, return them to our homeland.”

  “Not with a second wave invasion imminent.”

  “We lost seven thousand men at the battle for the nuclear weapons center. Seven thousand with a new weapon we do not know of. In the mountain are military strategists who have access to everything.”

  “That mountain will fall.”

  “No, it will not. And the camps. The explosion you witnessed was one of fifteen. This is the start. Send our troops home to protect our homeland.”

  “You have no right to direct me.”

  “And you”—he raised his voice—“have no right commanding troops without experience.”

  “You, old man.” She stood and walked to him snidely. “You are confusing defense for rebellion and that is what this is, a simple rebellion. The Americans are spoiled. They are throwing a tantrum. We treat them well, what do they want from us?”

  “Their freedom,” General Liu said. “The loss of seven thousand men is not rebellion, it is a sign of a war. One you are not expecting. You do not know what you’re doing and what is coming.”

  Slowly she walked to him, almost tauntingly and she stood toe to toe. “You present a façade of knowledge when you only fear the Americans. You are nothing but a sympathizer. We are here. We have them. And soon other countries will be on our side. You fail to see beyond your cowardess and you have spoken your final insult. You, General, have been warned.” Without saying any more, she walked out, leaving Liu alone in the room.

  Mitton, TX

  His name was Mason and he was smarter than the average eight-year-old, smaller, too. He had been given a complete set of instructions, but he didn’t know why. He was told he was going to be a hero and that was good enough for him.

  “Run,” was the number one rule. “Run as fast as you can.”

  Then he was told to take the cupcakes to the foreign soldiers as a thank you. “Run after you give them the treats and go see Mrs. Stewart in the cake shop.”

  He did all that. But no sooner did he get to the cake shop, he heard the sound of an explosion.

  “It’s a good thing I came here,” he told her. “I could have been out there.”

  “Good thing.” She helped him change out of his blue and green stripped shirt, washed his face, then sent him out the back door where his Aunt Trisha waited in a pickup.

  “Did you see the boom?” he asked her when he got in.

  Aunt Trisha nodded, said nothing, and drove quickly.

  He wondered if she was mad.

  Mason wanted to talk about the explosion, ask her if she saw it, but she didn’t seem in the mood to talk. They remained quiet for the fifteen-mile drive to the farmhouse. She pulled into the driveway and stopped fast, making Mason snap forward.

  “Go in the house,” she instructed.

  “But I want to see Uncle—”

  “Go.”

  “Fine.”

  Aunt Trisha stepped from the truck and slammed the door. She moved quickly to the barn. Mason wanted to follow her, but he knew the barn was off limits, so he stayed outside and sulked.

  Trisha shoved open the barn doors with a vengeance. Six men including Mason’s uncle surrounded a table with boxes. There were also two trucks in the barn.

  “You.” Trish pointed.

  A tall, strong-built man turned around. “Hey, sis.”

  “Don’t hey sis me,” she barked. “You made our nephew a messenger of death.”

  “I did no such thing. He delivered cupcakes.”

  “He could have been killed!” she screamed.

  “He was fine, we had people watching.”

  Trisha growled at him. “When our sister died, we … you and me … vowed to take care of our nephew. To try to give him a life.”

  “And what kind of life is he going to lead in this world?”

  “He is not a soldier, he is a boy.”

  “Everyone is a soldier now,” he said. “He did great, and one day he will hold his head up and be proud he made an impact. Yeah, I’m sorry it was dangerous, but we got them today. They didn’t see it coming. We almost got that Chinese chick that’s running it. Plus, he didn’t get hurt.”

  “Is that how you justify it? You did well and he didn’t get hurt? How did this mindset happen to you?”

  “I always had it,” he said. “It’s stayed hidden since the service. But when I was in New York and I saw it happen … then the invasion, I knew I had to do my part and bring it out again. Using Mason was … probably wrong, I should have asked you first. I promise you, I won’t use him again. Okay?”

  Trisha nodded. “Yes. Where now?”

 
“We are talking to a resistance outside of Ohio. They’re setting up a coordinated attack. I’ll know soon where we go next. In the meantime, go deal with Mason.” He turned to walk away.

  Trisha reached out and grabbed his arm. “All this. Moving every other day, always on the run, always fighting … is it worth it, Sebastian? Is it?”

  “Yes. Yes, it is,” Sebastian replied. “More than you realize, this will work. Out there, everywhere, people are doing their part. It’s the only way.”

  Office of the Prime Minister, England

  Adriene Winslet was furious. She was about as close to a temper tantrum as she could possibly be. She didn’t need confirmation or intel to know what had happened at NORAD. It wasn’t the Americans that killed all the soldiers and she immediately placed a call to Petrov.

  “You went rouge. How dare you!” she scolded him on the phone.

  “They called for help.”

  “There was a plan.”

  “Yes, there was, but we underestimated the force that remained. They needed help securing the command headquarters.”

  “It was not your call. The Canadians are in there, surveying. Right now, the People’s Republic of China has control of the United States and commodities. It has been two weeks since we have received anything. Now with this, it will be even longer.”

  “This is nothing,” said Petrov. “If we do not help the Americans counter and counter now, it will be a long time before we see any shipments from the United States. They have a massive fleet and movement toward the US for another invasion. Now is the time.”

  “I cannot commit the troops at this time. I have unprecedented discord right now. The troops cannot deploy.”

  “I don’t want the troops, I need your resources.”

  “You went rogue, Mr. President. That was not part of the plan. I only agreed to help because our military leaders were going to pull a joint effort in coming up with a fool proof …”

  “Madam Prime Minister,” Adriene’s aid called her and held up a phone. “President Shu.”

  Every corpuscle in her body paused at that moment when she heard the name of the president of China.

  “I will call you back,” she said to Petrov. She hung up that call and took the phone from her aide. “This is Prime Minister Winslet.” She paused. “Yes, Mr. President we are aware. I assure you we had nothing to do with this. Our resources are very strained and …” Again, she paused as she listened, as the president of China did no less than back her into a corner.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Eighteen Days Post Bombs

  Caldwell, OH

  Harris recognized that navy blue shirt with the green checkered pattern. He saw the man wearing it when they served food. He was envious, not from a fashion standpoint, but rather the man had an extra layer of clothes.

  There were other colors mixed in the pile, brown, green, white … but seeing that shirt, the one he knew, told Harris that it wasn’t going to be long before he died.

  Something he feared.

  He wondered a lot of things. Had they not chased the truck would they have been arrested? What if they stayed in the shelter just one more day? There were a lot of what ifs, but Harris would never know. The truth was he was captured for some reason, arrested for being a war criminal, and penned up like some sort of wild animal.

  Each day, each hour that passed, those in the pen became animals. Daily fights broke out, and it didn’t take long for people to go from refusing to eat the garbage they served to fighting over a handful.

  No one really messed with Harris, he was a big man. Toby on the other hand wasn’t and Harris did all he could to protect him. Even though Toby boasted he could take care of himself. His face was still swollen beyond recognition over the pummeling he had taken.

  In fact, protecting Toby for the evening was how he saw the shirt.

  Everyone searched for a spot to sleep, to eat their measly rations, go to the bathroom. Harris found a far-off corner of the yard. Where a concrete barricade had been erected with barbed wire to stop anyone from going behind the prison to the remaining yard.

  He made a spot for him and Toby but soon realized why no one took that spot.

  The smell.

  There was a horrendous smell that carried outward every time the wind blew. Harris knew as the days passed that it would only get worse.

  He couldn’t see the source of the smell just by peering over the barricade, but when he walked to the very end where the barricade met the fence, and he pressed his face against the very corner, he could see not only what caused the odor but why they weren’t in the prison.

  Mounds.

  In the rear prison yard were mounds of bodies, and Harris knew they were inmates. They had been killed, every single one of them, then discarded.

  The piles were made up primarily of those jumpsuits the prisoners wore with occasional dots of other bodies with other clothing. Such as the blue and green checkered shirt.

  Harris had just seen that man. He saw them take him out of the yard. The man wasn’t any trouble, not a fighter, he was chosen to go.

  As they all would be.

  He looked carefully for purple, because that was what Marissa was wearing. They hadn’t seen her since they arrived.

  He didn’t see purple anywhere in that mound. He’d check again later and keep checking.

  There has to be a way out, Harris thought. With more prisoners in the camp than soldiers, there had to be a way to overturn things.

  He was bound and determined to find that way.

  “Hey,” Toby called out groggily.

  Harris looked over and Toby was sitting up. “Hey, you didn’t miss breakfast.” He walked to him.

  “I’m not eating that stuff.”

  “You have to eat. Seriously, you have to,” Harris told him. “Bet about right now you’re sorry you lost that weight.”

  “Nah,” Toby said. “I need to be nimble. I’m gonna get out of here and get us help.”

  “I believe you will,” Harris said. “We both will.”

  “What about Marissa?” Toby asked. “If we get out, we can’t leave her behind.”

  “We may not be able to take her with us but we will come back for her.” Harris peered over his shoulder to the barricade. “If you know she’s still alive.”

  “I wish there was a way to find out.”

  “Who knows.” Harris sat down, and when he did, his eyes focused outward. “Wait. Maybe there is.” He lifted his hand slightly and pointed to the guy they called the census taker. The man who came in with his little computer, spoke with a British accent and took down their names. He was leaving from his morning census, but he’d be back. Harris would ask him. He could know about Marissa. It wouldn’t hurt to try.

  <><><><>

  At the rate it took to check in each person, with the amount of people in each camp, Cal believed it would take months.

  He was allotted only a certain amount of time in the prison yard, less than the other area because those in the prison were considered extremely dangerous. Admittedly, Cal was nervous in there and around them. He fumbled so much he dropped things when he gathered his laptop and folders. Biscuits, crackers, and those little foil packs of peanut butter he saved from his meal for a later snack. He was just glad he never dropped that phone.

  When they stopped him just outside the prison gate, he thought for sure he was in trouble for hoarding food. His heart raced and ears burned, fearing getting in trouble.

  “Mr. Calhoun,” one of the English-speaking supervisors said as he approached him. “A word?”

  He pulled Cal aside.

  “Look, if it’s about the peanut butter …”

  “No. No worries, that is your food to do with what you wish. I have good news.”

  “Good … good news?”

  “Yes. Your government has just negotiated a deal for your safe passage back to your homeland.”

  “For me? Wow.”

  The supervisor smiled. “It is
for many of you. There are tens of thousands of United Kingdom citizens here on holiday or business. Or were when things began. You will be returning to your country by ship. In a few days, we will transport you to the state of Virginia to board the vessel. While you are obligated to do so, we would appreciate the help with the data until you depart.”

  “Um, yes, sure. Absolutely. Thank you.”

  “You are going home.” He walked away.

  “Yeah,” Cal said. “I’m going home.” It seemed surreal, like a dream or some sort of trick. When he thought about that again, it hit him. He was there because Troy asked for his help. Cal didn’t know when the liberation of the camp was going to come but he was willing to wager, he would be gone before it happened.

  He still had to try to help. Before heading into the other yard to do his data work, Cal excused himself and went to the only place where he absolute privacy … the porta john. There he was able to send a message to Troy. He would send him as much detail as he could, as often as he could, until he was no longer able to do so.

  Holly River Base, WV

  It was surprising that he had any skin at all left on his face, that was how many times Steve had rubbed his hand over chin.

  It irritated Gus, who looked up from the large table and huffed at him.

  The base was empty with the exception of Troy and his team; they didn’t have to leave early because they were assigned Caldwell.

  “Of those in the area, we are locking down fourteen. That’s close to fourteen thousand people, possibly more,” Gus said pointing to the map.

  “Where are we moving them?” Steve asked.

  “Washington, PA. Untouched, no Procs there. Intel said it’s too close to Pittsburgh so it’s been left alone,” Gus replied.

  “Do we know how many people in these camps are infected?” Steve asked.

  “No.” Gus shook his head. “No, we don’t.”

  “The infection is out of control,” Troy said. “Millions have it, millions are dying.”

  “Yes, but”—Gus smoothed his hand over the map—“we have low infection rate here on the east. It’s focused primarily in the Midwest and west. Which tells me that was where it was delivered.”