Catalyst (Book 3): Ghost Country

by Franks, JK

  “I guess you took out one of my drones. What about my other man?” Archangel asked hopefully as the two descended the hill toward the road.

  Skybox looked at Solo who was guardedly walking off to the side. The fresh blood stains on his white fur left little doubt. He shook his head no. “Sorry.”

  Archangel seemed unconcerned, “I think he and I met last night. He is an impressive animal,” the man said in a tone of obvious respect.

  Skybox no longer held a weapon on the man but walked side-by-side with the other Praetor commander. Angel had already radioed Vincent telling him to stand down, collect what remained of his team and meet at the building. “What are you doing with those guys, Archangel?”

  He shrugged, “Could ask you the same thing, Sky. We’re following orders.”

  “From whom? Surely not the president. That woman is nuts.”

  “Of course not, she runs these pretend soldiers, not us. Our orders still come from our civilian command. The Council.”

  “Any other members of the Guard with you besides Vince?”

  “Negative, but that’s all you get until I know what’s going on.”

  Skybox nodded, “Agreed, we all need to have a chat.” While Archangel technically outranked Skybox by several levels, there was obvious respect between the two. Each had fought alongside the other multiple times.

  “I heard about Pakistan, man. Sorry,” Archangel offered.

  Skybox shrugged, “That was a shit-sandwich from the get-go. No way to salvage it.” He’d lost a lot of good soldiers over there. All of his people in that mission had died; everyone except him. “I thought you had been arrested, something about forced rendition.”

  “Simple misunderstanding, some feelings got hurt when I shot a politician’s dog.”

  Skybox looked at Solo who again seemed ready to pounce. “Not very nice of you, but hardly worth imprisonment.”

  “Oh, they weren’t upset over the fact I shot the dog, they were pissed I hadn’t killed the politician.”

  Skybox smiled, knowing it was so far-fetched it was likely true. After an awkward reunion with Vincent, one of the NSF members was told to attend to Bartos’ injuries. The man was pissed and did so reluctantly as Scott and the other NSF guy stared at each other in an uneasy truce.

  The three Praetor commanders took their discussion to another room in the darkened building. Skybox had explained he was on assignment with a lab trying to find a treatment for the pathogen. “So, you’re a lab rat?” Vince said with a laugh.

  Skybox started to correct the man, then shrugged, “Basically.”

  The black man grinned, “I can’t say much, I’m a glorified babysitter. Security for one of the main protectorate camps.” Each of them knew what Archangel’s specialty was and neither asked for details.

  The quick updates out of the way, Skybox redirected the conversation. “I think we need to consider taking direct action.”

  “Against whom?” Vincent asked.

  “Our leaders, whoever is making these horrendous decisions. Surely, you both now realize that Catalyst is not a plan for survival. It’s become a plan for mass-murder.”

  “So, it’s time to remove our Caesar?” the older man said.

  “It’s not unheard-of, Angel, it’s part of our mandate, in fact. We serve the republic, not the person.”

  “I fucking know all that, but we are not the Praetorians of ancient Rome. We are the Guard,” Archangel said with a tone of finality.

  Skybox looked at the man incredulously, “Who will we guard when everyone is dead?” He began to make his case to the other two. “Look, there are good people out here. People not just trying to survive but trying to help others. People like my two friends in there. They are not the enemy. Whoever is behind this genocide is.”

  Something in Sky’s words caused Archangel to flinch. Skybox noticed, “You’ve realized this, too, haven’t you? Whoever is running the Catalyst plan has to go. If we don’t stop them, we are more than just complicit.

  “Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?” Vincent mumbled.

  All three men nodded. They all had thought it, Who will guard the guards?

  “You know about today’s attack on the internment camp up the road, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” Archangel said. “It’s an aid camp, not internment, and yes, we were ordered back there, but I wanted to catch your little bald-headed friend out there, so I opted to ignore the order.”

  “Good thing you did,” Skybox said. He then proceeded to tell them of the bio-weapon released on the occupants. Archangel’s reactions made it obvious that this was news to him. Sky relaxed slightly, regaining another level of trust in his brothers-in-arms.

  “That fucking bitch,” Archangel said. “She’s lost her fucking mind.”

  “So, where do we go from here?” Vincent asked.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  The conversation between the three Praetorians had sounded heated and frustrated at times. It was mid-afternoon before they all seemed to be in agreement and made plans to depart. Vincent helped Bartos into a seat in Skybox’s vehicle, actually Scott’s Jeep. Archangel was kneeling beside Skybox still marveling at the dog. “Solo, no offense, but I hope we never meet again.” The dog seemed to agree as he pulled back slightly from the man. The two surviving NSF soldiers were waiting in the Humvee for the Praetor commanders to rejoin them.

  “What about them?” Skybox asked motioning to the two men in black. “They look like they want to kill us. They will report this?”

  Vince shook his head sadly, “No…no they won’t get the chance.” They all got the unspoken meaning.

  Skybox leaned in, “By the way, I like your new toy back there. Mind if I borrow it?”

  “The LSV?” Archangel said grinning. “Sure, help yourself, but you might want to lose the transponders before you take it for a spin.”

  The Humvee pulled away going in the opposite direction as the Jeep was heading. Scott strapped the Trek into the rack and gave Skybox a lift a short distance down the road. Sky climbed out and disappeared into the foliage. Several minutes later a sleek gray and black vehicle began to emerge with Skybox behind the wheel.

  “That is an LSV?”

  Skybox nodded, “Pretty cool, right?” He spent a few minutes removing the tracking devices and checking the weapons.

  A heavily drugged Bartos was leaning out the rear window marveling at the machine. Solo was stretched out behind the rear seat. “Fuck me, I am really glad to see you guys. I have no idea what the hell happened back there, but…wish it’d happened a week ago.”

  “Go to sleep, Bartos.”

  Scott turned to say something to Skybox just as an enormous blast rocked the Jeep from side to side. “What the fuck was that?”

  In the driver’s seat of the LSV, Skybox was looking at an enormous billowing mushroom cloud rising into the sky. “Damn. Never seen one actually used. That was a MOAB, largest non-nuclear bomb in the US arsenal.” The Massive Ordinance Air Blast was more commonly referred to as the Mother of All Bombs.

  “Who used it and on whom?” Scott asked.

  Skybox told him about what had been done at the camp and Gia recommending the bombing. Scott's face looked ashen. “All those people.”

  “Let’s go home, Scott.”

  He nodded and headed back toward the Jeep. “I have to make one stop first.”

  In the vehicle heading north toward the blast, the two men in the front shielded their eyes. Vincent gave a morbid chuckle, “Guess that’s the end of Captain Bailey.”

  Archangel had no love for the fat little bastard who ran that camp but definitely took no joy in the destruction of the whole camp. He again thought back to the black Pelican cases Vince had delivered to the man. What was in them? He thought he knew, and if so, it probably meant he could no longer trust the man sitting beside him.

  The men in the back looked at the expanding cloud in shock, realization of where it must be slowly sinking in. The two talked quietly, p
ossibly of finally getting away from the NSF. While they had survived where many others had not, they weren’t feeling all that lucky. Something had gone on in the schoolhouse; something they weren’t allowed to hear. All they knew was that one of the men there turned out to be a friend, not an enemy, of the two men up front.

  “You think Skybox is right?” Vince asked.

  Archangel didn’t answer.

  “What’s your plan to stop the military? This shit is getting close to home now.” Angel cut his eyes to the backseat with a clear look of irritation. “We don’t discuss this in front of the children.” Even though he knew the ‘children’ in this case, the two remaining security force soldiers, would not be surviving the day.

  The Jeep slowed to a stop, and Skybox pulled the LSV close behind. Getting out, Scott said, “You mind leading the rest of the way? Seeing that beast in my rear-view is giving me the willies.”

  “Chickenshit,” Skybox called as Scott disappeared into the woods.

  A few minutes later, Scott re-emerged with the mother and daughter. The older woman was leaning heavily against him. She stopped short when she saw the vehicles and Skybox leaning against the tactical LSV. “It’s ok, they are my friends. The one we were looking for is injured, he’s in the back seat.”

  She still looked nervous but allowed herself to be led to the open passenger door. Bartos scooted awkwardly to make room for the girl. Skybox motioned Scott over. “I assume there is a story here?”

  He nodded, “They are at death’s door. I don’t even know their names, but I think we can help them.”

  “Can we trust ‘em?”

  Scott looked back at the woman staring straight ahead. “Yes.”

  He gathered up the rest of the food in the Jeep and split it up between the woman and the girl before following Skybox back toward the coast.

  The woman was nibbling on a bit of homemade granola that Angelique had made. A sound from the backseat surprised him.

  “Mister, how long has it been…you know, since the world ended?”

  “It’s Scott, hon, and it’s been just over two years.”

  He saw in the mirror a nod of acceptance.

  “Sylvia,” the woman said, looking back to her daughter. “I’m Trish.”

  She took another bite, “I’m sorry I’m not better at this, but…thank you, Scott. Can you tell me more about where you are taking us?”

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Northern Alabama

  The colonel studied the map plying across the hood of the truck. His second in command held a corner to keep it from blowing away in the stiff wind.

  “Confirmation, sir, they dropped it.” The radioman spoke from inside the truck.

  “Good, very damn good! Now we are getting somewhere. We are going to root these bastards out and take this country back.”

  Major Kitma was less confident. Using the backchannels of the Patriot Network, he’d learned from his old friend, Mr. Porter, about the joint strike mission in Mississippi. Dropping the bomb on enemy troops would have felt more like a victory, but he knew it had been to kill infected civilians and to limit the spread of the pandemic.

  We should have started sooner, he thought. Before it all got out of hand. We could have been a force for good, saved this country. Instead, we helped that woman build those damn internment camps. As one of her first acts, the new president had ordered the base commander to assist in clearing roads and construction of the ‘Relocation Assistance Centers,’ as they were called in the early days. Within weeks, the commander ordered the process stopped as the newly ordained ‘NSF’ troops began rounding up more citizens at gunpoint and herding them into the labor camps.

  It wasn’t like they went after every American at once. They targeted those deemed to be the most problematic. Citizens who were on a list in each state to carry a concealed weapon. Then, those with a federal firearms license. From there, they quickly moved on to anyone with a licensed firearm or a hunting license. Eventually, if you were licensed to drive a motorcycle or could legally operate a HAM radio, you were likely to be rounded up. By the time they got to imprisoning former vets, national guard members and then ordinary citizens, no one was left to protect the rest. Of course, many had gone into hiding at the first signs of government action. Many of these were now part of the ad-hoc Patriot Network.

  That had been almost two years ago, and it had only gotten worse. So many deaths, so much suffering. How someone could do this to a fellow human was beyond his understanding. He was a soldier, trained to kill, and he had seen and done more than his share of it but only enemy combatants. Never innocent civilians.

  This was the president’s agenda. She had all but lost military control from the very beginning. Then, she began an attempt to push the world’s largest remaining military force into obscurity. She cut the command channels for communication. Cut off food, supplies, fuel and, of course, funding. Many of the enlisted troops had eventually gone AWOL realizing there would be no punishment and that it may be the only way to see their families ever again.

  Marginalizing what remained of the once powerful military had been a strategic victory for Chambers. But you don’t put baby in the corner forever. Not one that big, at least. Faced with its seemingly inevitable demise, the US Army had been the first to fight back against the forces loyal to her. At first, it was in minor skirmishes such as retaking Maxwell Air Force base in Alabama. Then later, freeing the first of many of the labor camps. That was when the president had declared them enemy combatants and renegade warlords.

  Later, in the battle for Atlanta, the NSF began using a new tactic. A devastating campaign of using advanced aerial drones to fire on the Army. Several months ago, when pushing deep into North Carolina, they began seeing the plague victims. The image of that first camp outside Fuquay-Varina, where the bio-weapon had first been released, was horrific.

  Kitma struggled to contain that memory. He’d lost good people in that fight, some of the survivors had to even be considered casualties. What they had seen, what they had done to save themselves was just too much. For the remainder, that event had solidified the resistance. While the force out of Fort Benning were not the only ones fighting back – not all US military bases had resisted. The president still controlled a majority, but not by much. The Marine base at Camp Lejeune had joined, eventually, so had Fort Bragg, then more. Still, they knew, at some point, they would be going up against regular Army—brothers-in-arms—no one was sure they were ready for that.

  Currently, they were leading a convoy from Georgia toward a National Guard base in northern Alabama. With most bases in a communications blackout, they never knew if the next base would be abandoned, manned by NSF troops or converted into another of the damnable internment camps.

  There was a coalition of sorts being formed. The Navy was most active, followed by Army units, some Marines and a scattering of Air Force bases not under the president’s control. It was quickly becoming an all-out civil war. Kitma scratched a mosquito bite just under the Latin phrase tattooed on his dark bicep, ‘Non-Ducor Duco.’ While he told everyone he was from Johannesburg, no one in that country would ever claim him. His lineage was instead from a small country on the West African Coast. An area well-known for its fierce warriors.

  “Major, any word from Maxwell?” Colonel Willett asked.

  “Yes, sir, they only have enough avgas for a couple of sorties but are standing by,” Kitma responded. The large Air Force base a hundred and fifty miles south was part of the coalition. All their forces were stretched thin, low on fuel, manpower and supplies, but were ready to help.

  The convoy eased to a stop several miles short of the base. From here, they would launch mini-drones to recon the area before moving in. These were the canary in the mines. If they saw NSF troops or worse, it could change their plans drastically. The small pager Kitma kept hidden in a pocket went off, surprising him. The fact that it still worked was amazing. The message itself was long overdue in his opinion.

/>   ‘P-Command - Tasking Instructions to follow.’ He read the message. “Colonel Willett, sir, we need to talk.”

  Chapter Fifty

  Harris Springs, Mississippi

  Solo climbed out of the Jeep first. Skybox helped Bartos get to medical. Scott had radioed ahead, and Angelique was there to give him a hug and ready to help the two newcomers. Scott saw Gia glaring at him from an upper deck. This was one of those impossible situations he just wasn’t good at. He’d all but lived on his bike the last week, been sick, lost even more of his body weight and been nearly shot multiple times. Now, he was about to hear how selfish and stupid he had been from the woman he loved.

  Instead, Todd and DeVonte came down the gangway to greet him.

  “I just saw him,” Todd said grinning. “He looks like shit.” He said it like it was a good thing. Scott supposed it was better than the alternative—looking dead.

  “Glad you’re back, Boss. Got you a surprise.” DeVonte pulled a hand from around his back and produced a glass of ice tea. Honest-to-God ice. Little opaque cubes of frozen water. How ordinary and yet…Scott took it from his outstretched hand almost reverently and raised it to his lips for a tentative drink. Oh, man, it was so cold, so good. So ordinary, yet so wonderful. “Oh, my God, this is good. Thanks!”

  “You can thank Angel, she has been full of surprises lately,” DeVonte said.

  Gia had made her way down, he saw her through the gathering crowd. She was still trying hard to stay pissed, but her resolve was weakening. The look Scott gave her melted what was left of her anger, and she ran to him. The embrace and kiss were pretty epic. He wasn’t sure where it ranked for all of mankind, but for Scott Montgomery, it was definitely in the top two. “Hey, G, miss me?”

  “Gonna kill you, just not here in front of your friends,” she said through her clenched teeth and forced smile.