Rolling Thunder - 03

by Dirk Patton

  “Where’s your dad, son?” Rachel walked up and stood there listening.

  “He’s at the back of the crowd with my two brothers. Thank you!” The look of relief on the boy’s face was obvious as he turned to lead me to his dad. Mel walked up, leading the group of women that had been pulled aside and I told her to stay with the truck which was still idling and in this situation would even tempt the Pope to hop in and take off. She nodded and Rachel and I set off through the crowd that was now starting to flow forward towards the train.

  I followed the boy, pushing through the crowd as people rushed forward with whatever possessions they couldn’t leave behind. They had them piled in shopping carts, garden wagons, wheelbarrows, anything with wheels. I wasn’t sure but I doubted any of them would be allowed to bring their stuff with them onto the train. This wasn’t a pleasure trip.

  As the crowd began to thin towards the rear I could see two larger boys, both in their late teens, standing to either side of a man close to my age who was sitting in a wheel chair. Next to them a tall pile of hard sided equipment cases were strapped to a two wheeled cart. The man was shifting side to side in the chair, trying to see through the crowd, his face lighting up in a smile when he saw his boy. Rachel and I trotted towards the small group, arriving a moment after the boy who’d asked me for help.

  “Your boy asked for help,” I said by way of introduction. “We’ve got a truck and can get you in it for the rest of the way to the train.” I waved for them to follow me but skidded to a stop when the man spoke.

  “Thank you for your help. I was ready to send my boys on without me so they could get out.” I knew that voice, and the way Rachel stopped she did to.

  “You’re Max!” Rachel exclaimed. He grinned at her and nodded.

  “Yes I am, pretty lady. I take it you’ve heard one of my broadcasts.”

  “More than one, and thank you for doing that. Now, we’ve got to haul ass.” I spoke up before Rachel could start a conversation that we didn’t have time for.

  Turning, I started jogging back to the truck. Most of the crowd had moved on and the road was fairly open. One of the older boys pushed Max’s chair, matching my pace while the youngest one drug the wheeled cart of cases, which I now assumed was Max’s radio setup. The other boy was armed with a rifle and he stayed behind them, keeping the rear safe.

  We made it to the truck quickly, Mel standing by the open driver’s door waiting for us with the pistol in her hand. I ran up to the back of the truck, unhooked and dropped the tailgate. With the tailgate down, the floor of the cargo area was four feet off the ground and it took me helping Max’s two older boys to lift him in his chair up high enough to clear the lip. Several of the women who had stayed in the truck reached out and grabbed the chair, pulling Max safely into the cargo area. The radio equipment was lifted up next, then the three boys scrambled aboard. Tailgate secured, Rachel and I joined Mel at the cab and moments later we were rolling again.

  We drove for nearly four more miles, passing everyone that had been in the crowd but were now jogging or walking as fast as they could to the station. We passed a couple of families and I slowed at tearful pleas from two mothers who ran alongside and handed small children up to the women in the back of the truck. Fuck me, this sucked.

  21

  The station was a madhouse. Portable, generator powered flood lights cast a stark white light across the area and two trains sat on the tracks with every conceivable type of car hooked into them. Cattle cars, freight cars, open ore cars, flat cars, Amtrak passenger cars, even tanker cars. National Guard soldiers and Nashville police were attempting to control and direct the throng of people, but it was like trying to hold back the tide. There must have been ten thousand bodies jammed into the small area, all of them pressing forward to get to the safety promised by the trains while ignoring the instructions being shouted over a loudspeaker. This wasn’t good. There were too many people and they were too disorganized to possibly get all of them loaded before the trains left in less than an hour.

  There was also the problem of how were we going to get on a train. I didn’t like the idea of forcing my way through the crowd to board a train that would take me to safety but leave the people behind that I had bulled my way ahead of. Altruistic? Foolish? Probably yes to both, but I am what I am. I was looking around and weighing our options when there was a loud shout to my left. I turned my head and saw a National Guard Sergeant leading a small squad of soldiers in my direction. Rachel noticed them too and reached up to tap my body armor. I had already forgotten I was wearing it and glancing down saw that it was covering my uniform and rank. I set the parking brake, shrugged out of the upper body armor which I handed to Mel and told her to put on, then popped the door open and stepped down to meet the Sergeant.

  He was a young man, but I recognized the look in his eyes. Eyes that have already seen more death and destruction than the owner had ever imagined possible. When he was a few feet from me he checked out my uniform, eyes momentarily pausing on my oak leaf, then came to a modified form of attention. We weren’t on a parade ground and the last thing he needed to do was stand there as rigid as the Queen’s Guard at Buckingham Palace.

  “What’s the situation, Sergeant?” I preempted him asking me any questions about what I was doing there with a truck load of civilians. His eyes squinted for a brief moment but he held his questions.

  “Sir, we’ve got more evacuees than we have room on the trains. Word just came down that we’re pulling out at 2330 – 11:30 PM or in less than 20 minutes – and I damn well expect a riot any minute.” He looked around at the crush of frightened humanity trying to reach the trains.

  “Why early? I had heard midnight?”

  “The infected are close. Less than two miles and there’s a shitload of them. Sir.” Like every good NCO that curses in an officer’s presence he protected himself by adding ‘Sir’ to the end of his sentence. I used to be quite good at that little trick.

  “So what’s the plan? Load people until the last second and whoever isn’t on a train when it pulls out they get left behind?” I knew what the answer was, what the only viable solution was, but couldn’t stop myself from asking for clarification.

  “Yes, sir. That’s about the size of it.” He answered in a quiet voice and I could tell he wasn’t happy about it. I looked around at all the faces and flashed back to the defenders in Murfreesboro that had stayed behind and lost their lives to buy time for a hasty evacuation. It was going to be the same here, only these weren’t defenders that had accepted their fate. These were families with children in tow that had always been able to more or less depend on the authorities to take care of them in a crisis. Change wasn’t always good.

  “Who’s the on scene commander?”

  “That would be Colonel Crawford. He’s on the balcony at the station.” The Sergeant turned and pointed at a small balcony high on the wall of the train station that must have given a commanding view of the entire rail yard. I could see three figures standing at the railing, looking down at the crowd, but they were too far away for me to make out individual features.

  Making a decision that I knew Rachel wouldn’t be happy with I turned back to the Sergeant, “OK, I know the Colonel. I’m going to report to him. While I’m doing that I want you and your squad to get all the civilians in this truck onto one of those trains. There’s a man in the back in a wheel chair that also has some equipment cases with him and it is very important that they get on the train with him. Am I clear?”

  “You’re clear sir, but I’m going to have to bump some of these civilians to find room for that equipment.” His words weren’t arguing with my order, but I could tell by the tone of his voice that he didn’t like the privilege of rank that I was using. Too bad. I didn’t have time to explain.

  “Sergeant, I understand what you’re not saying, and believe it or not I agree with you, but there’s more here than meets the eye. Just get it done.” I turned when he acknowledged my order and almost r
an into Rachel. I hadn’t realized she had stepped down out of the cab and had been standing behind me while I talked with the Sergeant.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” She asked, arms crossed across her chest.

  “Getting all of you on the train,” I said, finding it hard to meet her accusing eyes.

  “And then what? What the hell do you think you’re going to be able to do? You heard the man. The infected are less than two miles away. This city is lost and most of these people are going to die. Do you want to die with them? Are you giving up? Have you given up on your wife? On me?” I was taken aback when tears started rolling down her cheeks. I had to look away from her, glancing up at the truck where I met Dog’s eyes. He was lying across the seat, head hanging over the edge and watching me intently. I looked back at Rachel, tears still streaming down her face, being washed away by the steady rain. She wasn’t making any attempt to cover up her emotions.

  “Rachel, look…” I started to say, but didn’t know what to say. If I told her I couldn’t take a seat on the train that would result in one of these people losing their lives she’d insist on staying with me and I couldn’t live with that either. I had told myself that I was going to get them on the train, go see the Colonel, find some more ammo and hop back in the deuce-and-a-half and get the hell out of there ahead of the infected. Maybe not the best plan in the world, but it was all I had at the moment.

  After nearly a minute of staring me down Rachel shook her head, grabbed me in a tight embrace, kissed me and turned away. She called Dog out of the truck and they went to join the group at the back as Max was being gently lowered to the ground by two of the soldiers. Rachel didn’t look back, and after a moment I turned and started pushing my way laterally through the crowd towards the station. Just before I lost sight of them I looked back to see Dog watching me, Rachel with her back stiff and a firm grip on his neck. I felt like shit. To tell the truth I had a lump in my throat.

  22

  The lower level of the train station was empty and echoing and it was nice to get out of the rain. At the back of the large waiting area was a set of stairs and I headed for them. Pausing when I found the pile of crates I expected to be there, I took a minute to drop all of my empty rifle magazines and load up with full ones, adding a half dozen grenades to my arsenal while I was at it. Restocked, I climbed the stairs and wandered around the low ceilinged upper floor offices until I found the balcony.

  There were three men standing on it and I recognized the one in the center as Colonel Crawford, the Army Colonel that I had met at Arnold Air Force Base. He was also the man who had given me the news that I was back in the Army, softening the blow with a big promotion to Major. Not that I would ever see the pay or benefits of the rank, but at least I could get things done like I just had with the Sergeant without a lot of bargaining.

  “Colonel,” I said, stepping out behind him. Crawford turned, took half a second to recognize me, then broke into a big grin and stuck his hand out. I held my bandaged hand up and grinned, remembering his bone crushing grip and not about to experience it with my damaged paw.

  “You made it out alive! Not really surprised after reading your file. You were quite the bad ass in your day.”

  “Thank you, sir. But, in my day? That really hurts, sir.” I smiled at him and he returned the smile before introducing me to the Captain and Master Sergeant that were standing next to him.

  The Master Sergeant, Darius Jackson, was a short, black man that was built like a fireplug and wore a Special Forces tab on his shoulder. I suspected he was one of Crawford’s men from the 5th SOG. “You probably don’t remember me, but you were an instructor at Bragg when I went through selection.” He said. I looked at him, but that was too many years and too many faces ago.

  “Sorry, but I don’t. Was I a prick?”

  “Oh, yes sir. You were a gold plated one!” He grinned before turning back to look at the crowd below, shifting his head when raised voices caught his attention.

  A small squabble had broken out between some civilians. Cops and soldiers were quickly converging on the spot, pushing their way through the crowd. Before they could arrive, there were a couple of gun shots and one of the men who had been arguing fell to the ground. The surrounding people screamed and surged away from the fight, hampering the progress of the authorities, but one of the cops pushed through. The shooter turned in his direction, pistol raised and the cop shot him several times. A woman and a group of kids screamed loud enough for us to hear them clearly, falling to the ground to hold the wounded man. The crowd stopped surging away and several men suddenly grabbed the cop and drug him down where they started kicking him. Other cops and soldiers started arriving, one of the soldiers firing a burst into the air on full auto. This broke up the melee long enough for them to pick up the injured cop and carry him to safety.

  Checking the watch, I noted the time was 2325. As if I had predicted it by checking, first one train then both started sounding their whistles. The five minute warning. The crowd gasped, then surged forward with shouts and screams, quickly becoming a mob. I looked for the small squad that I had tasked with getting Rachel and the other people on a train, but couldn’t spot any of them. I hoped this meant they were already safely boarded. Fights were now breaking out in the crowd, more gunfire and screams accompanying them. This was now a riot, and I could see the cops and soldiers on the perimeter starting to melt back and run for the front of the train closest to the station. At a cattle car directly behind the locomotives a squad of soldiers was set up with machine guns, apparently holding a safe car for the crowd controllers to pile into when it was time to go.

  I would have liked to hear what happened at Fort Campbell and how the Colonel had wound up here in Nashville, but time was not on our side. “What’s the plan, Colonel? From what I hear the infected are going to be joining the party any minute.” I moved up to the rail and stood between Crawford and the Captain who was talking quietly into a satellite phone.

  “Captain Blanchard over there is calling in our ride right now. We’re going to join a flight of Apaches and Black Hawks to give some air cover for these trains. It’s a little wild to the west and they’re going to need our help. Besides, the Air Force has a package waiting for the infected and we don’t want to be here when they deliver it.” I just nodded, relieved that I wasn’t going to die here today. Well, at least it looked like I wasn’t going to. Then I thought about what he’d just said. Package? Oh shit. In military speak that most likely meant a nuke.

  The running cops and soldiers made it to the waiting railroad car and started piling in. Nearly a hundred people had followed them and when they saw the squad with machine guns they knew their fate was sealed. Some of them stopped and just stood, staring at the train. Others kept running, ignoring a soldier that was ordering them to not come any closer over a hand held loud hailer. One of the civilians started firing and soon others joined in as they rushed forward.

  “Goddamn it!” Crawford growled. A moment later the Master Sergeant turned and spoke to the Colonel. The Lieutenant in charge of the squad was requesting permission to open fire on the civilians to defend his position. Crawford gripped the balcony rail so hard I expected it to snap, but only took a second to nod his head with permission. The order was relayed and almost immediately two machine guns and half a dozen rifles started firing at the swiftly approaching mob. The attackers were quickly cut down, the larger crowd going almost silent as every head turned in that direction to see what was going on.

  With the immediate threat neutralized I watched the squad grab up their weapons and equipment and pile into the waiting car where they set up two of the machine guns pointing out the open side door.

  “Get them rolling.” Crawford said just before screams started coming from the far left area of the crowd.

  Looking for the source of the commotion I could hear the Master Sergeant relay the order into his radio. For a moment the screams of the crowd were drowned out by the tw
o train whistles and the bass roar of the locomotives throttling up. By the time the engineers let off the whistles the trains were moving, slowly at first but visibly gaining speed as the four locomotives at the front of each train belched clouds of black diesel smoke into the air. Now the crowd screamed as one, some voices in terror and pain, others in anger and dismay as the trains continued to pick up speed.

  At the edge of the illumination cast by the floodlights I could see a growing commotion as infected started appearing, their front ranks slamming into the milling crowd. Taking the binoculars offered by the Master Sergeant I focused in on the area and watched as thousands of females sprinted forward and started taking down the evacuees. Many of the civilians were armed and got off several shots before falling to the unstoppable surge. Watching from my elevated position it reminded me of watching tsunami footage on TV, an unstoppable wall of destruction just rolling over everything in its path. Not caring to see any more I handed the glasses back and checked on the trains.

  Each train was very long. Longer than I could estimate, but it looked like they had hooked up every car that had wheels. The rear of the train hadn’t cleared the station yet and as the wave of infected kept rolling over the crowd they started grabbing onto the passing cars and hitching a ride. Taking the glasses back I nudged the Colonel, pointed out what was happening and handed them to him. He raised them and looked at the situation, then growled an order to the Master Sergeant without taking his attention off the trains. More radio calls then a moment later two Apaches flared into a hover over the trains.

  The Army’s Apache helicopter is probably the most lethal rotor wing aircraft ever built, even though I’m sure there’s some Russians that would argue the point. On the nose of the Apache is an electrically operated chain gun that fires 30mm explosive shells that are capable of piercing up to two inches of military grade armor. Against flesh and bone, each shell will absolutely destroy anything within a ten foot radius of where it strikes, so the gunners didn’t have to worry too much about accuracy. Their only real concern was to not shoot up the train or shoot too close to it and send shrapnel into the cars packed with evacuees.