by Dirk Patton
Rachel was in shock. And she was cold. The cold finally got her moving. Cried out, she sniffed her tears back and slowly got to her feet. The sun was coming up behind her, but the first light of the day did nothing to warm or calm her. Looking around she saw that the ditch behind them had a gentle ramp up to ground level for the heavy equipment that did the digging to drive in and out.
Jumping over the tailgate she splashed into waist deep water and started wading up the ramp. Dog joined her, having to swim a good distance before he was able to reach water shallow enough for him to stand. Together, they climbed the ramp up into the sunshine. Looking around, Rachel was dismayed. In every direction, the land was flat to the horizon, and there was nothing standing. Not even vegetation.
The tornado had ripped everything out of the ground, leaving only raw mud in its wake for as far as she could see. There were even chunks of asphalt missing from the road. In a daze, Rachel wandered over to the cars that had been deposited by the storm. She ignored the Cadillac, Mazda and Chevy truck. Beyond them was another tangle of vehicles and she dismissed them when she saw the amount of damage they had sustained.
Walking past them she spotted two more, both sitting on their tires. A Mercedes S Class sedan sat in the sun, tires and glass intact. Other than a mud covered exterior it looked in perfect condition. Rachel pulled the door open and looked inside. It even smelled new. But there weren’t any keys in the ignition when she checked.
The vehicle next to it was a battered Ford Bronco. Like the Mercedes, its tires and glass were intact. As she got closer, Rachel could tell it was painted orange underneath all the mud smeared on it. Pulling the door open she looked and found the keys dangling from the ignition. Reaching in, she turned the key and the starter whined, then the big V8 engine rumbled to life. She waved Dog in, climbed behind the wheel and turned the heater all the way to hot.
Pulling the gear selector into drive, Rachel paused before taking her foot off the brake. Looking down she saw her pistol still holstered on her belt. With a sigh, she took her foot off the brake and slowly drove to the top of the ditch. She stepped out of the Bronco, leaving the door open, and could immediately hear Jackson’s snarls coming from below. Drawing the pistol, she checked it the way John had taught her. Made sure nothing was obstructing the muzzle. The slide operated smoothly. A round was in the chamber.
Pistol in hand, Rachel walked down the muddy ramp, wading through the water until she reached the truck. Climbing over the tailgate she slowly moved towards the back of the cab, Jackson’s snarls a constant as he heard her approaching. Stopping a couple of feet short of the opening she raised the pistol, aimed at Jackson’s head and pulled the trigger.
50
Roach was back in an Air Force uniform. He was dressed as a Captain again, clothes perfectly pressed and creases razor sharp when he walked into the offices of the Lieutenant Colonel in charge of the Security Forces on Tinker Air Force Base. He didn’t know what was in store for him, but the best thing about the attacks on America was that none of what he’d done the past couple of weeks had been documented or could even be attributed to him. Here at Tinker, he and Synthia would get a fresh start.
He had a lot to teach her about patience and covering her tracks. She had tried to convince him the previous evening to go out and find a woman for them to play with. Descriptions of what she wanted to do to the woman with her knife had sent Roach into a sexual frenzy, and he had nearly agreed to her request. He could feel the flesh of the woman as he beat her, taste her blood when he bit her, hear her screams when he savagely penetrated her.
Then he had reached orgasm and looked down to see that it had been Synthia’s flesh he was beating, her blood he was tasting and her screams he was hearing. Bruised and bleeding, she had smiled up at him and told him she loved him. Having never heard those words before, even from his own mother, Roach ignored them and immediately began worrying about the noise they had made.
Dressing quickly, he stepped out on the front porch of the small house that had been assigned to them. His neighbor, also a Captain and a cargo pilot, was standing in his driveway looking at Roach’s house. Roach apologized for the disturbance and told the man it was his wife having night terrors about the infected that had trapped them in Nashville. The man nodded his head in sympathy and wished Roach a good night before going back into his house.
They would have to be more careful than that. Perhaps a gag for Synthia. Yes, that would work. He’d used gags before and found them quite effective.
“Captain, Lieutenant Colonel Lewis will see you now.” Roach looked up when the young Senior Airman sitting at the reception desk spoke. She was pointing at a door behind and to her left. Roach stepped up to the door, knocked sharply, and entered when a voice called out “come”.
The Lieutenant Colonel was older than Roach expected, a slight paunch around the middle and thinning hair on top. He looked like he hadn’t had a shower, shave or change of clothes in a couple of days. Not bothering to stand, he waved Roach into a chair in front of his desk and picked through a pile of folders until he found the one he wanted. Opening the folder he leaned back in the chair and looked at it through a pair of gold rimmed reading glasses.
“Welcome to Tinker, Captain. You and the missus all settled in?” He didn’t bother to look up from the file he was reading.
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. We’re quite happy with the accommodations.” The man flapped a hand in the air, dismissing Roach’s thanks.
“So here’s the deal, Captain.” He said, closing the folder and placing it back on the desk. He leaned forward and rested his forearms on his desk. “We’re stretched about as thin as we can be at the moment. Thinner, even. I lost a third of my personnel to the outbreak, and another ten percent just lost it. In the rubber room. They’re useless to me right now.”
He paused, looking around his desk. Shoving some papers aside he found a crumpled pack of cigarettes and pulled one out.
“Do you mind?” He asked, holding one up for Roach to see.
“Not at all, sir. Please feel free.”
“Thanks. Now where was I?” He leaned back and lit the cigarette with a gold Zippo lighter.
“Stretched thin, sir. I’ll do whatever needs to be done.” Roach offered.
“Right. Thin. Anyway, we’ve got the normal problems of any large Air Force base. Thefts, assaults, rapes, even murders. All of those are on the rise, by the way. But we’ve also got the goddamn Russians on our doorstep. It’s up to us to keep this installation secure from spies and saboteurs.” He paused and drew deeply on the cigarette. It was only through a well honed strength of will that Roach managed not to make a face at the stink of the burning tobacco.
“I’m ready to jump in, sir. I ran base security at Kadena for 18 months. Learned a lot about defending against espionage and sabotage.” Roach forced himself to keep his hands in his lap and not start fanning the smoke away from his face.
“Good, but I’ve got a man on that. The other issue that’s stretching us is refugees. We’re getting a steady stream of people from all over the country that have made it to Oklahoma. General Simonds has graciously opened our gates to them and we’re falling behind in processing them and getting even the basic necessities issued. That’s what I need you to take charge of.”
Refugees. Roach tried not to smile as he thought about the possibilities. Women and girls that no one knew who they were or where they were. And they’d be vulnerable and eager to accept any kindness, not recognizing the danger they were in until it was too late.
“Yes, sir. I’m happy to take that off your plate.” This time Roach did smile.
The Lieutenant Colonel wrapped up the meeting in a hurry at that point, sending Roach to see the Senior Airman at the front desk. She told him where to go and who to find when he got there. Next she handed him a two-way radio, charger and directed him to the rear parking lot where extra Hummers were parked.
“Just take any one that doesn’t have a red sticke
r on the windshield.” She said.
Roach thanked her, found a vehicle and drove across the base to a massive hangar where five Airmen and a Staff Sergeant were trying to deal with a large group of women and children. Roach walked up to the Sergeant and introduced himself.
“Damn glad to see you, sir.” The Sergeant said, tossing a clipboard onto a table covered with file folders and lose papers. “I’m sure Lieutenant Colonel Lewis told you how understaffed we are. And we just had another group roll in a couple of hours ago.”
Roach looked around the hangar. A dozen women were trying to control what must have been close to fifty school aged children. The kids were running around, chasing each other, yelling, screaming, some sitting by themselves crying. First thing they had to do was get the children calmed down.
“Who’s leading them?” Roach asked.
“I don’t know her name, but that’s her over there.” Roach looked at the woman the Sergeant pointed out and felt a familiar thrill start at the base of his spine.
The woman wasn’t as young as Roach liked, under 20, but she was beautiful. On the shorter side, he estimated no more than five foot three or four, she was obviously in very good condition. She wore a pair of khaki shorts with tan desert boots on her feet and a once white but now filthy T-shirt. A large frame pistol was holstered on her right hip, two spare magazines in pouches on her left. Long, wavy red hair spilled down her back. Every time she moved, grabbing a running child or turning to yell at another that was misbehaving, the muscles in her arms and legs rippled.
Nodding to the Sergeant, Roach walked over and stood looking at her, waiting for her to finish scolding a little girl that had just punched her brother. Finished with the girl, she straightened with a sigh and stretched her back, the fabric of the shirt pulling tight across her breasts. No bra. Roach felt himself growing hard. Noticing him standing there she turned and looked him up and down.
“Hi.” She said.
“Hi. I’m Captain Lee Roach. Welcome to Tinker Air Force Base. I’m going to help you.” He held his hand out.
“Thank you, Captain. It’s been a while since anyone offered to help.” She took his hand and shook it. “I’m Katie Chase.”
Acknowledgements
As always, first and foremost, my heartfelt thanks to Katie. For everything you do. And how do I repay you? I leave you in Roach’s clutches. Just remember… squeeze the trigger, honey. Squeeze.
For the first time I enlisted the assistance of a beta reader to give me feedback. Red Hammer was a bit of a departure from the formula of the first three books in the series and I was a little nervous with the change. I’m happy with the end product, but I’m sure you the reader will let me know if I missed the mark or not. Thank you to SH for taking the time to read and provide constructive and insightful feedback.
No book is ever complete without thanking Dog. For waking me up in the middle of the night so I’m writing in a daze (makes it easier to think like a zombie) and for distracting me when I’ve been sitting in front of the computer for too long.
Finally, if you’re still reading this crap, thank you for spending your money to read my work. That is an honor that I didn’t fully appreciate until I became an author. It also puts a lot of pressure on me to make sure I’m holding up my end of the deal and producing a quality product that meets or exceeds your expectations. If I’ve done that, I would greatly appreciate a good review on Amazon. Yes, I know they’re a pain to do, but reviews from readers like you are the best marketing in the world!
Also, you can always correspond with me via email at [email protected] and if you’re on Facebook, please like my page at www.facebook.com/FearThePlague I enjoy interacting with my fans on Facebook and I answer all of my email… eventually.
Thanks again for reading!
Dirk Patton
August, 2014
