“Five and a half hours and nothing coming out of Bear River?”
“Nothing,” said Lev. “For now, I’m taking it to mean there’s nothing new to report.” He shrugged. “Which is a good thing, I guess.”
“I concur,” said Cade. “We’ll know for sure real soon.” He nodded to the sleek black handset atop the desk. “Keep an eye on the Thuraya. I’ll send you a SITREP after I get a bird’s eye view of the 39/16 junction.”
“Roger that,” said Lev.
“Who’s on perimeter duty?”
“Seth and Tran. They called in an hour ago and said the rotters are beginning to show in pretty big numbers up by the road.”
“They’re culling them, I trust.”
Lev nodded. “Watched Tran take out a few of them on the closed circuit. Seemed pretty confident.”
“Sets me at ease a little,” admitted Cade. “It’s always hard to leave Raven behind.”
Brow knitting, Lev asked, “How long are you planning on being gone?”
“If all goes well I should be back before noon. If things go sideways I’ll try and give you a heads up.” He paused for a beat. “If Murphy intervenes and I don’t come back—”
Shaking his head vehemently, Lev interrupted, “You can’t take that kind of thinking downrange with you.”
Cade stared at his friend for a long ten-count then went on, saying, “If I don’t return, I left instructions on the table in there. The envelope is from Brook. The folded sheets are from me.”
In a funereal voice, Lev said, “You’re doing this for her, aren’t you?”
“I’d put my body in front of a speeding train to keep Raven from being harmed.”
Lev said, “I take that as a yes.” He rose and spread his arms wide.
Cade set the Pelican case on the plywood floor and, right then and there in the cramped confines with a lone bulb swinging and casting wild shadows, accepted the offered embrace.
Chapter 70
Before leaving the compound, Cade flipped the NVGs down so that they rested in front of his eyes. Suspended by the mount on the front of his tactical helmet, they moved wherever his head went and gave him the ability to see without being seen.
After having Lev lock the compound’s outer door once he stepped into the crisp night air, Cade made his way to the edge of the clearing where he caught sight of a lone figure sitting on a camp chair underneath the RV’s metal awning. He paused for a second and scanned the tree line. Seeing nothing there to cause him alarm, he strode off across the clearing.
Nearing the dirt airstrip, Cade stopped walking and looked skyward. The clouds were high and through occasional breaks in them he saw stars winking. A light wind kicked up from the west as he continued on. The aroma of pines and dewy grass and mineral rich soil carried on it reminded him of long nights spent in the mountains in hostile lands. Nights just like this when his sole aim was to find the enemy and kill before being killed. Only then he had had the luxury of a squad of likeminded warriors to fight alongside. Tonight he was venturing into truly uncharted waters. Waters that could just as easily swallow him up before the mission’s objective was complete.
As he continued his slow steady pace across the wide expanse of knee-high grass, he saw the form on the chair seem to stiffen. Two dozen yards from the RV, he said, “Thunder,” to announce his presence.
“Lightning,” said the man in the chair in a soft drawl.
Cade approached Duncan in silence. He set the Pelican case on the ground and took a seat on a folding chair across from his friend.
Duncan switched his headlamp on for a spell and looked Cade up and down. Switching it off, he said, “Suppressed weapons. All black BDUs. Vest and loads of extra mags. Helmet and night vision. Looks to me like the quiet one is fixing to cut fence and sort some bastards out.”
Cade didn’t nod. It would have been lost on Duncan in the dark. Instead, he said, “Loose ends need to be tied.”
“Even a person putting a bow on a gift needs an extra finger now and again.”
“I’m not wrapping presents,” shot Cade. In the green glow of the NVGs he noticed the pint bottle clutched in Duncan’s hand. “Glenda caught you drinking, didn’t she?”
Duncan nodded toward the RV. Drawled, “Yep. Why I’m sleeping in there tonight.”
Cade said nothing. He glanced at his Suunto, noted the time, then shifted his gaze to the far end of the clearing where he needed to be in five minutes. On the exact spot he was deposited days ago immediately before making the longest uphill trudge of his life. At the end of which he had forced himself to perform the hardest task he had ever faced in his life.
“She’ll get over it,” said Duncan.
“Will she?” said Cade. “You’re sure as hell going to regret it if she doesn’t.” He saw Duncan plant his elbows on his knees and slump forward in his chair. He added, “That’s all I’m going to say about the matter. You’re a grown man.”
Changing the subject, Duncan said, “When’s your ride gonna be here?”
“Three mikes.”
“Better get, then.”
Cade rose and snatched up his case. As he shouldered his M4, he placed a gloved hand on his friend’s shoulder. He felt the shoulder twitch, then start to jerk in his grasp. Aided by the NVGs, he noticed tears streaming from under the lenses of the man’s bifocals. And clear as day, albeit cast in shades of green, he noted the tremors beginning to wrack his doubled-over body.
Leaving the man to deal with his demons his own way, Cade struck out for the far end of the clearing, already roping demons of his own and shoving them deep down into the void where everything important and trivial went before he set foot outside the wire.
***
Cade felt the familiar harmonic vibration signaling the helo’s arrival fifteen seconds before the stealth aircraft ripped over the clearing at near treetop level. As it flashed from tree line to tree line, the airframe and whirring rotor blades was but a green blur, the sharp angles softened by speed and Cade’s inability to track it fully before it disappeared.
Recon pass, he thought. Flying with the aid of NVGs of their own, the pilot or copilot should have seen him standing in the predesignated area all alone. Either that or the copilot had been working the forward-looking infrared pod during the pass and picked up his heat signature.
***
Twenty seconds after the initial flyby, the helicopter snaked in from the opposite direction at roughly half the speed as before, flared hard overhead, and began a quick vertical descent.
Standing just outside the rotor cone, Cade was buffeted by the wash and the grass at his feet bent over and whipped at his boots. Seeing the landing gear spring from internal bays and the port side door begin a slow crawl backward, he picked the Pelican case up off the ground and ran toward the settling helo. One hand on his helmet and bent low at the waist, he made it to the door just as the Ghost Hawk’s wheels settled on the rain-softened soil.
At once the wiry crew chief jumped from the open door and, aided by NVGs of his own, made a quick visual sweep of the clearing. Finished scanning the tree lines, he acknowledged Cade by name, took the rifle case out of his hands, and ushered him aboard.
Chapter 71
The Ghost Hawk’s troop compartment was bathed in red light and smelled of sweat, gun oil, and aviation fuel. Feeling the bird go light on her gear, Cade shrugged off his M4 and grabbed the first available forward-facing seat. Just as he was getting his safety harness buckled, the door snugged shut and the turbine whine rose exponentially. With the g-forces from takeoff pressing him firmly to his seat, he cast his gaze around the cabin. Expecting to be alone with the crew chief, he was surprised to see four men that he knew staring back at him. All were clutching various weapons and dressed in full battle rattle: MultiCam fatigues, vests brimming with spare magazines, combat knives, and semiauto pistols in drop-leg holsters. The NVGs adorning their helmets were swung away from their eyes and grins were forming on their faces.
; “Take this,” mouthed the crew chief, handing a headset to Cade. “And these,” he added, placing a set of four-tube NVGs on the seat beside the black-clad operator. “Swap them out ASAP. You can thank me later.”
Cade removed his helmet and donned the comms gear. Staring at the SOAR crew chief everyone called Skipper, he said, “Commo check.”
Eye sockets awash in the soft white glow emanating from his deployed NVGs, Skipper flashed a thumbs-up and replied, “Solid copy.”
Cade felt the helo beginning to spin on axis while in his headset he heard a familiar voice say, “Thanks for choosing Night Stalker Airways.”
Leaning to his left and craning his head hard over, Cade spotted SOAR aviator extraordinaire Ari Silver staring back from the right seat. He was wearing deployed NVGs and, like Skipper, his eyes were aglow from the pale white light spilling from the device’s ocular lenses. In the left seat was an imposing figure that could be mistaken for no other aviator in the storied 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment. How the African American Warrant Officer named Haynes poured his six-foot-four-inch frame into the seat was a mystery to Cade. However, what he did know, based on the pair of previous missions with Haynes at the controls, was that the man was Ari’s near equal when it came to piloting the futuristic Jedi ride.
“Wyatt,” said Haynes, flashing his always ready smile. “How’s it hanging?”
Cade raised his hand above his head while holding his thumb and pointer finger an inch apart.
“Don’t sell yourself short,” boomed Haynes, his words morphing to laughter.
Smiling at that, Cade swept his gaze clockwise around the cabin. Off to his left, leaning against the port-side window, was Adam Cross, Navy SEAL turned Special Agent to the President. Sitting adjacent to the blond-haired, blue eyed surfer-boy-looking operator was another SEAL who answered only to Griff. The thick-necked, heavily bearded operator, originally hailing from Boston, shifted his Hecker & Koch MP7 submachine gun aside and bumped fists with Cade. Back parked firmly to the port-side bulkhead and sporting a tangle of red whiskers barely passing for a beard, British SAS shooter Nigel Axelrod nodded and flashed a thumbs-up.
Lastly, Cade fixed a dumbfounded stare on the Delta operator just days removed from a burst appendix. He said, “Last time I saw you, you were on death’s door. Shouldn’t you still be in a hospital bed recuperating?”
“I was just a little toxified, that’s all. Got a few staples out of the deal,” replied the stocky Hispanic captain as he slowly patted his gut. “No way I was going to leave you hanging, Wyatt.”
Not yet fully grasping the meaning of the last part of Lopez’s comment, Cade regarded the operator’s MultiCams. Seeing that they were clean and crisp, he cast scrutiny on the rest of the joint team and noted that their uniforms looked the same.
“You guys aren’t returning from an op?” he asked.
Slowly, Lopez shook his head.
Cade felt the Ghost Hawk’s nose dip and intuitively he knew it was pointed east. A tick later he realized what was up and locked eyes with Lopez. “All I asked Beeson for was a ride north.”
Ari interrupted. “What do you think I am? An Uber driver?”
“No idea what that’s supposed to mean,” conceded Cade. He looked at Cross, who just shrugged and made the universal sign of the idiot by setting his finger on a lazy orbit of his right ear.
“This new ride-sharing startup in Frisco that was going to fund my retirement,” Ari replied glumly.
“Then the shit hit the fan,” said Haynes. “And … poof … no Uber.”
“And no helo tour operation on Oahu for Ari, either,” added Skipper.
Cade looked over and saw that Skipper had already swapped out the old NVGs on his bump helmet for the new models.
“Thanks,” he said, taking the helmet back and snugging it on.
Lopez slapped his thigh and regarded Cade. “Damn, Wyatt. I almost forgot you.” He pulled a round, flat item about the circumference of a tennis ball from his breast pocket and passed it over. “It’s Beeson-approved. Slap it on your shoulder and join the club.”
Cade glanced at the patch. Dominating the center, red-eyed and cloaked in a black robe, was the Grim Reaper. Instead of the ubiquitous death-dealing scythe, he was clutching in his skeletal hands an M4 carbine complete with optics, foregrip, and stubby suppressor. Stitched in black below the Reaper were the words PALE RIDERS. Arcing above the mascot’s head in the same black font was the word: BASTION.
“Bastion Pale Riders,” said Cade as he pressed the patch to the hook-and-loop facing on his upper sleeve. “Has a nice ring to it.”
Smiling wide, Lopez said, “I’m glad you approve. I designed it while I was plotting my escape from the docs at Schriever.”
“If this whole saving the world thing doesn’t work out,” said Cade, “you got something to fall back on.”
“Five mikes,” called Haynes over the shipwide comms.
Skipper killed the cabin lights and urged Cade to power his new “eyes” on.
Finding the switch by feel in the dark, Cade threw it and dragged the goggles down over his face and positioned the ocular lenses in front of his eyes. Instantly it seemed as if the helo’s interior was lit up by overhead fluorescents. Everything around him was rendered in black and white with gradients of gray thrown in. The depth perception the new NVGs afforded him was unreal.
“What is this sorcery?” he exclaimed.
Goggles deployed and aimed across the cabin, Cross said, “White phosphor technology. Super top secret stuff. Just before the shit hit the fan, DARPA sent two dozen pairs to DEVGRU to have them put them through the wringer.”
“Try to break them, basically,” added Griff.
“How’d you all get them?”
“Beeson pulled some strings,” said Lopez. “He’s head of JSOC now. And that’s why you’re getting more than just a ride and an infil. After having to root out the Green River squatters, he’s all for cleaning house early and often wherever the bad elements try to stake claims. This is one of those instances. Good for you President Clay thinks along those lines, too. Ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure were her exact words.”
Incredulous, Cade asked, “He’s running Joint Special Operations Command out of Springs now?”
Again with the slow side to side wag of the head, Lopez replied, “Negative. Out of Bastion. You should see it now. Heavy lift birds have been coming in and out of Grand Junction every day since you saw it last. President Clay wants it to be Springs West, so to speak. They’re already planning on housing essential personnel in Fruita and all the little towns along the Book Cliffs.”
“Then I assume, if he’s the head honcho, he ran with the intel I forwarded and conjured up satellite and sigint on Adrianville.”
“Even better,” replied Lopez. “I mentioned the possibility that she may be aiding and abetting the PLA. Said it with a wink and a nudge, even. I’ll throw up the real-time drone feed once we’re pushing north.”
“Beats the alternative,” said Cade. Mesmerized by the sight of his gloved hand as seen through the new goggles, he turned it over and moved his palm rapidly back and forth in front of his face. “I can’t wait to see what the world outside looks like viewed through these.”
Ari broke in over the comms. “Wyatt, your wish is my command. Port side, two o’clock, everyone. Behold Cade and the gang’s handiwork. Bet you guys hollered Wolverines as you lit ‘em up.”
Cade didn’t respond. He was already peering below the craft. At what he guessed to be two hundred feet above ground level the shot-up vehicles looked like Tonka trucks in a diorama. The clarity of the white phosphor NVGs afforded him depth perception in the dark that rivaled what he was used to in the light of day. He could see the pile of spent brass he had cleaned out of the Humvee. He could make out skeletal forms still seated in the smoldering wreckage. Pooled blood actually seemed to glisten. And when he cast his gaze to the van, the legs protruding from its rear doors were easily id
entifiable as just that—down to the brand of tennis shoes one of them was wearing.
“Stacked them like cordwood,” said Ari. “How many did you bag?”
Cade felt all eyes on him. “I’ve seen enough,” he said, still looking groundward.
Lopez said, “Wait until you see the mansion. You sure did a number on that place.”
Slowly, Cade swung his gaze up. He fixed a stare on Lopez and mouthed, “What mansion?”
“The one southeast of your first ambush site. Big footprint. Must have been three stories from the amount of debris. Big timbers.”
Elbows on knees, Cade asked, “Outbuildings? Garage?”
Lopez said, “The garage had to be at least an eight-car job.”
“I spotted what looked to be a basketball court off the port side,” added Cross.
Feeling a cold finger of dread trace his spine, Cade said, “Ari, I need to see it.”
Chapter 72
The closer Jedi One-One got to the site of Cade’s first ambush, the more Zs he was seeing down below on SR-39. During some of the bigger breaks in the tree cover where long stretches of the winding two-lane were revealed, he saw herds of them, some several dozen strong, traipsing west toward Huntsville and an eventual meet-up with Daymon’s roadblock of fallen trees. Standing out starkly against the blacktop, Cade couldn’t help but think how ghost-like the gray hued forms appeared from his vantage.
The still-smoldering remains of the house were visible from a mile out. Once Ari brought the Ghost Hawk into a tight clockwise orbit over the site, Cade was certain he was looking down on what used to be Casa De Daymon.
Hundreds of Zs drawn in by the conflagration milled about the property.
Daymon’s black Chevy pickup remained on the circular drive near the front stairs. Its paint was bubbled and all four of its tires had been reduced to pools of molten rubber. Though he couldn’t be certain—or didn’t want to be—it looked as if the sides and rear of the pickup were peppered with bullet holes.
Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse (Book 12): Abyss Page 37
