by Tripp Ellis
“Hey, I’ve shot down plenty of drones snooping on my property.” Then Duke added, “It was a hell of a lot of money. What was I supposed to do? Not take it?”
The room was silent a moment. Johnson mulled over his options. “We need to find secure transportation and get to Black Rock.”
“There’s an APC at my house,” Earl said.
“How do you have an APC?” Johnson asked.
“I had a little altercation with Homeland Security when they tried to inoculate me and my sister.”
“Susan,” the president said, “See if you can get Petrov on the line.”
“Parker, stay here with Chloe,” Steele said. “Keep an eye on the president and Ms. Norton. Delroy, Earl, Duke… you’re coming with me.”
16
Earl led Steele, Duke, and Delroy through the field toward his house. It was dark now, and typically lurkers were more plentiful at night. They all had TXV-1128 tactical goggles and were using night vision.
The four darted across the field and scaled the barbed wire fence. An infected man emerged from the tall grass. Dozens of snarls swirled through the air. It was impossible to tell how many were hidden within the high grass that towered over six feet.
Steele unsheathed his tactical sword. He twirled it around, then slashed through the infected man. The blade whooshed through the air, slicing through the man’s neck. The sharp blade severed muscles, tendons, bones, and arteries. The man’s head plopped to the ground. Dark blood spurted from the stump that was the thing’s neck. The man’s body crumpled and plopped onto the grass.
“That was Mr. Hickman,” Earl said.
Steele hacked and slashed his way through the high grass, taking out lurkers that crossed his path. The more noise the squad made, the more infected were drawn to them. And deep in the thick of these high weeds, it was hard to see infected coming at you. But Steele was good with a blade. He minced everything that came at him. The blade was his favorite weapon. It was up close and personal. There was no denying that he had a talent for separating lurkers from their heads.
The team emerged on the other side and followed the railroad tracks to the highway. They crossed the bridge and headed toward Earl’s property. The black Homeland APC was still parked in front of his house. The M279 was an 8 wheeled MRAV (multi-role armored vehicle), with ceramic composite armor plating. It had a combat weight of 35 tons. It was outfitted with a 50 caliber M2 Browning machine gun. Complete with independent suspension, run-flat tires, and a 7,525 horsepower diesel Hughes & Kessler engine, the vehicle was maneuverable and stealthy. It had a range of almost 2000 miles, and the ride was smooth and quiet. You could roll over an IED or a land mine in this thing and not even feel it.
Steele climbed up to the top hatch and peered into the darkness. An infected man lurched at him from inside. Steele recoiled, his heartbeat skyrocketing. Then he skewered the man with his sword. The blade pierced the top of the lurker’s skull, plunging down into his thorax. Blood oozed from the wound. The thing stood there, impaled by the sword, twitching and jerking. After a moment, the thing went limp.
Steele reached in and grabbed the lurker by the collar and pulled out the sword. Then he hoisted the man up through the hatch. He tossed the body to the ground. It flopped and smacked against the giant tires of the APC before plopping on the dirt.
Steele descended through the hatch and climbed into the driver’s seat. He cranked up the massive diesel engine. It clamored to life with a growl. Then Steele hit the ramp release button. The lock disengaged, hydraulics whirred, and the back ramp lowered.
Delroy, Earl, and Duke climbed up the back ramp and took a seat.
“Now this is what I call a truck,” Duke said.
“I’m surprised you haven’t stolen one already,” Steele said, snidely.
“I would have. But do you know how hard it is to get one of these things off a military base?”
Steele turned the APC around and headed back toward the highway. This thing was nimble. And the throttle was responsive. It almost felt like a sports car. Most of the APCs Steele had ridden in were sluggish, un-maneuverable behemoths. But this thing turned on a dime and was smooth. The previous generation would rattle your teeth out of your skull. And if you didn’t have a back problem to start with, you certainly would after a long haul in one of the older models.
At the highway, there were a few straggling infected. Steele zigged and zagged, mowing them over. You could hear their bones crackle and pop as the massive tires smashed them into mush. But rolling over the bodies hardly caused any disruption in ride quality. It was like running over a small twig. The suspension in the APC was near perfect.
Delroy hollered with glee. He loved this kind of thing. He’d gotten a taste for killing lurkers back in the quarantine zone. And to be honest, it was something he missed a little. But Steele wasn’t running the infected over for fun. He was neutralizing potential threats. The lurker that gets away just might be the one to come back and bite you someday.
Steele stayed on the highway instead of taking Earl’s shortcut through the fields. The APC wouldn’t have fit through the narrow gaps in the trees. The long way around took the same amount of time as Earl’s shortcut on foot.
Steele rolled the APC up to Duke’s mobile home and the group filed out through the back ramp. Inside the trailer, Steele updated Susan and the president.
“If we leave now, we can be to Houston by midnight,” Steele said.
“Good, we don’t have a moment to spare.” The president grimaced as he sat up on the couch. The bonding gel may have fused his tissue together, but he was going to be swollen and sore as hell for a few days.
Steele helped him to his feet. “Did you speak with Petrov?”
“Yes. And it’s not good,” the president said.
“I don’t know if I want to know.”
“Trust me, you don’t,” the president said. “But as my military aide, it comes with the job.”
Susan looked at them gravely. She and the president had already had this conversation.
Steele helped the president through the door and down the steps to the APC. But there were infected drawing near. Steele helped Johnson up the ramp to a seat.
Parker followed along with Chloe. She wore a tactical helmet that was twice her size. She was looking through tactical goggles.
“Chloe, you come sit next to me,” the president said.
As the lurkers staggered closer, Steele unsheathed his sword and marched toward them. He spun the black carbon steel blade like a rotor of a helicopter. In an instant, he severed three heads. They flopped to the ground. The carcasses spurted blood from their carotid arteries. There were more lurkers at the edge of the field. Steele would take care of them when they got closer.
But there was something else out there.
Steele had an eerie feeling that he was being watched. It was the same feeling he had back in Syria, when insurgent recon patrols were casing out the base ahead of a massive attack. Steele’s eyes narrowed as he scanned the edge of the field.
The attack on Air Force One was no accident. And the president was still a target. If Red Viper, or some other terrorist group, really was behind this whole thing, they would either want to kill the president, or take him hostage. It would be a sign of strength. But if there was someone out there watching, the lurkers would be attacking them, Steele thought.
Steele shrugged the feeling off. He wiped the blade clean on his pants leg and stormed back to the APC. Delroy stood watch at the back ramp.
“Stay here,” Steele said. “I need to check on something.” He started for the barn.
“What about us?” Earl asked.
Steele glanced to Susan. It was her call.
She shrugged.
The president gave a nod of approval.
“You can ride along if you want,” Steele said. “Or you can take your chances here.”
“Hell, I got nothing left here,” Earl said. “Duke are you coming?”
Duke hesitated a moment. “Well, shit. I ain’t gonna stay here by myself.”
“Come with me and grab as much ammunition and supplies as you can carry,” Steele said. He led them to the barn and pulled open the trap door to the cellar.
Brandi was slumped against the beam. Her body was lifeless. Steele crept toward her. He wasn’t entirely sure whether she had turned or not. He reached out his hand and lifted her head. Her eyes flung open, startling him.
She was groggy from napping, and it took her a few moments to get her bearings. “How long I got to stay tied up like this?” she asked.
Steele grabbed her head, peeled back her eyelids with his thumbs, and gazed into her eyes again. They were still clear. She didn’t show any sign of infection. It had been at least six hours since she was bitten. That was on the upper end of the spectrum for infection to take hold. Especially for this version. Infection caused by the inoculation seemed to have been especially virulent. It was like a weaponized version of an already weaponized virus. After all, this was looking like more and more of a terrorist attack.
Steele moved around behind her, and untied the ropes from the beam. He grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet, then retied her hands behind her back.
“Seriously? You think I’m really going to turn into one of those things? Wouldn’t it have happened by now?”
“I don’t know,” Steele said. “But I’m not taking any chances. Just be glad I’m taking you with us.”
“Where are we going?”
Steele didn’t answer her. There was a part of him that didn’t want to acknowledge her as a person. It would make it that much harder if she did turn. He never liked to think of infected as people. He thought of them as what they were—flesh hungry monsters. It was one thing to shoot a lurker that you never met before in real life. Shooting someone you knew, or even cared about, was gut wrenching.
Steele helped Brandi across the field and up the ramp into the APC. Then he strapped her into a seat.
Duke and Earl brought back extra magazines, MREs, water, RPG’s and whatever else they could carry.
Duke scowled when he saw Brandi in the APC. “Why the hell are we bringing her along?”
“Shut up, Dookie,” Brandi quipped.
“Call me Dookie again, it’ll be the last thing you ever do.”
“Stop acting like a turd.” She gave him a big, fake smile.
“Knock it off,” Steele said. “She hasn’t turned in six hours. I want to know why.”
Duke and Earl loaded the gear into the back of the APC, then ascended the ramp. Delroy followed after them.
Steele climbed into the driver seat and pressed the button to close the back ramp. After a few moments, it slammed shut and locked. Delroy crawled up into the turret and manned the 50 caliber machine gun.
Steele cranked the engine up. The diesel pistons clamored, and the APC rumbled to life. Steele nosed the vehicle around and headed toward the highway. In four short hours, they would arrive at the emergency operations center in Houston—the top secret Black Rock facility. At least, that was the plan. But as Steele knew all too well, no plan ever survives the battlefield.
17
“We’ve got a little problem,” Susan said.
The APC barreled down the highway at 90 miles an hour. The roadway was littered with abandoned cars. Every now and then, herds of infected blocked the roadway. Steele would have to slow the vehicle to a more reasonable speed, then plow them over.
Susan sat next to Steele. The others sat in the back, napping or trying to occupy themselves. It was like some type of oddball family vacation. Steele used the GPS to navigate the small country highways.
The network and satellites were still fully operational. The system was automated and kept rolling along, whether there were people there to oversee it or not. The central military intelligence database was still accessible. The entire system was designed to withstand a nuclear attack and still function.
National security directive 275-62A called for a complete overhaul of the nation’s infrastructure. With the increasing threat of terrorism, it was essential for the United States to fortify, decentralize, and automate essential services. Power, water, telecommunications, networking, sewage, and sanitation were all automated. They were designed to survive a catastrophic event. Hardcoded AI, impervious to viral attack, controlled most of the systems. It had never really been put to the test, but theoretically, these systems should function normally for many years without human supervision.
“Haven’t we had enough problems for one day?” Steele said.
“I think we’ve had enough problems for a lifetime,” Susan replied. “But President Petrov is getting nervous. There are thousands of miles of undefended border between the United States and Mexico, as well as Canada. It’s going to be impossible to contain the spread of infection. Both Canada and Mexico are mobilizing troops. But that’s doing little to satisfy Petrov’s concerns. He wants immediate tactical nuclear strikes along the border to slow the spread of the virus. He says if we don’t do it, he will.”
Steele’s face tensed.
“Of course the Mexican President, and the Canadian Prime Minister, are not in favor of clouds of nuclear fallout wafting over their countries.”
“What about conventional strikes?” Steele said.
“Stateside, the military has been decimated. I’ve been in contact with several carrier groups that are still intact and functional. But they’re on the other side of the world.”
“What about the AI attack drones?”
“As per the American Safety and Security Act, artificially intelligent devices are prohibited from carrying out attacks on American soil. It’s hardcoded and can’t be circumvented.”
“What about SIDCOM?”
“Same thing,” Susan said. “Only, it might be worse.”
SIDCOM was the Strategic Intelligent Defense Command. An artificially intelligent command & control system that oversaw the entire nuclear defense program. It served as both an early warning unit, and a failsafe device. It could detect incoming nuclear threats, then determine the best, and safest, response. SIDCOM was programmed not to initiate a nuclear response without authorization from the president. But SIDCOM did require some type of acknowledgement once a threat was detected. If the president became incapacitated, and the Continuity of Government protocol failed, SIDCOM would then make a determination as to the appropriate response.
In theory, SIDCOM could launch a nuclear attack, all on its own, if the aforementioned perimeters were met. But the odds of a situation like that occurring were statistically impossible. At least, that’s what SIDCOM’s programmers thought.
“If the president attempts to launch tactical nuclear strikes on US soil, SIDCOM may disable the launch, or interpret the launch as a threat,” Susan said.
“Can we override SIDCOM?”
“Only from an EOC, and only with one of the Gold Codes on the biscuit.”
“The Vice President has those codes, yes?”
“Yes, but I can’t get a response from Black Rock. The facility may be compromised.”
“We’ll get to Black Rock and retake the facility either way,” Steele said. “How much time do we have before Petrov launches strikes?”
“I think he’s sitting there with his finger on the button. So, we better hurry.”
“What does he stand to gain?”
“World domination.”
Steele accelerated. The APC topped out around 105 mph, which was insanely fast for this type of vehicle. The previous generation was lucky to hit 70 mph with a tailwind.
Suddenly, an alarm sounded on the dash—a proximity alert. The onboard computer identified an inbound object. It was a CAV (combat aerial vehicle). But it didn’t have a US Military IFF (identification, friend or foe) signal.
IFF was a signal designed to enable military and civilian systems to recognize friendly aircraft. Encoded within the signal was bearing and range information. It was original
ly designed in World War II and was a positive identification system. Meaning, if you receive the signal, you knew you were dealing with a friendly. But just because you didn’t receive the signal didn’t mean the craft was hostile. There were many reasons why an IFF signal might not be detected or responded to.
It was part of the broader CID (combat identification) system. Every piece of military equipment was supposed to talk to one another. Thus reducing the chances of friendly fire.
Never the less, an approaching aircraft was troublesome.
“Delroy, what do you see?” Steele yelled.
Delroy was standing up through the turret. He had a helmet on and tactical goggles covering his eyes. With the wind whipping by at 100 miles an hour, Delroy couldn’t hear shit within the main cabin.
Parker tugged at his pants leg.
Delroy ducked his head down below. “What?”
“Inbound aircraft,” Steele yelled. “What do you see?”
Delroy sprang up through the hatch. His eyes scanned the sky. The clouds had dissipated. The night sky was dotted with brilliant stars. This far out in the country, it was like a billion pinpoint LEDs in the sky. At first Delroy didn’t see anything but the stars, and the lights from the ISR. The space ring loomed large in the night sky. Then he caught sight of the CAV’s running lights. He watched it speed closer. With his tactical goggles, he was able to zoom in and get a better view.
Delroy ducked back down through the hatch. “CAV, sir. Looks like regular Army. But I can’t be sure. No markings.”
If it was friendly, Steele definitely didn’t want to start firing at it. But that concern didn’t last long. A second proximity alarm sounded. The tone was all too familiar to Steele’s ears. The computer system identified the object as an inbound X-27 rocket. CAV’s were typically outfitted with 24 of them. They were perfect anti-tank weapons. There was a reason the CAV replaced the A-10 Warthog as the preferred tank killer.
Steele wasn’t entirely sure how the M279’s composite ceramic armor would hold up to an X-27 rocket. But he was about to find out.
