Silent Interruption (Book 3): An Uncertain Passage

by Russell, Trent

  “No. I get scared…and I don’t know where I am,” Michael added. “I forget. I forget…Carl…that girl Shyanne…all of you. I’m somewhere else.” He glanced at Tara. “It’s a scary place. I’m…I’m being hunted.”

  Tara looked into Michael’s face. “You’re reliving our battles in the city. All the running, the shooting.”

  “I think so. But now, I’m not…as much. Not since last night.” Then, to Tara’s surprise, Michael smiled. “I hear you talking, and…and those things don’t bother me so much.”

  Warmth rose into Tara’s cheeks. So, Alicia was right after all. It was better to connect with Michael even when things around them seemed so grim.

  Speaking of Alicia, the Farrell wife backtracked a little toward the two of them. “Hey lovebirds.” She smiled. “I overheard you two talking. Yeah, I’m being nosey, but there’s not much else to do on this trip.” She rubbed her posterior. “I mean, poor Lorenzo can only pinch my can so much before even he gets bored.”

  Tara chuckled. “Thanks for the details.”

  Alicia sighed. “You think maybe Carl could spare just a few minutes of rest? I don’t think his army base is going to grow legs and walk away if we get there just five minutes later.”

  “Tell me about it,” Tara said. “I’m beat, but good luck trying to convince Carl. He’s been kind of distant since we left the Sevigny house.”

  “I don’t blame the man,” Alicia said with a sigh. “He’s done a great job for us and those poor people who died. But we’re not all Marines like he is. We got limits.” Alicia then tripped on a rock. Fortunately, she kept from falling. Lorenzo fell back to take her by the arm. “Thanks, Baby,” she told him.

  Just then, Michael broke away from Tara, walking past Harold and his boys to reach Carl. “Michael?” Tara called.

  Michael picked up the pace and soon cut in front of Carl. “Hey!” Michael said to him, “We need…to stop.”

  “Why, what’s the matter?” Carl asked, turning slightly to avoid Michael.

  Michael caught back up to him. “We need…rest. Tara’s hurting.”

  “Hurting?” Carl asked.

  “Tired. She’s…tired. They’re tired. Just rest a few minutes.”

  “All we’ve seen so far is wilderness and until I see a road or anything that looks like Road 32, we keep going,” Carl said without hesitation.

  But then Michael slammed his hand into Carl’s chest, forcing the man to stop. “No!” Michael glared at Carl with a bit of shocking fierceness. “We…rest…soldier.”

  Tara rushed up to Carl and Michael while the rest of the pack halted. “Michael, what are you doing?”

  “Michael, we are racing the sun here,” Carl said. “Stopping cuts our momentum and it is vital we keep that up until we find some trace of Camp Jefferson.”

  “We can. But after we rest,” Michael said.

  “I appreciate you being concerned about everyone, but there’s this thing called the chain of command. If I’m leading this party, then everyone has to follow my orders.”

  “This isn’t the Marines!” Michael’s voice was sounding more and more normal, but it also was laced with growing anger. “Tara can’t go on anymore!”

  “Michael, knock it off!” Tara quickly cut in between the two.

  “Carl, please. Just do this for a little bit. It’ll help, trust me.” Then she spun around to Michael. “Michael, I am happy that you want to stick up for me but cool your jets. You look like you’re going to deck him!”

  Michael’s glare did not fade. Tara wondered if perhaps Michael was jealous of Carl, or at the very least frustrated with Carl’s role as their leader. But Michael did back down and say, “Okay.”

  Carl drew in a quiet breath. “Alright. We’ll take about five minutes to rest our feet.” He flashed Michael a steady glance for a few steps, though.

  Tara shook her head. “God.” Alicia strolled up to Tara, then patted her on the shoulder.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The group took the impromptu break as Michael wished. Carl, however, refused to sit down or even stand still for any length of time. Instead, he hiked on ahead, but kept the group within his sights.

  He stopped when the ground started sloping upward. By now the forest had reached an end, so there was open land all around them. With the ground now inclined upward, he could not see anything except the mountains that loomed far in the distance. He would have to climb to the top of the slope to see what lay beyond.

  Carl wanted to push on but resisted the drive to leave his party farther behind. He was troubled by the lack of any long range view across the wilderness they had just emerged from, but that was bound to change once he climbed to the top of that slope. He just had to be patient and wait for everybody to finish resting.

  Thinking about Michael’s outburst did make that hard, though. Except for his breakdown back in the suburbs, Michael had been sedate and almost totally disconnected from everything going on around them. Tara’s influence must be changing that, and while Carl should have been happy that Michael was emerging from his state of shock, a downside was rearing its ugly head. Did Michael accept him as their leader? What was the man truly like? Carl realized Michael could be an unpredictable element in their journey, beyond his potential to be triggered by unpleasant events.

  Don’t let it get to you, he thought. He was probably right. None of those people have the kind of endurance you have. For crying out loud, how many people wash out of the Marines just in basic training? And you’re shocked that they can’t handle a nonstop trek through the wilderness?

  Carl bit his upper lip. Sometimes he could be his own worst critic.

  Several minutes later, the group agreed to push onward. Carl took the lead again, but tried to go a little slower. However, the top of the slope beckoned to him. He was eager to see what lay at the top.

  He soon found out. A road ran across Carl’s path. The sign on the other side of the asphalt had a road shield with the number “32.”The sign was planted crookedly into the grass, blown askew, probably from the wind over the years or because of the shifting soil.

  “We found Road 32!” Tara called, “Then that means…”

  “Camp Jefferson!” Carl picked up his own pace, soon reaching the side of the road just one step ahead of Tara. As soon as his boots touched down on the road, he spotted his haven. The buildings that made up Camp Jefferson lay just a short distance down the road. It was, thankfully, much closer than Carl had known, only covered by the fact that it was over this slope, away from their prying eyes.

  “We did it.” Carl wanted to shout for joy, but instead only could whisper the words. It did not matter. He had delivered his party to the safe haven he was looking for.

  Several minutes later, Carl rapidly was rethinking whether his traveling party would be safe after all.

  Camp Jefferson was one of Virginia’s training facilities for army recruits, so the three buildings were dedicated to housing soldiers as they trained. However, as soon as Carl and his party approached the boundaries of the facility, they discovered a number of buildings had been burned out from the inside. Although each structure still stood, the insides clearly had been gutted, with windows blown open to reveal blackened rooms inside.

  “My God,” Preston said, “what the hell happened?”

  Harold planted his binoculars onto his face. “I don’t see any movement.” He smelled the air and then coughed a little. “I don’t know, Carl. That’s pretty potent smoke out there. This couldn’t have happened long ago.”

  Carl grabbed onto the chain-link fence that separated the installation from the rest of the world. No, this couldn’t be. The base couldn’t be ravaged like this. There should be soldiers and staff here, running the place, doing something to help out their fellow Americans who have been victimized by this disaster. He was not prepared for a dead base and ruined buildings.

  “Carl,” Tara said, approaching him.

  “Survivors,” Carl whispered, “there
has to be someone left alive here.” He then spun around and looked at everyone. “Stay here.”

  “But Carl,” Alicia began to speak.

  “I’ll go much faster by myself.” Carl glanced at Harold. “Keep everyone safe.”

  Then he locked eyes with Preston. “If you have to pull out without me, do it.”

  Carl then quickly turned and ran along the fence, ignoring the protests that chased after him. He had to find a way inside, and quickly.

  He soon reached a point where the fence connected with a set of gates. A road snaked out under the gates onto Road 32. The gates yawned open, which only added to Carl’s terror. In an emergency situation, there was no way the gates would stay open like this. Even if the electronic surveillance was knocked out, a human lookout would be stationed near the gate to keep watch. Yet, as Carl approached the open gates, there was nobody around. No one shouted at him to halt. Nobody even attempted to shoot at him. It was a sad state of affairs when Carl felt that being shot at was better than nothing.

  A short while later, Carl raced up the road, reaching nearly the center of the base’s grounds. So far, no one had revealed their presence.

  What had happened here? Was it attacked? By whom? If the EMP was a result of an enemy attack, did the enemy have a landing force ready to go as soon as the United States was shut down? It was not implausible that an enemy nation could have hidden an invasion force in bunkers that protected their vehicles and gear from the electromagnetic pulse. The force then would invade once the pulse had subsided. But that level of preparation only could be pulled off by a major power. The Russians? The Chinese? The North Koreans possessed nuclear weapons and a large army but still were a third-rate power. Could they really have transported an army all the way here to northern Virginia?

  “Get a hold of yourself, Carl,” he whispered. “Where are the bodies? We’d have nailed at least some of those bastards before they took us out.” Carl refused to believe the U.S. military would be so caught off-guard, even in this degraded state, that they couldn’t take some enemy soldiers with them.

  He wasn’t sure if it meant anything, but the American flag still flew high on the flagpole near one of the buildings. If the base had been conquered by a foreign threat, the flag certainly would have been taken down. However, if a domestic threat had assaulted the base, they probably wouldn’t care about the flag.

  Carl’s search soon led him to a four-way split in the road. The main headquarters was off on the road furthest right. It was an easy choice to make. Carl followed the road up to the building.

  Unlike the barracks, this place did not appear victimized by a fire. But the front door was hanging open. Once Carl got to the door threshold, he discovered cracked windows, bullet holes in the walls, and the stench of dried human blood.

  There was a fight here. It was surprising that there were no signs of a shootout outside. However, the base was large. The battle could have started at the opposite end of the base, where Carl had not had the chance to look around yet.

  Carl raced inside. Four bodies were sprawled on the lobby floor. Three of them wore army uniforms and had fallen fairly close together. They had taken up points near the processing desk. The fourth body was draped over the threshold to the main hallway.

  Carl turned him over. He was a short Caucasian male. From this spot, he likely was shooting at the three soldiers. This must be one of the enemy attackers. He wore a long camo jacket and dark green pants, but it didn’t appear to be a military uniform. There was no flag on his jacket, no military insignia, no dog tags, and his hair was not cut short, a staple of how soldiers were groomed.

  Carl then looked up the main corridor. Two more bodies were sprawled across the floor. Each corpse wore khaki pants and heavy jackets, plus each face was covered by a green camouflage mask. Carl then turned around and noticed a wool cloth lying on the wall, sandwiched between the first enemy fighter and the wall. He must have yanked off his mask shortly before dying.

  “These guys might not be foreign,” Carl said softly. So, it was a militia that was responsible for this. They probably saw the catastrophe unfold around them and decided to take full advantage of it. But who could it be? A white supremacist faction? A Marxist group? Anarchists? Their combat clothing and gear were so generic that anything was possible.

  Now Carl was even more determined to find survivors. He wanted answers, dammit. He wasn’t going to leave this place without finding out why these men and women in uniform had had to give their lives.

  He ran up the hall, nearly tripping over another dead enemy fighter, until he arrived at the open doorway of a major’s office. But a soft panting sound stopped him short. Someone was alive in there.

  Carl ducked down, sliding onto his posterior as he approached the door. He then crept toward the hallway. From down here, he could not see if anyone was inside. Instead, he worked his way through the doorway while keeping low.

  An African American male was sitting on the floor in front of the major’s desk. He was dressed in army fatigues. His eyes were glazed over and his breathing shallow. His rifle laid a few inches from his dangled right hand. A blood stain marred his upper right chest.

  A friendly, Carl thought, but he’s hurt badly.

  Carl gently crawled into the room. He would not move quickly, as he might alarm this soldier. “Soldier?” Carl asked. “Easy. I’m a Marine. I just arrived at the base.”

  The man turned his head in Carl’s direction. “Marine?” he asked with a gurgle in his throat.

  “Yes. Carl Mathers, Sergeant, U.S. Marines.” Carl arose and walked the rest of the way.

  “Parker,” the soldier replied, “Private First Class.” Then he coughed and winced from the pain. “Where’s the rest?”

  “There is no rest. I mean, there are survivors, but non-military,” Carl replied. “I’m the only soldier in our group.”

  “Just our luck,” Parker said with a pained laugh.

  “What the hell happened here?” Carl looked around. “Wait, save your strength. I got to find a medical kit.”

  “Forget it,” Parker said. “My legs are numb. I’m going out, and this battle ain’t over.”

  “It isn’t?” Carl crouched down by Parker. “Who’s attacking us? Foreign?”

  “No.” Parker shook his head. “We were betrayed. One of our own. Private Nichols. He’s hooked up with one bad son of a bitch named Ben Graf. They’re after the weapons. Most of us headed out to try establishing communication with the higher-ups in Washington. Ben and his men took us by surprise. Nichols got them into the base. We’ve been stuck here shooting it out for the past few hours.”

  “The building’s quiet as a mouse,” Carl said. “I saw three dead soldiers in the lobby, but they didn’t go down without a fight.”

  Parker winced. “Conrad, Mackie, Cal.” He bowed his head. “They took the front. I snuck around back. I nailed a couple of them, but they got me too.” Parker winced again. A sudden pain must have struck.

  “Damn!” He shook his head. “I’m not going to last much longer.”

  “Parker!” Carl leaned a little closer. “Hang on. You said the fight’s not over. Where’s the enemy now? Do you know?”

  Parker looked up. “Sheri. She’s in the munitions building. Maybe Rico too, if they haven’t gotten him yet. Ben wants our weapons. Sheri’s going to take it out before they get their hands on it.”

  “The munitions building?” Carl asked.

  “Far window, down there. You’ll see it.”

  Carl jogged to the window. A small dull gray brick building lay several yards away. No one was visible on the outside, and Carl could not spot the munitions entrance to see if it was open.

  Carl returned to Parker. “Do you know how many we’re dealing with?”

  “I saw a small mob when they attacked, maybe nine. They backed us into here. But there could be more.”

  Carl sighed. “I can’t believe this. I thought I’d find a haven here for my friends. I thought we’
d be up and running, doing this, putting this country back together somehow.”

  Parker shook his head. “Look man, we were totally blindsided. After we lost power, Colonel Sanchez organized us, sent people on recon, tried to find out what was going on. But…” Parker groaned again. “…we lost him in the fight.”

  Carl knelt down. “Alright. You’re coming with me.” He lifted Parker’s arm over his right shoulder. “I’ll be damned if I leave a man behind.”

  Carl hoisted Parker to his feet, though Parker was right about his legs. The limbs simply dragged across the floor, leaving it up to Carl to drag him.

  “Carl,” Parker said, amid anguished breaths, “forget me. Save your friends.”

  “I’m not leaving you here to die,” Carl said as he walked toward the door.

  “Listen man, this isn’t worth it—”

  Parker’s words quickly were drowned out by a large explosion that rang out on the other side of the window. The blast shattered the glass and sent Carl and Parker tumbling out the door into the hall.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The ringing in Carl’s ears wouldn’t stop. The blast played havoc on his nerves, more so than the sudden fall onto the floor.

  “Parker!” Carl used a nearby windowsill as leverage to hoist his battered body up. Parker lay on his back nearby, his eyes closed.

  “Parker!” Carl grabbed Parker by his shirt and hoisted him up. “C’mon man.” Soft moans escaped Parker’s lips. The man was sitting at death’s door. “You’ve come this far. Don’t give up now.”

  Parker’s lips then curled into a smile. “Sheri. That awesome bitch did it.” Parker then laughed. “I could tell that was her.”

  “Yeah, yeah, funny as hell, now c’mon.”

  “Carl!” Parker exhaled loudly. “My gun! Gimme it.”

  “Your gun?” Carl set Parker down. “Right, right, of course.” He went back to the office, which now was choked with smoke pouring in from the busted windows. He rushed in to grab Parker’s weapon from the floor, scooping it up and then bringing it to him.