The End Time Saga (Book 2): The Breaking

by Daniel Greene

  What in the hell did that?

  Master Sergeant Hunter’s eyes echoed what he was thinking. “That looks like some serious military grade explosives,” he said.

  “It sure does, doesn’t it,” Kinnick said. To what purpose? “Why do you think they blew that bridge?” he asked his master sergeant.

  “Off-hand, I would say they are trying to keep somebody out. Limit access and logistical support,” Master Sergeant Hunter said over the whirl of chopper blades.

  “Or keep somebody in,” Kinnick replied. This would need to be investigated further, but not today. Another series of bells went off in the cockpit. Jesus, what now?

  The pilot called back, “We are low on fuel. Should we head up to Corapolis?” he said.

  Kinnick hadn’t realized they had been in the air that long. “Let’s give that convoy a buzz on the way. Advise Crockett to rally at the airfield.”

  STEELE

  Monongahela River, Pittsburgh, PA

  The cool breeze whipped off the river, as if the wind were using the water to propel itself. It cut through Steele’s clothes like the tip of a dagger. The weather had soaked the men through to their bones. Barnes sat in the back. His hand twisted the throttle on the single-handle motor and the craft edged ahead.

  They drifted to the last bridge in Pittsburgh. Three weary men in a little craft had destroyed over a century of modern infrastructure. Three days of extreme exertion. Only one more bridge stood strong and proud in their path. Operation Anaconda would be complete with its destruction. Pittsburgh would be cut off from the rest of the nation, at least from an accessibility standpoint. The dead would have a more difficult time circumventing the city. How much time have we bought? A month? Two weeks? A few days? He pushed the thought from his mind and hoped to God it would be enough.

  Rusted brown girders rounded over the river almost as if the bridge steel was doing a wave. A bridge that stood as a testament to an industrial era long gone. Now, all that stood was a single rusted structure, a relic of a forgotten age.

  “What happened?” Steele said, his voice tight. Something was wrong with the bridge. He pointed at wreckage near one of the support pillars of the bridge.

  “Do you think someone already blew the bridge?” Ahmed called out. He half-laid, half-sat on the prow of the small craft.

  “One of the helicopters?” Steele offered.

  Barnes studied the bridge from afar with an air of skepticism. “I doubt it, boys. That would be too perfect, and nothing is ever that perfect.” He revved the engine, dodging around debris in the river.

  As they got closer, Steele gripped his carbine harder. A faded red tugboat had run aground while pushing a long barge of coal, wrapping both around a support pillar near the shore.

  Barnes slowed them down. The bow of the boat responded and sat higher in the water. “Will you look at that,” he said.

  Steele stared at the dead climbing all over the tug. “Look there. She’s been collecting dead like a strainer from the river.”

  “And there. Infected from the land are already onboard,” Ahmed said.

  “You boys ain’t gonna like this,” Barnes started.

  “I already don’t like it,” Steele said.

  “You and me both, but I’m going to have to board the tug and extradite it before we can attach the charges to the pillar,” Barnes said.

  “We can handle it,” Steele said. Ahmed nodded in affirmation.

  “Not today, lads. This is a one-man mission.”

  “Sorry, Barnes. Can’t let you do that,” Steele said.

  Ahmed looked up, shaking his head at Barnes. “Nope. You are a bigoted asshole, but you can’t go on that boat by yourself.”

  Barnes stood, stretching his back. He bent his arms behind his body. His body clicked and popped as his older joints accommodated his stretch. “Boys, boys. I’m feeling a bit lucky today. You know. Like God’s watching over me. Finish this up and then we can meet back up with the colonel.”

  I can’t let this man fend for himself out there. “I’m going with you, Barnes,” Steele said.

  “Steele. Steele. Steele. Good strong name, kid, but this is a party of one. I need someone to overwatch from the boat. Think Navy SEAL vs. Somali pirates. You dig?”

  “Look at all of them. You won’t make it ten feet.”

  “Sure I will. Have faith, young apprentice.” Barnes strapped on his gear.

  “Let’s thin them out, first.” Steele took aim with his M4 carbine. Barnes put a hand on Steele’s shoulder. The veteran ordinance specialist appeared somber and serious.

  “It will only draw more in, but I have a plan for you and Ahmedy. Just get me alongside of her.”

  They switched places and Steele drove the inflatable in the direction of the transport boat. They drifted close. The coal barge bobbed up and down, rocking in the water. Barnes reached up to grab onto the side of the tugboat, both boats swaying in time with the waves.

  “Get all those bastards down to the other end,” Barnes grunted over his shoulder. The soldier hauled his tactical girth up and over the side of the boat. Steele powered the engine around to the side of the long coal barge.

  “Start hollering.”

  Ahmed gave him a grin. He cupped a single hand around his mouth. “Hey you guys,” he shouted.

  Steele spun the boat around and idled about fifteen feet from the front of the coal barge. The dead crawled over the piles of night-black coal, moaning as they stumbled over the loose pieces. He waved his arms over his head. “Hey you.” He pointed at an ugly infected man wearing the remains of a shredded t-shirt with a penguin skating with a hockey stick. “Penguins suck,” Steele shouted, holding his chin high. His team, the Detroit Red Wings, had battled the Pittsburgh Penguins in a series of Stanley Cup Finals in the later part of the 2000s, building a good rivalry in the back to back competitions. The infected on the edge of the coal barge cartwheeled into the water as they reached for Steele and Ahmed.

  Ahmed laughed. “Not a Penguins fan?” he said.

  “Not now, not nevah,” Steele said. He slapped an oar on the surface of the water a few times.

  Cupping his hand around his mouth, Ahmed shouted. “Bangerang.”

  Steele waved the oar at a sorry infected fellow trying to stand on the nuggets of coal. “Come and try to get some good old Michigan meat.”

  “How do you feel about the Washington Capitols?” Ahmed asked.

  “What about ’em? They have a decent team. Nothing compared to the Wings.”

  Steele turned away. “Come on down.” He pointed an oar at a soot-covered infected, who tipped over the short railing into the river. It flopped around, arms flailing wildly in water.

  “The Caps are my team,” Ahmed said.

  Steele gave him a sidelong look. “I never struck you for a hockey fan.”

  Ahmed stopped slapping the water. “And why is that? ’Cause I’m not Canadian?” he said.

  “Eh, I dunno. Thought you were into baseball or something.”

  “I like to play baseball. I like to watch hockey,” Ahmed said.

  Steele picked up an empty bottle and chucked it at the infected. They reached out for the inflatable boat before they toppled into the water.

  “If we ever get this virus mess taken care of, we should hit up a game sometime. You know, a couple of beers. A couple of dogs,” Steele said.

  Ahmed cracked a smile.

  “What? Why are you smiling like that?” Steele said. He knelt down, using the sight on his carbine as a monocular. He scanned left and right with the carbine, searching for Barnes. Nothing. Infected clustered near the bow of the barge. The brightest of the bunch flapped around in the water.

  “Don’t see him.”

  Ahmed continued to stare at him.

  “What?”

  “Dude, I’m a Muslim. I’m not supposed to eat pork or drink,” Ahmed said.

  “You don’t drink at all?”

  “I’ve been known to throw a few back. My dad can
get us tickets. He knows the owner,” Ahmed said.

  “No shit. So Dad’s got some money.”

  Ahmed looked a bit abashed. “My father is good in the business department. In the father department, he leaves something to be desired.”

  “Secret’s safe with me. We’ll get you a beef dog and call it a day.”

  “That sounds good.”

  As movement caught Steele’s eye, he shushed Ahmed. He scanned back to the tugboat’s boathouse: a weathered, wooden structure. Paint flaked up off the wood. The warped wood provided little more than a leaky refuge from the rain.

  Barnes’s flushed face peered through a dirty window. Black smoke sputtered from an exhaust pipe as the motor fired up. It rattled, the noise traveling easily across the water. The infected at the bow turned for the boathouse with new interest in nearby prey.

  The tugboat grudgingly reversed as if it wanted to be a permanent fixture on the shore. The sudden movement sent the infected flying into coal piles, their faces and clothes smearing with black dust. They struggled to gain footing as Barnes continued to force the boat into motion.

  The tugboat rocked away from the bridge. The motor slapped the water, splashing up coffee-brown water into the air. Metal grated on metal, screeching in the air. The barge bent and twisted itself away from the muddy ground. Steele lined up his sights on the back of an infected’s skull. The wake from the coal barge rocked the inflatable raft up and his shot fired high. His finger moved quick on the trigger, almost as if he suppressed it with rounds to the body, impacting it, but not bringing it down.

  “Shit,” Steele cursed. The infected converged on the boathouse. Hands, faces, and bodies battered the worn wood and sooty glass. Muffled pops sounded like firecrackers as Barnes’s bullets exited the windows of the boathouse, spider-webbing the glass.

  “We gotta get closer. Ahmed, fire it up,” Steele shouted. He laid low in the front of the small boat. Precious moments passed as the infected waged their assault on Barnes’s flimsy wheelhouse base.

  Steele pressed his body flat in the front of the raft in an attempt to keep his shots steady. The motor gunned them for the tug and they pulled close alongside the it. Steele pulled the trigger on one infected, splattering the infected man’s brains on the side of the tugboat.

  Steele climbed aboard. Silence hung in the air. The shooting from the tugboat had stopped.

  Holding his M4 in the high ready, Steele stepped over decaying bodies. The closer he got to the boathouse, the more twice-dead infected lined his path. Bodies of the slain lay pressed against the boathouse in heaps of their own guts. Skulls of the infected leaked brain matter. Jagged exit wounds had split wide apart, pieces of skull sticking out. Fresh red blood sloshed over his boots. The door to the boathouse swung open on a single hinge. Steele checked his corners. Using his support hand, he nudged the broken door.

  “Barnes? You okay, man?” Steele called out. He pushed the door further open. Barnes held a hand to his beer belly. His fingers held his white ribbed intestines as he tried to stuff his insides back in. Blood pumped from open bite marks on covering his forearm.

  “They got me. They got me good. Bastards are faster than they look,” he said.

  “Get me the med kit,” Steele hollered back at Ahmed. Barnes’s normally ruddy face grimaced, becoming more pale.

  “More are coming,” Ahmed yelled.

  “No time for that, boy. Give me the bag with the charges,” Barnes said.

  “No, I can’t let you do this,” Steele said.

  “Listen up, kid,” Barnes said. He hacked blood onto the floor and wiped his mouth.

  “Get out of here. Even if it don’t blow, leave anyway. Tell the colonel we did the best we could. You did a bang-up job, kiddo. Hurry.” He coughed and his face contorted in pain. “Soon I’ll be gone.”

  Steele grabbed the bag with the explosives and set them down next to Barnes.

  “Get me close,” Barnes said. Steele stood, taking in the ancient controls to the tugboat. A lever here, a couple of buttons there. Blood covered all of it. After a minute of fiddling around, he slammed the lever forward, rocking the tug into action. He spun the wheel left and right, angling the coal barge in front of the tug. They pulled alongside the bridge pillar. Close enough.

  Steele looked down at Barnes. He lay very still. Steele placed his carbine near Barnes’s face. If he turned, Steele would have to execute him and plant the charges himself. Sergeant Barnes’s eyes fluttered open. Steele almost squeezed the trigger, but the man’s eyes were still a dark shade of gray.

  “Leave before I decide to take you both with me and let God sort you out,” Barnes grunted. The man hacked again. “Help me up.”

  Steele wrapped an arm around him. Barnes yelled and grunted as he was hauled upright. Steele dragged him near the rock-covered pillar and the EOD specialist leaned against it.

  “Now go, you stupid millennial. I sure as hell will blow this dump and take you and that Hajji with me,” Barnes said. A short smile grimaced on his lips.

  “Die well,” Steele said. He had no doubt that the man would likely blow him up if he didn’t create clearance in the next minute.

  Steele ran and jumped down into the inflatable boat, jolting Ahmed up and down. Ahmed looked anxiously at Steele for confirmation.

  “We gotta get out of here, it’s going to blow,” he said. Ahmed glanced back at the boathouse with an odd expression on his face. Steele couldn’t tell if it was anger, relief, or betrayal. Ahmed gunned the motor and they sped away.

  When they had created clearance, they slowed and turned the boat around. Thirty seconds passed. Then a minute. Steele checked his watch. Another minute passed. Barnes should have blown the bridge by now. Dead were lining the shore. Steele silently cursed himself. I should have put him down and done it myself. Then we wouldn’t be in this mess.

  “How long has it been?” Ahmed asked.

  “At least two and a half minutes.”

  “Should we check on him?”

  “And risk getting caught in the explosion?” Steele eyed the boat anxiously. Do we leave if it doesn’t blow? Or do I see it through?

  “What are we going to do then?”

  “Wait.” That’s all we can do.

  “I’ll pray on it.” Ahmed bowed his head slightly.

  Steele rose his eyebrows at his friend, wondering what good that would do, but left him to his own meditation.

  Nothing happened. The bridge crawled with infected like a dead corpse crawling with maggots. Come on, Barnes. Throw us a bone here. Otherwise they were screwed and a bridge would remain open for business through Pittsburgh.

  Ahmed’s lips moved in a silent prayer. He held his arm in a neutral position.

  “Do you see him?” Steele asked.

  Ahmed opened his eyes. “There.” He pointed out persons that could have been Barnes. Steele squinted. No, that is definitely an infected. That one could be him. The man wore ACUs, but he was too tall to be Barnes.

  “I don’t see him,” Steele whispered. He sat back down in the boat, contemplating their next plan of attack. The exhaustion of fighting for days hung on his shoulders like an oxen yoke. “I should have done it myself,” he said. He half-stood, wanting to take action, to do something. Anything. That was ingrained in him. He wanted to scream in frustration. All of those close calls and danger only to be foiled on the last bridge. Steele sat down again in their tiny boat, cursing his poor luck.

  “There. There he is,” Ahmed called out, pointing at the pillar.

  “Fuck me,” Steele said, scoping the coal barge. A man in bloodied fatigues huddled near the pillar. Was Barnes gone? Was he bent over feeding? Steele held his breath. Then he saw Sergeant Barnes face his way. White intestines spilled from his stomach, unraveling like coiled rope onto the ground. Is that bastard grinning?

  A monstrous explosion rippled outward from the pillars, and Steele wished he had ear protection. The metal girders twisted and turned, crumpling into a mangled mess of metal
and concrete. Debris traveled freely through the air, released from its man-made purpose. A blazing fireball reached for the skies like no Fourth of July fireworks spectacle he had ever seen. Steele and Ahmed watched the debris rain down.

  They sat in silence for a while. Pieces of rubble sprinkled into the water. They listened to the roar and eventual crackle of the flames. They had destroyed all the major bridges leading into and out of Pittsburgh.

  If the plan worked like it was supposed to, the dead would not only be trapped in Pittsburgh, but infected trickling in from the East Coast would be pinned along the rivers. The combination of the river and mountains around Pittsburgh would hem the dead in.

  Steele knew it was just a stop-gap measure. The infection had already spread west. It was time for Steele to turn west. It was time for Steele to reach Gwen.

  He grabbed the motor throttle, almost sad to have accomplished his mission. When a battle was hard fought, it left a void in people’s lives when it was over. His mind couldn’t believe it was over and he had survived.

  They drifted, quiet water lapping their small boat. He took a last look over Pittsburgh, the Steel City, and the City of Bridges. Now it was neither. Just another city of the dead.

  MAUSER

  Youngstown Airfield, Youngstown, Ohio

  Mauser ditched his crutches early. He hobbled along a series of hangers. On a particularly large hanger hung a worn seal for the 163rd Air Transport Wing of the Ohio Air National Guard: a shield with a faded red stripe that was almost pink, and a white stripe, now a dirty shade of gray, layered with an eagle soaring high that looked more like a white pigeon now.

  It had been three days since they reached the airfield. It wasn’t a large airfield, but since the collapse of many of the East Coast airbases, and its relative isolation from major cities, the Youngstown Airfield had become a rallying point for the retreat of U.S. Armed Forces within CONUS.

  The rush of wind turbines grew closer and Mauser covered his ears as a huge cargo plane landed on the long landing strip. C-130 Hercules aircraft landed day and night to transport soldiers, equipment, and supplies from around the United States. Multiple gray cargo planes already taxied down the alternate runway, waiting for clearance to begin their run.