by Tara Ellis
Since being subtle was off the board, the obvious infiltration point was the international airport adjacent to the base. It also happened to be close to the military medical center, where Dr. Pamela Watson was last reported to be holed up.
“I thought this chick was an astronomer or something,” Jay shouted over the hum of the Huey. “What’s she doing acting like a doctor?”
James stared at his friend long enough to convey his displeasure with the question. Gunnery Sergeant Jay Terrill was his second and knew they were supposed to keep the details of the assets to a minimum. “It’s not our job to ask questions, Terrill.”
The intel from the limited communication with Cheyenne Mountain was sparse. Most of it was from previous exchanges regarding FEMA Shelter NM1, which was originally erected in the fields at the southern end of the Kirtland Air Force base. Like so many other failed attempts in other states, the personnel had underestimated the threat from the civilian population and was overrun in a matter of days. Already suffering from varying degrees of radiation sickness, the survivors surrendered the shelter and fell back to the clinic and a couple of attached, defendable buildings.
Dr. Pamela Watson had become involved sometime soon after the flashpoint, apparently going to the military base in an attempt to pass on useful information regarding the gamma-ray burst. That was the only reason her name was flagged, and the unconfirmed location deemed a soft contact. The base had gone silent for more than two days.
As the Huey moved within a few klicks of their insertion point, James turned to address his men. “I know we’re not used to operating without a TOC, but we just stick with the plan. Lance and Flores, you keep your heads on a swivel and protect Helo 1 at all costs. She’s our only ride out.”
Though the 1st Force Reconnaissance unit was an elite group of highly trained Marines, they usually had plenty of support, including a Tactical Operations Center. As it was, they were lucky to have one helicopter, and even more fortunate to have comms. The TASC headsets were a parting gift from Corporal Walsh before they’d left the mountain. James didn’t know how or why the tactical radios had been stored at Cheyenne, and he didn’t care. All that mattered was that with the ability to communicate with each other on the ground, they at least stood a better chance of pulling off a successful operation.
“We treat it like any other snatch-and-grab,” Sergeant Lee added as he secured his headgear and comms.
James watched as his team did their weapons and gear checks, then turned his attention back to the darkening landscape. It was spotted with fires and what looked like clusters of people scattered throughout the city. If a night op had been feasible, they would have done it, but it was nearly impossible to navigate over long distances without visual flight. No satellites meant no GPS, whether their instruments had power or not.
“There,” James directed, pointing to the airstrip. A good portion of the airport was burned, but the buildings to the east were intact. Those were the target. “Get us as close as possible.”
The downside to having the medical center next to an airport was that there was no need for them to have a landing pad on their roof, as some other hospitals did. And while they were only a parking lot away, it was an open span where they would all be vulnerable to anyone with a gun. People would already be responding to the incredible and sudden appearance of the helicopter so the clock was ticking.
As the Huey touched down, James launched himself out of the opening and hit the ground moving forward in a crouching run. He knew without looking back that the three other soldiers were behind him.
They hadn’t gone more than a hundred yards when four military personnel came running toward them, likely having the same reaction to the helicopter as everyone else nearby. James slowed but didn’t stop, and raised his M4 to the ready. “Identify yourselves!”
The three men and one woman were in filthy fatigues, and only two of them were armed. “Airman Johnson!” the nearest man shouted, raising his empty hands. “We’re from the Kirtland base. Who are you, special ops? Thank God you’re here.”
“Where’s the rest?” the woman said, stopping and looking over at the helicopter in a daze. “There’s more of you, right?” Her eyes widened as she realized the four soldiers in front of her were the sum of the assumed rescue team.
“Master Sergeant Campbell, 1st Force Reconnaissance,” James barked, not lowering his weapon. “I’m looking for Dr. Pamela Watson.”
“What do you want with Pamela?” the first man asked, looking around nervously. “She’s inside,” he rushed to add, motioning back over his shoulder and toward the clinic. “But we can’t stay out here, man. It’s not safe.”
“Two tangos on my left,” Jay shouted. “Moving fast.”
James pivoted, bringing his Carbine around and quickly lining it up with two men who were skirting around some vehicles a couple hundred feet away. “Alpha Three, give me some suppression fire.”
Sergeant Lee complied with a short burst of automatic fire that sent chunks of cement flying near the advancing men’s feet. As expected, they dove for cover and James felt fairly certain that the show of fire power would be enough to buy them a few extra minutes.
“Dr. Watson,” James repeated, turning back to the wary soldiers. “I need you to take us to her.”
“This way,” Airman Johnson called as he ran back the way they’d come.
“Alpha One to Helo One,” James spoke into his headset.
“Go for Helo One.”
“We have confirmation on the HVT and are moving in for retrieval.” James knew the likelihood of anyone else having the ability to listen in on their conversation was remote, but it was still protocol. And Dr. Pamela Watson was most definitely a Highly Valued Target.
“Helo One copies.”
“Alpha Five to Alpha One.”
“Go for Alpha One.” James tried to keep the irritation out of his voice. He didn’t want to stand around and talk and Flores always had a big mouth.
“We’ve got at least a dozen tangos inbound from the FEMA shelter location.”
James passed up the slower airman and headed for the main entrance of the hospital. They’d have to make it fast. Grunting with dissatisfaction, he keyed up his radio. “Do what you can without any casualties, Alpha Five. Get ready for EXFIL.”
The parking lot was three-quarters full of useless vehicles, some of them burned, as well as several bodies in various stages of decomposition. That they were left to rot spoke of the hopeless situation the people there were facing.
Two more armed soldiers met them at the doors, looking both shocked and hopeful. Airman Johnson waved them off and they looked too weak to put up any resistance.
“She’s upstairs,” the female soldier offered, leading the way toward a stairwell.
She bent to pick up the candle stub left near the door, but Jay stopped her. “We’ve got it,” he offered, snapping on a flashlight.
It was remarkable, the effect a simple light had on the group. A collective gasp was followed by silence, and that was when James was hit by the stench as he opened the door to the stairs. Taking a step back, he raised a hand to his face and resisted the urge to gag.
“What is that?” Sergeant Lucas O’Grady gasped.
They had all experienced the smell of death, the worst of it at the Mount Weather facility. But the smell wafting over them was like nothing James had ever encountered. A mix of decay, feces, urine, and a putridness he couldn’t and didn’t want to identify.
“Welcome to hell,” Airman Johnson said, his voice hollow. “Death by radiation is a slow, messy process. The lucky ones died the first week. The not so lucky? Well, they’re still suffering in their own bloody soup of waste.”
“Shut up!” the woman shouted, pushing the man forward and onto the first of the metal steps. “It’s the worst in here,” she explained, looking back at James as he forced himself to follow, wishing he’d thought to bring their masks. “We didn’t have anywhere else to put the bodies
…hundreds of them. So, they’re stacked in the basement, along with all the garbage and waste. It’s not that bad, unless you open a door.”
James’s eyes burned from ammonia as they climbed the stairs and he was relieved when they exited on the third floor, instead of the sixth. They were greeted by a group of people gathered in some sort of lounge area next to the stairwell. James figured it was originally a waiting room. While it was impossible for him to have a picture of the doctor, he knew that she was a fifty-two-year-old African American woman, so could see immediately that she wasn’t part of the crowd.
“Dr. Pamela Watson!” James shouted. His loud, booming voice echoed off the cement walls and several of the people cringed away from him. While a couple were in fatigues, the rest were wearing regular clothes, all of them covered in filth. Dim, flickering light provided from several candles lit the room, and it was enough to reveal the sorry state the survivors were in.
“What’s happened?” a woman called out as she ran down a connecting hallway. “I thought I heard gunshots after the helicopter landed.” She froze when she saw James and the rest of the unit.
“Dr. Pamela Watson?” Lowering his rifle, James did his best to look less intimidating.
Dr. Watson squinted at him, taking in his uniform and equipment. “You have working radios and a helicopter. I’ll be whoever you want me to be.” When he only glared at her in response, she grinned. “You bet I’m Dr. Watson! It’s about time help got here. What’s your plan? We’ve got a hundred and eighteen left alive.”
James could see Jay shifting uneasily from foot to foot, and he could feel time slipping by. He didn’t like to stand still while on an op and they’d already been inside the building for too long.
“Helo One to Alpha One.”
“Go for Alpha One,” James answered, turning away from the doctor.
“We’re getting too hot for extraction. Suppression is no longer working. We’ll need to use lethal force.”
“That’s a hard copy,” James barked, thinking through the options, which weren’t many. “Move to secondary EXFIL.”
“Copy that. Moving to secondary extraction point. Five mikes.”
James spun back to face Dr. Watson before the transmission had even finished. “I’m here to retrieve you, Doctor. We can discuss the others on the way out.”
“Nanna!” a young girl of around five years old broke off from the group in the waiting room and ran to Doctor Watson, wrapping her small arms around her grandmother’s legs. “Are we going home? Can we get some water? I’m still thirsty.”
Pamela reached down and placed a hand on top of the girl’s curly hair while staring at James, her dark eyes welling with tears. She began to shake her head and then slowly pointed a finger at him. “No. I’m not going anywhere until all of us have a ride out of this nightmare.”
James was acutely aware of the two armed soldiers who had followed them upstairs, as well as the growing crowd in the waiting room. More survivors, in various degrees of illness and despair, were slowly making their way towards the commotion from three different darkened hallways. While he trusted his own men and knew they would be restrained in their reactions, their orders were clear and failure wasn’t an option.
Looking back down at the little girl, James made a decision he knew he’d have to live with for the rest of his life. Stepping forward he leaned in close and spoke inches away from the doctor’s face. “We need to have a private conversation.”
A flash of fear crossed her face and her fingers curled into her granddaughter’s hair.
“She can come,” James offered before gesturing towards what looked like an office behind a reception area.
Dr. Watson led the way, and James closed the door behind them, raising his other hand at the same time she started to talk. “Let me be clear. You have two choices. You can either cooperate, and leave with us under the guise that you’re helping us coordinate a rescue, and bring your granddaughter. Otherwise, I’ll throw you over my shoulder and you’ll still leave. Alone.”
“But I—”
“You’ll make your decision by the time I open this door. We’re leaving now. Is there a way to the roof?” Dr. Watson nodded, and James pushed at the door.
Stepping back out into the room, he smiled at the other people. “Dr. Watson has agreed to help us organize your rescue. Airman!” Airman Johnson jerked to attention. “I need you to get ready. Separate those who can and can’t walk. I want these people ready to move by the time I get back. Understood?”
Not waiting for an answer, James motioned to Jay and then glanced at the doctor. She was holding tightly to her granddaughter’s hand and stoically waving to the people who only moments before she thought she’d never leave. It was cruel, but there was no other way. The Huey could only hold a few more passengers and the clinic was about to be overrun.
They re-entered the stairwell and headed for the roof. Two minutes later they burst onto the top of the six-story building, where Helo One was waiting, hovering, a SPIE rope deployed below it. Already forming a plan on how to raise both the doctor and young girl to safety, James noticed movement below them in the parking lot.
The group advancing from what remained of the FEMA shelter had reached the clinic. Distracted by the recon team and outnumbered, the guards at the doors were easily overtaken. They were shooting randomly into the growing mob, but James knew it wouldn’t make a difference.
Jay easily lifted the little girl while James reached for Dr. Watson, but she grabbed ahold of him first as her legs buckled. Sobbing, her eyes burned with a fury and pain he’d never seen before. “You’ve killed them all,” she spat.
James grit his teeth and wrapped her up in his massive arms. “They were already dead.”
Chapter 8
ETHAN
Duke Ranch, Grahams Place, Montana
The fire snapped as sap exploded and sent a cascade of sparks up into the sky. Ethan stared into it, finding it both mesmerizing and relaxing. He’d spent hours that way when he’d been held captive by Decker and Billy. It was the only time with them when he wasn’t scared.
“Hey.”
Ethan jumped, and then smiled up at Sam as the older man eased himself down to the ground next to him. It might have been wishful thinking, but Ethan thought Sam looked better than he had just that morning. Cutting their travel for the day in half and having a good meal probably had a lot to do with it.
“Mind if I join you?” Sam leaned back against the log Ethan was using and then reached out to pet Grace, who was laying curled up at Ethan’s feet and halfway across his lap.
Ethan shrugged. “Sure, Sam. I’m just getting warmed up before bed. Looks like it might be a wet night.”
Sam looked up at the sky that had turned dark and ominous soon after dinner. Ethan was glad the northern lights were finally blocked from view, but the idea of a storm wasn’t too appealing. While they would be sleeping in a dry bunkhouse that night, it could still mean a messy ride the next day.
An odd flash of orange light briefly lit the mountains to their southwest, and the air remained eerily silent and heavy. Ethan turned to get a better look at where the storm was building, but it was too dark to really make out much. Another burst of color caused the bottom of the clouds to glow, this time with more of a whitish-blue tinge. He’d seen plenty of storms, growing up in Montana, and this one was making the hair on the back of his neck rise.
“It appears that we’re in for some more changes,” Jesper Duke said from across the fire. He sat on a large stump, one booted ankle crossed over the other. Danny and his dad sat next to Jesper, and Anna moved forward with a large piece of wood to toss on the fire, nodding at her husband in agreement.
It was obvious to Ethan that there were a lot of nights spent talking around the fire. It was positioned centrally between the main house, barn, and bunk house. Jesper’s son, as well as the five farmhands who came to their rescue earlier that day, were spread around the campfire talking animatedly a
mongst themselves.
“There’s a good chance the weather is going to get worse,” Sam offered, drawing everyone’s attention. He shifted slightly as he gathered his thoughts and Ethan absently rubbed at Grace’s ears while he listened. “The gamma-ray burst must have destroyed a large percentage of the ozone layer, as well as disrupted the chemical compounds in the upper atmosphere. This could have a cascading effect on the weather systems, including the jet stream.”
“Are we talking Tornado Alley moving over a couple of states, or hurricanes in the desert sort of stuff?” Anna Jesper asked, sounding more annoyed than scared.
Sam tossed a stick at the fire and made a tsking noise. “Impossible to say, really, but I’d think at the minimum, there’s a potential for storms larger than anything experienced in recent history.”
“And the temperature?” One of the cowhands asked, pulling his jacket closed. “It shouldn’t be this cold at night. Not in June.”
“The temperature, weather, plant die-off, and maybe even a form of acid rain,” Sam confirmed. “The fallout could go on for years.”
“Plant die-off,” Jesper echoed. He sounded troubled but Ethan was having a hard time reading the older man’s expression in the firelight. “We’ve been noticing the pines in the higher elevations have been dropping their needles early, and the tops are turning brown.”
“Is that from the gamma radiation?” Jesper’s son asked.
“No.” Ethan was surprised to hear his dad answer the question. “It’s from the ultraviolet radiation.”
“Right, Tom,” Sam confirmed. “The ozone acts as a buffer for several different elements, including the sun’s radiation.”
“Then why in the world is it getting colder?” another one of the hands pressed.
“Higher UV doesn’t necessarily mean more heat,” Sam tried to explain. “And in addition to the ozone layer damage, the chemical changes are contributing to the temperature fluctuations. Look, I’m not going to try and pretend like I have all of the answers, because I don’t. It’s all speculation on my part.”
