Jensen looked up from the floor and slowly raised both of his middle fingers at his laughing friend. Without speaking, he closed his eyes and quietly retracted his fingers and raised them up several times.
Dave sat back and smiled. It was good to be home again. He was still smiling when a knock sounded at the door almost a minute later.
Jensen called out, “Come in!”
A young man slowly opened the door, his eyes resting on Jessica for a moment longer than Jensen felt was necessary. He called out, “Captain Carlson?”
Jensen, already feeling irritated, answered abruptly “Yeah. What?” Quickly realizing his error, the young man straightened up and looked directly at Jensen, ignoring the others in the room, including Jessica. “Colonel Strenke and Colonel Simmons would like to see you, sir.”
Jensen stood and gave Jessica a long kiss before following the young man out of the room.
Chapter 16
The young man asked Jensen to follow him as he walked to the end of the hallway into the stairwell. He seemed uncomfortable, probably embarrassed about staring at Jessica and conscious of Jensen’s long kiss with the petite woman before he left the room.
It was intentional. Jensen wanted him to be uncomfortable. It wasn’t really for Jessica’s sake, but his own. It was an antiquated display of male dominance based in behavior from thousands of years in the past. Unlike prehistoric men, he was only with Jessica by her choice, yet the outward displays of dominance continued among males.
Perhaps it was rooted in instinctual behavior passed down through the centuries, like that of Canadian Geese migrating for the winter. Perhaps it was simply the expectations of society, where women generally took a man’s last name in marriage. It could even be considered a sort of chivalry if considered in the right context. By exhibiting intimate behavior in front of a potential suitor, he was preventing her from having to reject the young man when he came on to her.
Whatever the reason, even if nonsensical, it made him feel better. Punching the guy would make him feel even better, but Jensen resisted the passing urge. At the bottom of the stairwell, the young man opened the door and waited for him to pass through. Normally, Jensen would have thanked him, but he was still irritated. He simply grunted slightly as he passed through and waited outside for him to take the lead again.
Jensen took in his surroundings in the few seconds as he stood there on the concrete access ramp. They were at the edge of a small paved area just off of a small two-lane road. Directly across the road was a red brick church. To his left, also across the road, he could see two small homes nestled among the trees. He subconsciously picked out every high point or place of concealment and quickly studied them for threats.
It all took just a moment. He was finished by the time the younger man passed him and took the lead again. They turned right from the doorway and climbed a small grassy embankment. To his left, Jensen could see several cars, covered in dirt and leaves, parked in front of the church. It looked as though people had gone to church one Sunday morning and just disappeared. That probably wasn’t far from the truth.
To his right was another red brick building. This campus seemed to have grown slowly over decades. The town must have been gaining population slowly over the years, quickly enough to demand more space, but not fast enough to justify building an entirely new campus to serve the community. The fence surrounding the school appeared to be much newer than the rest of the campus, probably a result of the rash of school shootings over the preceding years.
As they crossed in front of the building diagonally past a Blackhawk helicopter, Jensen broke the silence. He pointed toward the smoke and asked, “What’s burning over there?”
The man looked in the direction Jensen was pointing and said, “You know how it is, Captain. Field sanitation.” He spread his arms as he walked to indicate the buildings to either side. “Plumbing doesn’t work.”
Jensen grimaced. He’d never had to burn feces before, but some of his men had been drafted to do it and told him stories about how horrible it had been. He was thankful the slight breeze was blowing the smoke away from the buildings. They passed between two buildings, one of which appeared to be a sports complex. When he saw the banner on the taller building proclaiming it to be the Panther Den, he knew he had been correct.
Ahead, he could see the football field in front of him, spreading out several feet lower in elevation. Trailers and campers were parked on the field and track. The spaces between were covered in tents and canopies. They appeared to be moving toward some activity near a greenhouse between the gymnasium and the field. He could see a small army of men working around the greenhouse. Jensen easily recognized Colonel Simmons out in front, who called out to him. “Jensen! Over here!”
Jensen picked up his pace, passing his guide as he approached Colonel Simmons and a shorter man, who could be Colonel Strenke. Simmons reached out his hand to shake Jensen’s and led right into the conversation. “I spoke to Brent. He’s doing well. He confirmed everything you told me about Aaron.” He paused briefly. “I’m sorry for doubting you.” Simmons nodded his head at the shorter man. “This is Colonel Paul Strenke. He’s in charge of this place.”
Jensen stuck his hand out. During the handshake, he appraised the man. He was only about five foot seven, unusual for higher grade officers, who frequently appeared to be selected for their size and image rather than their abilities. Strenke had closely cropped reddish hair which was balding near the crown. Also unusual; Jensen couldn’t remember the last colonel or general he’d met who had red hair.
The red-haired man wasn’t dressed like he was in the military. He was wearing a pair of jeans with a green polo shirt that seemed to be one size too large for his slender frame. “Colonel, very nice to meet you. I’m Jensen Carlson. How can I be of service?”
“Ah, eager! I like that.” The Colonel beamed at him. “I hear you’ve had quite an interesting few weeks. Merc attacks? Nuclear strike?” Jensen just nodded in confirmation. “It appears someone really wants you and your friends dead.” Jensen nodded again, not sure how to answer. “Why is that?”
Jensen was caught off guard. It wasn’t the introduction he’d been expecting at all. He glanced quickly at Colonel Simmons, who silently nodded to go ahead. Jensen looked back at Strenke.
“Well, sir, we discovered a medical test facility at North Georgia Technical College. It appears that the supervirus originated there. We took two laptops with us, and they were tracked to our location.” He paused for a second, looking for any disbelief, but the shorter man just looked at him as though urging him to continue. “We believe that the virus was engineered by someone working for a Georgia Senator named Bob Snead.”
Strenke held up his hand, indicating that he wanted Jensen to stop there. “What makes you think Snead had anything to do with the virus?”
Jensen tried to think of the best way to explain. He knew it all sounded crazy. “We took some laptops with us when we left the college. Someone tracked us down and deployed a hit team to the cabin where we were staying. Two of the men from the squad survived the fight and told us they worked for Senator Snead.”
Strenke studied Jensen closely. “And where are those two men now?”
Jensen felt his heart sink. It did sound crazy. How would anyone believe him? “One of the men, Rob, killed the other one, who was named Nate. While we were trying to escape, a team in a helicopter came in and killed Rob.”
The colonel tilted his head slightly. “So the two men who could vouch for your story are both dead. One killed the other one, and was later killed by a strike team in a helicopter while letting the rest of you live?”
Jensen’s face showed his frustration. “I know it sounds absolutely crazy, but that’s what happened. That’s why Snead is trying to kill us.”
Strenke smiled and put his hand on Jensen’s arm. “Oh, crazy was when the NFL fell apart while my Browns were undefeated. Your story actually matches pretty well with what we already know.�
��
Thoughts raced through Jensen’s head as he stood there, stunned. Strenke believed him? What they already knew? Who was this new Colonel, anyway? His shock was clearly evidenced by his silence and his slightly open mouth as he stared at Strenke and Simmons.
“You look surprised” Strenke said. The Colonel removed his hand from Jensen’s arm. “We’ve been here for months. I’m not sure how well you know the area, but Franklin is pretty much directly north of Clayton, Georgia. I believe you’re familiar with the town.”
The shorter man looked behind him at the men disassembling the greenhouse. He pointed to one of them, who was helping to carry a glass panel toward a waiting flatbed truck. “Simon came here from Cornelia. He passed through Clarkesville last spring and saw the medical facility at North Georgia.
“Last week, he had a doctor arrive from Statesboro. Snead’s men were starving his family because he was treating sick people without authorization. Snead has the entire state under his thumb. He controls food, water, electricity, medicine, everything.” Strenke indicated Simmons. “I was telling Clark about a lot of this when he recommended talking to you.
The diminutive Colonel continued, “My men checked out the explosions across the border. Definitely nuclear. The radiation was off the charts. They ran into your group on the way back.” He looked solemn, “We now know it was because someone was worried enough about YOU to drop a nuclear weapon on American soil. And that someone is the very same President Snead of the Coalition of Southern States.”
Jensen found his voice. “Whoa. President Snead? Coalition of Southern States? I didn’t—we didn’t know anything about this.”
Strenke pursed his lips and shook his head. “Didn’t think you would if you’ve been hiding out in the woods. We’ve had people coming through from down south for as long as I’ve been here.”
A sudden thought struck Jensen. “Sir, we’ve got to get ready. Someone attacked us in Highlands and is probably coming this way now.” How had he gotten distracted? Dave’s arrival? Had that been enough to throw him off? The firefight had only been a couple hours ago. The idea that the attacking force could be following them had completely slipped his mind until now.
“Relax Captain, we’ve got it covered. With any luck, my men will be bringing the survivor in shortly. We may be able to save him.”
Sudden hope filled Jensen. “We had someone survive?” He was still torn about not rushing to the checkpoint to help. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Colonel Simmons look down and shake his head.
Strenke explained. “The survivor is one of theirs. We haven’t had the chance to get into Highlands to locate your people yet, but based on the team we ran into, we don’t expect to find survivors.”
“What do you mean?” The man’s certainty was puzzling, especially if they hadn’t been to the site of the attack yet.
Strenke looked off into the distance behind Jensen and seemed to be thinking before he refocused and looked him in the eye. “Have you ever heard of an organization called Vampirgruppe?”
To Strenke’s obvious surprise, Jensen nodded. “Sure. They’re the ones who attacked us. Rob and Nate were part of it.”
Strenke’s expression of surprise quickly turned to one of respect as he said, “You were attacked by Vampirgruppe and you’re here talking to me? Holy fuck, Jensen. How many people did you have?”
“Well, it was me, Jessica, Daniel, Marcy, Brent, and Sheila.” He was quiet for a second, “Sheila was killed in the attack.” As they stood in the sunlight next to a local high school, it was hard to remember the fight in the darkness that morning. They had all been so close to death, not just in the fight, but in their escape from the mountain before the nuke landed.
Strenke turned to Simmons. “You were afraid of overselling this young man? I think you undersold him. I’ve been working with Vampirgruppe for years and I’ve never seen a force of fewer than forty fighters, dug in, managing to hold them off, much less six handing them their asses.”
“You worked with Vampirgruppe, sir? What type of Colonel are you?”
Strenke laughed. “A retired one. I did contracting in the Army. I did a lot of work with them. Hell—Doug was like family.”
Jensen broke in, “Doug? Was he a tall blonde guy?”
Strenke looked surprised again. “Yeah, Doug Richards. You know him?”
Jensen shook his head, “No, but a tall blonde guy named Doug was the one in the helicopter. He’s the one who killed Rob.” Jensen thought back. “Well, he didn’t actually shoot him; a couple of his men did. He killed him for shooting Nate.”
“Nate? Nathan Johnson? Rob killed Nathan Johnson?” Strenke seemed stunned.
Jensen shrugged. “He said his name was Nate, that’s all I know.”
“Holy shit,” Colonel Strenke said. “You definitely know Vampirgruppe then. Doug was the CEO, Nathan was his son-in-law. I’m really surprised you’re alive.” He looked solemn, “That’s why I don’t think your friends in Highlands are still alive. Vampirgruppe is now Sentry Group, and they’re the ones who attacked the checkpoint.”
Chapter 17
Brinkley Adamson sat in an armchair next to Brent Phillips’ bed. He was asleep again, finally. She had spent much of the past hour trying to convince him to rest. At his age, he didn’t recover as quickly as younger men, and they would be moving again with a day or two.
She was a couple decades younger than Brent and even she was beginning to feel the effects of the previous days. Her world had erupted when Brent’s group had arrived in Highlands. First, she went off on a mission to save Brent from himself, and then she had been awake for almost two days straight trying to care for the wounded from the bombing run. She’d barely slept at all since then.
As one of the Army’s first female combat medics, she’d learned to operate on little sleep when necessary, but she’d also learned that she needed to sleep when she could. She’d been asleep when Colonel Simmons had suddenly evacuated camp to retreat to Franklin.
She also knew they’d be moving again soon. Young men like to talk. Young men talk a lot in the presence of an attractive woman without a ring on her finger. A year before, Brinkley would have been considered cute or pretty. She was too curvy to be truly ‘hot.’
In the military, she’d been ‘one of the guys.’ When she left after one tour to work on becoming a physician’s assistant, her classmates had been drawn to the thin little girls who couldn’t even drink yet. They’d avoided her like the plague unless they needed tutoring, either because of her strong personality or her curvaceous form.
Now, almost a year after the world fell apart, most women looked like professional marathoners, while Brinkley still had curves. Things had changed. Now the eyes of most men seemed to gloss over at the sight of another classically thin woman—and widen when she came into view. It was a nice feeling.
Everyone was thin; that’s what happened when food became scarce. Thin was no longer a discriminating factor. It was weird how men always seemed to be drawn to something different from the norm. In only a few hours she’d already heard some life stories and learned they were preparing to leave Franklin to move further north.
Engineers had gotten the power on in Waynesville and a preliminary force was already set up at a grand hotel near Lake Junaluska. They would have all of the conveniences of home: electricity, air conditioning, and plumbing. A hot shower and soft mattress sounded so amazing.
Summer was coming, and it would be miserable without air conditioning. Someone had once said the southeast was one of the most inhospitable places to live if you wanted to be comfortable. It got cold enough in the winter to require heat and warm clothing. In the summer, the heat and humidity made it almost unbearable.
The mountains in the east weren’t anything like out west, where the higher altitude promised cooler temperatures during the heat of the day. The lower elevation of the Appalachians didn’t provide enough height to get above the sweltering heat. The mass of trees respiring up and
down the range filled the air with water, making it feel like you were drowning in air on the hottest days.
It was already getting hot during the day. Brinkley seemed to spend half of her time trying to push sweaty hairs, which had escaped her ponytail, off her face. It was uncomfortable now, but in a few more weeks it would become absolutely miserable.
Heat and humidity also made things stink. Brinkley didn’t smell like a bed of roses, despite her best efforts, but most of the men smelled like walking dumpsters. Even the floors and walls seemed to smell bad, like wet dogs had been rolling around on them.
It would do her spirits and her nose good to be back in a modern place with electricity and running water. Rags and a bucket of water drawn from a stream just didn’t cut it.
As a student at Clemson University, the heat from the asphalt as she walked between her car and the classroom had been brutal during the fall semester, especially during August and September. That had only been a short walk from one air-conditioned place to another.
The heat had been so bad that she considered transferring to another university further north for the rest of her program. She had only dismissed the idea because she didn’t want to go through the process with the Veteran’s Administration to transfer her GI Bill benefits.
The brutal heat and humidity in western South Carolina was terrible, but dealing with the VA should probably be considered torture. One person had even demanded that she fax documents, a technology that had been obsolete for decades, simply because the woman claimed encrypted e-mail wasn’t secure enough.
In the end, Brinkley had decided to stay at Clemson to finish her degree. It didn’t matter now. Classes had been canceled last fall and never resumed. Brinkley had gone to a rented cabin in Cashiers, North Carolina, with her friend Amanda when most of the campus closed. They hiked through the mountains, drank wine, and marathoned old television shows while the campus was shut down.
Tomorrow's Dawn (Book 4): Gathering Storms Page 8
