Apocalypse Dawn

by Mel Odom

  Mesmerized by the action on the television screen behind the bar at the heavy metal club, Joey didn’t recognize Jenny McGrath’s voice at first. The news anchor was saying that the current footage had been taped, that the live transmissions had been lost, and that the station hoped to re-establish a live transmission within the next few minutes.

  Goose is over there in that! The thought screamed through Joey’s mind like a banshee wail.

  “Joey?” Jenny’s voice took on a plaintive note. “I didn’t come here with you to be ignored.”

  A television anchor hunkered down behind a wall of sandbags. He held a microphone in one hand and squinted against the dust and smoke that eddied across the screen. “—what we understand is that there’s been a full-scale assault upon the Turkish army and U.N. peacekeeping forces.”

  “Do you know what precipitated the attack?” an offscreen anchorwoman asked.

  A tremendous explosion sounded nearby before the reporter could reply. The man in the field dropped prone and covered his head with both arms. Sand and earthen chunks rained down, pelting the newsman mercilessly. The cameraman took cover a moment later, dragging the camera behind him. The view from the field tumbled along the desert floor. The scene shifted immediately, showing footage of SCUDs streaking through the sky, then a line of explosions leaping up from the distant horizon.

  “Joey,” Jenny called again.

  Aggravated with the girl for interrupting him, still smarting over the way she had deserted him to dance with the band, Joey said, “I’m trying to listen to the television.”

  Jenny’s voice turned cold. “Catching up on the Lakers game?”

  Aware that Jenny wasn’t at all happy with him, Joey said, “No. It’s a special bulletin. The Syrians just attacked Turkey.”

  Crossing her arms, Jenny didn’t appear mollified by that explanation in the least. “So instead of a guy who’s a sports fan, I’m trading up to one who’s totally a political science nerd? And what, exactly, is so fascinating about that?”

  Memory of the way Jenny had danced on stage only moments ago rattled around inside Joey’s skull. Looking at her, he realized that he wasn’t as happy to be out with her as he’d thought he would be when she first asked him.

  “I told you my dad was a soldier,” Joey said, biting back his retort. “He’s stationed over in Turkey.” He pointed at the television. “He’s one of the guys over there in the middle of that right now. His unit, the 75th Rangers, was assigned there. He could be hurt right now, or maybe worse.” He couldn’t bring himself to say that Goose might have died in the initial assault.

  “Oh.” Her features softening somewhat, Jenny glanced at the television. “There’s nothing you can do about what’s going on over there. I mean, whatever’s going to happen is going to happen.”

  Joey looked at her in disbelief.

  A frown creased Jenny’s forehead and lips. “Don’t give me that look. I work five nights a week at Kettle O’ Fish, which is a dead-end job no matter how much you seem to like it. Do the math. I work five nights. That leaves two nights off. On those nights, I like to dance.” She paused. “This is one of those nights, Joey, and we’re not exactly dancing here.”

  Overwhelmed in the face of such an uncaring attitude, Joey didn’t know what to say.

  “Besides,” Jenny said, “I thought you said your dad was in California.”

  Tony Holder had lived in California for the last half dozen years. He had been a small-time filmmaker in L.A. since divorcing Joey’s Mom and leaving Columbus.

  “It’s Goose,” Joey said. “My stepdad.”

  Jenny frowned again and shrugged. “So what? You said yourself that the guy hardly has any time for you these days. Why should you worry about him?”

  Because I care about what happens to him, Joey thought immediately, but he didn’t say it. Maybe he’s forgotten about me, but I still don’t want anything to happen to him. Mom would go crazy. And Chris would lose his father. Joey knew all about that and didn’t want his little brother to experience something as bad as that. He glanced back at the television screen and took his cell phone from his pocket.

  When he’d left the family house that evening, he’d turned the device off, knowing his mom would call to check on him after he stayed out past his curfew. He intended to tell his mom that he had forgotten to charge the phone and had left the power cord adapter for his car’s cigarette lighter on his desk. The car was his mom’s, so his stuff wasn’t always in the vehicle. It was a fib he’d used in the past, and taking the battery out and discharging the power before he arrived home was no problem.

  “Joey,” Jenny said.

  Ignoring her, Joey watched the television, noticing that Leonard and Ace were both keeping track of the conversation between him and Jenny. Punching in his number, Joey quickly cycled through the menu options and opened his mailbox.

  There were two messages, both of them from his mom. The caller ID indicated that five other messages had been missed between the first and last message. The first three had been from the Gander home phone number. The last four had been from his mom’s cell phone.

  “Joey,” his mom said calmly, “you’re out past your curfew. You are going to be so grounded when you get back home.”

  In a way, his mom’s promise of punishment was reassuring. If she was only thinking of grounding him, then things couldn’t be that bad. But the call had been logged in before the time when the news channel said the hostilities had started.

  “Are you listening to me?” Jenny demanded.

  “Give me a minute,” Joey said, looking at the television. The news footage cycled through again. Evidently the reporters had been caught pretty much flat-footed and hadn’t been able to send much in the way of footage before the communications lines had been cut. He punched up the second message.

  “Joey,” his mom said. Her voice sounded tight and controlled, the way it did some days when things got really hectic at the counseling center. “I don’t know where you are, and I don’t know what you might have seen on the television. All I can tell you is that I haven’t received any information about Goose.”

  Some of the tightness inside Joey’s chest relaxed. Thank You, God. The sentiment flooded through him, but at the same time he felt like a hypocrite, one of those people who reached for God in times of need but never simply gave thanks to Him all along the way. But there hadn’t been a lot to be thankful for lately, had there?

  “I know Goose’s unit was involved in the action along the border,” his mom went on. “I’ve been called in to the base hospital. An emergency has come up regarding one of my patients.”

  That, Joey knew, wasn’t a good thing. The last time his mom had gotten called in to the base hospital had been when one of the teens she was counseling had tried to commit suicide. Even as he thought that, he remembered Chris.

  “I had to drop Chris off at the emergency child-care center,” his mom said. “I don’t know how long I’ll be at the hospital. If you get this message, please go by and pick Chris up. He wasn’t happy about being left there.” There was a pause. “I’m really ticked at you for not being here and for causing me extra worry, Joey, but I want you to know I love you. Get home and we’ll get this sorted out.”

  The message clicked off. Before the automated message could prompt him to replay, delete, or save the message, Joey punched the asterisk to end the session. He dialed his mom’s cell phone number but got only her message box. Fear crept through him, swamping him with thoughts of what might have happened to his mom or Goose or Chris. He was worried to the point that getting yelled at for blowing off his curfew actually sounded good to him.

  “Joey.” Jenny sounded totally miffed.

  Looking at her, Joey said, “I gotta go.”

  “What?” she asked sarcastically. “Did you hear your mom calling?”

  “As a matter of fact,” Joey said, “I did. There’s been an emergency. I brought you here. I can drop you back by your house. Or do you t
hink you can find a way home from here? I’ll pay for a cab.”

  “You’re leaving me here?” A look of disbelief covered her beautiful face.

  “I’m trying not to.”

  “Do you care?”

  “Actually,” Joey said, “I do. Goose—my step-dad—taught me that you don’t just ditch someone you brought with you. And I don’t want to just leave things like this between us. I want to see you again. If that’s okay.” And, boy, doesn’t that sound lame. But the thought didn’t linger in his mind. He was thinking totally of his family.

  Jenny stayed silent for a moment. “I can find a way home.”

  Her answer slashed through Joey’s knotted guts. His anger coiled inside him, and he wanted to stand there and argue with her, to tell her how much her actions had hurt him. But he thought of Chris in the child-care center with some stranger, and he knew how wigged out his mom would be with Goose in the thick of things over in Turkey.

  “Fine.” Joey shelved his anger and hurt for the moment. Sorting them out with all the confusion spinning through his head at the same time was almost impossible. That was another thing Goose had helped him work on when he was just a kid. He’d been confused over his dad’s abandonment and his mother’s remarriage. As a result, some of his anger had been targeted at Goose, who had taken everything in stride. They had worked through most of that one step at a time—until Chris had been born.

  Chris.

  Joey turned and walked away.

  “Hey, man,” Leonard said solemnly, dropping a hand on Joey’s shoulder for a moment. “Hope everything turns out okay with your dad.”

  “Me, too,” Joey said. “Thanks.” He kept moving.

  “Hey, Joey,” Jenny called from behind him.

  He stopped and watched as she ran to join him. “What?” he asked.

  “Want company?”

  “You?” Joey couldn’t figure her out. She had been so hard on him, then this. Her behavior didn’t make sense.

  “Yeah.”

  “Why?”

  She shrugged. “Because you’re a friend. And I think maybe you could use a friend for a little while.”

  A friend. That was one of the last things Joey wanted to be with Jenny McGrath. He almost groaned in frustration.

  “Look,” Jenny said. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for the things that I said. I’m not always a nice person.”

  “No,” he agreed, and part of him wanted to be a little mean about accepting her offer. However, he regretted his response immediately.

  She sighed. “It’s a twenty-minute drive back to the base. Your dad is obviously involved in something really bad, wherever he is.”

  “Turkey.”

  “Whatever. And I don’t know what your mom had to say—”

  “There’s been an emergency. My little brother got dumped in the child-care center on base because I wasn’t home.” Like I should have been. “Chris likes to be in his own bed at night. Mom said he wasn’t happy about being left there, and if he wakes up there, he’s going to freak.”

  “Then let’s go get him,” Jenny said, taking Joey by the arm.

  Joey didn’t move.

  She looked at him, locking eyes. “It’s a twenty-minute drive, Joey. You’re upset. At least, I’d be upset in your shoes. You don’t need to be alone. And the fact that you wanted to make sure I was going to be okay if you left me here was kind of cool.” She shrugged. “Let me return the favor by riding along with you. I take care of my friends, too. When I get over being temporarily self-involved.”

  Joey melted at her hesitant smile, and he got a peek behind the usual confident and distant air Jenny McGrath broadcast to everyone. He got the feeling she was actually afraid he was going to turn her down. But thinking about that twenty-minute drive back to Fort Benning, he knew he’d be a basket case by the time he arrived if he was alone.

  “All right,” he said.

  Over her left shoulder, the television at the bar changed its programming with no warning. The words LIVE BROADCAST—GLITTER CITY, TURKEY started streaming across the bottom of the screen.

  Even across the distance, Joey recognized Goose’s haggard features. Goose wore a kerchief over his lower face, but the scar by his right eyebrow that curved down toward his hidden cheekbone marked him immediately. Sand coated his face and gear. A helicopter flew through the air in the distance behind him.

  Goose was obviously short of patience with the reporter talking to him. The camera shot only showed his head and shoulders, but Joey could identify the emotion by his stepdad’s stance. Then Goose turned away from the camera, one hand going to the headset. The helicopter exploded.

  Stunned, not believing what he was seeing, Joey’s breath stopped dead and tight in his lungs and his mouth turned dry as chalk. On the screen, Goose advanced toward the ridge where the flaming fragments of the helicopter had fallen. In the next instant, a Jeep sailed over the ridge and landed on the desert floor. The vehicle swung dangerously close to the burned-out husk of a building as the driver overcorrected. The gunner on the rear deck swung his weapon in Goose’s direction and started firing.

  Joey watched as Goose reversed directions and took cover behind the broken, smoke-wreathed fragment of a wall. Bullets threw up sprays of sand and chewed pockmarks in the stone. Then the camera view changed as the Jeep gunner’s next sweep of deadly fire caught the cameraman and punched him backward.

  A sheen of bright crimson blood covered the camera lens before everything went black.

  13

  Turkey

  30 Klicks South of Sanliurfa

  Local Time 0755 Hours

  As Goose centered the M-4A1’s sights over the Syrian gunner on the Jeep’s rear deck and squeezed the trigger, he watched in helpless frustration as the machine gun swiveled in the reporter and cameraman’s direction. Hardesty threw himself flat, but the cameraman never had a chance.

  A fusillade of bullets slapped into the cameraman, shredded the camera, and dropped a bloody corpse to the hot, smoke-stained ground already strewn with debris.

  Taking aim, Goose slipped his finger over the M-4A1’s trigger, took up slack, and pulled through. The assault rifle bucked against his shoulder. He fired two more three-round bursts, unsure of which one raked the machine gunner from the rear deck. A body tumbled from the vehicle and fell in a limp-limbed sprawl to the ground.

  Noticing that there had been a casualty, the Syrian soldier driving the Jeep took immediate evasive action.

  No mercy existed in Goose’s heart. He thought of all the unsuspecting people who had been killed in the brutal attack only moments ago. When he had to take the lives of people killing innocents, he figured he was on the side of the angels. He fired again, putting his next rounds into the driver, watching as the man slumped over the steering wheel.

  Out of control, the Jeep weaved and drove into the flaming hulk of a building. As high as the flames were, Goose knew the third man in the Jeep wasn’t going to make an escape from the building.

  Hardesty, the news reporter, lay on the ground and raised his head only briefly to look at the dead cameraman. Then he began shouting for help.

  “Three,” Goose shouted hoarsely, not knowing if the headset connection was still intact. “This is Leader.”

  “Three reads you, Leader,” Bobby Tanaka radioed back.

  “Take the high ground, Three. You’re our cover.”

  “Affirmative, Leader. Three has the high ground.” As the squad sniper, Tanaka could provide covering fire.

  Goose watched as the other two Jeeps roared into Glitter City. “Four,” he said.

  “Four reads you, Leader,” Dean Hardin replied.

  “Get one of the RSOVs up and running, Four,” Goose ordered. “If any crew from that 60 survived, I want to know. Eight and Ten, you’re with Four.”

  “Acknowledged, Leader,” Hardin said. “Gonna be tough getting through to them.”

  “We’ll give them something else to worry about.” Goose’s mind r
aced. From years of training and self-discipline, he knew where every man in his unit was. A shaky plan came together between heartbeats.

  The two Jeeps reached the other end of the town and came back around. The machine gunners raked the hillside where Phoenix Team was hunkered down, letting the Rangers know they had the range and the firepower to get the job done.

  “Two.” Goose rose, sucking his breath in to charge his lungs with oxygen. Adrenaline fired through him, temporarily erasing all fatigue and fear.

  “Two copies,” Bill said.

  “You’ve got the 203,” Goose said. The M-203 fired fin-stabilized 40mm grenades with a variety of purposes.

  “Affirmative.”

  “If I give you a target, can you hit it?”

  “Leader, don’t—”

  Taking his M-4A1 firmly in both hands after swapping out magazines, Goose sucked in another breath, then pushed it all out. “Load up with an HE round. No fragmentation. Let’s cut the risk of friendly fire.”

  “Goose,” Bill protested. “This isn’t—”

  The two Jeeps rumbled closer. The lead Jeep headed for Goose’s position, obviously confident of engaging him.

  “I’ve got no choice, Two,” Goose said. “They’re on top of me. You’re in an exposed position. One of us has to be at risk, and if you’re taken down, we lose the 203’s punch.”

  “All right, Goose.” Bill didn’t sound relaxed.

  “Now.” Goose broke cover in a rush, running toward the opposite side of the street. He drummed his combat boots hard against the sand, knowing that if he were back on base, in sneakers or in baseball cleats, he could make better time. Combat boots were prized by soldiers for endurance and protection, not for being fleet.

  The machine gunner of the lead vehicle opened fire at once. A brutal line of 7.62mm bullets cracked the wall where Goose had been hiding, then chopped through the sand after him as the Syrian soldier compensated for his motion.

  The rattle of machine gun fire filled Goose’s head. He knew the Syrian soldier almost had him in his sights, felt certain he heard the harsh whisper of the steel-jacketed rounds cutting the air just behind him. His heart slammed against his rib cage like an enraged beast seeking escape. He thought of Megan and Joey and Chris, and he thought about God and Jesus, the way his father had talked of them in the Sunday school classes he’d taught back in Waycross when Goose was growing up.