Apache Dawn: Book I of the Wildfire Saga (56 page)

“I…” he gasped.
 
“I heard, yes.
 
Just rumors.”
 

“The Koreans already destroyed it…
oooooooh
…” she said in a delightfully sinful voice, her hands roaming farther south.
 
“
But,” she said, “there were survivors.
 
The North Koreans promised to remove this problem for us…in return for us not fighting their invasion.
 
But it looks like they are failing, despite all our efforts to help them…”

The President gasped for breath.
 
The black spots in his vision rendered him nearly blind, but didn’t care.
 
All
our
efforts?
 
What’s talking about?
 
God bless her, she’s confusing…

“The man in charge of the Air Force base,” she whispered, letting her hands walk up his chest again.
 
“Colonel Molton…is…a friend of ours.
 
Give him the authority—”

“I’ll do it!” he hissed.
 
“Do what it takes…”

“Yeeeeessssss,” she murmured.
 
“
Very good…”
 
She pressed the length of her body against his, straddling him in the chair.
 
They both leaned slowly back, the weight of her on his chest pinning him as if she were made of iron—not flesh and blood, filled to the brim with desire.

He couldn’t breathe.
 
His muscles had tensed with panic.
 
His vision was completely gone.
 
The muscles in his chest tightened to the point of pain.
 
Air, he needed
air
.
 

“Help…”
he squeaked, using the last of his oxygen.
 
She had to help.

She giggled, the sound drifting to him from a dream.
 
He was falling now, deeper and deeper into a well.
 
She was up there—at the top—looking down and watching him fall, slowly toward the…

“Breathe, my love…”

And he breathed, a great deep gulp of sweet air.
 
His vision rushed back.
 
He lay there, settled back in the chair with her laying on top of him, smiling at him from only an inch away.
 
Her lithe form sent shock-waves of pleasure coursing through him.
 
He could feel her arms snaking around his neck again, pulling her closer.
 

“Will you do this thing for me?” she whispered, laying her head on his shoulder.
 
Her hair felt like silk as it cascaded down his arm and across his bare chest.

“
Anything
…”
he whispered.

She nibbled at his neck.
 
“Good…”
 
Slowly she pushed on his chest and pulled herself away.
 
Still sitting in his lap, she bent over backwards, displaying a nimbleness and agility that caused his mind to spin with the possibilities.
 
She arched her back and reached over to the conference table, picking up the phone.
 
Once more facing him, she handed him the phone.

“Now tell him,” she said in a commanding voice.
 

“I…” he said and smiled.
 
He felt drunk.
 
This wasn’t real.
 
“Who?”

Her face remained neutral.
 
The softness faded from her, evaporating before his eyes.
 
“Tell that self-serving, little shit of a base commander to order his men to
execute
the traitors.
 
All of them
.
”
 
Her eyes narrowed.
 
She shoved the phone into his limp hand.
 
“
Now.”

He pulled the phone to his ear, in a slow, dream-like movement.
 

“
Hello?
” a deep voice said.

“This is Harold Barron.
 
Who am I speaking with?” he said in a voice that was strong and vigorous.
 
He was amazed at how suddenly assertive and in-command he sounded.

“
Mr. President!
 
Yes, sir.
 
This is Colonel Andrew Molton, acting base commander, sir.
”

“Colonel Molton, you have identified the traitors…?”

“
Yes, Mr. President, they’re trapped in an older part of the bunker system here
.”

“Very good.
 
I want them taken care of, immediately
.”

“
Mr. President?
”

He sighed.
 
“How is it you soldiers talk?
 
‘Terminate with extreme prejudice.’
 
How’s that?
 
Kill them
.
 
Every last one.
 
They represent a clear and present danger to the national security of the United States.
 
Is that enough legalese for you?
 
Colonel, this is coming straight from my lips.
 
Do I make myself clear?”

“
Yes…yes, sir
,” said the voice, uncertainty clouding his words.

“Colonel Molton…”

“
Sir?
”

“Do this for me, and you’ll be
General
Molton by sundown.
 
I’m looking for a new man to coordinate the Air Force counterattack…”

“
Consider it done, Mr. President!
”
 
The line went dead.

The President exhaled and let the phone drop from his hand to clatter on the floor.
 
His head lolled back against the chair and stared at the ceiling again.
 
He was utterly exhausted.
 
Every ounce of strength he had went into keeping his voice authoritative and strong.
 
He began to quiver all over, as if he were going into shock.

Then she was there, slithering all over his body, embracing him, surrounding him, securing him, feeding him.
 
She
was
him.
 
He was her.
 
He felt like he was floating, and his mind drifted on wave after wave of pleasure.
 
Colors bursting overhead like fireworks clouded his vision.
 

Is this real?

“You did well,” she murmured in his ear, her voice soft, yet exploding in his mind like a bomb.
 
Her fingertips brushed his skin, electricity crackled in her wake.
 
He noticed his shirt was off, but he couldn’t remember when…

He sighed and gave in.
 
Gave up?
 
He smiled.
 
It didn’t matter.
 
Only she mattered.
 
And the sensations she gave him.
 
He knew in that instant he would do anything, anything, to keep these feelings coming.
 
If there was ever a Heaven on earth, he was in it.

“Should I reward you now?” she whispered, her lips brushing the sensitive skin of his neck.
 
A kiss here, a touch of fingertips there.
 
Her smell was so thick he could almost see the clouds of Heaven swirling around him.
 

Reward?
 
What the hell is she talking about?
 

“Mmmmmmm…that’s a yes,” she chuckled.
 
Her voice sounded as if it were coming from the next room.
 
“But first…”

You mean it gets
better
?

“Wha—what?” he gasped.
 
Anything…just tell me
.

“I want you to disband Congress…send them home.
 
For their own safety, of course.”

Fine.
 
Done.

“I…
what?
”
 
A myriad of conflicting thoughts flitted across his mind, warnings, desires, the country, loyalty, lust…damn it all, it was so hard to concentrate.
 

“This is a time…of crisis.
 
No place for…oh, what do you call them…legislators?”
 
A finger trailed down his forehead, down the bridge of his nose and touched his lips together when he tried to mumble a weak protest.
 

“Don’t talk.
 
Just
do
.
 
Listen to me, my love…just do what I say.
 
Do what I say and this…will never end.”

He cried out in pleasure.
 
Everything went white.
 
His toes began to tingle.
 
It was the most delicious feeling he had ever experienced.
 
He wanted more.
 
He had to have more.
 

God, please…

“Will you help me?” she said in a sweet voice.

“I’ll do it!” he gasped.
 
“Anything…just tell…tell me what to do.”
 
He tried to smile but was overcome with a sudden sensation of numbness.
 
He began to worry that his smile looked more like a grimace—he couldn’t feel his face.
 
He didn’t care.
 

“Tell me what to do…” he whined.

“Good!” she said.
 
The slinky temptress vanished into the guise of the no-nonsense administrative aide.
 
He felt his eyes go wide in shock.
 

“We’ve got a lot to get done,” she said matter-of-factly.
 
“I happen to have a stack of papers for you to sign…you need to grant permanent rights to the U.N. forces…and you’ll have to come up with a convincing speech to give to Congress about why they need to take a leave of absence…but don’t worry about the details for all that.
 
I’ll be here to help you!
 
Oh, and then, there’s the Koreans…”

He groaned in frustration.

“
But,” she said, fingers to her lip.
 
The administrative aide was gone, replaced once more with his seductress.
 
She smiled, one finger caressing the corner of her full, ruby red, pouting lower lip.
 
“All that boring stuff can wait…”

C
HAPTER
23

El Segundo, California.

Los Angeles Air Force Base.

M
R
. P
RESIDENT
, I
URGE
you—
please
—lay back down and relax,” pleaded Dr. Honeycutt.
 
The Chief of Emergency Medicine rung his hands—it was clear he was not used to people disobeying his orders.

The pounding on the other side of the thick door intensified.
 
Brief muffled shouts drifted into the communications room.
 
The SEALs knelt on either side of the entrance, weapons ready, but with their eyes full of questions as they looked to their leader, standing near the President.
 

Brenda had a lot of questions, as well.
 
How the hell are we going to get out of this?
 
Did they really mean we were all traitors?
 
I’m just a doctor…I didn’t shoot anyone…

“Miss,” said the President gently, drawing her attention back down to the gurney where the leader of the free world lay dying.
 
He put an emaciated hand on Brenda’s and squeezed.
 
She had to force herself look at his face.
 
The skin around his ears was a distinct blue color.
 
His eyes were sunken into grayish folds of skin that on closer inspection, were just dark blue.
 
Memories of the Blue Flu made her stagger backwards in fear.

No…no, it can’t be back…

“
Take this thing out of my arm so I can put my coat on.
 
Please
,” the President gasped. I’ll be damned if the last image people have of me is…this.”

“Sir,” she said, feeling her throat constrict with emotion.
 
Here he was, a septuagenarian, on death’s doorstep from the weaponized flu, and he was worried about making sure he was wearing a proper coat to address the nation—a nation that had already given him up for dead.
 
She tried hard to hold back the tears.
 
She knew from The Pandemic that once an infected patient started showing signs of cyanosis, death was only a few short hours away—if they lasted that long