Divided We Fall (7 page)

Chapter
12

“A hundred and
twenty-six! What did you do, bring the entire city? You know I can’t allow them
all into the mountain,”
General Reynolds said, his voice sounding tiny over
the phone.

Cloud sat at the
front of the aircraft, looking back into the fuselage. The aircraft was filled
with families and soldiers. Scared and weary, faces covered with filth and
dust. Mothers holding children—most likely their first time ever on a
flight—while Afghan men sat in groups, looking at Cloud suspiciously. He
couldn’t blame them; even the US soldiers in their party had their reasons not
to trust him. Coming out of nowhere to retrieve them after going months with no
contact, he would have no excuse if they questioned him on it.

The line cracked
and buzzed in his ear, ending his trance. “Sir, I didn’t have many options; the
men on the ground refused to leave the civilians behind.”

“Well, you
should have left them.”

“Sir?”

“It’s not worth
arguing about. We no longer need them; find a remote spot. I need you to drop
them and R.T.B.”

Cloud’s jaw
clenched and his brow tightened in disbelief. “But, sir… what about the mission…
the exchange?”

“Colonel,
there’s been a breakthrough with Aziz. We’ve already made other arrangements. The
exchange is no longer necessary; now un-ass that excess cargo and return to
base.”

“But, sir, I have
them all on board now… women and children… our soldiers; I can deliver them,”
Cloud said.

“Colonel, you
have your orders; clean up your mess and return to base. I will have a new
flight plan sent to the cockpit; we are showing an open airfield on your
current route. If the soldiers want to stay on board, that is approved. If not,
land and leave them with the rest. I’ll brief you on the changes when you get
back.”

Cloud grew
agitated, his blood beginning to boil; why travel all this way, give hope to,
and now abandon these people? The general had lost his humanity; after this,
there would be no bargaining to recover his family. All the months of Cloud’s
frustration were coming to the top, blurring his judgment; he was tired and
ready to quit. He had done everything he was asked to, but he could not do
this. “You just expect me to leave them? Sir, how am I—?”

His voice crackling
in the headset, the general shouted,
“I don’t care what you have to do.
Dammit, James, I’m trying to make this an easy decision for you. If you can’t
handle it, put me through to the recovery team leader and I’ll have him open
the ramp and run them out!”

Cloud reached up
and disconnected the call. The airman moved across the aisle and retrieved the
headset. “Cut the link; I won’t need it any longer,” Cloud said.

The airman looked
at Cloud suspiciously. “Sir, we will not be able to receive inbound calls,” he
said.

“Cut the line,”
Cloud answered. He turned his head and looked to the back of the fuselage. The
recovery team was stretched out on pallets and bundles of luggage in the open
cargo hold, weapons still strapped to their chests. The Hairatan soldiers and
civilians were all disarmed as they boarded the aircraft, their rifles lay
neatly piled and strapped to a pallet under the watchful eye of the recovery
team. Many of the black-clad contractors were asleep; others sat looking ahead
or playing cards. Cloud slowly got to his feet and walked among the packed rows
of seats. At the second to last row, he found the man he was looking for.

Cloud reached out
and squeezed Sergeant Turner’s shoulder. Startled awake, Turner jumped then
looked up at Cloud and rubbed his eyes. “Sorry, sir; first time I’ve been able
to sleep without having to watch my back. Guess I went under a bit harder than
I’m used to.”

“No worries,
Sergeant,” Cloud said, smiling. He pointed to a soldier sitting next to Turner.
“Sorry, I haven’t been able to meet the rest of your unit yet.”

Turner looked in
the seat to his right, and then threw an elbow to wake the man next to him.
“Oh, this guy? Yeah, my right hand man; meet Corporal Mendez.”

Mendez let out a
loud snort, and then looked over at Cloud; he prepared to stand before
realizing he was strapped to the seat. Cloud put out a hand to relax Mendez. “At
ease, Corporal. Would you two mind following me to the front? We have things to
discuss with the flight crew,” Cloud said.

The sergeant
nodded. “Is this about the court-martial? I meant what I said back there,
Colonel; there will be no disagreement from me. We can leave the corporal and
the other men out of this.”

Cloud frowned,
knowing that Turner and these men really had no idea the condition the world
was in. To them, they were just returning home. He’d intentionally misled them
and kept them in the dark. “Yes, Sergeant, that’s what we need to discuss.
Could you both follow me, please?” Cloud stepped back away from the seats and
allowed both men to join him in the aisle. He casually glanced over his
shoulder and saw that one of the recovery men was watching him. Cloud wondered
if the recovery team had already been made aware of the change in plans. With
the sat line cut, he doubted the recovery men had their own means of
communications.

Cloud moved forward
with the two soldiers trailing close behind him. The airman stepped out,
blocking the colonel’s path. “Sir, can I assist you with something?”

Cloud put his hand
on the airman’s elbow. “Nothing to worry about. I just need to have a word with
the pilots; we have a change of plans.”

The airman looked
back at the two gruff, bearded soldiers then back at Cloud. Cloud’s face was
stone. He gave the airman a glare that showed he was losing patience. The airman
nodded apologetically and turned to lead the men into a narrow space near the
lavatory. He waited for them to catch up before he put his hands on the ladder
leading up to the flight deck. Cloud moved in directly behind the airman; he
allowed him to take a few steps before turning back to look Turner in the face.

“Stick with me if
you want to see your people home safely.” Cloud turned back to the front, not
waiting for a response. He’d already made his decision and would do what he had
to. He moved quickly up the stairs. A small platform at the top led directly
into the cockpit. Cloud could see both pilots seated at the controls; two more
empty seats were located just behind the pilots’ seats. To his left was another
member of the flight crew. Leaning over an instrument panel, the man seemed
uninterested in the visitors to the flight deck. The pilots themselves either
didn’t notice the men entering behind them or were unconcerned. The airman stood
at the top with his back turned to the pilots while he waited for Cloud and the
rest to climb to the top. They were soon all crammed into the tight space.

With the airman’s back
to the pilot and the crewmember to the left, Cloud used the awkward confines to
draw his own pistol. He forced the barrel tightly into the airman’s abdomen.
When the man looked down and saw the blue-steeled barrel, his body went rigid
as his eyes went wide. Cloud let his free hand slide up to the airman’s left
armpit and withdrew an M9 Berretta from the man’s shoulder holster. Cloud kept
the barrel tight in the man’s gut as he took the M9 and handed it over to a
shocked Turner.

After Cloud handed
off the weapon to the sergeant, he pointed at the crewmember to the left. Turner
looked confused. Cloud used the hand that previously held the M9 and grabbed
Turner by the shirt collar, pulling him in. “Disarm that man.”

Putting full faith
in Turner, he spun the airman around and directed him forward into the cockpit.
He stood behind him for a moment before looking back. He could see that Mendez
was now also armed and holding the third crewmember at gunpoint. Turner moved
up beside him. “Now what? You going to tell me what’s going on?” Turner asked.

The airman suddenly
bolted ahead, trying to give a warning to the pilots. Cloud was ready for the
motion and swung hard at the base of the man’s neck with the heel of the
pistol. The airman went slack as both pilots turned to look back, and Cloud let
the body collapse between the seats. He leveled the pistol at the back of the
pilot’s head while Turner stepped forward and did the same to the co-pilot.
Cloud reached for a hook, pulled on a set of headphones, and watched as Turner
mirrored his actions.

“What the hell are
you doing?” the pilot yelled.

Cloud looked at
both men then sat in the seat behind the pilot, keeping his weapon pointed at
the pilot’s head. “What’s our current destination?” Cloud asked.

“Sir, you know damn
well our orders have been changed; you know where we’re headed,” the pilot
answered.

Turner’s attention
moved to the pilot, suddenly gaining clarity over Cloud’s bold move. “Changed
how?” he asked.

“Go ahead… tell
him,” Cloud said. “Tell him the plan to dump these people on a remote
airstrip—leave them all for dead.”

The pilot laughed.
“I’m just a fucking bus driver; what do you want from me?”

“That’s exactly
what you are, and this is
my
bus now,” Cloud said. He reached over the
pilot’s shoulder and dropped a small scrap of paper. “Here—this is your new
destination.”

The pilot held up
the paper and shook his head. “
Savannah?
Colonel, you’ve lost your damn
mind; he’s going to kill you for this.”

Chapter
13

The clacking of a
swift wind rattling and scraping leafless limbs together woke Joe-Mac from his
deep sleep. Joe didn’t mind being alone out on mountain roads. He slept the
best when he was locked away tight in the cab of the truck. Dan’s farm was
nice, but there were always people coming and going, slamming doors, and
stomping feet. His tiny space in the barn was far from luxurious, but in the
truck, he had privacy, and the Detroit steel made him feel safe.

He pulled the edge
of heavy quilt down from over his head and looked through the trees into the
early dawn sky. Joe pushed the button on his dashboard radio; the blue light of
the digital display came to life showing the time as 05:57. The folks at the
cabin would be waking up about now and switching out the guards; it would be a
bad time to drive up on the gates. Another thirty minutes would be perfect.

He stretched and
yawned before reaching across and popping open the glove box; a small thermos
and wire contraption dropped onto the floor. Joe gathered up the items and
searched the surroundings through the cab windows. It was rare for the infected
to move this high up the mountain, but he still needed to be careful. When Joe
was sure he was alone, he pulled the door release and let it swing open.

The truck sat in an
elevated position just above the mountain road, hidden against an old
deteriorating blockhouse. The building was rotting and collapsing in on itself.
Empty for decades and concealed by tall trees with drooping limbs, the spot had
been long forgotten except by the occasional hiker and weary tourist who may
have stopped for a break. As Joe exited the truck, he could see signs of
travelers—discarded aluminum cans, the occasional candy bar wrapper, and
cigarette butts littered the area. Joe lifted a tin can and examined it in his
hands before tossing it to the side.

“Ancient travelers
once roamed this place,” he said in his best History Channel voice. “Now nature
reclaims this bit of the mountain.” Joe laughed, entertaining himself as he
walked around to the rear of his truck. He passed to the back and opened a
steel box that ran the length of the truck bed then opened a small compartment
door and retrieved a canvas bag.

He stopped and
checked his surroundings again, listening to the sounds of swishing grass in an
adjacent field. Other than the trees gently swaying in the breeze, there were
no signs of movement—animal, human, or something worse. He took a deep breath
and moved away from the truck to an old wooden picnic table. He spotted a small
brass plate embedded on the tabletop, the surface engraved with a man’s name
and the dates he lived. Joe used his thumb to wipe dirt off the plate and read
the inscription. “Well, Mr. Tucker, would you mind if I sat at your table?” Joe
said. “Guess I’ll be taking your silence as a no, and I thank you much, sir.”

Joe dropped the
canvas bag on the tabletop and set up the wire contraption. He dug through the
bag, removed a small metallic disc, and set it at the base of the wire frame.
He unzipped a small front pouch and retrieved a zip lock bag; inside were small
white fuel cubes. Carefully, he placed one on the center of the disc and held a
lighter against it until it produced a dull orange flame. Joe separated his
thermos and placed the top cup over the fire, then unscrewed the cap and filled
the cup with water. From the bag, he pulled two paper pouches of instant coffee
that he slowly mixed into the water.

Joe chuckled to
himself. “Boy, Dan would be pissed if he saw me using up my fuel tabs on
coffee,” he said. Joe laughed again while speaking in a poor impersonation of
Dan’s voice. “They for
emergencies
only, Joe; why you gonna go
wasting
’em?”

Every vehicle at
the camp was equipped with one of the canvas bags; inside every bag were fuel
tabs, instant coffee, soup packets, oatmeal, matches, and bottles of water.
Some had a bit more, others a bit less. Joe’s bag used to be stocked with
chocolate bars and even cans of beef stew. Joe managed to eat up most of his
emergency bag on an outing a week ago, and Dan refused to replenish it. Joe
scowled, thinking about the lecture he’d received. He started on again mocking
Dan. “Joe you need to learn—”

A human voice
carried in on the wind silenced him.

Joe-Mac held his
breath and knelt down. He lifted a handful of sand and quickly used it to
smother out the fuel cube. He heard the voices again, clearer now; although he
could not make out the words, he could identify them as two males. The voices
seemed to be coming from down below on the road. When he heard the sounds of
boots kicking at gravel, Joe dropped to his belly and crawled ahead to the edge
of the narrow drive he’d driven up the night before. Through the trees, he
could see the dirt road down the steep hill. A man wearing woodland camouflage
cargo pants stepped into view just before another man walked up next to him.

The men laughed,
one lit a cigarette and used it to light another that he passed off to his
partner. They were both armed with military-type rifles; Joe watched as one
slung the rifle over his shoulder and turned to look behind him. The low rumble
of an engine crept up the mountain road. The men stood together and waited as a
black cargo van pulled up beside them. They moved around to the far side of the
van to the driver’s window. Now out of sight, Joe used the moment to move
closer down the hill. He gripped a tree trunk tightly and carefully slid over
the edge and into the thicker cover. He cautiously lowered himself down the
steep ledge and dropped next to a thick tree.

Joe turned and
pressed his back against the trunk so that was looking back up in the direction
of the blockhouse then turned his head so that his left ear was in the
direction of the van. He heard the engine suddenly die and a sliding door open,
followed by the clunk of passenger doors as more men entered the road.

“Chuck, why the
hell we stopping here?” a man said.

A raspy voice
answered, “Gimme a minute, I gotta take a piss.”

The man closed in
on Joe’s position in the trees. Joe heard him step onto the roadside just yards
below him on the steep hill. Joe’s heart raced, he could feel it beating in his
chest so loud that he was sure the man below could hear it. The man groaned as
he relieved himself into the dry leaves. He cleared his throat loudly and spit
before turning and moving back to the van.

“They ain’t shit up
here. How much farther we gonna go up this road, Chuck?” a man asked.

Chuck let out a
raspy sigh. “Now last night, you all excited talking ’bout how you saw
headlights moving up this road. Now you say they ain’t nothing up here. So
which is it?”

“Come on now, I’m
just saying maybe what I saw is gone. Maybe it passed on through is all,” the
man answered.

“Or just maybe it’s
up around the bend with a ranch full of fresh women and hot food; now would you
want to pass up on an opportunity like that?” Chuck said.

“No, no, Chuck, I
guess I wouldn’t,” the man said, laughing before his voice once again turned
serious. “It’s just we been walking all night, Chuck. I think we need a break,
or maybe I can ride in the van with you for a spell.”

Chuck let out a raspy
and deep breathy laugh. “Oh, you want a ride in the van, huh? Cause you
special, you want a break, do yah?” Joe heard the sound of a pistol’s slide
retract as a round was being chambered.

“No… Chuck, don’t…
I’m okay; I’s just—” A gunshot cracked and echoed over the trees. The sudden
sound caused Joe’s foot to flinch. His boot kicked forward and knocked loose
bits of earth and gravel that slid down the ledge, picking up other debris with
them as they tumbled. The objects crashed into the dry leaves below.

“What the hell was
that?” a man said.

Chuck let out a
long wheezy laugh. “What? You need a break too?”

“No, dammit; didn’t
ya hear that?” the man said, his voice getting closer to Joe as he approached
the side of the road. “It sounded like it came from up there.”

“Huh.” Joe heard
Chuck step closer with the other man, Chuck’s heavy breathing leading the way.
“What? Way up there?”

“Yeah, you didn’t
hear it? How ’bout ya’ll?” the man said, speaking louder to the group that was
still gathered by the van.

Chuck cleared his
throat again and spit more phlegm to the roadside. “My ears is still ringing
from this damn gun… when you all gonna find me a quiet one? Know what? Hell
with it. I ain’t even in the mood anymore—get in the van, we can move back up
here later in the day with the trucks. I’m hungry. Needs to get me some bacon
in this belly.”

“You sure? It
sounds like somebody is up there; maybe we should check it out,” the man said.

Chuck let out an
exaggerated exhale, his voice turning to frustration. “They ain’t nothing up
there, probably critters is all. Hell, which of us did time in the Corps? You?”

“No, Chuck; like
you told us, you the only one here that’s served.”

“Good, so that’s
one thing we clear on. Come on; let’s get back to the camp.”

“What about the
body?” the man asked.

“Get his gear,
leave the mess.”

Joe heard the
clanking of gear being removed from the downed man. Gravel crunched and doors
slammed shut then the van’s engine roared to life, the driver revving it before
making a three-point maneuver to turn it back down the mountain trail. Joe-Mac
sat silently until the sound of the van completely faded. He listened to the
sounds of the woods, and when the birds’ chirping returned, Joe pushed away
from the tree and climbed back up the hillside.

He needed to get
out of there and quick.
The camp is only two miles up the trail, the guards
should have heard the shot; they’d be on alert.

Joe ran to the table
and lifted the cup, gulping down the cold liquid before dumping everything into
his canvas bag. He hurried to the truck, dropped the bag into its compartment,
and closed the lid. He got into the cab and turned the key; feeling it start, he
put the truck into gear and eased onto the steep drive that joined back to the
mountain trail. At the bottom, he stopped and placed the truck into park.

He reached over,
grabbed the homemade mace—now covered with bits of hair and sticky blood—opened
the door, and exited the truck. He swept the area quickly then jogged to the
abandoned body in the middle of the trail. The man lay face down in a pool of
bright crimson blood circling his head. Joe reached over the body and dug
through his empty pockets. Whoever they were, they stripped the body clean;
there was no clue as to who they were or where they came from.

Joe sat listening and
knew he needed to get back to the cabin in a hurry. Dan was really going to be
pissed that he led others up the trail. From what Joe witnessed, there was no
doubt that these men were hostile. He needed to get back and warn the camp.

Joe ran back to the
truck and drove farther up the trail, checking the mirrors to make sure he
wasn’t being followed. Dan wasn’t going to be happy; Joe broke the rules and
entered the trail after dark with his lights on, allowing anyone for miles
around to track the moving beacon traveling away from Seneca. It was stupid of
him, a dumb mistake, or maybe just dumb luck; hopefully Dan would see it as the
latter. Joe slowed the truck and cut the wheel. Pulling to the shoulder, he
jumped out and hauled a long cut section of brush away from the road to expose
a drive. He drove the truck carefully on the drive and got back out, dragging
the brush back over the narrow opening.

Joe drove up the
driveway slowly, cautiously avoiding obstacles and navigating the deep muddy
tire tracks in the narrow lane. At the end was a tall chain link fence. Joe
exited the truck and stepped up to it, banging at the gate. “Come on, dammit;
open up!” Joe said.

An old man wearing
a striped ball cap and denim coveralls appeared from around a plywood and
earthen bunker. The blind was set up so that it was concealed from the gate,
but allowed whoever was in it to have a wide field of fire. The old man carried
a pump shotgun in his right hand and a cob pipe dangled from his lips. “What’s
yer hurry, kid? Wuzin’ that you doin’ the shootin’ earlier on?” he asked with a
heavy Appalachian accent.

Joe grabbed the
gate and shook it. “Damn, old man, will you just open up? No, it wasn’t me; we
got people moving up behind me… no telling when they might be here.”

The old man looked
at Joe wide-eyed as he fumbled with a ring of keys. “People ya say? What sort
of people? You sure? All the ways up on the mountain cut… ain’t no reason for
nobody to come up huntin’ this-a-way,” the old man mumbled. “Unless—was’in ya
followed, Joe?” the old man asked.

“It doesn’t matter;
just get the gate open. I need to talk to Dan.”