The Dying of the Light (Book 1): End (46 page)

“Captain Reynolds, sir?” said the Globemaster’s crew chief. “Got some flash traffic for you, sir.” He handed Tom a short piece of paper, saluted, and left.

“Fuck a duck in the ass,” Tom muttered as he read the short message.

“Sir?” asked Masters, who had appeared next to the captain, as if by magic.

Spooky, this guy.

“Get your men geared up, lieutenant. And have your drivers prep their Strykers.” Tom glanced at the columns of smoke. “This is gonna be ugly.”

Fort Carson, Colorado

“No, sir. I understand, sir. Yes, sir.” Maxwell’s voice was quiet as he hung up the phone. “That was the president,” he said.

Anderson waited as Maxwell sat back in his chair. The general would talk when he was ready. Anderson had been around long enough to know when to wait, and when to speak up. This was definitely one of the former occasions.

“There’s been some rioting in Seattle.”

“How bad?”

“Couple hundred dead, several square miles or so cordoned off by the police. Fires, looting, the works.”

“That’s not good at all. Have they found the bunker?”

“As far as we can tell, no. Probably some of the locals noticed the construction and may have put two and two together, but nothing’s come of it yet.  The cops are handling it fairly well, though Governor Phillips has called in her National Guard troops and put them in strategic areas.”

“Probably a good idea.”

“Very. Still, the main problem is that the rioting is worst right where 7
^th
needs to go. Just our dumb fucking luck that they’re in the way.”

“Reynolds is with them, isn’t he?”

“Yeah, I wanted him to keep an eye on them, especially since he knows the area so well. I already sent him orders to take command of the team and get those supplies to the mountain by whatever means necessary.”

“I see. You realize what this means.” Anderson’s voice was cold.

“Yes, Frank, I know. We have no choice. That convoy has to make it to the mountain, come hell or high water. I have to think about the people that are going to be in that bunker. And so does Tom.”

“He’ll do what he needs to, sir. He’s a good man.”

“I know. I just hope they make it.”

Seattle, Washington

“Fire!” yelled Reynolds.

Seventh Team began firing into the air, just short of the makeshift barricade that had been erected across the road. “Cease fire!” Reynolds shouted. The rifles from the other team members quieted, and he looked back at the man standing atop the pile of debris.

“That’s just a demonstration, sir. Our weapons are live, and we will use them. Remove the barricade, or we will go through it.”

“It’s you and your kind that have caused this plague, evil-doer! Reverend Wright said so, and we believe him.” A chorus of agreement sounded from those behind the barricade.

Evil-doer? Who talks like that? Reverend Wright is a moron
. He started to say that to this jackass standing atop a couple empty gasoline drums, but thought better of it.
Not going to get out of here that way. I need to talk this guy down.

“I understand the fear you’re all feeling,” Reynolds said as he walked a few steps closer. “I felt it too, the first time I found out what’s going on. But we’re not zombies, as you can plainly see. Last time I checked, zombies didn’t hold conversations.”

“That doesn’t matter. You’re as bad as they are. Hell, you’re
worse
! It’s you and the rest like you that have brought this evil down on us, with your wars and your ‘experiments.’ God is punishing you, and we will
not
keep you from his divine sight! No, sir! You will burn, and you will burn
now
!”

Reynolds jumped back as a Molotov cocktail landed at his feet, a fast spreading pool of fire approaching the front of the lead Stryker. A single shot sounded from above, and a man fell from the top of one of the nearby buildings, his next improvised grenade clutched in one hand, splashing around him as the bottle broke.

“Cease fire, cease…” More shots sounded as other rioters lobbed more Molotovs at his men, and he realized that the situation had changed. He had to get his people through to the bunker, and talking hadn’t cut it. More direct means were required now.

He ran for the first Medium Tactical Vehicle, a cargo truck with a container on the back and an armored cab up front. Small arms fire plinked off the cab as he jumped inside and turned to the soldier manning the machine gun in its berth atop the cab. “Return fire!”

He grabbed the radio off the dash. “Alpha two to all vehicles. Return fire. Mobile One, take us in.”

“There’s really no way around this, sir?” asked Larkin from the driver’s seat. “They’re just people, sir. They’re
our citizens
.”

“I know that, Larkin. They’ve left us no choice. We don’t have time to go around them and we don’t know if the other roads are even clear.”

“Yes, sir.” Larkin threw the vehicle into drive as the Stryker in front crushed the flimsy barricade under its oversized tires. Reynolds could see the .50 caliber machine gun on its roof tracking back and forth, spitting rounds as it found its targets. “I just wish there was a different way, sir.”

“Me, too, son. Me, too. Just make sure your REAPR is on in case we have to bail.”

Suddenly a blast rocked the street, and a building to their right began to crumble and burn. As the smoke began to clear somewhat, Reynolds could see the Stryker ahead moving forward, its right side dented, scarred and blackened.

Holy shit. IEDs.

“All units, all units. Watch for IEDs.”

“Say again. IEDs?” A crackling voice came over the radio. “Seriously?”

“That’s affirmative, IEDs.”

Another blast, this time from the left side of the street, and the Stryker ground to a halt. This explosion had been much, much closer. They were still taking some small arms fire from the roofs and others running down the street toward them.

“Mobile One, report.”

“They got our axle on that one, sir. Not sure how, but from what I can see, the whole wheel is shredded, too.”

“Roger that. Prepare for evac.”

“Roger.”

“Mobile Two, move up. MTV’s, heads-up. They’ll be coming for you. There may be more on the…”

Reynolds didn’t so much hear the explosion as feel it. It lifted the truck off the ground, slamming it forward into the rear of the broken Stryker.
What the hell was that?

Glancing over at Larkin, Reynolds noticed the star pattern on the windshield where Larkin’s head had impacted, and saw the crazy angle at which his head now rested.
Dumb shit. Why weren’t you wearing your seat belt?

He unbuckled his own belt and checked the gunner behind him, who was moaning but alive. “Up and at ‘em, soldier. Let’s find out just what the hell is going on back…” Reynolds was interrupted again as another massive explosion ripped through the convoy.

“Son of a bitch!” He pulled the cab gunner to one side and stood up, taking his position, trying to see what was going on behind him and not get shot at the same time. As his sightline cleared the top of the big container behind him, he was dumbstruck.

Mobile Two was on its side, on fire, two of 7
^th
Team’s marines trying to rescue a third from the Stryker while a fourth provided covering fire. The two other MTVs were burning wrecks, their contents spewed across the street, their drivers… Reynolds had no time to react as one of them was pulled from the burning wreckage by several men, then thrown to the ground.  They started beating and kicking him.

His ears still ringing from the explosions, Tom turned as he heard shots from his right, where Masters and the rest of the men in Mobile One were moving back along the convoy in a tight squad formation, taking down their attackers as they came at them. Masters glanced up at Reynolds.

“Sir, we should get out of here.” Reynolds was amazed at the calm way the young man spoke, firing a single shot that took out an oncoming rioter even as he did so. “Now, sir.”

That was enough to break Reynolds from his spell, and he grabbed his rifle from the floorboard, checking on the gunner he had moved. It was only then that he saw the wound along the man’s neck, and the bright red, spurting blood coating the floorboards and making it slick. The soldier’s eyes were glazed, and Tom knew he was gone.
No time for that now
, he thought as he turned and dove out the driver’s side to take up a position with Masters’ squad.

“Let’s go, lieutenant.”

“Yes, sir.”

The squad moved toward the rear of the convoy, maintaining their tight formation. Tom took down two would-be snipers from upper stories as they made their way, and lost count of how many the other squad shot.

As they reached what was left of Mobile Two, Masters looked at the two Marines still struggling with their trapped comrade. Tom could see that the trapped man was dead, the life gone from his eyes. He put a hand on one of the men’s shoulders. “He’s gone, leave him.”

The Marine snarled, throwing off the hand and turning back to his task. The other never even acknowledged him.

Tom was about to pull the man away, but Masters got there before he could, with a right hook to the Marine’s jaw that sent him flying back a pace and landing on his ass. Masters put a boot on his chest before the Marine could move, and pointed his pistol at the man’s face.

“Get up, soldier. Retrieve your weapon, and take your position.” He leaned down. “Understood?”

The marine looked at the gun, at the lieutenant, and then back at the dead trapped soldier. His eyes cleared, and he seemed to wake up. “Yes… yes, sir.”

Masters nodded and moved to talk to one of his men. Reynolds just shook his head and took his place in the formation.
That is one hard son of a bitch
, he thought.

“Orders, sir?” asked the younger soldier.

“Form up, and we’ll take up a position in that building,” he said, pointing to what appeared to be a clothing store of some kind.

“Yes, sir. You heard him, boys. Move out!”

The squad moved as one into the damaged shop, then further back into the store room and office area.

“Masters, secure a perimeter, and get me your radio operator.”

“Yes, sir. Can’t, sir. He died in Mobile One.”

“Fuck. Alright then, just the perimeter.”

“Yes, sir.”

Reynolds found the office phone — cordless, fortunately, and still powered — and dialed as he maneuvered out to the front of the shop, keeping to what cover he could find as he surveyed the street outside. From this vantage point, he actually had a good view of the wreckage of the convoy and the intersection.

“Maxwell, go.”

“Sir, this line is unsecured.”

“Roger that. What’s your status?”

“Sir, the convoy has been destroyed. I’ve lost half of 7
^th
. We’ve secured a perimeter for the moment, but without any vehicles or additional support, I’m not sure how long we can hold out. Estimate 40-50 hostiles in our immediate area. Requesting air cover, sir.”

“Understood. Help is on the way, ASAP.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. We’ll hold out…” Reynolds broke off as he saw, coming around the corner of the street ahead, a mob of what had to be a hundred or more.

Give them torches and pitchforks, and it’d be right out of a movie,
he thought.

They were headed straight for the convoy, and it was only a matter of time before they reached his position.

“Holy shit,” Tom whispered, forgetting he still held the phone.

“What was that, son?” asked Maxwell.

“Sir, I’d just like to say it was an honor serving with you.” Checking the magazine in his rifle, he moved back into the office as the crowd approached.

“Captain?”

“That estimate of hostiles, sir? It was a bit low. Tell my team goodbye for me, sir.”

He could hear Maxwell take a deep breath. “Will do, soldier. The honor was all mine. Good luck. Maxwell out.”

“Masters!” Reynolds shouted, flinching only slightly as the man appeared as if by magic at his side. “Bring everybody back. We’ll need them.”

“Sir?” The lieutenant glanced out the window at the mob approaching. “Yes, sir.”

Reynolds began firing as the mob noticed him crouched in the shadows. One shot, one kill. Their voices raised in fury, they rushed him. He could hear shots from behind as the crunch of a door being torn off its hinges echoed from the rear of the store.

Funny, I always thought it’d be a walker.

Fort Carson, Colorado

“No word from them, sir.”

“What about the Blackhawks?”

“The pilots said they found what was left of the convoy, but it wasn’t much, sir. The Strykers were fairly intact, such as they were, but the trucks were destroyed. There was no sign of any AEGIS personnel or the supplies, sir. They reported at least a hundred hostiles in the area, though it appeared they were dispersing.”