The Survivalist - 02 (22 page)

“Well, what are you waiting on? Go get my dog.”

“Right. Right,” he said, turning and then scrambling up the hill. “Don’t worry, I’ll get him. You wait right here. I’ll get him.”

“Just hurry.”

When Jimmy got to the top of the hill, he dusted himself off and began jogging east on Liberty Street.

Mason waited until he was out of sight and then took off at a dead run.

CHAPTER

21

The vice president sat outside on a small balcony, finishing his lunch. General Hood sat opposite him, staring out at the plush green foliage of the Shenandoah Valley, which served as the backdrop to the Mount Weather Emergency Operations Center. Two Secret Service agents stood inside the room, conspicuously looking the other direction. A soundproof glass door separated them from Vice President Pike and General Hood.

“I’m assuming that the operation was a success.”

General Hood nodded, settling back into the wicker chair.

“Yes, sir, highly successful.”

“You seem pleased with yourself.”

The general took a deep breath of fresh mountain air.

“And why shouldn’t I be?”

“Did you get video of the strike?”

“Both from the gunships as well as from a cell phone on the ground. We’re splicing the two together right now. It should be quite a show.”

Vice President Pike took a small bite of his sandwich.

“Disseminate it to as many anti-government groups as possible—separatists, survivalists, militias, anarchists, anybody who harbors the slightest distrust of President Glass. Of course, do it discreetly. We want them thinking they’ve uncovered something controversial.”

“Yes, sir.”

“We need to spread the seeds of discontent wide enough to bring about change,” he said, chewing his food.

“People are already attacking the remaining government outposts for food and supplies. This brutality will only make matters worse.”

Vice President Pike nodded, his mind already mulling over other matters.

“Sir, if I might ask you an obvious question?”

“Yes?”

The general looked over at the agents guarding the vice president and then lowered his voice.

“If you’re so determined to replace President Glass, why not just . . .” He hunted for the right words.

“Kill her?”

General Hood tipped his head.

“It wouldn’t be too difficult. A single shooter, a drop of poison.”

Vice President Pike offered an understanding smile.

“Her dying at the hands of an assassin is the last thing I want. No matter the circumstances, I would forever be viewed with suspicion. Even more important is that people wouldn’t have had time to appreciate the need for change. If she goes down as a martyr, there will be a push to maintain the status quo by continuing her legacy.”

“Ah, I see,” said General Hood. “Before taking office, you want everyone to grow disillusioned with her.”

“Not only her, but also her ideology and methods. We need for people to welcome a change. Hell, we need for them to demand it.” Vice President Pike finished his lunch and set his fork and knife on the plate. “As a military man, you already know that a war must be fought on several fronts.”

“Of course.”

“That’s what we’re doing. If we can find Samantha, we’ll use her to force the president to do our bidding. But we can’t count on having that leverage. So, in the meantime, we’ll make President Glass stumble and fall on a grand scale. Riots, violence, and chaos will eventually force law-abiding citizens to demand change.”

General Hood smiled and nodded.

“Understood.”

“General, do you ever think about why we’re doing all this?”

The general looked concerned, as if he felt he was being tested.

“I know why we’re doing this. We’re trying to save our country.”

“And that means taking out the trash, starting first with the people who were infected.”

“Of course. They’re a clear and present danger.”

“And the violent separatists. They must be cleaned up as well.”

“Anyone who would take up arms against the government must be suppressed. What’s your point, sir?”

The vice president pushed his plate away and turned his chair to better face General Hood.

“My point, General, is that, when we began this journey, we agreed to rebuild a stronger nation by starting with a clean slate.”

“And?”

“And to succeed on this incredibly noble mission, we will need to work both sides of this little war.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning that we must continue pressing the president to conduct improper or failed military actions so that she will be viewed as both violent and ineffective.”

“Are you suggesting that we motivate her to conduct more raids like the one in Atlanta?”

“No,” he said. “We have to up the ante.”

“And how would you propose we do that?”

The vice president sat back in his chair.

“I have a new mission for you, General. It has two objectives. The first is to put weapons in the hands of people who are the most discontent.”

General Hood couldn’t hide his concern.

“Are you proposing that we arm the very people who would overthrow the government?”

“Don’t get self-righteous on me, General. I’m talking about arming select groups that have the most inclination to take action. Let them do some damage. If the demand for change gets loud enough, the president will step down voluntarily. If she doesn’t, the discontent will strengthen my call to have her removed.”

“You should understand that even her removal would not placate these separatists.”

“I’m sure that’s true,” he said. “Most of them feed on hatred.”

“And if these same people don’t stop their attacks when you take office?”

Vice President Pike waved the question away.

“Threats like those wouldn’t last long under the hand of a strong leader.” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “Tell me, where can we get, say, a few thousand rifles?”

“A few thousand?” Again, the general seemed unsure of the proposition.

“It needs to be enough to wage a small war. A few thousand disgruntled anarchists should do the trick. So?”

General Hood took a deep breath before answering.

“Military weaponry has been secured all across the nation. Breaking into any of these outposts would be a major endeavor.”

“I don’t need you to tell me what can’t be done.”

The general sat quietly considering options. After a moment, his face broke into a small smile.

“I may have something.”

“Tell me.”

“When Fort Benning was closed, one of their small arms caches was transferred to the Federal Law Enforcement Training Center in Glynco, Georgia. The US Marshals stepped forward and took possession of the weapons. The rifles were used to train infantry soldiers, so they’re not new weapons, but they’re still functional.”

“The Marshals?”

“Yes, sir.”

“How many officers remain at the law enforcement center?”

“After the pandemic, what remained of the Marshal Service was consolidated to Glynco. Total count is probably only a few hundred. But these are good men and women, very well trained. Still, with the proper distraction, the right group could probably get in and out without too much bloodshed.”

“We’ll need for whoever conducts the raid to be outside the main military—no traceability back to us.”

“You’re talking about mercenaries,” said General Hood.

“Can you set that up?”

The general thought for a moment.

“I’m sure there are a few groups still active. The very best is run by a man named Nakai.”

“That’s an odd name,” said Vice President Pike. “What makes him so special?”

An unmistakable gleam shone in the general’s eyes as he started talking.

“Nakai is a full-blooded American Indian. He served with distinction in the Marine Corps’ Force Recon. His specialty was deep reconnaissance missions, many times operating behind enemy lines. I served with him and can personally testify that he’s truly one of the best.”

“An effective killer?”

“I wouldn’t want him coming after me.”

“And, for the right price, he’ll do whatever we ask of him?”

“Anything but betray his own men.”

The vice president nodded.

“How many serve under him?”

“Last time I checked, there were around fifty. All ex-military. All very hard men.”

“Perfect.” The vice president sat back and considered his plan. Nakai sounded like exactly the type of man he needed. “Meet with him to see if he’s interested.”

“Assuming that he’s still alive, he’ll do it for me. No need to even ask.”

“That brings me to the second objective of our mission.” He leaned forward. “I want this to be a different kind of operation. Something less surgical than what you’ve described.”

“If you’re suggesting that they conduct a frontal assault against the Marshals—”

“No, no, nothing like that,” he said, holding up his hands. “I have something else in mind.”

Now, it was Vice President Pike’s turn to look around. He waved for the general to come closer.

“Some time ago,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, “I acquired a rather special weapon. I think this may be the right time to use it.”

“What kind of weapon?”

“The kind that will make President Glass feel the fear of war.”

CHAPTER

22

The drive from Atlanta to Tanner’s cabin in North Carolina was about three hundred miles. What would normally have taken five hours, Tanner calculated, was now certain to take at least twice that. The hardest part was avoiding the congestion on major thoroughfares, especially near the larger cities. Tanner managed to navigate much of the trip on Highway 123, which paralleled I-85 but proved to be far less congested. The beginning of the drive went remarkably smooth. There were no gunships darkening the skies, and very few people even noticed their passing.

They sped through a host of small towns, including Toccoa, Westminster, and Seneca, each in varying states of despair. When they got near Greenville, they turned north, detouring around Table Rock State Park. It was nearing dusk as they entered the town of Hendersonville, North Carolina.

Hendersonville was a tourist town like many others dotting the Blue Ridge Mountains. Its only significant attraction had been the strip of historical buildings on Main Street, consisting mostly of antique shops, restaurants, and boutiques. The sign coming into town proudly announced that the “City of Four Seasons” had a population of 13,517. By the look of things, however, that number was now grossly exaggerated.

The town had once measured six square miles, but the entire west side had recently caught fire and burned to the ground. A huge landscape of charred timbers and hollow brick frames stood as grim reminders of businesses and churches that had once served as the lifeblood of the small community. The fire no longer burned, but the faintest wisps of white smoke still rose from small pockets of smoldering embers.

They cruised slowly through what was once Hendersonville’s retail district. One side of the street was completely destroyed by the fire, but the other was relatively intact, save for missing windows and scorched walls.

“What do you think happened?” Samantha asked, looking out her window with a mix of awe and sadness.

“Fire.”

“I meant, why did they let it burn so much of the town?”

He shrugged. “The fire department probably wasn’t up and running anymore. They’re lucky it finally burned itself out.”

Libby passed up a note.

It looks like there was a war here.

Tanner nodded to her and smiled.

“It stinks like smoke,” Samantha said, checking to ensure her window was rolled all the way up.

“Smoky or not, we’ll have to stop for the night. We need some rest.”

“And water.” She tipped the bottle up and shook the last few drops into her mouth.

“And water,” he agreed, licking his lips.

Libby passed up another slip of paper.

We can check the stores for water. Restaurants, too.

Tanner nodded. “I’m sure we can find something, but let’s figure out where to bunk first.”

He turned east, moving deeper into what remained of the town. The Escalade bumped over an old set of train tracks and, before they could pick up speed again, a man darted out into the road. He was hunched over and clutching his stomach.

Tanner hit the brakes, sending everyone flying forward.

The man stumbled up to vehicle, leaning across the front of the Escalade. His face was twisted in agony. Before anyone could say a word, he collapsed onto the road, leaving large streaks of blood across the hood.

“Just drive around him,” Samantha said, her voice shaking.

Tanner grabbed the shotgun and pulled the door handle.

“If we’re in danger, I want to know it.”

“At least be careful. No more stitches.”

He grunted and stepped out with the shotgun at the ready. The man was lying on his side in front of the Escalade’s wheels. The headlights illuminated the street, but the man was so close to the vehicle that he remained largely in shadows. Tanner stepped closer and nudged him with his boot.

He didn’t move.

Tanner knelt down and held his hand a few inches above the man’s mouth and nose. Nothing. He rolled him over, and intestines and diaphragm muscles spilled out through his open belly. The man looked to be approaching fifty and was dressed like he was preparing to go to church: dark gray suit, white shirt, and polished black leather shoes.

Unrolling her window and leaning out, Samantha asked, “Is he alive?”

“Nope,” he said, standing back up.

“What happened to him?”

He walked back to the Escalade and climbed in.

“Gutted.”

She cringed. “Ouch.”

Libby passed him a note.

Was he infected?

He shook his head, studying the street for any sign of danger.

Samantha joined him in looking around.

“Who do you suppose stabbed him?” she asked.