Tomorrow's Dawn (Book 4): Gathering Storms Page 4

  Winter was likely to bring on a modern-day Holodomor, exactly one hundred years after the great famine in the Ukraine caused the deaths of almost four million people. The places Snead hated most, places like New York City, D.C., Detroit, and Chicago should see the worst of the fatalities. If he had his way, San Francisco would join them, but they had a mild climate and plenty of food.

  It was impossible to predict what might happen, but the military bases were predominantly in the south, there had been an explosion of manufacturing in the southern states over the previous decades, and hydroelectric power was readily available due to public works projects far in the past.

  Snead shuddered to think about what might happen if they had to depend on coal or natural gas for electricity, or even if they lost one of the still-functioning nuclear plants scattered throughout the region. Those were things the northerners would have to deal with, at least until he made it his problem.

  “Well, Mr. Vice President, I think your first task will be to meet with Janet to see if we can find some way forward through all this.” He looked solemnly at Rich, who he had known for decades, “It will be up to you to get her on board so we can present a united front against these insurgents.”

  He didn’t tell Rich that the small town had been razed by their own men. Rich didn’t need to know. It was better if he believed it had been the work of insurgents. If Rich knew, he’d probably object. At the very least, his knowledge of the crimes would affect the negotiations with Janet.

  It was important to bring South Carolina on board. The state had five million acres of farmland, which would be important to his future plans, and the port of Charleston would be an invaluable long-term acquisition.

  With many of the northern and Gulf deepwater ports destroyed in the nuclear attacks, it would be important to have control of the southern ports. Savannah and Jacksonville were already under his sway. Tampa and Miami would have been nice to have, but both would be unapproachable due to intense radiation for years.

  Most importantly, Snead wanted a buffer state on his borders. Snead was happy with his progress so far, but the future was still uncertain enough that he wanted to have as much land as he could between his new capitol and any external threats.

  If Rich could get Janet on board, the additional agricultural products from South Carolina could help keep his people fed. Like Georgia, Alabama, and Mississippi, which were already part of the Coalition, South Carolina had been a thriving exporter of poultry and livestock prior to the widespread death caused by the virus and following nuclear attacks.

  A huge number of chickens and swine had been killed as the virus jumped from the human hosts to the agricultural animals throughout the south. Snead hadn’t expected the strains to be so virulent in animals, but reviving those industries would be one of his most immediate priorities.

  Americans loved their protein, particularly in areas like the southeast and the Midwest. The rice shipped in from Louisiana and the catfish from Mississippi were some of the primary food sources right now. Snead was worried about food. A fed population was a happy population. Hungry people would revolt.

  South Carolina was important. If he could find a way to convince Janet to join the Coalition of Southern States, particularly after the results of the dubious election, it would add some legitimacy to his presidency. The consolidation of power would be the most turbulent time. Once he was firmly established, he could grow and solidify his empire.

  It wouldn’t hurt if the northerners starved for a little while. It would make them more compliant when the time came to add them to the new United States.

  Chapter 9

  “Colonel, the CSS has started a PR campaign against us. They’re calling us insurgents who started the virus and were responsible for the nuclear attacks in Georgia.” Daniel took a deep breath, “The only good thing right now is that they haven’t identified us as military, so that will cause confusion. Once that happens, we’re going to have to adopt insurgent tactics or we’ll be completely destroyed.”

  Colonel Simmons cast a tired glance at Daniel and Jensen. “How much time do we have before we have to move?”

  The Colonel had been up most of the past few days trying to piece together some sort of defense of Highlands, but their limited numbers and lack of fuel for ongoing operations made it difficult. There were too many approaches to the small town, and after the loss of seventeen men and women in the bombing run, he didn’t have enough to man the roadblocks 24/7.

  Food hadn’t become an issue yet, and water was plentiful in the mountains, but sheer numbers were hard to come by. Simmons didn’t want to stage Custer’s last stand here. Snead had greater numbers and had been working hard to spin the news in his favor. If it came down to a clash in Highlands, they would lose. What they really needed was mobility.

  There were some electric vehicles in the small town, but it was more of a vacation town than it was residential. The permanent population before the virus had only numbered around a thousand. Now, it was a couple hundred at best.

  The abandoned vehicles were mostly trucks and sport utility vehicles which ran on gasoline, not the electric vehicles they would need for any kind of sustained movement. With what they had found so far, they’d be able to move a couple hundred miles at best, but where to?

  They already knew Tennessee had joined the CSS, so the preferred avenue of escape was blocked. They couldn’t move toward the south at all; Snead had Georgia locked down. Moving farther to the east would leave them with little room to maneuver. They’d be stuck between the mountains and the sea on flat land, easy prey for air strikes.

  To the Colonel, the most obvious answer was to pull back toward Asheville, but was that too obvious? The last thing he wanted to do was start moving just to run into an ambush. Once they got on the road, their defense in depth would no longer be viable. It probably didn’t matter; they were stretched thin as it was, and ‘in depth’ was just wishful thinking.

  Daniel looked thoughtful. “I think two days, max. We need to be ready to move. I think we need to make sure everyone has civvies to wear and start loading up trucks.” He looked at Jensen as if seeking confirmation. “We’ll have to leave the military equipment.”

  Simmons sighed tiredly. “I agree. Carlson, pull everyone you can off guard duty. We need civilian clothing for everyone, as much fuel as we can get, vehicles, chainsaws, axes, shovels, tools, and food. We’re going to head north.

  “Benton, just before we pull out, I want you to get on comms and radio out on every frequency you can. Tell them United States military forces were the victim of an unprovoked attack from paramilitary forces directed by Senator Snead.” Colonel Simmons rubbed his eyes. “We need to get the word out before he convinces everyone that we’re the enemy, or we’re all dead.”

  Jensen interjected. “Shouldn’t we do that now? Every moment that we wait gives him more time to send out misinformation.”

  The Colonel looked askance at Daniel. “What do you think?”

  Benton shook his head. “Not yet. They know where we are. We’ve been radio silent since the attack. If we start lighting up the skies with radio traffic, they’ll know something is happening and it might provoke a response.”

  Looking at Jensen, he added, “I know it’s not ideal, but we can’t start until we’re ready to leave. In fact, it would be best if most of our people are gone before I start calling. It won’t take a jet long to get here.” He paused, thinking. “Two days is too long. We need to get moving immediately. We’re sitting ducks out here.”

  Daniel raised his head and looked at Jensen. “Did you just hear something?” He sought confirmation, thinking he’d heard a far off gunshot.

  His buddy nodded. “Yeah, that was a rifle somewhere over there,” he said as he waved his injured hand toward their east. “Maybe on the other side of town.” Daniel watched as his face darkened with concern. “Does he have hunters out?”

  The question was answered almost immediately as rapid gunfire br
oke out in that same direction, followed by a forceful explosion. Jensen was already running for a vehicle when the Colonel called out “Carlson! Stop!”

  Simmons waited until Jensen had come to a halt before continuing. “We can’t leave this flank undefended. They could be trying to draw us in before attacking from this direction again.” He shook his head. “There are a dozen different ways into the town on that side. They could be anywhere.”

  “But sir! Our people are getting attacked! We can’t just abandon them!”

  Colonel Simmons waved him back. “No, I need you to help me get these people loaded up and moving. We may not have much time.”

  Jensen thought quickly. “What about the Apaches? They can be there in no time.” He was full of nervous energy. The sound of gunfire always got his adrenaline up. The siren song of battle called to him. At the same time, he was filled with dread. What if Jessica was out there? What if he was just sitting here while she was taking bullets?

  “Carlson! Get your shit together!” the Colonel shouted. “We have wounded back here. We have a nurse. We have a pilot. We have your friend Brent! We need to get them into vehicles and get moving. The Apaches are out of order anyway; they expended every last round during the first attack. The damn things are paperweights now.”

  The sounds of distant battle swelled as more automatic gunfire joined in. Torn between rushing toward the fighting and saving those at the main encampment, Jensen asked, “What about Jessica?”

  “She’s up at the north blockade by the dam. Now fucking move! We may not have much time.” As the Colonel tried to get Jensen to focus, the sounds of gunfire began to die down. It had only been a minute, maybe two, far too brief for Jensen to have gotten there in anything but a jet.

  “Get the wounded into a vehicle, grab what you can. We’re moving in five mikes.” The Colonel turned to Daniel. “Benton, get in a Humvee and start calling out, now. I want you working the radios until we’re dead or we reach reinforcements. Right now, we’re the only ones who know who was behind the virus, and I’m not going out without letting the world know what kind of a monster Snead really is.”

  As he directed the two younger men, the Colonel set out on his own to start collecting the wounded. In his heart, he knew the three or four men at the blockade were already gone and the enemy was at his doorstep. Their best hope was to escape through the back door.

  In this case, the back door was going to be highway 64 further into the mountains. In a perfect world, they’d blend into the population and make themselves less of a target. Unfortunately, they had been too slow to enact their plan. His indecision was going to cost them.

  Delaying their movement had already cost them some good soldiers. The gunfire from the east had stopped, which meant their people were dead. If they were still holding off enemy forces, the sounds of battle would have continued.

  Simmons hurried toward a vehicle. How much time did they have left? Ten minutes? Fifteen? It wouldn’t be enough to gather everything they would want to take with them. There might be enough time to get their most valuable assets out, the people.

  Chapter 10

  Brent opened the door and walked into what appeared to be a makeshift hospital. In the living room of what was clearly a large house, he could see men lying on couches and mattresses. Like him, some of them were hooked up to intravenous drips. All were bandaged in some fashion—arms, torso, head, or legs.

  He quickly counted eight. There could be more in other rooms. This clearly wasn’t heaven; it looked like a field hospital. It was eerily quiet in the room. Two of the men spoke in low tones to each other, trying not to disturb the others sleeping on the soft surfaces. He continued to scan the room, hoping to find a nurse or a doctor who could answer his questions.

  Where was he?

  There were no clues in this place. It looked like any other living room in modern America, with the addition of two couches, mattresses askew on the floor, and wounded men. For all he knew, he could be in California. Somewhere in Georgia was more likely. Atlanta? No, Atlanta was gone.

  Brent’s legs felt extremely weak and shaky. He might have overdone it by choosing to explore his unfamiliar surroundings instead of staying in bed. In his left hand, he still gripped the water glass from the bedroom. His right arm was quickly growing tired from holding the IV bag above his shoulders.

  Why did he feel so weak? In his earlier years, he had used a hammer or drill for hours at a time and barely felt it. Now, a few ounces in a clear bag seemed almost impossible to hold up.

  He almost dropped both the bag and the glass as a door flew open, letting bright sunshine into the room and causing him to squint in response. “We need to leave! If you can walk, get on your feet. If you can’t, call out. I’ll help you. We’ve got enemy forces inbound.”

  The shadowy person near the door shifted. “Brent! Oh my God, it’s good to see you. We weren’t sure if you were going to pull through.”

  The older man tried to find his voice. “Jensen?” At least, that’s what he meant to say. What came out was something else entirely. It sounded like a croak and caused his throat to hurt even more. He tried again. “Jensen? Where are we?”

  As the younger man moved away from the door toward Brent, he could make out his features better. Jensen looked worried and was moving quickly. “I’ll explain it all in the MRAP. Get outside and I’ll help you into the cab.”

  Seconds later, another man in an Army uniform came through the door. “Come on folks, we need to move and move now!” He seemed familiar for some reason, but Brent couldn’t remember ever meeting him before. “We’ve got two MRAPs outside the door. Walk if you can. Crawl if you have to. If you stay here, you’re going to die.”

  The large newcomer moved toward a couch supporting a wounded man with a bandage over his head and eyes. He quickly lifted him as though he weighed no more than a child and hurried back through the door. Brent stood rooted in place and watched as injured men struggled to move from their beds, grunting in pain.

  He watched Jensen lend support to one who was missing his leg from the knee down. As he took the man’s weight on his own shoulders, he called back to Brent, “Come on, Brent! You’re coming with us.”

  The sudden commotion was confusing. Brent’s brain reeled with fragmented thoughts. How the hell was Jensen here? Had he made the walk to Dahlonega? Had any of those things really happened? How did these men get injured? In fact, who were they?

  He looked around for a place to set his water glass, but all of the horizontal surfaces in the room had been removed to make more room for beds and couches. He decided to bring it with him as he shuffled to the door, watching closely as the uniformed man came in to carry another wounded man outside. Something terrible was happening, he just didn’t know what.

  For some reason, the threat of death seemed to spur him along. Before, he had yearned for death, even tried to speed the process along by forgoing food and drink. Something had changed. He wasn’t ready to die. He was alive for a reason, and he didn’t want to disappoint Rebecca.

  As he neared the door, the sound of a big engine churning into life blatted from just outside. It spun up gruffly before falling into a rough idle. The noise seemed intrusive after the quiet of the sunlit room he’d stumbled into only moments before. It sounded like a tractor or a bulldozer, some sort of heavy equipment. Maybe that was the ‘emm rap’ Jensen was talking about.

  Brent watched several more men leaving the room, some of them in obvious pain. He could hear sharp intakes of breath as they moved, fortifying themselves against the suffering. What could be happening to make them increase their suffering by moving out so quickly, despite their wounds? For that matter, why was he still shuffling toward the door? Why was he still holding the water glass?

  He looked behind him to make sure nobody was likely to walk past this spot on the floor before he bent down stiffly to place the water glass on the floor, careful to make sure it didn’t tip over as it made contact with the carpet. He
didn’t want someone to knock it over with their foot as they passed, but his arm was growing tired from holding it.

  Blood rushed to Brent’s head as he leaned forward, and he almost toppled to the ground when he tried to stand again. A wave of vertigo washed over him. He was still standing there, fighting for balance, when Jensen slid by a limping soldier and rushed over to him.

  “Hang in there, man. I’ve got you.” Jensen put one arm around Brent to steady him and used his other to gently take the solution bag from his own hand. “Just keep on walking. We’ve got enemies attacking the town and we need to get out of here.” They both stopped speaking as the thunder of a Blackhawk overhead drowned them out.

  By this time, Brent’s eyes had adjusted to the bright light streaming through the doorway. He could see the hulking armored vehicle just outside. It was painted a dull tan color from nose to tail and had metal-covered windows high above the ground. Jensen guided him around the rear of the vehicle toward the passenger side as the stairs slowly swung up to seal the troop compartment, protecting the injured men inside.

  What stuck out the most to Brent was the terrible color. It was strikingly opposite from the vibrant green all around them. Didn’t the military use camouflage? Maybe it didn’t matter with these vehicles, or it was some sort of holdover from a desert war. Were there deserts in Pakistan or India? Nepal? Was this from before those invasions?

  A sudden roar from off to his right made Brent turn. Another huge armored vehicle throttled up and started to move. That one looked even bigger. “Brent, focus. We’ve got to get in the MRAP.” The older man tore his eyes away from the departing ally to look up at the impossibly high seat before him. There was no way he could climb up unassisted. Hell, he could barely walk.

  “Hold onto this.” Jensen put the solution bag back in Brent’s hand before propelling him upward into the seat. The only sign of effort was a soft grunt from behind, then below him as he struggled into the seat. Brent looked down to see Jensen rubbing his bandaged wrist as he waited for him to get his legs out of the still open doorway.