Officer Of The Watch: Blackout Volume 1 (24 page)

The three men started walking back towards the station wagon.  There was a crash of breaking glass behind them, loud on the otherwise silent street.  Joe spun back towards the house, his pistol up and ready.  Tom scanned the perimeter, and Henderson checked both ends of the street.  There wasn't any movement other than a few shards of broken glass slipping out of the window frame to clink onto the pile on the ground. 

Joe gave hand signals to Tom and Henderson to keep a sharp eye out for any movement or threat.  He carefully inched his way forward, keeping his gun trained on the shattered bay window.  Joe crouched down and crept up to the brick wall directly beneath the window.  He heard muffled groans and coughing from inside the home.  Joe motioned for Tom and Chris to cover him, and the three made their way back up the steps to the front porch.  With Tom and Henderson to either side of the door, Joe stepped in front of it and nodded to Tom.  Tom stepped forward and, with a strong backward mule kick, struck the door just to the left of the handle. 

The frame splintered, and the door swung in with a snap.  Joe stepped smoothly inside and turned immediately to his left.  He heard Henderson come in next and move ahead, with Tom directly behind him and clearing right. 

They found themselves in a large, open sitting room with sturdy, though plain, furniture.  The hardwood floors were deeply polished walnut and the walls were a desert sand color.  A dark rusted brown stain marred the cream colored arm chair and stained the hardwoods in a long smear over to a sofa table along one wall.  The sofa table was on its side in front of a broken bay window, and leaning against it was a man clutching his gut.  The man's face was pale and slick with shiny sweat.  His breath came in shallow, labored gasps, and he groaned incoherently between them.

Joe walked slowly towards the man, his pistol trained on him the entire time.  When he was a few feet away, the injured man sat up, and fixed him with a hard stare.  There was a solid trickle of blood coming from the corner of his mouth, and he was clutching his gut with both arms. 

"You're a little late to the party," the man said.  He barked a short chuckled that dissolved into a rough, tearing cough.  He turned his head and spat a mouthful of dark, frothy blood to the side. 

"Look I'm--" Joe began, but the man cut him off, shaking his head.

"Don't matter who you are," he said, his voice strained.  "Won't matter who I am for much longer.  Dirty son of a bitch shot me in the gut twice and left me for dead."

The man started coughing harshly again and bloody spittle sprayed from his lips.  Joe knelt in front of the man, and lightly touched his shoulder with a hand.  When the man looked up, it took a brief moment for his eyes to focus, and when they did he shook Joe's hand off his shoulder roughly.

"Who shot you?" Joe asked quietly.

"Never met him," the man replied.  "I guess I should've said yes to the first guy."

"First guy?" Joe asked.

"Yeah, this guy came by with my name on a list," he said, shifting his weight a bit and stifling another cough.  "He said I was needed back West for some big operation; a response to this whole thing.  I told him I was retired."

"Then he shot you?" Joe asked.  

"No, not that one," the man said.  "Another guy came with a team a few hours later.  I thought they were with the same group, but when I told them I'd already been asked, the head guy got this real serious look on his face.  He told me I had one chance to say yes, and I shook my head.  That's when he pulled a gun and put two in my gut.  Told me he wanted me to die slowly."

"The guy that shot you, did he have a name?" Joe asked.

The man grimaced.  "I'm thirsty," he whispered.  "So thirsty I can't stand it.  Throat feels like it's coated in broken glass."

"Here," Joe said, offering the man his small green canteen.  "It's clean and it's fresh."

The man waived his hand and shook his head.  "Waste of water," he said.  "I'll be dead before I can enjoy it."

Joe took a deep breath.  "We've got a field medic that can patch you up," he said.

The man laughed a shallow, rasping laugh again.  He lifted his arms, revealing a mass of dark, coagulating blood and thick, yellow bile.  The area around the wound was swollen and red, and it smelled like death.

"Can your medic fix that?" the man asked, already shaking his head.  "Twelve hours ago, maybe.  Nothing's bringing me back now."

"Listen, the man that shot you," Joe said.  "What did he look like?"

The man coughed hard, but managed to grate, "He was about your height, short black hair.  He had a sharp jaw, and dressed in urban tactical gear with dark sunglasses.  His name...."

The man trailed off and slumped slightly forward with blood trickling from his mouth.  For a brief moment, his breathing stopped, and Joe felt a chill run through him.  After a moment, he reached over and squeezed the man's shoulder, and he jumped as if stuck by a knife.  The man blinked, winced with pain, and finally his eye found Joe's again. 

"His name," the man whispered, his voice barely audible, "was Parker."

Ch. 49

A Long Shot

Terry sat back in his desk chair, lost in thought.  His eyes were on the flat top of the desk in front of him, but they were focused somewhere far away.  He had expected a flood of angry calls and demands for access to the system, or at the very least, a few irritated secretaries. 

The one thing he hadn't really counted on was silence. 

Since the Chief Administrator of FEMA had paid his visit, there had been nothing.  Not even one of the other SSA's from the other sites had bothered to call and ask about the situation, which made Terry think they'd already been informed.  That left little doubt where their loyalties lay.  He still couldn't figure out if FEMA was at the head of this thing, or if they were actually trying to do what they were supposed to and manage the emergency and needed access to the databases to do so. 

Terry twisted the class ring on his left hand as the thoughts rattled around like loose boulders in his mind.

When Marcus Attledge knocked softly on Terry's door, he didn't hear it at first, so the engineer stuck his head around the corner and peeked into the open office.

"Mr. Price?" Marcus asked.  "You sent for me, sir?"

Pulled from his deep reverie, Terry nodded and stood.  "Yes, Mr.  Attledge," he said, waiving the young man in.  "Please, come and have a seat.  Close the door, if you don't mind."

Marcus closed the door as he stepped fully into the office, then walked over to the two chairs across the desk from Terry, and sat in the one on his left.  Terry sat once more in his own chair and frowned hard as he tried to find a way to broach the subject he had called Marcus in to discuss.

"Everything okay, sir?" Marcus asked as the silence between them stretched. 

Terry shook his head with a small shrug of his shoulders.  "If it's obvious enough for you to ask that question, then the answer is quite obviously no," he answered.  Terry pulled off this class right from his left hand and held it up to the LED lighting, admiring the detail and the clarity of the sky blue stone.  "Do you know what this is, Marcus?" Terry asked, setting the ring down on the desk between them.

Marcus leaned forward and looked at the ring but didn't pick it up.  He shook his head, and admitted, "Other than a class ring, not really.," 

"My Naval Academy ring," Terry said slowly.  He sat for a long moment, staring at the ring on the table.  Finally, he said, "I need you to do something, Marcus.  Before I tell you what it is, I want you to know that if there was anyone, and I mean
anyone
, that I could send to get this done, I would.  Truth is, I need you here, but there's just no one else I trust to do it."

"What do you need?" Marcus asked without hesitation.

Terry 's more serious tone caught Marcus' attention.  "You need to think about this because it's the kind of thing that can get a person killed, Marcus.  I don't ask it lightly, and you shouldn't commit to it lightly, either."

Marcus met his eyes with obvious respect.  "Sir," he said softly, "you've done more for me in the past nine years than most people I've known my whole life.  Whatever it is, I'll do it."

Terry couldn't help but smile at that.  He leaned forward, slid the ring towards Marcus, and breathed a deep sigh of relief.  "Then you'll need this," Terry said, pointing to the ring.

Marcus picked up the ring, turned it over twice in his fingers, and examined every detail quickly and carefully.  Satisfied that he was acquainted with it, he tucked the thick gold band into a buttoned pocket on the left side of his shirt. 

"Okay," Terry began, "you know the telemetry file that you said was deleted two days ago?  Well, that was me.  I deleted the file, and then wiped any trace that I'd done so, though apparently not quite as thoroughly as I'd thought."

"I'm not quite sure I understand," Marcus said.  "Why would you delete an aberrant telemetry file and try to hide it?"

"I'm getting to that," Terry said, waiving one hand at Marcus.  "Listen, I need you to take a trip..."

CH. 50

The Silence After

Joe stood on the front porch of the house and gave a few hand signals to Tom, "I'll be out in a bit," he said and turned his back before anyone either man outside could speak.

Joe closed the door and walked over to the dying man.  His breathing was short and shallow.  Judging from the expressions on the man's face, the pain was getting too difficult to bear.  The man twitched occasionally and groaned under his breath.  Still, when he looked up at Joe, his eyes were clear.

"They take it all?" the man asked, and Joe nodded.  "Good.  Someone should use it, and Lord knows it ain't gonna be me." The man breathed a little deeper and easier, though it made him wince hard with each exhale.

"Listen, we could help you," Joe offered, one last time, but the man shook his head.

"I told you not to blow your smoke up there," the man grated.  "You and I both know these holes in my gut are gonna kill me.  It might take another couple of days, but you could drop me on the roof of Walter Reed right now, and it wouldn't matter.  Anything strong enough to kill the infection will tank my kidneys and liver, and I'm dead either way."

Joe took a deep breath but didn't speak.  After a moment the man continued in a raspy whisper.  "You know it, too.  You just wanted to be sure.  Okay, I don't blame you.  Look into my eyes, man.  I want you to do it,  I know what I'm askin, and I mean it."

Joe swallowed hard, but he met the man's direct gaze without flinching.  After a long moment, he said softly, "My name's Joe Tillman."

"Don't matter who you are," the man said.  "Don't matter who I am."

Joe shook his head, his eyes grim as he held the man's stare.  "I know your name.  You should know mine.  If I'm going to do this, you should know my name.  I don't know
you
but I got that much off a clipboard."

The man nodded.  "Yeah, you did.  Your name’s on it too, right? Don't answer, man, I know it is.  Listen....your name was on there, and my name was on there.  Look at me now.  You've got a family?"

Joe's silence was confirmation enough, and the man closed his eyes briefly.  When he opened them, he was calm, but serious.  "You gotta get out of here, man.  Any one that's on that list would tell you the same thing, if they were sitting where I am now.  If you were me, and I was you.....  what would you say?"

Joe stared at his hands for a moment.  After a long moment he swallowed past the cold knot in his gut and forced himself to look away.  His hands had never shaken before.

"I would say the same things you are," Joe replied finally.  "Close your eyes, then."

The man shook his head and sat up straighter.  "Nah," he said.  "I ain't hiding from this.  This is my choice.  No pain.  No suffering.  Like flipping a switch.  That's my way to go."

Joe stood and drew his Beretta.

The man's eyes focused out the window on the deep blue sky beyond the trees in the yard, and his lips moved silently for a moment.  When they stopped, he breathed in deeply through his nose.  Just as he began to exhale....

Joe squeezed.....

.....the trigger.....

Ch. 51

After A Good Rain

Levy picked his way carefully along the path through the woods.  He paid close attention to where he placed his feet each time he took a step.  The path leading down the gentle slope wasn't difficult or steep, and the deep layer of leaf litter and old pine straw made for a soft walking bed.  He still had to be vigilant, though, because those leaves could hide copperheads, cottonmouths, and even the occasional canebrake rattler.  Levy carried a cricket basket in one hand and two long, thin cane fishing poles in the other. 

Eric followed his grandfather, picking his way by carefully following Levy's footfalls.  Eric carried a small tackle box and a Cool Whip container of night crawlers in a five gallon bucket with one hand, and a Zebco spinner rod and reel combo in his other hand.  The afternoon was hot and humid, but in the shade of the towering oak and pine trees, it felt almost comfortable. 

As the pair reached the bottom of the hill, the ground leveled out and became slightly mushy from the rain and thunderstorms of the past few days.  A cloud of mosquitoes and gnats followed them every step, buzzing and whining in their ears.  Eric breathed a gnat in through his nose, setting off a fit of hard sneezing that left his ribs aching and his eyes watering. 

The flood plain stretched a little more than a quarter of a mile from the bottom of the hill on which their family farm sat to the near bank of Cutler's Run.  It was an easy walk along the clear, broad path with dense underbrush on either side.  Birds scattered in front of them and sang from nearly every tree and bush they passed.  The entire forest seemed to be absolutely vibrating with the lush exuberance of late summer. 

The path they were following was an old logging road, and it turned to follow the line of the river.  For a short time, Eric and his grandfather followed the road as it ran a good thirty yards from the river.  After a while, Levy looked up and took his bearings from the towering pines and oaks along the river bank and nodded to himself.  Another hundred yards down the road, Levy turned to his left and entered the woods.  The road was about fifty yards from the river bank here, and the underbrush was thick.  It was difficult to push a path through the river cane and briars, but with a little effort the pair was able to break a path through to the bank.