Red Hammer: Voodoo Plague Book 4 (19 page)

Rachel couldn’t sleep.  Heavy storm clouds had moved into
the West Memphis area just before sundown, trapping the day’s heat and humidity. 
The air was heavy and try as she might to relax on the cot she was using, she
couldn’t get comfortable or turn off her racing mind.  Dog lay next to her,
panting in the dark.  He wasn’t enjoying the weather either.  She was in the
same hangar John and Jackson had slept in before he went off to New Mexico, and
Jackson was sacked out a few feet away.  His snoring, which reminded Rachel of
a poorly idling Harley, wasn’t helping her situation either.

Finally she surrendered.  Sitting up, she slipped her feet
into her boots without tying them and headed outside for some fresh air.  Dog
fell in beside her, nails clicking on the concrete floor.  Rachel stepped
outside, but was disappointed that the air was just as oppressive.  There
wasn’t even a breeze to help cool her off and fresh sweat popped out on the
back of her neck.  Taking a moment, she whipped her long hair up into a pony
tail, trying to get even a bit of relief.  She looked up, hoping to see stars,
but the sky was black.  No star or moonlight could penetrate the thick layer of
clouds.

Strolling aimlessly, she wondered if John was OK.  She had
gotten Jackson to tell her the details of the mission John was on.  To be
accurate, she’d gotten him to tell her where John was and how he had gotten
there.  He wouldn’t tell her the details of what he was going to be doing while
he was there, or if he was coming back.  She didn’t know if she’d ever see him
again, and her heart ached.  She had hoped that confessing her feelings to him
would have somehow let her resolve the conflict she was dealing with. 
Frustration that she loved a man who was married and couldn’t return her love. 
Genuine hope that his quest to find his wife would be successful, yet also
wanting him all to herself.

“What a fucking stupid little girl you are.”  She muttered
to herself in the dark.

“Good evening, ma’am.”  Rachel jumped and let out a small
shriek when Colonel Crawford spoke to her.  It was so dark she hadn’t seen him
approach, and still couldn’t recognize him by sight even though he was standing
right next to her.  Only his distinctive voice told her who was speaking.  Why
did these fucking Army guys enjoy sneaking up on her so much?  They were like
little boys who’d never grown up in so many respects.

“I’m sorry.  Didn’t mean to startle you.”  He said, sounding
anything but sorry.  She heard a rasping sound that was Dog getting his head
scratched.

“Can’t sleep either?”  Rachel asked.

“No.  Waiting for word on our boy.  I heard from the bomber
crew that they jumped about two hours ago.”  Jackson had let the Colonel know
he’d given Rachel more details.

“When do you expect to hear something?”

“Could be an hour.  Could be a day.  These types of
operations are fairly fluid.  He could be having to deal with any number of
things that will cause a delay, so we just wait.”  A match flared as the
Colonel lit a cigarette, the light seemingly brilliant and clearly illuminating
his face. 

For a moment Rachel could see the tired eyes and stress
etched into his features, then he shook the match out and darkness descended
again.  She asked for a cigarette, not really wanting one as they stunk and tasted
like shit, but she had found that smoking helped her relax.  No wonder the damn
things were so addictive.

“Is he coming back here?”  Rachel couldn’t stop herself from
asking.

“You know I can’t tell you that.”  He sounded genuinely
sorry.  Rachel reached out towards him and put her hand on his arm.

“Who am I going to tell?”  She asked, a pleading tone in her
voice.  She hated herself for sounding like she did, but couldn’t help it. 
Crawford was silent for a moment before taking a deep drag on his cigarette and
blowing out a big plume of smoke.

“You’ll most likely see him again.”  He finally said.  “Not
here, we’re going to move soon, but if all the plans work out he should be
waiting for us at our destination.”

Rachel stood silent for a moment, then started crying.  She
tried to stop, but the harder she tried, the harder she cried.  Finally,
Crawford reached out and folded her into a fatherly hug.  She buried her face
in his shoulder and let the emotions come out.  The fear of the past weeks of
constant fighting and running.  The pain over the death of Nora, the young girl
who had died helping her save John from The Reverend.  The guilt she still
carried over how she had behaved towards Melanie Fitzgerald, the brave woman
who had died on the train saving her life when the infected attacked.  The
heartache of love given that couldn’t be returned.

She eventually got herself under control and stepped out of the
Colonel’s embrace, wiping her eyes.  Dog was standing next to her and pushed
his body against her leg in his attempt to comfort her.  A match scratched in
the dark and Crawford handed her another cigarette.  The first one had burned
down, un-smoked.  She took it gratefully and reached down with her other hand
to rub Dog’s head.

“Bird Dog, this is Crow’s Nest.”  Rachel heard the Colonel
fumble in his cargo pocket for his radio.

“Go for Bird Dog.”  He answered.

“Sir, you need to see this.”  The voice on the other end of
the radio sounded stressed.

“On my way.”  Crawford replied, returning the radio to his
pocket.  He started to walk away, then paused and turned back.

“Why don’t you come with me?  You probably shouldn’t be
wandering around out here in the dark.  Perimeter security is taking down about
half a dozen infected every hour.  Only a matter of time until one of them
makes it past our lines.”  He stood waiting, a slightly darker outline against
the dark horizon.

“I’m coming.”  Rachel answered, tossing her cigarette down
and crushing it under her boot.

Rachel and Dog followed him across the tarmac to the control
tower.  Looking up, she could see a faint light glowing at the top, silhouetting
a figure visible through the glass, watching them approach.  The guard at
ground level snapped to attention then held the door open for them.  She
followed Crawford’s broad back up the spiral, metal stairs.

In the control area, Captain Blanchard greeted them at the
top of the stairs and motioned Crawford over to where a soldier sat hunched
over an armored laptop.  The Colonel fished a pair of reading glasses out of
his uniform blouse and bent to see what was on the screen.  Rachel moved in
behind him and stretched up on her toes to see.

“What am I looking at?”  Crawford asked.  The screen looked
to Rachel like the weather radar she used to see on the evening news.

“Radar image from our north picket, sir.”  The soldier
answered.

“An Apache holding station 55 miles north of us, sir.” 
Blanchard clarified.

“I was absent the day they taught us how to read radar at
West Point.”  Crawford said.  “What am I looking at?”

“One hell of a bad ass storm.  Sir.”  The soldier answered,
reaching out to point at the screen.  When he pointed, Rachel could make out a
vortex in the colors.  Tornado?  Then he moved his finger and pointed at
another spot.  Then another, and another.

“Tornados, sir.  Four of them on the ground with clearly
defined eyes at the moment.  I’ve seen as many as seven, but not fewer than
three since the storm came into radar range.  This doesn’t happen, sir.  Not
this many, not this close together and lasting this long.  And they’re heading
our way.”

“What do you mean, this doesn’t happen?  This part of the
country is tornado alley, isn’t it?”  Crawford’s eyes were glued to the screen,
and as he watched another vortex appeared even closer to them.

“Technically, sir, Tornado Alley is a little west of us. 
North Texas into Oklahoma, but this part of the country does have them fairly
often.  What I mean is, that it’s kind of normal to see one tornado a night. 
Two happens, but are rare.  Five and more?  At the same time and as strong as
these look?  Not since we started tracking the weather a couple of hundred
years ago.  There’s always been speculation about what multiple nuclear
warheads going off would do to the weather patterns.  Increased violence and
duration of storms was one of the theories.”  The room was quiet for a minute
as everyone watched the screen.

“How strong are these?”  Rachel spoke before she realized
she should stay quiet, but neither Blanchard nor Crawford chided her for asking.

“Best guess, ma’am, is these are all at least F-4s.  And I’m
pretty sure that one right there is an F-5.”  He answered, pointing at the
largest vortex.

“English, Sergeant.”  Blanchard said.

“Sorry, sir.  An F-4 is winds greater than 207 miles per
hour.  F-5 is greater than 260 miles per hour.  Either one will wipe this
airport right off the map.”  As he was talking another vortex appeared on the
radar even further to the south, or closer to West Memphis.

“How long do we have?”  Colonel Crawford asked, removing his
reading glasses and standing up straight.

“Maybe 45 minutes, sir.”  The soldier answered, looking up
over his shoulder at the Colonel.

“Recall all the pickets, Captain.  Get the evacuees loaded
onto the train and get it rolling.  I want us out of here in half an hour.  And
send a runner to warn the locals.  There’s not many of them left and there’s
room on the train if they want to come with us, but I want that train rolling
in 30 minutes.”

“Yes, sir.”  Blanchard answered, turned and told the soldier
that had given them the weather report to issue an immediate recall to the
pickets.  He stepped away and raised a radio to his mouth to continue issuing
orders.

Within a very few minutes the quiet airport became a scene
of controlled chaos.  Soldiers dashed around, packing equipment and supplies
and loading it onto the C-130s.  The helicopters flying picket began returning,
swooping in to flare out in combat landings, the air crews hopping out and
grabbing refueling hoses.  With the pickets recalled they lost their view of
the approaching storm on the radar and the soldier shut his laptop down, packing
up the equipment he had been using.

Rachel heard the door below bang open and a moment later
heavy boots rang on the metal stairs.  Jackson rounded the last turn and ran
over to where Rachel and Dog stood with the Colonel.  He had his pack on and
rifle slung, carrying Rachel’s pack and rifle.  He handed them to her and asked
what was going on.  Rachel filled him in while Crawford watched the progress on
the tarmac below through the big windows.

“Sir, I’m going to check on the train, unless you have
somewhere else you need me.”  Jackson called out.

“Good, Master Sergeant.  Thank you.”  Crawford answered
before yelling at Blanchard to get one of the air crews on the radio and tell
them to get their asses in gear.  Jackson dashed for the stairs, and Rachel
decided to go with him.

They raced down the stairs and banged out the door onto the
tarmac.  Dog wasn’t sure what all the excitement was about, but he was ready to
go, ears up as he danced around Rachel’s legs while they ran to a civilian
pickup parked behind the tower.  Jackson jumped in and Rachel and Dog ran
around to the passenger side and squeezed into the cab with him.

The drive to the evacuee encampment was short, less than two
minutes.  As they approached, Rachel could tell the Rangers that had been
guarding the camp were doing a good job of getting people up and onto the
train.  They had turned on floodlights, and everyone was already queued up in a
line waiting to board, all of their worldly possessions clutched in their arms.

Jackson screeched to a halt and jumped out, not bothering to
even shut the truck’s engine off.  Rachel and Dog followed as he started
jogging down the length of the train, making sure everyone was up and ready to
load.  Rachel stopped and turned when she heard her name called.  She looked
across the sea of faces, finally spotting Lindsey and Madison when they shouted
again.

At first she thought the girls were just yelling to a
familiar person, then she saw the distress on their faces.  She trotted over to
them, Dog on her heels.  Jackson had stopped and came up behind as she kneeled
to talk to the two little girls.

“Where’s your Mommy and Daddy?”  She asked, looking around
for the parents and trying to remember their mother’s name.

“Daddy went into town to find something.  I don’t know what. 
When he didn’t come back, Ma went to find him.”  Lindsey was on the verge of
tears, Madison already bawling.

“They left you alone?”  Rachel asked.

A large, black woman stepped forward and looked down at
Rachel.  “The babies is with me, and they be safe.  Can you find those fool
parents?”  The woman wrapped a protective arm around each girl, both of them
turning and burying their faces against her as they cried.

“We’ll find them.  Get those girls on that train.”  Jackson
said.  Rachel turned her head to look up at him but he was already running for
the truck.

“We’ll bring them back.”  She said and sprinted after
Jackson.

Dog beat both of the them to the idling pickup, jumping through
the door Rachel had left open and planting himself on the bench seat.  They
climbed in moments later and Jackson roared away from the train.  They bounced
over several sets of tracks, Dog yelping when he lost his balance and went nose
first into the dash.  Wrapping her arm around him, Rachel held him in place as
Jackson drove.

It only took a minute to clear the train yard and race
across the northernmost section of the airport, then they turned left onto the
highway that ran into town.  On the horizon ahead, lightning played amongst the
clouds in a nearly continuous show of power.  The air blowing in through the
open windows had a charged feel to it and there was a nearly constant rumble of
thunder.  Dog whined and pressed harder against Rachel who spoke soothingly to
him and rubbed his neck.