Age of Monsters by John Schneider (a book to read txt) 📕

Within minutes, there was the sound of vehicles approaching.

Chapter 21

Lucas waved down the first jeep as the small envoy trundled up along Highway 101 to meet them.

It was a well-fortified entourage, Rosa thought – three vehicles, all with armed men riding on back – overkill for simply answering an SOS flare, and perhaps suggestive of what the troops had been conditioned to expect.

Apparently sensing the same thing, as the procession rolled to a stop, Lucas nodded back to Rosa and the rest.  “Be careful where you point your guns,” he said.  “The boys might be a little bit jumpy.”

Lucas stepped up to the first jeep, introducing himself with a salute.

“Lieutenant Lucas Walker,” he said.  “Reporting in with hostages.”  He glanced over his shoulder, at Rosa.  “Sorry – 'refugees'.  Keep getting that one mixed up.”

Rosa glared.

The leader actually looked rather surprised to see them.  He introduced himself as Sergeant Farrell, and raised his brows when Lucas told him they'd just come down from San Francisco.

“San Fran was bad,” Farrell said.  “The General's going to want to talk to you, sir.”

“Disarm them, sir?” one of the troops asked.

Farrell glanced at the rag tag lot and after a meaningful nod from Lucas, shook his head.

“Let's just get everybody back to base,” he said.  He nodded to Lucas.  “Lieutenant, you ride with me.”

Rosa looked at her fellow survivors – officially 'survivors', now that they'd got where they were going – and remembered that less than a few short weeks ago, they had been normal people – simply going about their anonymous lives in a bustling city.

Now they looked at the beckoning soldiers with furtive, feral hesitation – only moving when Lucas finally clapped his hands.  “Let's go people.”

Allison and Bud joined Daryl and Bob in the first jeep; Julie, Jamie and Jeremy in the second.

Rosa made sure to accompany Lucas in the third with Sergeant Farrell.

Farrell radioed ahead.  “Sergeant Farrell.  Bringing in eight civilian refugees, and one American Naval officer.  Please advise General Rhodes, they came down out of San Francisco.”

Their little envoy led them all the way up to the docks, providing them a little tour.

Rosa was reminded of downtown, whenever the fleets came in – except the scale of it was off the charts.

She realized, however, that was likely because this represented the sum total of armed forces on this side of the continent.

Destroyers were lined like a parking garage, right at the docks – the carriers in similar rows, two and three miles offshore.

Rosa tried to remember what other military installations existed along the west coast – outside California, there was a naval base in northern Washington State – nothing along the entire coast of Oregon.

As impressive as the forces before her might appear, taken all at once, in greater context, Rosa realized how far the mighty had fallen.

Sergeant Farrell turned the lead jeep off towards the docks as, behind them, the other two continued on.

“They're headed to the infirmary,” Farrell explained.  “They'll want to give your friends a quick medical once-over.  Get them some food.”

He nodded to Lucas.  “But the General wants to talk to you first.”

Farrell took them all the way to the end of the dock, where a man in combat fatigues was preparing to board a large PT boat.

When he saw them coming, he signaled the boat to wait, and he turned, straight and formal, as Farrell pulled the jeep up beside.

Rosa found herself rather intimidated by the man's direct stare as he appraised her briefly, up and down.  Beside her, Lucas, clambered out of the jeep, giving a formal salute – the perfect soldier.

“Lieutenant Lucas Walker, sir,” he said.  “Reporting for duty.”

Rosa stepped nervously beside Lucas as the man extended his hand.

“General Nathan Rhodes, Lieutenant.  Pleased to meet you, son.”  He shook Lucas' hand briskly.

Rhodes turned to Rosa, who extended her own hand timidly.  As opposed to the rough clench he had afforded Lucas, Rhodes shook her hand gingerly.  Rosa could feel his hard, calloused grip held in check.

He met Rosa's eyes once – simultaneous acknowledgment and then dismissal, as he turned back to Lucas.

“Your people will be taken care of,” he said.

“What's the refugee situation, sir?” Lucas asked.

Rhodes glanced at Rosa.  “Well, son,” he said, “there really hasn't been one.  You're the first.  California got hit hard, all the way down the coast.  Near as we can tell, no one survived in any numbers.”  He shrugged.  “We've got reports of more survivors back east – but around here, it's the cities and then the desert.  Most of the people lived at ground zero.

“You,” he said, “are the first we've seen come out of one of the epicenters still living.  At least in California.”

Rosa blinked.  It had been how many weeks?  And they were the FIRST?

“I'd like to talk to you, Lieutenant,” Rhodes said, “about what you saw in San Fran,” he said, “when we can get a moment alone.”  He nodded to Rosa.  “Perhaps you could see to the lady, and meet me on board in one hour.”

Rhodes started to turn, but Lucas spoke out.

“Sir?  I've got a wife.  She would have reported in up north at Eureka – right where they put up that new tower.”

Rhodes stopped, letting out a slow breath, turning back slowly.

His face was solemn.

“You've been a little out of touch.”

Rhodes met Lucas' eye levelly.  “Eureka has been destroyed, Lieutenant.  The area is a hotbed.  And it's blooming.”

For a heartbeat, Lucas was stone silent.

When he spoke, his voice was absolutely flat.

“How far?”

“Immediate region,” Rhodes said.  “You've seen it.  Within the perimeter, destruction is total.  Where there are buildings, they stomp them flat.  Where they don't got buildings, they stomp the trees.  It's like they're attacking