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“Cap, we got unknown rotors inbound!” called out Garza’s voice from atop the control tower. “Just crested the horizon. We don’t have much time.”
“They found us again?” moaned Chad in a hoarse voice.
“Stow it, civvie, this is your fault anyway,” growled one of the Apache pilots as he dusted off his flightsuit. “Captain Alston, we’re not done refueling—”
“Forget it! We gotta get in the air,” said the Black Hawk pilot. “We’re sitting ducks, man.”
As the pilots rushed to their helicopters and the first turbines spun up to speed, the Rangers streamed back from their positions around the airfield toward the Black Hawk. Chad spotted all of them except Garza, who had to climb down from the control tower.
“Get in, sir,” said Captain Alston over his shoulder at Chad, eying the sky to the northwest.
“This is all my fault,” muttered Chad, as he raised himself off the ground and up onto an elbow. He sat there watching the black mushroom cloud expand over what used to be one of the storage hangers.
“How the hell did they find us again?” asked Deuce as he rushed past, hauling a bag of supplies.
“They can’t track what they can’t see…” said Garza’s voice. “It don’t make any sense.”
“Oh my God,” said Chad in horror. He quickly got to his feet and stared at Captain Alston. “The medical implant they gave me…”
“What implant?” said Captain Alston, glaring at Chad.
“They told me it was just to monitor my health…after…The Pandemic…”
Garza trotted up. “I’m last man,” he announced. He looked at Chad. “Why the long face? Was it something I said?”
“You mean to tell me they’ve been tracking your ass with an implant?” asked Deuce. “That’s just fucking great.”
“That would explain a lot…” The captain looked back toward the northwest, toward Spokane. He sighed deeply. “They knew we were coming here.”
Did all those people in Spokane die because the Koreans knew that’s where I was headed? Oh my God…the chip.
Garza pulled a wicked looking knife from his combat vest. “Where is it?” he asked, pointing the tip of the knife at Chad. “I’ll be quick, man, I promise.”
“Oh my God,” said Chad, staring right through the short Ranger, instinctively taking a step back from the large blade. He stopped abruptly when he bumped into Deuce. Large hands wrapped around his arms in a vice-like grip.
The engines on the Black Hawk began to spool up, whining to life. Over their heads, the big rotors started to move lethargically. Captain Alston turned around to face Chad. There was a grim resolve on his face that the civilian did not like.
“Where is it, sir?” When Chad only shook his head, the captain spoke again, firm, but not unkind, “Mr. Huntley. Chad. I have already lost a good man because of that chip. Our lives are in danger at this very moment. I will ask you one last time,” he said, raising his voice to be heard over the helicopter. “Where…is…it?”
Garza smiled. “We do it here, esse, or we do it in there,” he said, pointing toward the open door to the Black Hawk. “Trust me, when it’s buckin’ and rockin’, this here knife could get real shaky. Might cut off something you want to keep. Mmmm?”
Chad slumped and sighed. “My right shoulder, there’s a little scar.” He winced as he felt his jacket and shirt hastily ripped from his body by the big Ranger behind him.
Captain Alston pulled out a piece of leather from a pouch on his vest. “Here, bite down. It helps.”
Chad opened his mouth and bit down hard on the rolled-up leather. The taste was salty and sour, but he concentrated on grinding his teeth through the tough material. Behind him, he heard Garza whistle.
“They did a pretty good job covering up the scar, my man. But I can see it. Right there. Shouldn’t be too bad!” he hollered. The wind from the spinning rotors was starting to make Chad a little wobbly, despite being held by two Rangers.
“Okay! On three, ready?” said Garza. “One!”
Chad felt a searing pain in his shoulder and tensed, screaming into the leather in his mouth. It felt like Garza had speared him with the knife. The pain intensified—he could feel the tip of the knife probing into the meat just below his deltoid muscle, seeking the little HD-GPS beacon that was causing them all so much grief. Red hot pokers seemed to be stabbing the insides of his eyes.
Chad spit the leather out with a groan. “Just get it out of me! Dammit!” he screamed.
Suddenly, the pain was gone and there was a cold, empty feeling where the hot sensation had just been. Garza slapped a field dressing on the wound and pulled Chad’s shirt back down.
“Let’s go!” he yelled into the wind.
Captain Alston pumped his fist at the pilot who nodded, then they all climbed into the helicopter. Chad could feel the queer sensation of rapid, vertical acceleration even before he found his jump-seat. His shoulder ached like something out of a nightmare.
He leaned over toward Garza. “Did you get it? Tell me you got it!” he yelled.
The swarthy Ranger flashed a white smile and held up a bloody hand, cradling a Lima bean-sized piece of plastic and metal covered in gore.
“Got it.” He handed it to Captain Alston, who promptly threw it out the open door into the forest below. Chad saw there was a swift-moving little creek down there in the trees—he hoped that’s where the damn thing landed.
“Sir!” hollered the gunner. He tapped his helmet and yelled, “Pilot says the Apaches didn’t get fully fueled. We won’t get very far. NKors are right on our asses, sir!”
Captain Alston nodded and looked at the map he held in his hands. Chad watched him trace his fingers over the mountains and roads of the local area of Idaho, looking for a refuge and fuel. He stopped, finger pointing at a small dot on the map. Chad couldn’t be sure, but it looked a little south of where they were. Fairly close.
“Here!” He showed the gunner the map. “Looks like there’s a Park Ranger helipad here. They may have fuel. And if not, at least it’s a safe place to land!”
“Where is it?” asked the gunner. He tapped his helmet again, indicating it was the pilot asking the question.
“Salmon Falls!” yelled Captain Alston.
El Segundo, California
Los Angeles Air Force Base
“I don’t like this, man…” said Charlie as their charter bus slowly roamed through the obliterated Air Force base. “This place is deserted. It’s spooky.” He adjusted the grip on his rifle and cleared his throat.
“You scared of ghosts, now?” grunted Cooper. He kept his eyes moving. The buildings that weren’t outright piles of smoldering rubble were deserted. He had to admit to himself that the small base had a certain creepiness about it, lit only as it was by the buildings on fire. “I thought you were a SEAL, not one of those Delta weenies.”
“Fuck you, old man.” They both laughed weakly. It felt good to hear Charlie laugh—it went a long way toward alleviating Cooper’s concerns over Charlie being able to focus again.
Cooper sat behind the wheel of the commandeered charter bus and surveyed the land in front of them. There was smoke and rubble everywhere. Buildings that had once been an active part of a bustling Air Force base were nothing but blasted shells. Cooper had known where the base was located—even without the GPS signals—by simply following the thick columns of black smoke that stained the sky for miles around. Cooper saw a shot-up sign that proudly named the base as the headquarters of the U.S. Space Command.
They had driven—slowly—right through the main gate, which had been smashed open by a damn big explosion. Cooper gave silent thanks that the blast had cleared a path through the debris just wide enough for them to navigate the cumbersome bus through the base grounds. There were abandoned cars, resupply trucks, HumVees, and civilian vehicles of every sort scattered willy-nilly as far as could be seen through the smoke.
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