Homefront: The Voice of Freedom (35 page)

He floored the gas pedal; but a flash of bright light blinded him before he heard the powerful detonation that engulfed the Humvee. An intense blanket of fire instantly smothered the Korean operative, disintegrating the Iron Fish and liquefying his skin.

Salmusa’s final thought was not that he was dying, but that he had failed his friend and brother, the mighty Kim Jong-un. The Asian viper had lost every shred of honor he had managed to achieve during his glorious years of service to Korea. He was nothing now. He deserved this blazing, molten fate and a watery, radioactive grave for all time.

Forgive me, Jong-un! I love y—

   The strength of the explosion knocked Walker down. He fell over with the bicycle and landed hard on the bridge surface. He feared he had punctured the protective suit and that radioactivity was pouring over his body—but the iron lining prevented a tear. He had merely bruised himself.

Walker managed to raise himself on one arm to watch the devastation behind him. A large chunk of the old bridge broke away and plummeted to the river below. A tremendous surge of smoke and debris masked the headlights. Pieces of girder and concrete flew at him, forcing Walker to duck his head to avoid
injury. The bridge section upon which he lay creaked and lurched; for a moment he feared the entire thing would fall apart.

He counted to ten. To twenty.

The bridge
tilted down
. Walker started sliding toward the abyss created by the detonation. He frantically scissor-locked his legs around the Schwinn to keep from losing it and lunged wildly for the steel girders on the side of the railing. The suit gloves, wet from the rain, slipped against the metal. His body—and the bike—glided precariously farther along the incline. Walker tried again, blindly waving his hands at anything he could grasp.

He caught another girder and this time the grip held.

Walker dared to look down toward the demolished section. Smoke still covered it, but there were no more headlights. No sound of a vehicle. Keeping his legs tight around the bicycle, he pulled himself up to get a better clasp on the girder. Calling on every bit of strength he had left, he reached down, drew the bike to his waist, slipped his arm under the top tube, and heaved the entire thing up so he could carry it on his shoulder. Then, slowly and carefully, he climbed the latticework up the tilted bridge some thirty feet until he reached a level, flat surface.

It was all over.

Walker pushed himself off the concrete and stood. He moved to the guardrail and looked down at the bubbling, raging river. There it was. Walker saw the Humvee sinking in the toxic deathtrap. Was there a man desperately attempting to save himself? It was too murky to know for sure, but there was no question that whoever was in the vehicle would not survive.

Never having been a religious person in the past,
Walker felt obliged to say a prayer of thanks. He then got on the bicycle and continued the rest of the way across to the east.

   Malloy handed Wilcox a plate of cold beans and spooned some for herself. “It’s not T.G.I. Friday’s, but it’s better than starving,” she said. They sat on a picnic table located at an old roadside rest stop on the western side of Jefferson City, Missouri. The contacts Malloy counted on had come through—the Kawasaki’s fuel tank was full and nothing would stop them from reaching Kansas City.

Wilcox ate her dinner in silence, but her mind was buzzing a mile a minute. So many things to think about. So much to plan for.

Was Ben all right? What was happening back in St. Louis? Would she—

She suddenly stiffened.

“What?” Malloy asked. “What’s wrong?”

Wilcox blinked and took a breath. “I don’t know. Just a feeling.”

“What?”

“I think he made it, Martha,” she said. “Ben crossed the river. I know he did.”

Kelsie Wilcox smiled and continued her meal.

NOVEMBER 11, 2026

This date was once known as Armistice Day. I wonder if it means anything that it’s also the date the Voice of Freedom crossed the Mississippi River from the west to the east. Who knows?

What’s important is that I did it. I’m here in Illinois. Of course, I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do next, but I’m sure I’ll think of something. I was just so excited and goddamn proud of myself that I had to stop and write this down
.

I don’t know what I’m going to find here in the “great unknown” east of the river. In many ways, it’s the opposite of what occurred those centuries ago when settlers crossed from the east to explore the mysterious territory
west
of the Mississippi. St. Louis, after all, was always called the “Gateway to the West.” I guess now it’s the Gateway to the East
.

I keep thinking about that son of a bitch Wally and his ultimate sacrifice. He drew the Koreans’ attention away from me so I could cross the river. I will remember him until the day I die. He is a true hero, worthy of the highest honor
.

Kelsie is certainly on my mind. I have to find a way to get a message to her as soon as possible. She needs to know I’m safe. I miss her terribly. After the BIG NEWS she told me last night, I can’t wait to accomplish
whatever it is I’m going to do over here and then get back to her. What a reunion it will be. I love her more than anything
.

After all, she’s carrying my child. Can you believe it?

Later, man
.