The Beginning of the End (Book 2): Toward the Brink II (3 page)

Holmes listened as Etheridge asked the usual security questions to make sure of the authenticity of the call. Holmes had never understood this. The phone he’d been issued could only call this number.

“Sir, it looks like Hadlee has a new ally in the chairman of the joint chiefs. Together, they’ve proposed a limited tactical nuclear strike on Idaho and the surrounding areas that are affected.” He expected Etheridge to blow his top, but Etheridge remained composed as always.

“Sir, he then plans to implement a program to stop the disease from advancing … and ultimately find a cure.”

“I see…. That’s not good, not good at all. We can’t have that, Mr. Holmes, you need to see that it doesn’t.”

“Yes, sir, my thoughts as well.” Holmes puffed out his chest. Now was the time to prove his worth.

“You get back and find out as much as you can, and I’ll look into it from my end,” Etheridge said. “Years of planning have gone into this, Holmes, we can’t have it derailed by this madman. Call me as soon as you have any news.”

Holmes looked at his watch. The meeting at the Situation Room was due to resume. He’d grab a coffee along the way. For the first time, he detected a touch of hesitancy in the tone of his mentor.

“Tom, sit with me, please,” the president said as other select members of the Security Council filed back into the Situation Room. The recess had been more like twenty minutes than ten.

Holmes, not surprisingly, was the last to return, coming in right behind Hadlee, who carried a small briefcase.

“Looks like Hadlee’s armed with new information, sir,” Tom whispered to the president.

“Yes, he resembles the early bird that got the worm, doesn’t he?”

“The analogy I think would be more appropriate is the rat that got the cheese,” Tom whispered.

“Gentlemen, before we get back to the meeting, I have some information to share with you.” Hadlee switched on the large monitor behind the lectern, made a few adjustments on the handset, and opened his briefcase.

“These pictures just arrived. Taken by a drone over Twin Falls a few hours ago. Infrared equipment was used.”

The president and his top aide exchanged concerned looks.

“First of all, I want you to look at this picture. It was taken yesterday of the same area by satellite.” Hadlee paused to consult his notes. “It was taken at around two in the afternoon. As you can see, the streets are deserted. Contrast it with this image …” Hadlee pushed a button on the handset and brought up a picture bathed in green.

“I’ve always wondered why it was called infrared when the pictures are green. Haven’t you?” Tom asked the president, who responded with a short smile.

“There are now thousands roaming the streets at night, the same streets that, hours earlier, were bare.” Hadlee brought up another picture. “We don’t know why they’re not visible during the day, but as you can see, they more than make up for their lack of activity when night falls.”

There was a murmur among everyone seated, all astonished at the sheer number of those infected.

“Gentlemen, I’ve been led to believe these people were infected with some terrible life-threatening contagion, yet I see people walking around the street in great numbers—and you want to fire nuclear missiles into these zones? How can you justify that?” Weisman asked.

“Looks, especially from a satellite photo, can be deceiving, sir. Let me assure you, what you see on the monitor could hardly be classified as people anymore.” Hadlee was firm in his assurance.

“Good to know we aren’t the only voices of reason in the room,” Tom muttered under his breath after Weisman spoke out against the missiles strike.

“This might be what we need, Tom.”

“Sir?”

“Shh, I’ll fill you in later.” The president tapped Tom’s forearm.

“We have no choice but to implement the plan. If we don’t, what you see up there on the screen will be everywhere. New York, LA, Washington. From there, who knows? This is a drastic measure, make no mistake, but we are faced with the most diabolical of circumstances any country has ever faced. We can’t waste time, the future of the whole country is at stake!”

“I agree we can’t let the rest of America become a wasteland like … like …” CIA Director Conner waved an arm toward the monitor, which now displayed a close-up of several foamers. The disheveled appearance, the red eyes, and the anger convinced him they were no longer dealing with humans.

“We don’t have time for this. We have to move on it now. Let’s take a vote, agree or disagree is all that’s required.” Hadlee felt his tenuous grip on power slipping. He had to make it happen now or the voices for reason would prevail.

One after the other, they went around the table until it was the president’s turn. Holmes from DTRA sat on the other side of the president and had avoided the vote thus far.

“What say you, Mr. President? The vote is an even split,” Hadlee, now uncertain, asked.

“I think everyone here knows where I stand, so we are left in a stalemate, are we not?” The president assumed Holmes would vote in favor of Hadlee’s proposal.

Hadlee didn’t answer. He held the executive powers, but it would amount to little if no one, or not enough, followed.

“I would be interested in what Mr. Holmes thinks. We haven’t heard his say on the matter.” The president looked across at Holmes.

“Well … I think the development of a treatment to combat this abomination is a good idea—how could it not be?” Holmes paused, thinking out his reply word by word. He was without allies in this room, and he had to be careful. The nuclear destruction of a state wasn’t part of the Chamber’s plans, and neither was containing the disease. Not before it attained the desired result. As far as reducing the population, the outcome would be the same, but what good would it be to have complete control of the planet when the entire infrastructure lay in ruins and no one could safely walk in the open? He had been directed to use his considerable power to thwart Hadlee’s plan, by any means possible. Etheridge was adamant.

“I strongly disagree with Director Hadlee’s plan. I fail to see how the use of nuclear missiles will do anything. If, as it’s been suggested, this pathogen originated from the potato growth hormone, are we not all at risk?” Holmes’s vote and the logic that followed left the entire room in shock.

The president exchanged a suspicious glance with Tom Transky.

Something else is up here.

“Thank you, Mr. Holmes, for your enlightened understanding of events.” The president stood, not knowing what to make of Holmes for now. For the moment he’d gained a new ally, and for that he was grateful.

“I suggest we get a few hours rest because in the next few hours, maybe days, we won’t have time to catch our breath,” Hadlee interrupted. He sensed a power play was underway and not in his favor. “We’ll meet back here in four hours, agreed?”

Hadlee’s motion for adjournment was seconded by his lackey Stodge, who immediately trailed Hadlee out of the room. Director Conner stood and followed, turning when he got to the door, where he gave his commander in chief the slightest of nods.

Hadlee’s plan was now in tatters. He’d have to find some new allies if he were to succeed in the removal of the president. What was meant to be a meeting to introduce the new power in Washington instead saw him scamper out like a mangy dog with its tail between its legs. The president, on the other hand, had regained his position—with no small thanks to Richard Holmes.

Daylight was still a few hours away in Idaho, more than two thousand miles from the White House, which was now gripped with fear and turbulence. The group from Twin Falls, with the new additions from Shoshone, would have been more than grateful to trade places, however. The days were foamer–free, but the nights were lock-the-door-and-arm-yourselves time. Life and survival had been reduced to this simple fundamental in a few short days. There were small pockets of survivors throughout Idaho, of that they were sure, but without communication, they would be impossible to find and link up with. Safety in numbers would become more than an old saying. It would be the difference between life and death.

Mulhaven was interested in how the Shoshone group had managed to survive out here, just the three of them.

“When did you lose power?” he asked the moment he entered the house and saw the candles and kerosene lanterns.

“Actually, we haven’t,” David Grigsby said. “We support ourselves with solar and wind power. The town lost power about a day or so ago. We keep the lights low or off altogether when it’s dark…. The light attracts them.”

“Them?” Allan asked. A sliver of ice ran down his back.

“You know who he means, son,” Mulhaven answered.

Allan nodded. He knew, but wished he didn’t.

“What are your plans now?” David asked his guests as he brought a pot of coffee to the table, where everyone gathered.

“We plan to head to Canada, British Columbia, to be exact. I have an aunt we can stay with…. Well, if she’s still there,” Elliot said.

“Why did you stop here?” Margaret Grigsby asked as she brought extra coffee mugs over.

“We were forced to leave Twin Falls faster than we’d planned. Allan told me Roger lived here now, so we thought we’d see if he wanted to come along.” Elliot had heard the fear in the voice of Roger’s aunt and added, “You and Mr. Grigsby are more than welcome to join us.”

Margaret couldn’t hold back her elation. She emptied her arms of the mugs she carried and hugged Elliot. In the candlelight, tears could be seen running down her cheeks.

“Oh, Elliot, thank you, thank you so much. Thank you. Roger told stories about you and how you were so concerned for others.” She kissed him several times on the forehead and hugged him again.

Margaret hadn’t had the nerve to tell her husband or Roger she was afraid. She had put on a brave face, but the thought that she might be left alone, or become a victim of the disease, gnawed at her insides. Most of all, she was afraid of those creatures.

“I appreciate your offer, Elliot. We’re the last three left around here …” David looked at Margaret, then to his nephew, Roger, and a tear welled up in his eye. “Alive, anyway. We didn’t know what to do, and we’re glad for your help. We’ll do whatever we can. You know, we started to think we wouldn’t make it and we’d have no choice but to … to …”

“It’s all right, David, it’s all right.” The Tall Man placed an arm around the shoulder of the organic farmer. “As long as you can make coffee this good, we’d take you anywhere!”

The tiny piece of good-natured banter brought some laughter right when it was needed. Mulhaven’s regard for the Tall Man grew higher. He had agency or black ops written all over him, but his real skill was in his ability to lift the spirits of those around him. A natural skill few people had.

“When do we leave?” asked David, renewed hope in his voice.

“First light. We don’t move at night unless we have to, but I’m sure you know that, Mr. Grigsby.”

“I suggest we get some rest before then, and …” David put up a hand. “Margaret, kill the lights,” he whispered. “They’re back.”

Margaret quickly doused the kerosene lantern on the kitchen counter then blew out the candles on the table. Darkness filled the inside of the farmhouse. Starlight filtered through the windows, just enough to see as eyes became accustomed to the dark.

“I knew we shouldn’t have left our guns behind!” Cindy echoed what the others thought.

Elliot crawled over to her and put his arm around her. “It’s okay. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

She clung to Elliot, and in the dark, they kissed. Brief though it was, there was passion, warmth, and a touch of desperation in the kiss.

“Get down! Down on the floor,” David hissed at the others. “Don’t let them see us!”

Firm footsteps plodded on the gravel outside, a few feet from the front door.

“Looks to be at about twenty, in front of the van.” Roger relayed the information from his position by the front window.

“Foamers, all right.” The Tall Man swept across the carpet and moved into position next to Roger.

“Foamers?”

“That’s what they’re called, Margaret. Because of the green bile they throw up,” Cindy whispered.

“I’ve seen it on some of them, through binoculars,” Roger confirmed.

“Have any of you come in contact with that green bile?” Mulhaven asked Roger. It wasn’t an easy question to ask, but one that was needed.

“No, I haven’t—none of us have—but I’ve seen them retching at night when they’ve come, and some of the townspeople vomited like this before it took them over.”

“We have foamer, all right, near the front steps,” the Tall Man warned in a hushed tone.

“We need to get to the van,” Cindy whispered to Elliot.

“If we keep quiet we’ll be all right,” he reassured her, or tried.

“If they smell us, we’re in for it. They go into a frenzy when they get a whiff of the living,” David whispered.

The Tall Man had taken note of the cloves of garlic spread over the front porch. Now he knew why they were there.

It wasn’t to keep vampires away … but to keep the foamers at bay.

“Shit, I’m a poet and I just don’t know it,” he chuckled to himself.

“You say something, Chuck?”

“Clearing my throat, Riley … clearing my throat.”

“Wait, he’s stopped. Looks like he’s lost interest and the others have drifted off.” Roger gave an update.

“Okay, good. But let’s keep the lights off, we don’t want them coming back.”

“That was close.” David stood and peeked through the window.

“They come around every night?” Elliot asked.

“Yeah, we don’t always see them, but we hear them.”

“Have you recognized any?” Mulhaven asked David.

“I have.” He paused for a long moment. “My brother. He has the farm next to us. I always told him not to eat that fast food shit. I told him … I … I …” David covered his face.

“Oh, honey, don’t do this to yourself!” Margaret said as she shuffled around in the dark to find her husband.

While she did her best to soothe her husband, Mulhaven, Elliot, and the Tall Man gathered to plan their next move.