The Final Day (After, #3)(111)

After nearly a half mile of walking, John could see, of all things, a Cyclone fence that went from floor to ceiling, warning signs to either side of the entryway that they were about to enter a secured area. That almost made him laugh if it hadn’t been so ironic. The gate was wide open, two of Bob’s troopers posted to either side. A dead body covered with a poncho lay to one side, a massive pool of congealing blood having leaked out from underneath the poncho. He paused and made eye contact with the troopers.

“One of theirs,” a trooper announced, her voice clipped, grim. A field bandage was wrapped around her upper left arm.

“You all right?” he asked her.

“Yes, sir. But that son of a bitch isn’t.” She nodded to the body. “He nearly shot the general.”

There was a gaze of intense hatred in her eyes, and it was obvious she had killed him and now showed no remorse. How could he blame her? How could he blame any of them? After all they had been through, after all they thought they had been fighting for, and now to see this?

“The general is in that bunker complex over there, sir,” she announced, nodding back beyond the fence, wincing as she did so from the wound to her arm.

He looked over at the other guard, a sergeant. “Can’t we get her over to a hospital?” John asked.

The sergeant nodded back down the street that John had just traversed.

“Sir, we’ve got less than fifty in here,” the sergeant whispered. “No telling how many we’ve yet to secure who will fight back once they get organized for a rush on us. The general said everyone who can hold a gun stays on station until we get things straightened out.”

The sergeant turned his attention away from John, shouldered his weapon, and aimed past him. “You there! Halt and keep back, or I will shoot!” the sergeant snapped.

John looked over his shoulder. A group of milling civilians was getting closer and at the sergeant’s command sullenly started to draw back.

“If they were all armed, we’d be in the shit,” the sergeant said softly. “Word is that there are some additional personnel in a highly secured area.” He paused. “You know anything about that, sir?”

“I do,” was all that John felt comfortable with saying. “Just be ready; there could be some well-trained personnel in there.” He looked just beyond the gate; there was a Humvee parked inside. “See if you can get that thing to start. If not, drop it into neutral and roll it to block this gate. Stay behind it as cover just in case.”

He looked over at Forrest, who was nodding in agreement. “Mind staying here?” John asked him. “Kevin, Reverend Black, maybe you two as well?”

“Okay.” Forrest smiled. “Sir.”

The two guards were obviously grateful for the reinforcements, and leaving them behind, John started for the bunker complex. As he approached, he eyed the building. Unlike the living quarters, it was made of poured concrete. A lone guard from Scales’s unit guarded the door, offering a salute as John approached and opening the door for him.

As he went through the door, it felt as if his ears were about to pop. The room was overpressured, the air pressure higher within to keep any ambient dust or anything else, such as chemical or biological agents, from filtering in. He could see wire meshing in the heavy glass of the door. It wasn’t armor against bullets; it was faraday caging of the entire building, proofing it against an EMP. Of course it was known about back in the 1960s, and he could recall some of the secured briefing rooms down in the basement of the Pentagon having the same kind of protections.

Once through the double doors, it truly was a Dr. Strangelove world. A vast projection screen filled the opposite wall. It was dark, but he could easily imagine a global map display, arrows crisscrossing back and forth showing the trajectory of incoming missiles. Several dozen desks were arrayed in three tiers facing the darkened screen.

They were standard military issue of a generation or more ago. Most had old standard rotary phones on them as well, a few early model desktop computers, all of it having the feel of a time capsule. There were glassed-in rooms in a semicircle set around the main room, half a dozen feet higher than the main floor. John could see one was lit up with fluorescent lights; Bob Scales and half a dozen of his troops were in that room. As he approached, Bob looked down and waved for John to come up.

There was an unpleasant scent in the air, and as he drew closer, there was yet another body, not covered, shot in the head. He had seen so many dead like this one, but in this surreal room, the corpse seemed so out of place. John hesitated for a moment, looking down at it and then up at the lone guard stationed at the door telling John that the general was waiting for him, and he went into the room.

Far-more-up-to-date computers and communication gear lined two walls of the room, some of it lit up. The far wall was covered by a dark blue curtain, in front of it a desk, flanking the desk to either side American flags. Parked at an angle were a couple of television cameras that looked to be twenty or more years old, and glassed in to one side a small control booth, apparently to operate the cameras and sound equipment.

Besides Bob and his security detail, there were several civilians in the room as well. One of them Pelligrino, ashen faced but still alive. Standing nervously behind him were two men and a lone woman.

“John, are you all right?” Bob asked.

“Sir?”

“There’s blood all over your jacket.”