Iron Mike (12 page)

Kasoniak

Dick Kasoniak walked over to the officers’ mess hall – he was too goddamned old to call it a “dining facility” – to eat lunch. He was the one to implement the resource conservation efforts, and there was no reason in the world for him not to follow them as well. Besides, if he sat on his ass much longer, he would get bedsores.

Kasoniak used to believe there was no job more sedentary than adjutant commander of the cavalry brigade on Fort Knox, but he had been very wrong. He exercised his head-of-line privilege and carried his tray over to a window table where Mark Dunnegan sat with a major he didn’t know. “At ease,” he said preemptively, adjusting his seat. He pulled the two-way off his belt, lowering the volume slightly as he set it on the table beside his lasagna and salad.

“Afternoon, Colonel,” Dunnegan said, keeping with formalities for the major’s benefit. “Rumor has it we’re breaking into the Mint?”

Kasoniak scowled without heat. “Rumors fly around this place faster than a sorority house panty raid,” he grumbled. “But yes, if we can. So far, we haven’t had much luck breaching it.”

Dunnegan grinned. “I’m sure I have a DVD of Goldfinger I can lend you, sir, if the going gets tough.”

“Well, thank you, Mark. If I weren’t an officer and a gentleman, I’d shove my gold finger right up your ass.”

The men laughed, and for just a moment, Kasoniak’s shoulders loosened. He looked at the major.

“Major Tom Fields, sir,” the man said with a smile. “Up from Fort Benning, just in time for all the fun.”

“Welcome to our little paradise,” Kasoniak said dryly as he started into the institutional lasagna. He would have to chew a handful of Tums when he got back to the office.

He was about to ask for an informal situation report when the radio caught his attention. It wasn’t the voice from the radio that penetrated Kasoniak’s consciousness – the damned thing had been squawking incessantly since soldiers lost their cell phones – but rather, the tone of voice. There was barely-controlled panic in the young woman’s distress call.

“Mayday, mayday, sector 12 requesting immediate medical assistance. Man down, request immediate medical assistance. Repeat, man down.”

Kasoniak turned the volume up so he and the two officers at the table could hear. The dispatcher clarified the soldier’s position and asked the nature of the emergency.

“It’s – I don’t know, it’s fucking weird,” she replied, breaking radio protocol. “Private Williams is down – he’s being sucked into the ground, and we can’t get him out. We need chainsaws, jaws of life, extraction equipment – hell, I don’t know, just get here!”

Kasoniak, Dunnegan, and Fields were out the door, running to Dunnegan’s jeep before the woman’s voice left the airwaves.

The soldier, PFC Daniel Williams, died in the attempted rescue.

Otter Creek Gun Range

Sergeant Diane Kershaw felt the sweat bead on the back of her neck even though it was thirty degrees outside. The early afternoon was crisp and clear, a light snow falling even while the sun shone. The 5-ton rolled along with surprising speed, given the condition of the gravel drive-off. She saw the iron bar in front of the truck and the driver looked over at her questioningly. Her first command decision – run through the bar and risk damaging a military vehicle or stop to raise it and leave her soldiers potentially exposed?

“Run it,” she said, her voice sounding calm and professional. She liked that. Her voice didn’t sound like it came from the mouth of a chicken-shit farm girl from North Carolina. It sounded like it came from the mouth of a soldier.

The private grinned and gave it some gas. There was a solid “thump” of impact and a screech of grinding metal as the 5-ton went through the gate like a hot knife through Crisco. Kershaw worked hard to keep the grin off her face. That was kind of fun!

They drove the half mile to the gun range and parked the 5-ton outside of the big warehouse that housed enough ordnance and hardware to equip a small Army. Sergeant O’Shea’s truck pulled up next to them and Sergeant Ferguson’s beside his. The three squads of soldiers piled out, their weapons ready. Kershaw had gone to the range the year before during a machine-gun shoot, and she had navigated the aisles of the gun shop and vendors, weaving in between the thousands of people who came to see the show and buy weapons or ammunition. It was eerily empty now and silent.

Sergeant Richard O’Shea – Ricochet, to everyone – faced the building and gave the “move out” signal. Kershaw nodded acknowledgement and gave the signal to move her own squad into position. They moved into the building quickly, tension thick in the air.

Kershaw honestly expected the building to be empty so she hesitated for just an instant when she heard the man’s voice, ugly and threatening. “Drop it, motherfuckers!” he sneered, turning only then. His eyes widened as he saw three squads of battle-geared soldiers facing him, but instead of lowering his weapon, he raised it into firing position. Maybe he was too surprised. Maybe he was too stupid. Either way, five seconds later, he was dead.

Kershaw’s ears rang, and the sharp smell of cordite and blood and bowel matter made her eyes water. She didn’t even remember pulling the trigger, but she could still feel the vibration of the M4 carbine in her hands. She stared at the dead man, realizing only then she wasn’t the only person who had opened fire. At least half the soldiers in the warehouse fired their weapons when the man raised his rifle. Kershaw felt an absurd sense of relief at that; she wasn’t solely responsible for a man’s death.

“Oh, Jesus! Oh, Jesus, Hank!” A man’s voice, almost hysterical, came from the row of semi-automatics set out in a display case behind Kershaw. She whirled, her weapon ready, and barely stopped herself from firing. A red-haired, grimy man stood, his hands raised high in the air, his eyes wide and panicked. “Don’t shoot!” he begged. Kershaw kept her weapon aimed on him, noting with pride that every soldier in the room was equally locked and loaded.

“Two fingers only. Remove your weapon, place it on the ground and kick it over,” Kershaw said, her voice stern and professional. The man nodded quickly and complied, one hand still raised high while he removed his pistol with exaggerated care and put it on the ground, kicking it away from him. Ricochet scooped the pistol up quickly and looked at Private Sanchez. Sanchez moved up to the looter and quickly frisked him, removing a hunting knife from inside the man’s jacket, and then stepping back with a nod.

“What exactly are you doing here?” Kershaw asked coldly.

“I wasn’t gonna steal nothing!” the man said quickly, his voice almost a sob. “I got money, I swear. I was gonna pay!” He looked at Kershaw pleadingly and then, moving with care, reached into an inner pocket of his jacket. Every soldier in the room tensed, fingers twitching. The man withdrew a ridiculously thick stack of bills and held it up for Kershaw and the other soldiers to see. Kershaw stared and fought back the urge to laugh at the paper currency the man held up. It
was
still useful … as kindling.

“Zip tie him, and put him in the back of the truck,” Kershaw said, looking at Private Jenovic.

“Yes, Sergeant,” Jenovic said, moving quickly to comply.

“Search the premises,” Ferguson instructed the squads. “They may not be the only assholes in here so look sharp.”

There were several “Hooahs” and the soldiers fanned out, quickly spreading through the warehouse. Kershaw took in the dozens of display cases and the thousands of weapons and weapon accessories. Jesus, there was a lot of stock here! It would take hours to load everything into the trucks. She grinned, suddenly feeling pretty good about the mission in spite of the man they killed. They would achieve their objective. The Old Bear would be satisfied.

Keeping her weapon ready, she began walking through the aisles, checking each carefully as she went, doubling over some of the territory already covered by her squad. She was more relaxed now; she knew there were no other looters in the building. They would still canvass it thoroughly, of course, but the excitement was over and the hard work was about to begin.

“Kershaw!”

She turned toward Ricochet and Ferguson, who were standing at the eastern end of the warehouse, looking grim. A small group of soldiers stood around them. Kershaw walked over to the group, her gut tightening.

There were four of them, three men and a woman. The men wore Otter Creek Gun Range polo shirts and the woman a pink OCGR t-shirt. They were all dead from gunshot wounds. The woman was maybe twenty, if that. She had been raped.

Ricochet knelt down and touched the side of the woman’s neck. Kershaw would have to give him props for that, later, over a beer and pretzels.

“She’s still warm,” Ricochet said, his voice oddly strained.

Private Miller turned away, his face bloodless. Everyone pretended not to notice him puking in the next aisle, but Kershaw felt her own gorge rise in sympathy and she swallowed hard. “We need to take the bodies back to Knox,” she said, her voice sounding small and not at all soldierly. “And the asshole, too. Looks like we’ve arrested our first looter … and maybe murderer.”

It was cold comfort that the red-haired scumbag went absolutely ape-shit when the five bodies – Hank’s and the gun shop employees’ – were piled into the truck next to where he was securely zip-tied. Kershaw couldn’t find an ounce of sympathy for him.

The moon was rising when the soldiers finally climbed back into the heavily-laden trucks, squeezing together tightly. They were tired, sweaty, and less inclined to banter than they had been earlier in the day, but the huge warehouse was picked absolutely clean. They still had to check the smaller gun shop on S.R. 44, but that would take no time at all. Kershaw looked down at the stack of
pink
rifles and handguns that were stacked on the floorboard of the truck where she was sitting. She was
so
going to kick Ricochet’s ass for that.

January 5

Mike

About seven in the morning, Kari handed out the last of the pork chops and granola bars while the children took turns going to the bathroom in the slight shelter of the minivan. Mike was moving slowly, pain etched across his face. He had lost a pound or two, Kari noticed with surprise. The boyishness was gone from his face, replaced by a fatigued leanness that worried her. While he walked up the road a few paces, she lightened the load from his backpack, transferring several of the heavier items to her pack. Stephen saw her and met her eyes, taking several items from her and packing them away into his own pack. When Mike returned, Stephen picked up Kayli and set her on his own shoulders, leaving Mike to take Ariel. Mike didn’t even notice. Kari pressed four Ibuprofen and the last of the Gatorade into his hand, and they set off.

It was Kari who called the halt at noon. They had reached the street sign for the Brandenburg Station Road gate, and they would be hiking down this exit ramp. They would have to walk less than an hour to reach the gate to Fort Knox, and Kari was anxious to get there and get Mike medical attention. He was walking with dogged determination, his eyes fixed on the blacktop in front of them. He was burning up again, and he flinched when he reached up to remove Ariel from his shoulders. His eyes were slightly unfocussed when he removed his pack and sat down heavily where Kari stopped the group. She was relieved the snow was melted, leaving the blacktop mostly dry.

Lunch was cold spaghetti-o’s and cookies. Mike refused food again, not even bothering to shake his head. Kari had packed four plastic Gatorade bottles of snow close to her body, melting them into water as they walked. She gave each child a few sips and handed Mike four more ibuprofen with the last of the water. He took them wordlessly while she moved over to the side of the road and repacked the bottles as tightly as she could. Four bottles of snow, melted, made less than one bottle of water.

“We’re almost there,” Kari promised quietly when she returned to him. “Maybe another hour, Mike. You can hold on, okay?” She kept talking to him, not sure if he could even hear her. She watched as Stephen walked several yards back the way they had come, and saw his stream of urine arc out from the blacktop onto the snow. She turned back to Mike, touching his forehead again.

Stephen considered making his initials in the snow, but he knew he didn’t have enough water in him so he didn’t. He zipped and tried to move back to the group. His shoes were stuck. Stephen looked down in surprise, and saw the blacktop beneath his sneakers was gelatinous.

“Oh, shit!” he whispered, his heart rate spiking in terror. He called out, his voice strained but calm. “Hey, Mike? I gotta problem here!”

The stress in Stephen’s tone cut through the haze of pain. Mike’s eyes snapped up, looking for the boy. Kari was already running toward him when Mike struggled to his feet.

Stephen’s feet were caught in the viscous fluid, but the boy had not disobeyed. He hadn’t stepped one foot off the blacktop. The camouflage matched the road perfectly, down to the dotted white lines.

“Rope!” Mike yelled to Jenn. She ran to Mike’s backpack, finding the rope on the top this time, next to his bow kit.

“Stephen, when we get the rope around you, get out of your shoes,” Mike said, kneeling a few feet away from the boy. The surge of adrenalin cleared his head and he spoke with calm urgency.

Stephen nodded, looking at the ground below him. His face was pale. “I think that’s going to be another problem,” he said softly. He nodded toward the blacktop. “It has my feet.”

“What do you mean?” Mike asked. “It’s got your shoes, Stephen. Come on, step out of them, man.”

Stephen shook his head and looked up at Mike, raw fear in his eyes. “I’ve tried,” he said softly. “It’s like they’re stuck. Like it’s sucked inside my shoes already and my feet are superglued to the ground, shoes and all.”

Jenn arrived with the rope, panting hard. Mike looked at it for a moment. There were no trees, no telephone poles, nothing to wrap the rope around for leverage. Stephen smiled wanly, meeting Mike’s eyes, and then more briefly, Kari’s and Jenn’s. He looked back to Mike and nodded slightly.

Mike stood and backed up a step. His face was paler than Kari had ever seen, almost vampiric. His eyes were lucid, though shiny with pain and fever. He was guarding his left arm, cradling it as though it were in a sling.

His face was empty when he looked at Kari. “I need you to take the children ahead, please,” Mike said quietly. “You can wait for me at the bottom of the off-ramp.”

Kari blinked back tears, furious with herself for the weakness. “That’s stupid, Mike,” she countered hotly. “We’re only an hour out, and you’re sick – separating now is not an option!”

Mike looked at her for a long moment. “Really?” he asked flatly, and then nodded to the group of children who remained a short distance away, huddled in a somber group. “You want them to watch me do this?”

Kari blanched, looking at Stephen, who was now ankle-deep in the monster. She met Mike’s eyes again and swallowed. “I can run to the post and get help,” Kari said softly. “You can watch the kids, and I can run all the way there, Mike, and bring back emergency workers.”

Mike studied Kari thoughtfully, and then looked back at Stephen. “It took the thing less than fifteen minutes to drop Nathan to his waist, Kari. That’s when he told me that it was burning him … his legs and stomach.” Mike swallowed. “I figure the acid took a while to eat through his jeans, but the … beast didn’t have any trouble at all getting through his open jacket and t-shirt. Nathan …” Mike blinked quickly, his eyes bright with tears he wouldn’t free. “Nathan was in a lot of pain, Kari. He was literally being … digested alive. Twenty minutes, maybe thirty for Stephen, if we get extra layers of clothes on him. Can you do it? Get there, and get someone to come back in that time?”

Kari looked away for several seconds, her mind racing desperately. She could run to the base in fifteen minutes, but then she would have to convince the security personnel of the legitimacy of her emergency. They would pass it up the chain of command until someone with enough authority could send heavy equipment and medical personnel. Things would move more quickly if her father were alive, but Kari knew those odds were slim. She looked at Stephen, her heart sinking as the boy dropped another few inches to his calves. “It would be longer than that before they got someone here,” she admitted quietly. “Probably closer to an hour?”

Mike nodded grimly. “We’ll go tell Stephen, and he makes the call. And Kari?”

She turned to him.

“If you run, the same thing could happen to you. We need to check every footstep, as though we’re looking for a landmine. It looks like these bastards don’t need to be in the earth to camouflage.”

Kari met his eyes and nodded, quickly turning and finding Jenn, and motioning for her to take care of the children while she and Mike talked to Stephen. The kids were already drawn into a tight circle to stay warm and draw comfort from each other. Jenn’s face was tear-streaked and hollow as she nodded at the instruction; she already anticipated the heartbreaking conclusion.

Mike and Kari walked over to Stephen, Kari stopping where the ground started quivering and Mike stepping closer so he could speak softly. He didn’t even react when the ground solidified under his feet. “Kari can run to Fort Knox,” Mike told Stephen quietly. “She can bring back help, but she figures it will take an hour, maybe a bit more, maybe a bit less. It’s your decision, Stephen. You tell us what you want us to do.”

Stephen looked at Mike for a long moment, then Kari. He looked back at the overpass they crossed before stopping for the lunch break. His eyes scanned the distant tree line, the black ribbon of highway cutting through the pristine white snow, and Kari bit back a sob. She already knew what the boy would answer.

“I’ve been thinking about that,” Stephen finally said, addressing them both but looking mostly at Mike. “I watched all the things you tried with Nathan, and I know you tried more when we went back to the road. I was wondering what the soldiers on Fort Knox could try. Maybe amputation? Maybe hand grenades or gas. But every way I looked at it, I end up dead, or worse than dead, whether from this … Feeder or from friendly fire.” His voice was calm. Adult. Resigned.

Mike swallowed, saying nothing.

“If I’m gonna die, I need to do it and get it over with, so you and Kari can get the kids out, Iron Mike.”

The Feeder sucked as if in agreement, and Stephen sank up to his knees.

Mike looked at Kari, his eyes wet with despair. “Please take them, Kari?” It was a request, not an order. Kari nodded once, looking at Stephen. She walked onto the Feeder, shuddering in disgust as the ground solidified beneath her and bent down next to the boy. She kissed him gently, turned, and walked away, finally letting the sob out of her throat.

Mike knelt on one knee putting him at Stephen’s eye level. “I’ll do it when they’re down the ramp,” he told the boy.

Stephen nodded.

Nathan’s screams and sobs were agonizing, but this … this was exponentially worse. There was a resignation in the boy’s eyes, an expression so much older than his ten years should allow. They sat together, waiting in silence, for several minutes while Mike watched the procession’s slow progress down the ramp. The Feeder sucked again and Stephen sank to his thighs. He bit his lip to keep from crying out in fear.

Mike adjusted his position, sitting on the ground beside Stephen. His head throbbed and his vision was blurring.

“You don’t look so good,” Stephen said, trying for a light tone.

Mike smiled, but it faded quickly. “You don’t look so hot yourself, buddy.”

Stephen grinned. “I’ve been in better situations, that’s for sure.”

Mike felt a deep pang of guilt. Stephen was working to cheer him up. “You doin’ okay?” he asked, checking Kari and the group of children again.

Stephen nodded. “It’s really warm, but not burning yet.”

“You’ve been a big help,” Mike told the boy, his voice choked. “I don’t think we would have made it if you didn't carry Kayli for so long.”

Stephen smiled proudly. “She’s a chunk,” he said amiably. “And Nathan was right – she
is
a spoiled brat.”

They chuckled together, and Mike was no longer able to see the procession of children. If they looked up the ramp toward him, the sun would be in their eyes. He stood, tears finally flowing and burning down his face. He walked over to his backpack and pulled out his takedown kit. He assembled the bow carefully, his back to Stephen, and returned to the boy, squatting down. Stephen looked at him calmly, the fear showing only in his eyes.

“Sweet bow,” he said, admiring the weapon that would kill him.

Mike swallowed. “What’s your name, Stephen?” he asked, his voice thick. “Your full name.”

The boy smiled. “Stephen Hawking Sharpe. My dad’s a geek.”

“Stephen Hawking Sharpe.” Mike nodded solemnly. “I won’t forget it,” he promised. He nocked the bow and stood, hesitating a moment. He drew back quickly and released the arrow, dropping the precious bow as he fell to his knees, sobbing outright. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!”

He never noticed the small black orb floating in the air above him. The Spotter stayed there, immobile, for as long as Mike wept.

Mike knew he was letting too much time pass. His feet were numb from kneeling beside Stephen’s body. He was shaking with sobs and with fever. It would be so much easier to stay here and grieve the boy he had come to respect than it would be to move. Hypothermia wasn’t far away.

He considered it seriously for a moment, and then he tried to stand up. His legs wouldn’t hold him and he collapsed onto his hands and knees. The … Feeder took Stephen up to his chin, and all Mike could see was the top of the boy’s face, his eyes staring open. The last expression the boy wore was … resolve? Mike tried to stand again, and was able to make it to his feet. This time, he felt the angry pins and needles and was annoyed with himself for kneeling in the same position for so long. He stood unmoving, swaying slightly for a long moment, remembering the expression on Jenn’s face when she called him Iron Mike. It was a brat move, of course, but there was something else in her eyes he never imagined he would see: respect. Not a facade of respect so Mom or Dad wouldn’t rip on her, but the real thing…genuine respect. He never thought he’d live to see that day.