Push Back: A Post Apocalyptic Thriller (The Disruption Series Book 2) (25 page)

“Better?” Luke asked.

Dempsey nodded. “Wh-why am I here?”

“I think you know,” Luke said.

The man shook his head vehemently. “I don’t, really. I’ve been cooperating, ask anyone. I … wait, if it’s about the start-up sequence, I can explain.”

Luke merely nodded. “Please do.”

“Look, I know you want the plant on line ASAP,” Dempsey said. “I get that, we all do. But there are certain safety procedures we have to … I mean need to … follow. I’ll take all the shortcuts we possibly can, but some things we just can’t ignore.”

The man was obviously terrified, almost at the point of babbling. What could induce such fear?

Luke shrugged. “You know the price of failure, Mr. Dempsey.”

All color drained from the man’s face, and the hideous bruise stood out in even greater contrast. “Please,” he whispered, “please don’t hurt my family. I … I’ll do it any way you want me to.”

Luke kept his face a mask. “And when did you last see your family, Mr. Dempsey?”

Dempsey looked confused. “Yesterday, the same as everyone else, when you let us all inside the wire for visiting hours.” He paused. “But wait. If you’re SRF, why didn’t you know—”

There was a soft knock at the door.

“Excuse me, Mr. Dempsey,” Luke said, rising and moving to the door.

He cracked the door to see Washington standing in the hallway, beckoning. He stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind him.

“What is it?” Luke asked.

“There’s been some sort of problem at the camp,” Washington said. “The colonel wants you up on the wall if you can break away.”

Luke sighed and shook his head.

“What is it, Major? You don’t look so good.”

“We screwed up, Washington. Dempsey isn’t a collaborator; they’re holding his family hostage in the camp. That’s how they’re ‘encouraging’ all the people who are ‘cooperating.’”

Washington looked puzzled, then a look of concern crossed his broad face. “You’re worried those FEMA bastards are gonna think he took off and harm his family.”

Luke nodded. “Maybe we got this guy’s family killed.”

Washington shook his head. “Probably not. Remember we grabbed the three SRF guys at the same time, and chances are, they found where our boat was pulled up in the mud. They’ll likely just figure it for what it was.”

“I hope you’re right,” Luke said. “But what’s so important that can’t wait?”

“I’m not sure. All I heard was trouble at the refugee camp; then the colonel asked me to come get you.”

“All right, just let me tell Dempsey I’ll be back later and then lock up here.”

Chapter Thirteen

Fort Box

Wilmington Container Terminal

Wilmington, North Carolina

Same Day, 2:05 p.m.

Luke hurried up the ladder to the top of the wall, to find Hunnicutt standing with Wright, staring in the direction of the refugee camp. He could hear gunfire in the distance.

“… and Miles’ patrol was attacked by the mob, and someone opened fire on the crowd,” Wright said. “There are fatalities and injuries, extent unknown.”

“Dammit! I thought we told them—”

“Miles swears the fire came from a neighboring house, sir. He thinks it was bangers trying to stir things up.”

Hunnicutt took off his helmet and ran a hand through his thinning hair as he muttered a curse. He glanced up as Luke arrived and turned back to Wright. “Major Kinsey is here, Lieutenant Wright, so go over the SITREP again, please.”

Wright nodded toward Luke. “The refugees are rioting, but our folks are safe for the moment inside the swimming club perimeter, but it’s going south in a hurry. I ordered the extraction protocol on my own initiative.”

Hunnicutt nodded. “Good call. Status?”

“It’ll be close, sir, but we should be okay,” Wright said. “They have six up-armored Hummers and two school buses for the noncombatants. They’ll exfiltrate from the country club east entrance on Pine Valley Drive in five minutes. Lieutenant Butler is organizing a relief column to roll out to support them if necessary. I turned Corporal Miles’ patrol around with orders to hold the intersection of College Road and Pine Valley Drive, in case this is part of some larger attack we don’t yet understand.”

“Very good,” Hunnicutt said. “Get our people out ASAP. Delay for nothing. Take only our people, our weapons, and vehicles. If anyone else objects, don’t waste time arguing. Bring them out by force if necessary.”

Wright nodded, then hesitated. “Confirm rules of engagement, sir?”

Luke saw Hunnicutt’s jaw tighten. When he replied, it was slow and deliberate. “Scatter them with warning shots if possible. But you are weapons free at shooters’ discretion. Don’t take chances. All of our people are coming home alive.”

Fort Box

Wilmington Container Terminal

Wilmington, North Carolina

Same Day, 3:10 p.m.

“Prior Planning Prevents Piss Poor Performance,” Hunnicutt said with a satisfied nod as he stood on the wall an hour later and watched the little convoy roll through the gates of Fort Box. “SITREP, Wright?”

“No casualties, sir. Unless you count Dr. Jennings’ pleasant disposition,” Wright said. “She’s madder than a wet hen and demanding to speak to you.”

Hunnicutt sighed. “Which I’ll do, sooner or later. But please hold her at bay until we get this mess sorted out.”

Wright nodded. “Then I best go meet the convoy and give her a target. Though I’d rather trade fire with the bangers.”

Hunnicutt chuckled and nodded his thanks, and Wright headed for the ladder down. Hunnicutt turned east and raised his binoculars. Smoke rose in towering columns from around the refugee camp. He shook his head.

He lowered the glasses. “What’s it look like, Major?”

Luke shook his head. “Not good, sir. Washington and his team have eyes on the camp, or what’s left of it. I sent them out with the relief column with orders to set up an overwatch. The rioting is general and aimless for now. They’re burning everything in sight in and around the camp, but I think we can count on them heading this way. There’s a lot of anger there, seeking a target.”

Hunnicutt nodded and turned to Butler. “What was the camp census, Lieutenant Butler?”

“We stopped trying to estimate several days ago, sir,” Butler said. “Given all the squatters in the surrounding neighborhoods, it was a near impossible task, but our best guess four days ago was at least thirty thousand.”

Hunnicutt raised the binoculars again. “And they’ll all be heading this way,” he said softly as sporadic gunfire sounded in the distance.

Wilmington Refugee Camp

(Formerly Pine Valley Country Club)

Pine Valley Drive

Wilmington, North Carolina

Same Day, 5:40 p.m.

Kwintell Banks stood with Reaper by their technical, watching the mob on the golf course. All around the perimeter of the former country club, homes and businesses joined the club structures burning in the afternoon sun. Towering columns of smoke rolled skyward in the still air, and the acrid smell wafted across the now unkempt green expanse of the golf course.

Banks watched Darren Mosley at work. For all his shortcomings, Banks thought, nobody worked a crowd quite like Mosley. With Banks’ permission, Mosley had dipped into the UBN provisions and handed out food and drink liberally, including cases of beer and whiskey. He was well on his way to convincing the mob he had all the answers.

It was a mixed crowd he addressed, black, white, and Hispanic refugees of all ages, some formerly middle class and others impoverished. They were all the same now: desperate people clinging to a miserable existence in squalor, surviving on inadequate rations of horrible food, all looking for someone to blame. Mosley was serving them up a target on a platter.

“… and that ain’t all,” Banks heard Mosley yell. “I was a soldier in there. North Carolina National Guard. Yes, I was. But I couldn’t take it no more, couldn’t live with myself. It’s disgusting what they got inside, hidin’ it away, not sharing with folks. Man, they got whole containers full of canned hams and shrimp and salmon. All kinds of shit. And what they feeding you? Crappy-ass boiled corn come off one of them skanky old foreign ships, probably full a rat turds, and not even American rat turds. Foreign rat turds. Chinese rat turds.”

There were cries of agreement and outrage, scattered at first, then general as Mosley fired up the crowd.

“But you know what they ain’t got? And what they want you to think they got a lot of? Ammunition. Oh, they got enough to make a show, but if we decide to go in there and take what we got coming, they can’t stop us. They probably just gonna load up their boats and run away, just like they did here today.”

Mosley paused and drank from the long-neck beer bottle in his hand. Refreshed, he redoubled his efforts, striding back and forth in the pickup bed, gesturing wildly to the crowd around him.

“You done this here today,” he yelled, taking in the entire crowd with a sweeping gesture. “It was YOU who made them fool soldiers run. It’s YOU they afraid of. I say we march right down to that dumb-ass little fort they built and DEMAND they give us the food they STOLE so we can share it out equal for everybody.”

Mosley shot a look to Banks, who nodded, and Mosley turned back to the mob.

“WHAT DO YOU SAY? ARE YOU WITH ME?” Mosley screamed.

“YES!” the mob screamed in unison.

“ARE YOU READY TO GET SOME GOOD FOOD?”

“YES!” the mob screamed again.

“THEN GET YOUR ASSES IN GEAR, AND LET’S GO GET WHAT’S RIGHTFULLY OURS!”

With that, Mosley beat his fist on the top of the pickup, and the driver set out across the golf course, driving slowly as the crowd parted and fell in behind Mosley’s truck like he was the Pied Piper, headed for Shipyard Boulevard and Fort Box beyond.

Banks looked over at Reaper. “What you think of my boys now?”

Reaper shrugged. “Any fool can talk big. We’ll see how they do when bullets start flying, but this is a good diversion. We need to keep the guys with M4s and the technicals well back out of sight until we’re ready to use ’em.”

Fort Box

Wilmington Container Terminal

Wilmington, North Carolina

Same Day, 6:10 p.m.

Luke raced up the ladder. Hunnicutt stood on the wall with Wright and Butler.

“Lieutenant Washington says they’re on the move, sir. Pretty much the entire mob as far as he can tell, with a few gangbangers mixed in,” Luke said. “Things are about to get real, so I ordered Washington and his men to RTB.”

Hunnicutt nodded. “Agreed. Please tell Lieutenant Washington I said well done.”

He turned to Butler. “How many M2s do we still have along the river?”

“Two each on both the larger boats and one on the smaller boat. Plus a couple set up on the outboard side of the ships, placed to sweep the river in both directions.” Butler hesitated. “Why, sir? You want to reposition them?”

“Some of them, yes,” Hunnicutt said. “An attack from the river looks less likely, at least in the immediate future. What can you spare?”

Butler rubbed his chin. “We can take all four off the larger boats. The smaller boat is more mobile anyway, and between that gun and the two on the ship sides, we should be able to handle any threats from the river. At least long enough to reposition guns if necessary.”

“Do it,” Hunnicutt said. “Work with Lieutenant Wright here to reposition them. Space them evenly along the top of the wall to supplement the guns at each corner.”

Wright spoke up. “We’ll have to improvise, sir. We won’t have time to armor them like the corner gun emplacements or the other firing positions.”

Hunnicutt nodded. “I understand; use sand bags or whatever you can find. I doubt they’ll be taking fire anyway. My hope is seeing them stretched along the wall will serve as an intimidation factor. The best battle is one you don’t have to fight, gentlemen.”

“Amen to that, sir,” Butler said, moving toward the ladder to carry out his orders, with Wright close behind.

“You really think they’ll attack, sir?” Luke asked.

“Hunger and desperation make people do extreme things,” Hunnicutt said. “But I hope staring up at the wrong end of a row of M2s, with maybe a burst or two fired above their heads, will bring them to their senses. But if it doesn’t … well, we’ll just have to be prepared to deal with that.”

Luke shook his head. “Even the dumbest of them should understand they’re no match for armed soldiers in prepared positions with crew-served weapons.”

Hunnicutt turned and looked to the east. “You would think so,” he said. “But there are thousands of them, and as Stalin once said, quantity has a quality all its own.”

***

The leading edge of the mob came into view twenty minutes later, surging up Shipyard Boulevard. Hunnicutt ordered the gate in the outer perimeter fence closed and locked, and reinforced it by having two of the container transporters block the gate completely with several containers pre-staged nearby for that purpose. The big machines completed the task and moved back inside the stout defensive walls of Fort Box itself, where they duplicated their efforts and barricaded the more substantial gate there as well. The defenders were as ready as they could be.

As the mob reached the fence, Hunnicutt got his first inkling of trouble. Rather than massing at the gate as anticipated, the mob spread down the fence line in both directions at the exhortations of a man in the back of a pickup and his minions. Fighting a rising unease, Hunnicutt adapted and ordered defenders spread more evenly along the threatened walls, in between the newly repositioned machine guns.