Paul Kirk - Devastation Point

“I’m glad. Now get while the getting’s good.”

Cody slipped quickly past to approach the hole to the basement. Briefly, he slowed at the dark hole. With care, he rested the candy near the hole and slipped below. Connor stared toward the city of Pittsburgh and swore that he again heard a faint, repetitive pulse. As the sound grew louder, he ran down the concrete steps to Jason and McLeod.

“Hear that?”

“Yeah. I think it’s a ’copter.”

“Comin’ for us?”

“Not necessarily, but certainly a possibility,” suggested McLeod.

“You think it’s the president? That would mean they found the note!”

“I dunno, Mac. Maybe.”

“That could mean Amanda’s alive.”

“Again, Mac, not necessarily.”

“Recommendations?”

“We hide, Mac. See what transpires.”

“Jason, hide the horses in that car dealership over there. Bust those big windows if those doors are blocked.”

“Okay.”

“And get up into my cache and grab some stuff before that ’copter gets too close.”

“For sure.” Jason pulled the reins behind him at a fast pace.

“McLeod? Let’s move now.”

At that moment, the sky north and slightly west of them lit up with a burst of fire and a rumbling explosion louder than any thunder.

“What the hell was that?” asked McLeod.

“That, my good friend, is a Hellfire bent on destruction.”

“Incredible.”

“Yeah.”

The fireball dissipated quickly below the homes and tree line. Jason ran past and up the concrete steps. In passing, he looked over at Connor and his dad.

“What was that?”

“The president just sent a serious go-fuck-yourself message to somebody, probably this Phoenix guy,” said Connor.

“You don’t know that,” insisted McLeod.

“C’mon John. I know weapons and explosives. And that was a sweet little Hellfire.”

“You can tell that?”

“I can and did. The Hellfire has a very distinctive fireball. Very bright yellow with a nice finishing tuft of orange.”

“Huh.”

“Besides, who do we know that happens to have one of those? Marty did obtain a limited visual of the bird and its payload when he was in Cleveland.”

“Okay. I admit, it could be Starkes and company.”

“Yeah, and we better move our asses and take all the supplies we need because they’ll be coming here, like right now, if they got the message left for Amanda. Shit! I just parked the horses at the diversionary address I’d put on the map.”

“That car dealer’s the address you put?”

“Yeah. I thought it’d give us a great vantage point to watch for any action if there was still a house up there instead of just a mysterious woman cooking up some stew.”

“I see.”

The light of excitement in Connor’s eyes caused John to stare at him, mesmerized. The intensity was powerfully charismatic and John found himself becoming quite excited. Shaking his head and moving toward the concrete steps, his mind cleared a bit from the persuasive focus. “They could just be passing through and took a shot at somebody on the way.”

“You believe that, John?”

“I dunno.”

“Get up in that vault. Grab what you want and let’s get moving.”

“Now that sounds enticing.”

“I’ll move the horses behind the alley.”

“Okay.”

“When you, Jason and BB are finished playing around in my stuff, I’d like to do a final run-through to assess what we might also need and be able to carry.”

“Okay.”

“Food, guns, and ammo are our first priorities, John. Alright?”

“Sure.”

“Tradeables after that. Have everyone take one of the loaded Coyotes. I know it’s annoying, but each will carry as a double pack for now. Pass that along to everyone. Get Rhonda into the vault as well to see what she might want. Tell her to pack up dinner for later ’cause we’re on the move. We need to figure out what we’re gonna load onto the horses.”

“Will do.” John McLeod ran to the concrete stairs, but turned.

“Mac, I’ve never seen you this excited before.”

“Yeah, well, Amanda might be alive! And, some serious shit’s going down out there—what better time for living is there than that?”

“Hmm…” John smiled.

Connor stopped and turned serious. “Get moving, John. Send BB over to those white garages up there pronto to help load the horses. Tell him he’s loadmaster and that we have twenty minutes before we move.”

“Got it.”

John turned again to leave, but was stopped by Connor. “John?”

“Yeah?”

“Let me tell Surf Boy about Amanda, you know, about the possibility , however so slim.”

“Of course.”

“This is some crazy shit.”

“So very true.”

“I hope Phoenix was within the blast radius. I hope he got a taste of that,” said Colonel Starkes. The joy and supreme satisfaction on her face was not well hidden.

The helicopter continued on its journey. The intercom chatter of the men expressed joy at the explosion that crushed the front of the convoy.

“We hit the head of that convoy dead on, ma’am. The first three trucks were vaporized. I think it was likely Phoenix was traveling near the front. I don’t think he’d want to sit in the back,” said Major O’Malley.

“I’d agree with that,” said Captain Daubney.

“Gotta love the explosive capacity of that little missile, huh?” said Scott.

GT nodded next to him.

“Ma’am, drop coordinates are coming up for Daubney’s team.”

“Make the drop as planned, Shamus,” interrupted Major O’Malley.

“Understood.”

“Shamus?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Swing hard south and give us a 360 view before the drop.”

“Roger that.”

Cruising across the ridge of Mt. Washington, Shamus drifted the helicopter over the weed-infested ribbon of an old cobblestone road, following it south. Running parallel, they cruised low, just above the trees, speeding along and seeing little except for the occasional small dinner fire or streak of human movement seeking surprised cover in nearby woods or buildings. A few individuals simply stood, waving. One man raised a rifle in their direction, but ducked for cover after Mickey and Burroughs sent a quick squirt of suppressive fire.

“We drop onto the Brownsville and Route 51 intersection in ninety seconds. Prepare green team,” said Shamus.

“Roger that,” said Captain Daubney. “Green team ready.”

Captain Daubney, Mickey, Major O’Malley and Colonel Starkes scanned the emerging drop point and landing zone. Flying skills on display, Shamus kept the helicopter stationary and spun the craft slowly in a circle. The ten-man team, led by Captain Daubney and Mickey hung near the doors, equipped with a full compliment of weapons and supplies. They were ready for combat insertion and, if things should go terribly awry, a long trek back to Mt. Storm.

“Set her down, Shamus.”

“Setting down now, major.”

Shamus critiqued the road below with a critical pilot’s eye. At the intersection of Brownsville and Route 51, there was enough space to land comfortably, though several telephone lines and smashed cars on the northern edge did give him pause. Once safely down, he motioned with hand signals and the doors slid open with purpose. Within ten seconds, the men were out and the Superhawk was again airborne, heading toward Coatesville, PA for much-needed replacement parts.

“Mic check. Mic check. Green Team, do you copy?”

“Roger that, captain, two for two.” said Major O’Malley.

Captain Daubney and his team secured their positions below.

“Preparing to advance down Brownsville Road. Over,” said Captain Daubney.