Paul Kirk - Devastation Point

“Everyone’s heading to the Point,” said Connor, “I know the area and that’d be as good a place as any to congregate for news or trade at the river’s edge.

“We’re not going there are we?” asked Rhonda.

“Hell no,” said Jackson, “Sorry, sir.” His outburst was overlooked, but he disliked being near strangers in a big city more than most.

“Nah, but we do need to fade back and make our way closer to Liberty Avenue and around this area. Let’s give the convention center a wider berth,” said Connor.

“Copy that,” said Marty, “Hey, there’s more boats coming down the river.”

“I hear ’em,” said Connor.

By late morning, they’d made it undetected onto the base onramp for the Liberty Bridge that headed south out of town. Beneath an overpass and to their left, near the crumbling onramp, stood the heavily fortified main entrance to the Duquesne University campus. At the bottom of this steep cobblestone road, vigilant guards hid behind a thick metal structure that stretched across the road, well anchored to the concrete bridge pillars and nearby buildings. There was movement behind the steel barrier and voices rose in fast-paced whispers suggesting that the guards inside registered the team’s movement toward the bridge.

“Damn! We’re tagged!” said Marty.

“I hear ’em,” said Connor. Their presence had caused somewhat of a disturbance behind the cold steel of the guard station. Voice volume increased behind the wall, discussing their activity. BB, McLeod, Jackson and Roger all swore upon hearing the guards.

“Keep going,” said Connor, “act as if we don’t know that they’ve seen us. I think we’ll be okay.”

The team moved toward the bridge, faster than they would’ve liked, though the guards issued no obvious alert. Hoping the Liberty Bridge was still intact based on all the destructive military activity in the city, Connor, John, and BB took some time at the top of the onramp to study it with binoculars. On one knee, Marty scoped the far end with his rifle.

“Might as well stop here for lunch. Those Duquesne guards would have to come out and around their metal walls to see us from here up here, so I’m hoping we should be safe for a time,” said Connor.

“You think?” asked McLeod.”

“I’m hoping they make it their business not to make it their business on shit happening outside their campus.”

“One can hope.”

“Yeah. Hope. A valuable commodity in this day and age, John.”

“So true.”

“Keep a close eye on our six everybody, in case those guards decide to do something more heroic. Jackson you’re primary.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Marty, give me a better read on that far side of the bridge.”

“Copy that.”

“Jason, what’s wrong with John’s horse? She was limping.”

“Yes sir, she started about ten minutes ago.”

“Well?”

“Dunno sir, she’s favoring her right foreleg a bit, but I checked it out. Nothing.”

“Lemme see,” said John McLeod.

“You think I missed something, dad?”

“Just let me see.”

BB joined John and Jason while they studied the foreleg. BB took center stage based on his expertise. “She’s only cramping up a bit, John, she should be okay. Get some water into her.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

Connor walked toward the men. “We good?”

“Yeah, I think so. Tawny’s cramping up a bit. She’ll need to rest for a few while I rub her down.”

“Huh.”

“She gets like that sometimes, Mac. Every so often, when she’s not had enough salt and hydration.” John McLeod glared at Jason, not happy. “Son, let’s make sure to give her some salt and water right away, okay?”

“Yes, sir. Sorry.” Jason had the grace to apologize, realizing he’d forgotten to let Tawny drink her fill in the early morning.

“You know, those horses travel with us better than I expected, I’m continually impressed,” said Connor. He knew little about horses and never expected they’d be a part of his team.

“Give BB the kudos for that.” He nodded toward BB who was helping Rhonda pull out lunch from the packs.

“That right, John?”

“Yeah. He’s spent some time training them the past year. He has some background with them.”

“Hmm. I will say they still leave a broader hint of our tracks than I’d like.”

“Can’t be helped.”

“Yeah, well. I’ll keep thinkin’ on it.”

Rhonda and Roger moved around the group passing out the small lunch of jerky, dried apples and a moist mash of tomato, zucchini and spices that everyone had grown to appreciate.

“Thanks, Rhonda,” said Connor. He began eating with purpose and hunger.

Marty, BB, and John McLeod nearby did the same. The rest ate more slowly, their hunger not as apparent. Once done, the team traversed the Liberty Bridge onramp mindful of the many huge, gaping holes punched clear through the bridge decking. Though still a sturdy span, there was damage by at least one, if not two, large tank battle engagements near the downtown ramp. As they made it onto the main span of the bridge, the rushing water far below made it clear how high they were should they stumble and drop through a hole. A blackened and crumpled Abrams A-1 tank had taken a huge hit to its hatch and was jammed sideways on end, resting against the concrete guardrail. With one track ripped off, it lay in shambles and three Humvees and a Bradley near it were in no better condition. Across the bridge, at the other end, two more tanks stood blackened and bruised with both hatches left open.

“Let’s take our time making it across, guys,” said Connor, “No hurry. Let’s stay safe.”

“Yep,” said McLeod.

“Wow, there was some kick-ass shitstorm went on here, Mac,” said BB.

“That there was.”

Clearing the concrete Jersey barriers put in place to block access midway across the bridge, Connor took one last glance behind him at the cliffside river view of a barricaded Duquesne University campus. Sitting high atop a natural bluff within the downtown city limits, the college campus seemed to have at least survived the onslaught of H5N1 and all the decimation brought with it. Like old times, when the campus was nothing more than a bustling small enclave of the Holy Ghost Fathers, the small, Catholic university pushed beyond the devastation. Without the use of binoculars, coordinated human activity was evident up on the ‘Bluff’ as it was called, particularly near the ‘Old Main’ administration building. Smoke fluttered from a large fire in front of Old Main, while small stick-like figures in bright red cloth moved nearby with purpose. Studying the campus from a military perspective, fortified guard stations were well placed along the riverside cliff, suggesting the rest of the campus area was probably just as well protected against marauders or those unwanted.

“That boat’s flying! That’s some engine.” Jackson pointed upriver.

“I see it,” said McLeod.

“Yeah, I got it,” said Connor.

“What kinda boat is it? It’s fast… loud,” said Cody.

“I, uh, I think it’s a Bayliner. Probably twenty-two foot or more,” said Roger, “Here give me those.” Roger examined the boat approaching from about 200 yards upriver. “Yeah! That’s a Bayliner 335SB Cruiser with Twin MerCruiser 8.1s. Oh man,” said Roger, “That thing can move.”

“You know your boats,” suggested John McLeod.

“Hah!” yelled Rhonda, approaching her husband. “He’s wanted a Bayliner since he was sixteen.”

“I see four men with guns on that Bayliner,” said Roger.

“Stay down. Everyone. Rog?”

“Right. Yes, sir.” Roger remembered to duck below the rail. A few hundred feet below, the crystal clear water of the Allegheny River flowed past and the Bayliner slipped beneath the bridge making its way downstream, likely to the Point. After the boat passed, they crossed the bridge, reaching the entrances to the Liberty Tunnels or ‘Tubes’ as they were commonly called. They took their time assessing the gaping black inbound/outbound tunnel entrances. They’d reached their primary goal for the day by 16:00, an hour ahead of schedule.