Paul Kirk - Devastation Point

“I remember putting in some silver coins, dimes mostly for good measure. I think there’s thirty-five ounces total weight to be used for trade. I put in some specialty items and such. Gasoline preservative tablets.”

“Oh, wow,” said Marty, “You got smokes?”

“Ah, yeah… twenty cartons of Marlboros. Great trading item.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sure they’re probably stale, but they’ll light up. I tried to seal ’em up good.”

The team listened while appraising the two openings of the Liberty Tunnels, the entry doors in the center, and the open areas on each side of the bridge. They considered the risks.

“Yep, I’d like to get my hands on it, that’s for sure,” said Connor, “I especially want the ammo. And… a few personal items.”

“How far?” asked BB.

“About three miles south of the tunnel entrance up a few hills into a place called Carrick.”

“Carrick. Hmm,” said McLeod.

“Brownsville Road runs right through Carrick. My cache is sitting there waitin’ for us in the basement of my grandma’s house.”

“What’s up this road to the right, here?” asked Roger. He studied the weed-infested road that branched off to the right of the tunnels and up the side of the mountain.

“That’s McArdle Roadway, Rog. It’d take us up to the top of Mount Washington. Yeah, I guess we could go up and around that way. Skirt the tunnel. Head through Allentown and Mt. Oliver and into Carrick that way.”

“That’s a route we could take?”

“Yeah, it’d take a good deal longer, but it’ll give you guys one a helluva view of the ’Burgh. A classic postcard moment, if you will.”

“I don’t wanna do the tunnels if it’s okay with you, Connor Mac,” said Jackson.

“Not fond of it myself,” said McLeod.

“Me neither,” said Rhonda.

“Same goes for me, “ said Jude.

“I’ll go, Mac,” said Marty.

“I’m in,” said BB.

“I’ll go with you, sir,” said Cody.

“I’ll go,” said Roger.

“I’ll stick with my dad on this one,” said Jason.

Connor stood and stared at each team member in turn. Mildly irritated, he stomped a fat brown rat that’d come too close to his boot, smearing its remains across the bridge decking.

“Hold up here! Did we just up and become a fuckin’ democratic convention?” Connor’s fierce and clipped command tone slammed into the small group; the team quieted at the outburst. Connor cleared his throat, nodding toward Marty. And, after some thought, he looked toward Cody.

“Right now, Marty, Cody and I’ll slip into the Tubes to scout. The rest of the team will wait here and keep safe.”

Roger and Rhonda stiffened noticeably, but held their thoughts. Jackson, BB, Jason and McLeod kept silent, though several quick glances were exchanged.

“Copy that,” said Marty.

“Copy,” managed Cody, before his voice thickened too much simply from being chosen.

“They left probably yesterday at dawn, ma’am,” said Major O’Malley.

The Superhawk had settled into the main yard of the Youngstown steel mill thirty minutes or so after first light. A five-man team guarded the Superhawk. GT, Scott, Mickey, Captain Daubney and Tim McDonald carefully canvassed the area while the rest of the team set up shop. Nicole fed CJ near the scattered remnants of an old campfire while she glanced about at the extensive drivel and trash left behind.

“Phoenix’s entire army must’ve camped here for at least a few nights,” suggested Nicole, “Look at the garbage.”

“I see that, Nicole,” said Colonel Starkes, “Yeah, they left quite a mess, the pigs. I think that stink hole over there was supposed to be the latrines.”

Both Nicole and Colonel Starkes covered their noses as the wind reminded them of the stench.

“Now I see why your team’s setting up so far away from here.”

“Oh, yeah,”

They made haste moving away.

“Damn, Phoenix is on the move again,” said the colonel.

Amanda exited the helicopter carrying her Remington and slowly walked toward the secured central area of the mill. Weak, but gaining strength fast, she ignored the occasional glances from the woman named Nicole. She hadn’t spoken to her since the colonel’s introduction at the pre-dawn briefing. Tired and weak beyond anything she’d ever experienced, Amanda pushed each leg forward, shoving another huge slice of five-year cheddar into her mouth. With concentrated effort, she tracked the embossed, metal direction plates bolted eye level at every juncture inside the mill. After a few more turns, she found herself at the heart of Furnace #1. And, like the rest of the mill, the furnace area was deserted other than piles of garbage, as if many men had simply used the place for what it was worth and then moved on.

“I’m here, Mac. I made it,” whispered Amanda, “A bit late, I guess.” Sensing movement behind her, she turned to see Scott catching up, practically rushing to her side like a newborn puppy. Saying nothing at his arrival, they each took their time walking around the furnace and then into the deportation storage bays that housed a huge supply of rusting, stacked steel. Easing her hips against the steel billet edge, Amanda’s shoulders slumped. Scott dropped to his knees before her and took the opportunity to check her left leg bandage. She made no complaint as he drew down her pants and checked the dressing on her left thigh. Satisfied, he stood and slipped her pants into place, rebuttoning her jeans.

“You’re all good.”

“You’re a fantastic man, Scott.”

“Nonsense.”

“You are.”

“I’m just here to help you find your people, that’s all.”

“Yeah. Well, you’re incredible.” Amanda softly stroked the tiny bulge of her belly, drifting into deep thought. She wondered about bringing a newborn into this world. She worried about Mac and Marty. For some reason, she recalled the black and white photo from an art show she attended back in college. The photo was of an elementary school swing set, taken at close range to capture only the swing set seats. The first seat was clear down to the scratches and wear marks. The galvanized chain-link attachment points were pitted and worn. The remainder of the swing set seats faded in clarity and melted into the grayness of the rainy day when it was taken. Saddened by the image, she wondered if her unborn child would ever have the luxury of such a school and the laughter of other kids.

Scott let her fade away as he watched her soft, gentle strokes to her belly. Colonel Starkes approached.

“They’re gone, Amanda. If Connor Mac and company were ever here.”

“I’m sure they made it here.”

“Hmmm—”

“If you knew Mac, you’d never doubt him.”

“Yeah, well Phoenix’s men weren’t far behind him and hard on his ass. Based on the mess we found, who knows? I’m wondering if maybe they captured your team and are dragging them back to Cleveland.”

“Hah! Fat chance. Besides, we flew in that way and would’ve flown over the army.”

“True,” agreed Colonel Starkes, “I’m glad you’re keeping track of things.”

Amanda pushed off the steel and took a few steps to stand closer to the colonel. She wiped her hands from the rust. “You have anyone here can tell how long before this Phoenix army left?”

“We’re working on it.”

“Alright.”

“As it stands, right now, Shamus insists they left yesterday, maybe the day prior.”

“The civilian pilot?”

“Hah. Yeah, him. The civilian .”

“He knows his shit?” asked Amanda, interested.

“Ma’am? Can I step in here?”

“Yeah, please do. Go ahead, Scott.”