He went near Romo and tried the radio. There was nothing but static. He was afraid that Romo might risk opening his visor to talk. That would ruin the reason for using the NBC filters.
Paul raised his right hand. Romo nodded. Then Paul clunked his helmet against Romo’s and kept it there. “Can you hear me?” he shouted.
“Yes,” a small voice said through the helmets.
“We’re going to walk back to Stillwater,” Paul said. “Start telling the others.”
Romo nodded and clumped to the nearest commando.
Paul turned north. How many nukes had the Chinese lit? A grim feeling worked its way through him. Yeah. This was going to change everything.
Anna Chen sat beside the President and gripped his right arm. He sat stricken, staring at the big screen. SR drones recorded the growing number of Chinese nuclear strikes. The number kept climbing, having reached three hundred and twelve so far.
“We must launch a massive retaliatory strike,” Harold said softly.
Anna focused on the Director of Homeland Security. He faced the President, his features tight and controlled. Harold spoke in a soft, even voice, but there was fury there, and his eyes were wet with rage.
“The bastards are murdering us,” Harold said. “We must pay them back, Mr. President. We must give them compound interest to what they’ve done today.”
The President seemed incapable of speech. He kept staring at the big screen.
Then Anna felt his biceps quiver, and heat radiated from his arm.
“It’s over three hundred and fifty strikes now,” Harold said. “They’re poisoning our land. This is madness.”
The President opened his mouth, perhaps trying to speak. He kept staring at the big screen, and his shaking grew worse.
“The strikes have hurt their own people,” Chairman Alan of the Joint Chiefs said. “It’s possibly destroyed their air force—”
“They’re not holding back,” Harold said. “So we can no longer afford to hold back—unless we want to wage a gun battle with a knife.”
“What are you suggesting?” Anna asked. “That we saturate our country with yet more nuclear weapons?”
“Not our land,” Harold said. “This is the sacred country, and these demons have spoiled it. No,” he said quietly. “It’s time to strike the Chinese homeland and teach them a lesson they won’t forget for a thousand years.”
“If we launch our ICBMs, they’ll launch theirs at us,” Anna said. “How does that help us?”
Harold focused on her. “In case you haven’t noticed, Ms. Chen, they’ve already struck with nuclear weapons.”
“They can still strike us again, with heavier nuclear weapons,” she said.
They locked stares, and it must have been clear to both of them that they each thought differently from the other.
“Mr. President,” Harold said, “what do you suggest we do? Should we wait for their ICBMs to launch?”
David Sims continued to stare at the big screen. A small line of saliva trickled down his open mouth. Anna was the first to notice. As she did, the first heart attack struck the President of the United States, and his torso collapsed onto the table.
For a few minutes at least, no one could order a nuclear retaliation. Meanwhile, the number of Chinese thermonuclear explosions grew to three hundred and sixty-three.
-5-
The Aftermath
Jake proved to be one of the lucky ones, although very sick. He was alive, and he lay on a cot under a warm quilt. There were hundreds upon hundreds of beds pushed side by side in long rows. Giant heaters roared at either end of the circus-sized tent.
Nurses pushed carts and doctors checked victims. The endless gaging and moaning sounds didn’t induce sleep or a feeling of well-being. Someone always seemed to be vomiting, and many of the acute victims wept quietly. Maybe the worst part was the smell. Behind the strong odor of ammonia lingered worse stenches.
Jake clenched his teeth, trying to suppress any noise. He’d vomited so much in the past few days that he was seriously losing weight. There wasn’t anything left in his stomach to hurl.
More radiation had hit the crew then Jake had realized at the time. Patches of hair kept falling out and his eyesight had become blurry.
Chet, Simon and Grant had similar symptoms. Like Jake, each of them had received blood transfusions. Unfortunately, the Army had already run out of antibiotics in the state, although more were on the way. The doctor also told him the Militia had started a nationwide blood drive. There was more blood coming, too.
Jake hoped so. Otherwise, he doubted he or the others would make it. The Chinese had gone crazy, changing the nature of the war. Why did they have to use nuclear weapons?
“Hey,” a man whispered with a raspy voice.
Jake turned his head to see Simon staring at him. The man had horribly red eyes and blotches on his skin. As the driver, Simon seemed to have gotten the worst of it. Jake wasn’t sure how or why that happened. Maybe Simon had just been in the wrong place in the tank.
“I’m sorry, Corporal,” Simon whispered. “I’m so sorry. I-I panicked.”
“It’s oaky,” Jake said. “It happens.”
“I’m really sorry,” Simon whispered, as tears began to leak from his eyes, leaving wet trails on his cheeks. “I screwed us bad, huh Jake?”
“Forget it,” Jake said. “We wouldn’t have shot down the missile anyway. We have a fighting chance at living now because you took us out of there so fast.”
The tears flowed more freely.
Jake wished he could believe what he said. In his heart, he did blame Simon, but he couldn’t tell the man that, not now. Simon apologized about once an hour. Either the driver didn’t remember he’d already apologized or the guilt of their predicament tore at him too much.
“It was just our turn to be screwed,” Jake said.
Simon nodded.
Closing his eyes, Jake tried to get some sleep. He felt achy and cold. He wished they would crank up the heat in here.
He must have fallen asleep, because he opened his eyes as a nurse rolled back a sleeve.
“What’s wrong?” he asked groggily.
She smiled down at him. She was so beautiful, with a heart-shaped face. If he felt better— “We just received a mass transshipment of blood,” she said. “That’s good, too. You boys need another transfusion.”
Jake watched her swab his arm. As she did, an orderly rolled a bag of blood near. The plastic-encased blood was life. Even though his hair was falling out, he wasn’t as bad off as many others. He— “What are you doing to him?” a hard-voiced man asked.
The nurse looked up, and she frowned.
Jake didn’t like that. He concentrated, craning his head to look up where she did. He spied three Militia MPs at the end of his bed. One of them looked familiar. He was a flat-faced man.
“We’re moving him,” the MP said.
“It’s time for his next blood transfusion,” the nurse said.
“No, not just yet,” the MP said.
The nurse turned around to face the man.
“Don’t worry about it, sister,” the MP said. He took out his wallet and showed her a badge. “We’re under Presidential orders.”
“Oh,” she said. Then her eyes lit up as she glanced down the row. “Doctor,” she called out, “these men are trying to take one of our patients. Couldn’t we give him a blood transfusion first?”
Jake watched the doctor walk up to them. The bald man’s hangdog look didn’t give him any confidence. “It won’t matter,” the doctor told the nurse.