Chapter 43
The next manhole sat between two abandoned cars. This would provide them with enough cover to exit the storm drain and move to a safe location. Gripping the top ladder rung, John pushed the manhole up and out of the way. After climbing out, he helped Brandon and the others. Moss took a deep lungful as soon as he was clear of the stench they’d just escaped.
“I was losing my mind down there,” he said.
“We could tell,” Rodriguez sniped.
Hunched down beside the front bumper, John scanned the area for threats. Finding none, he motioned to a nearby building. It was a three-story commercial building with a pharmacy on the ground floor and what looked like apartments above that.
“That roof should give us a nice vantage point to begin searching for the likely source of the Chairman’s radio jammer.”
With a final check, they moved out, single file, scrambling over the hot pavement. The sun was arcing down toward the west, which told John it was at least mid-afternoon. Normally an operation like this would take place at night if the proper optics were available or during the early dawn hours. But the news from Captain Mitchell’s armored battalion had left them little choice. It was now or never. John kept imagining those Bradleys rumbling past their position and out of reach. They would need to hurry.
They double-timed it toward a recessed doorway, their gear and weapons clanging as they hustled. The team was nearly there when the distinct rattle of AK-47s broke the silence. It sounded as though the gunfire was coming from the north.
“Marshall’s men must have begun the assault,” John told them.
Moss nodded. “Let’s hope he can keep them busy long enough for us to find that jammer.”
John stood and threw a front kick at the door that led to the apartment complex. He aimed his heavy boot right below the locking mechanism since this was the point of greatest resistance. He’d read an article years ago about how SWAT teams breached drug houses and the tip had always stuck with him.
With a crack of splintering wood, the door swung open.
“Let’s move,” he said, charging inside, his AR at the low ready position, his finger beside the trigger. There were innocent people all over town and telling friend from foe would not be easy.
Three stories later, John could feel his lungs begging for oxygen. Running up a flight of stairs in shorts and sneakers was one thing. Doing so wearing full tactical gear and an improvised armor vest packed with stainless-steel circular saw blades was something else entirely.
As they ascended, Moss covered the rear, ensuring an enemy didn’t surprise them from behind.
The top landing led to a metal door with a push bar. The four made their way onto the roof and were greeted at once by the sound of more distant gunfire. Far from the low-level hit-and-run tactics they’d planned, it sounded as though the battle was heating up.
John turned to Rodriguez. “All right, let’s see what you can find.”
They knew the jammer was somewhere in this quadrant of Oneida, but pinpointing exactly where would require additional ‘fox hunting’.
Fox hunting was a technique often used by amateur radio enthusiasts where radio direction-finding techniques were used to locate one or more hidden radio transmitters.
Rodriguez attached the attenuator to his setup in order to reduce the power of the incoming jamming signal they were trying to locate. He then removed the quad antenna from his pack and checked the display as he swung it back and forth in a sweeping pattern. A tiny readout with an LED light would alert him when the antenna was aiming directly at the signal.
A few moments went by as John and the others stayed low, peering over the edge of the building for possible threats. They could see groups of armed men and some women running east along Main Street toward the sound of gunfire.
“At least they’re brave,” Moss said. “If not a bit stupid.”
“Don’t be so quick to judge,” John said, trying to mollify the scolding tone in his voice. “These people think they’re defending their town from an invading army of raiders. No doubt the Chairman’s worked hard at convincing them that everyone beyond the town limits is out to steal their resources.”
“It’s too bad we can’t convince them they’re wrong,” Brandon said, almost to himself.
The Chairman’s fake presidential papers would have been the key to doing that, John knew. Otherwise it was one man’s word against another’s. How could the townspeople be expected to overthrow a leader who was providing food, shelter and something akin to security in the face of baseless accusations? In the townspeople’s minds, the assault on the Constitution and their personal liberties had been initiated and condoned by the president himself.
“I think I got something,” Rodriguez hollered. He was aiming the quad antenna toward a patch of trees nestled behind a set of buildings to the south.
“Can you see anything from here?” John asked. “Any type of comm array poking up through the trees?”
Rodriguez peered through the binoculars. “Negative. Oh, wait. I do see something.”
He handed the glasses to John. The foliage was thick, but a camo-patterned dish was barely visible sticking up over the canopy.
To the north, the sound of gunfire began to spread.
“How do you think they’re doing?” Brandon asked.
“I’m not sure,” John replied. And he wasn’t being vague to protect the truth. From here, there was no way of being sure. Only Reese up on Owens Ridge with his Remington 700 trained down on Oneida had any idea what was going on. John wanted nothing more than to call him with the hand-held radio, but he knew that would be impossible until that jammer was knocked out.
Let’s just hope he’s got our backs.
The sound of a woman’s scream snapped John back. Two hundred yards away, someone was being led through the street. John put the binoculars to his eyes and adjusted the focus. The woman’s face was bloody and it didn’t take long for John to recognize who she was.
“What did you see?” Moss asked.
John answered without looking away. “It’s my wife.”
Chapter 44
“Get to the mobile communications vehicle and cut that jamming signal,” John told Rodriguez and the others. “I’ll meet you there.”
All four of them went down the stairs, checking quickly before moving out into the open street. The others cut left, heading to the comm vehicle, while John went right.
He’d seen Diane being led across the road by two men. They’d travelled swiftly and disappeared into a building on this side of the street.
Sounds of fighting continued to echo in the distance as John pushed ahead, his AR at the low ready position. A door leading to a three-story apartment complex was ajar. The entrances he’d seen while moving this way were either boarded up with biohazard signs or locked. It stood to reason that with the lack of food and sanitation, a healthy percentage of Oneida’s population—the old and infirm in particular—hadn’t made it. Even with a population of five to ten thousand, the loss of up to fifty percent of the local residents would have quickly overwhelmed the town’s ability to dispose of the bodies. And for all John knew, that number could very well be higher.
Leaning against the apartment complex with the open door, John swung his AR over his back and removed his S&W. Of course, it didn’t quite have the firepower or magazine capacity of the AR, but tight spaces required maximum maneuverability. Swinging the barrel of his rifle from room to room as he cleared them would add precious seconds to his reaction time.
A group of men wearing black cargo pants and carrying AK-47s ran across the street barely thirty yards from his position. John lowered himself. Their focus seemed to be on the battle raging just out of view and he hoped none of them would turn in his direction. When they were out of sight, he peered into the open doorway and went inside.