“Bo Lee Tang,” replied Lee. “I could say that my commander is dead and we need a new commander for the group. I could ask for future orders,” he suggested.
“Carlos, you and Lee work out a perfect act and prepare for communications. Say that several of the men are wounded and ask what you should do with them. Tell them that you have killed twenty-odd pilots and damaged a dozen or so small and large aircraft—all old propeller machines. Tell them there was lots of fire. They might have seen our explosions out there on their satellite feed. I think the fire was big enough, especially the two explosions, to verify your story. You guys head out and I will continue with the rest of today’s plans.”
“Will you be around today?” Carlos asked Preston.
“Yes, in and out. I want to bring in the Southwest group; they are expected at mid-day, now that the road is cleared. Pam, you will fly a 172 into RDU, I’ll fly in the Cargomaster, and Barbara can fly in Lady Dandy. We also need to take in fresh troops for the guard post and bring a couple of them back for rest.”
Preston looked around at the tired but satisfied faces. “Once we get the Southwest group back here, I want Seymour Johnson to house the passengers and anybody else who is not a pilot. Only working pilots and crew will stay here. Other than that, we need to know what Carlos and Lee can find out and then, guys, we must start work on a food-delivery plan.”
Chapter 6
‘Z’ Day 4 – It’s Time to Hit Back
The fast moving arctic blast was a big one, freezing everything in its path as far south as Washington, D.C. The icy wind blew at over 40 miles an hour and snow fell thick and fast. The northern cities were already ghost towns. Tall buildings and single houses were cold and dark places. Many people had retreated to basements to escape the bitter cold wind-chilled temperatures.
There were now millions of frozen people throughout Canada and North America. People were dying by the thousands every hour, and the chance of survival was now only halfway decent for the very few who had enough power, heat, and food to keep them alive. For one long day, this fast-moving storm battered the northern areas. Cities that had been home to millions of people now had only pockets of cold and hungry people here and there. The storm came and went, leaving piles of windswept snow behind it.
The southern states were a little easier to stay alive in, but even most of Texas had temperatures in the teens and people there were even less prepared for cold weather. The death toll was nearly as high as further north. In the warmer areas by the coasts, like Florida, gangs of starving people shot each other for food and warm shelter. Many gangs would form one day, just to be knocked off by a bigger gang the next. Any food stockpiles were now exhausted in many well-populated cities. Supermarkets and stores were empty and were not much more than blackened ruins by the end of the first week.
Food looted from neighborhood stores in other areas would normally last many thousands of people several weeks, but having the food meant that anybody who saw you steal the food was keen to take it away from you. Large gangs of 30 to 40 men roamed in stolen vehicles, running into houses, killing the families inside, and running out with any spoils they found.
By the beginning of the fifth day, and by the time warmer air fed into the north, a third of the U.S. population was dead.
*****
Captain Mallory and his group had found another clean hangar in which to spend the night. It was not as comfortable as the one the previous night, but with the gas heaters on, it soon became comfort able and the group bedded down once they had the standard fare of hamburgers and hot dogs followed by cheese and chocolate.
The weather got close to freezing outside and they decided to leave early, find their way to Raleigh’s airport, and then have breakfast. The fuel in their tanks would just make it, and after leaving a few dollar bills for the hangar owner from their now empty wallets, they left just after dawn with hot cups of black coffee and tea in hand. Two hours later, without seeing anyone else in moving vehicles, they reached the US 64 off-ramp and turned west towards Raleigh, their southern migration over for the time being.
Again, they noticed a slight increase in stranded vehicles as they got closer and closer to the city. A car sped by on the other side of the road and the occupants waved as they went past, driving towards the coast. Another car appeared in John’s rear view mirror, tailing them a half a mile behind. It shadowed them for several miles before it turned off the highway and disappeared.
They knew they were close when they entered the 440 Beltline around the state’s capital. Here, there were many more dead vehicles, but luckily a path had already been pushed through the pile of dead metal by other vehicles that had come before them—the Chinese convoy for one.
An old black Cadillac suddenly appeared on the other side of the highway coming towards them, with a second car close behind it, both driving through the wrecked traffic pretty fast. Captain Mallory could hear gunshots coming from them as he rolled down his window. The two cars seemed to be engaged in a gun battle with each other and ignored the convoy as they passed 20 yards away on the other side of the highway.
The group drove onto I-40 as the signposts to the airport directed them to. The cemetery of stranded cars and trucks was much heavier here, as this part of the road was the direct connection between Raleigh and Durham. There must have been many people travelling around midnight four days ago. There were blackened wrecks everywhere, and for the first time since Washington, the SWAT truck had to carefully force its way through tangled wreckage.
Captain Mallory thought he heard aircraft engines as they neared the off-ramp to the airport, and then three small, black dots flew over the gap in the trees a couple of miles in front of them. One of them, he recognized, was an old DC-3 going into the airport.
By now, his fuel gauge was on empty and he radioed back to John to find out that his was the same. They slowly crept up the high way off-ramp and turned right towards the airport. It took several more twists and turns before they came across the two blackened cars close to the underpass that Martie had told him to look out for.
They had already been moved to one side and the convoy continued into the airport itself.
The captain headed for the private terminal entrance and found the gate he had been told to look for, guarded in plain sight by U.S. Air Force guards. As he stopped in front of the gate and switched off the faithful truck’s engine he also saw a FedEx Cargomaster taxiing towards the guard tent. They had reached their first official destination.
*****
Breakfast was being served in the White House. The president had left Seymour Johnson at 7:00 am and arrived at Andrews at 8:30. Buck had fired up the Huey, and the general was already getting Ghost Rider refueled to continue on his base tour. Buck had taken off with the president, the ambassador, Manuel, their three bodyguards, and cases of food supplies for the Colombian Embassy.
Everyone apart from Buck and the president were getting off at the embassy, and helpful hands, shocked at seeing the U.S. President aboard the chopper, unloaded the several cases once they landed inside the embassy grounds. The Colombians asked Buck to fly in more supplies when he had a chance, and that for now they would protect their building.
Once everyone said their goodbyes and the president shook hands with many of the embassy staff, Buck rose off the grounds with the president in the front right seat and flew on to the White House. Both Buck and the president had a good chance to view the blackened mess that the capital city had become.