As the chopper climbed higher and Vickers got a better view, he was beginning to see just how spread out the infected were. While his soldiers were hunting them in standard formations, the infected were out hunting the uninfected and wildlife in small packs or single units. He sighed as he realized that standard military tactics simply weren’t going to work.
He keyed his mic and told the pilot, “Take me back.”
He sat back in his seat and tried to think. This situation was worse than trying to ferret out insurgents in some damned cave. You could always bomb the entrance to the cave and starve them out or cut off their oxygen supply or simply cave it in. No, these damned things could scatter to parts unknown. If just one of the infected got through his nets…got into a heavily populated area, it would spread like wildfire. Vickers shivered at the thought.
True, they wanted to weaponize the virus, but not to be used on U.S. soil. It was to be used on somebody else. Somebody not American. Infect an enemy nation and let them deal with their own population and stop being a threat to us. At least, that was the plan as he knew it.
Vickers shook his head and made the decision. He needed more troops. His ghost unit was effective, but couldn’t possibly cover the area necessary in the time they had. He needed something that could wipe them all out quickly, before they spread. If only this was Buttcrackistan, he could…yes, he could. He could order up a tactical strike.
A Massive Ordnance Air Blast Bomb (MOAB) or Mother of All Bombs, dropped right here. The blast should be sufficient to level the area, the concussion would kill anything living, kick up enough soil and debris to effectively bury the evidence and not put any more troops at risk.
Vickers felt his heart race as he considered the risky proposition…how could he convince his bosses that it was necessary? Could he convince them? The populace wouldn’t have to know that it was the military. Yellowstone is quite active. There have been theories of how it could ‘blow’ at any time. Perhaps they could spin it that it was a minor volcanic eruption. Somehow the volcano erupted, but just enough to blow off pressure here?
Well, that was for the spin masters. He just had to sell the idea. Vickers looked up from his hands and saw the chopper settling in near the station, dust already rising from the blades. He unbuckled his seat belt and prepared to depart as the chopper set down. As the door slid open on the side of the chopper, he stepped out and ignored the salute of the soldier standing next to him. He had a phone call to make and higher ups to convince that it was time to blow up Yellowstone.
Chapter 7
Bob practically fell out of the wrecked motorcoach. His hands collapsed under him, embedded with bits of sharp stone and gravel from the road as his body collapsed on top of them, the air forcefully pushed from his lungs. He rolled to his side and groaned in pain. He felt so weak, but his rage fueled him. He lay on the dry dirt road, letting his anger build to give him the energy to pick himself up, reliving the horror of seeing Keri’s body, prone in the rear of the RV, her head split open from the soldier’s bullets.
He pushed himself up from the road and leaned against the coach until the fuzziness in his head cleared. It was only then that he saw the mayhem that had taken place outside the coach. The bodies ripped to shreds from the high-powered rifles of the soldiers were beginning to sour. The brownish stains of blood and gore splattered across the side of the coach and pieces of human flesh that lay scattered across the roadside were attracting insects on a level that Bob didn’t think possible.
In the early morning sunlight, Bob fought not to gag as he pulled his bloodstained shirt up over his mouth and covered his nose. The smell of bodily excretions was almost enough to make him vomit, and the sight of his shoes squishing through bits of flesh and fluid-filled innards was almost his undoing, but he choked the bile back down and forced his feet to continue their march. He knew that staying where he was would do him no good, and he had to get started.
Bob staggered toward the line of cars and used them to assist him in his walking. Using them as a crutch, he began the trek down the dusty road and toward the ranger station that he knew he had passed on his way up to the hot springs. Every once in a while, he’d check a door on a car, just to see if some moron had perhaps left his car unlocked and maybe left the keys in it. The line of vehicles was so long. He knew the odds were against him, but it only took one.
The early morning sky was quickly turning lighter and the shadows that hid everything from view were slowly receding. The trees were becoming less ominous, the low brush providing fewer dark hiding places. Bob had never been much of a praying man, but he found himself asking
