Fade to Grey (Book 1): Fade to Grey (41 page)

They all laughed at her remark, enjoying her wit and
obviously full mental capacity for someone of her age.

“So the next morning, the power went out and Abe hooked up
his generator so he could start his computer and work on the ‘great American
autobiography’ that he’s been tinkering with for about twenty years now. He got
another chapter done and went to print it out so I could correct all of his
grammar mistakes that evening . . .” Mrs. Glass leaned toward Michelle and
whispered loud enough that everybody in the room could hear but still low
enough to emphasize what she thought of her husband’s autobiography. “He writes
like a canned ham. All salt, no flavor.” She sat back up and had another sip of
tea. “Where was I?  Oh yes, I remember. Abe discovered he didn’t have any
printer paper. All that money he put in to have that fancy computer and
printer, and all of them gizmos that go along with it, and the big dummy runs
out of paper. Did you ever know a politician who ran out of paper?  When he was
still in the game it seemed like we were buried in it, and now he doesn’t have
any. After discovering this, he starts ranting and raving about how he was sure
he just bought a new pack or three not too long ago, and that I probably
misplaced it when I cleaned. You know how he gets when he writes.”

Even in the dim light they could all see her exaggerated eye
roll. They chuckled again and she lifted her mug, finishing her cup of tea. Michelle
asked her if she wanted a refill but she declined, saying, “I don’t want to
spend the rest of the night running back and forth to the potty.”

Sarah continued, “I believe I was talking about Abe and his
biography. Well, I’ll bet my dear husband spent half the day looking for the
packs of printer paper that he imagined he bought in recent history, which
could’ve been any time since the bronze age. I spent most of that time cleaning
up around the house. Abe finally got tired of looking in the same places a
dozen times in a row and went out to the barn to tinker on the tractor. That
evening we tried to call some relatives down in the city but we couldn’t get
through. I do hope they get the phones working again soon. That was yesterday. This
morning we got up, ate some peaches we canned last summer for breakfast, and
discovered that the power was out. Well, Abe thought that the power might be
out for quite awhile, so we moved everything we could into the deep freeze out
in the barn. He’s got a big generator that he can run with his tractor out
there. Three years ago we were without power for over a week during the summer,
and that tractor generator came in real handy. After we got everything moved,
Abe mentioned that it would be the neighborly thing to do if we came over and
asked you if you wanted to move your food into our deep freeze until the power
came back on. I thought that was a wonderful idea, so we drove over here. I
guess we figured with everything going on you wouldn’t be at work, you’d be at
home. Well, we didn’t find you, but we did see two of them boys that belong to
the house up the road. One of them was inside your car, had it running and
everything too. The other one was standing outside looking real nervous when we
pulled up behind your car. Well, we knew that they were up to no good. Abe got
his pistol out of the glove box just in case, and then he stepped out of our
car and went real polite with them hoodlums.” Sarah started chuckling as she
recalled the conversation. “Abe said, ‘Morning boys. It seems to me like we
have a problem here. You see, I don’t want to shoot you for stealing a car, but
my wife thinks that the world would be better off with less criminals in it. Besides,
she said her flower bed could use about 300 pounds of fertilizer this year, and
I reckon that each of you ought to push 150 at least.’ The one that was in the
car got out and stood next to the other one; I could see both of their knees shaking
as my husband continued. ‘However, considering the circumstances, I might be
able to convince my wife to ease up a bit in her quest for vengeance on
neighborhood delinquents. At least if we were able to work out a deal, kinda
like probation with court costs. I’m assuming both of you know what that is,
right?’ Well them boys went to nodding their heads real agreeable like, but
they never took their eyes off that old pistol in Abe’s hand. ‘So let’s see,
I’m going to have to charge you at least twenty dollars for the inconvenience
of myself having to play sheriff. Add another ten dollars for my mileage
driving over here. And then of course there’s reimbursement for the gas you’ve
used up in that truck you were trying to steal. Let’s say it another ten
dollars for that. Now the way I do arithmetic, that sums up to forty dollars. Cash.’”
Sarah was giggling as she told how those two boys started stammering and
stuttering, saying they didn’t have that kind of money and whatnot.

“So Abe looks at them and says, ‘Well I reckon them fancy
shoes you got on are worth about forty dollars a pair. But since you’re both
involved, I imagine you should split the cost with one shoe each as payment. I
believe I’ll take the left shoe from each of you.’”

Sarah was covering her mouth trying to hide another fit of
giggles as she said, “Well them boys was just a-staring at Abe like a possum in
the headlights. All of a sudden,
BOOM! 
Abe fired off a shot into the
ground about ten feet away. Them boys let out a squeak and jumped about three
feet in the air. Then Abe says, ‘Boys, that was what we call compounding
interest. And because neither of you look like a banker to me, let me explain
it. You see, the initial offer was one shoe each, but since you didn’t pay it
on time, in order to settle your debt the price is now four shoes.’ Well,
lickety split there were four shoes a-laying on the ground in front of Abe. He
takes another long look at them two boys and says, ‘If you look across that
field there, you can just see the tip of my barn roof. Now I’m going to go back
there and get out my bear rifle. I’m going to sit up in my hay loft and point
that gun this way. You two are going to hobble home and write a real good
letter of apology to the lady whose truck you tried to steal. And it better be
a real good letter. Then you’re going to hobble back down here and put that
letter in her mailbox. I ain’t decided yet, but if I end up feeling generous
I’ll leave your shoes by the mailbox post. Maybe we can call that a deal . . . a
letter and a lesson for the return of a couple pairs of shoes. But just so
we’re clear, outside of that one trip back here to deposit the letter, I don’t
expect that I’ll be seeing you boys on this property again. If I do, well then
we’re gonna see just how accurate that bear rifle is. Does that sound like a
plan?’”

Sarah was shaking her head and smiling and she said, “Them
boys were all nodding and saying ‘yes sir’s’ to Abe as they hightailed it
barefoot back up the road. Anyhow, I dropped a note in your mailbox saying that
we’d keep your truck over at our place until you got home. Then Abe walked
around and made sure all your doors and windows were locked on the house. And
that’s that.”

“So if you don’t mind me asking, what are you doing out this
late at night by yourself?” Andy said.

Mrs. Glass sighed and said, “Well, since we didn’t have power
without running the generators, both Abe and myself went to bed early. Real
early. We both woke up about an hour ago and my husband decided to fire up his
little generator and start working on his autobiography again. I came over here
to see if you were back yet. I figured I’d see your police truck with the
lights on top if you were home. When I pulled in your driveway I didn’t
recognize the truck there, and I was deciding what to do when you ambushed me. Anyhow
I’m glad it all turned out OK. Although I hope that you’ll be kind enough to
give me a ride back to my house so I don’t have to walk in this nasty weather.”

“I’d be happy to,” Michelle said.

“Actually, we might even be able to do better than that,
although it may involve a little bit of horse trading,” Andy said with a smile.

“And what did you have in mind?” Sarah asked.

Andy said, “I’ve had the occasion to meet your husband
several times over the past twenty or so years, back when he was in office that
is. And although I can’t say that I ever agreed one hundred percent with his
politics, I did vote for him. He was kind of the lesser of two evils if you
don’t mind me saying.”

Sarah chuckled and said, “I’ve told him the same thing, only
it had to do with whether I was going to marry him or his best friend.”

Andy smiled, nodding his head as he continued. “So, I kinda
feel like there is a way for him to pay me back for all those votes I cast over
the years that helped put him in office. And in helping me, he’d also be
helping himself.”

Sarah’s eyes narrowed in mock suspicion as she said, “I
haven’t been a politician’s wife for several decades without learning some
tricks of the trade. One of the first lessons I learned was to always ask, ‘what
do you want?’ And so Andy, out with it . . . what do you want?”

Andy relaxed in the recliner, stretching his arms over his
head and rolling his neck a little. “I want to make the trade. I want your
husband’s best dark blue suit. And in return, I’m willing to trade an entire,
unopened package of printer paper.”

Mrs. Glass sat up on the couch, her look turning inquisitive
for a moment before transforming to resigned. “The second thing I’ve learned in
my years working the trenches as a politician’s wife is not to ask too many
questions.” Her eyes scanned Andy with cautious appraisal, not unlike a
slightly shifty car salesman calculating his commission before the paperwork is
signed. “You look about Abe’s size, maybe a little bit shorter. But I imagine I
could hem up the trousers if I had to, so I guess you got yourself a deal.”

“Outstanding.” Andy smiled.

Thirty minutes later Mrs. Glass had been safely returned to
her house with the printer paper, and Andy, Thompson and Michelle were back in
the living room of Michelle’s house with a recently hemmed, $700.00 dark blue
suit.

“So, I know it’s still night time, but how long are you going
to keep us in the dark?” Michelle directed toward Andy.

Andy smiled, shifted his gaze toward Thompson and said, “Can
you see Michelle’s office from the school?”

Thompson immediately shook his head. “No. From the school you
have a pretty good view of part of the town, but you can really only see what’s
on the west side of the highway. Her office, that whole strip mall that it’s in
is on the east side of the highway. Why?”

Andy smiled but didn’t reply as he turned towards Michelle
and asked, “Try to resist your impulse to slap a dirty old man, but would you
mind getting dressed up really hot?”

April 23
^rd
, 0900, Fort Hammer K-12 unit school.

Corporal Matthew “Bones” Henry shielded his eyes from the
rotor wash of the departing Black Hawks. The whine of the turbine engines had
increased in pitch as the choppers powered up their RPM’s, then gradually trailed
off into the lower harmonics as the aircraft banked overhead and sped off to
the south. Bones thought back to his days in elementary school science; something
about the Doppler effect if he remembered right. Well, no matter what the
scientific term, he was glad to see the choppers leave. There was nothing quite
as large or annoying as a pilot’s ego, and he had had just about enough of the
flyboys’ “holier than thou” attitude over the past few days. Barely two hours
into his squad’s security detail and things were already looking up. He glanced
over at his squad leader, Lieutenant Estes, and saw the same look of “good
riddance” on his face as well. Yes, today had the potential to be a good day. The
echoes of that thought were still rippling through his mind a few minutes later
when he noticed the sleek shape of the shiny black Suburban heading up the road
towards the school.

“Yo LT, we got guests,” Bones said.

Lieutenant Kevin Estes walked over and stood next to Bones,
watching the approach of the large SUV. With a deep sigh and a frown, Estes
said, “Shit, there goes the neighborhood.”

The tinted windows on the dark vehicle revealed only shadows
of movement in its interior as the big V8 idled with a low rumble. The driver hadn’t
even bothered to follow Lieutenant Estes’ hand signals as he attempted to
direct them into a parking slot near the improvised helipad, but rather drove
right up to the front of the school and angled across two handicapped spots. Lieutenant
Estes followed and waited patiently beside the driver’s door. He knew that the
two Homeland Security pricks inside—Reddick and Loomis if he remembered their
names correctly—had no qualms about making people they didn’t like disappear. Best
to play the good little boy role for awhile.

The driver’s door finally cracked open a few minutes later. Estes
fought back the open mouth stare that crept on his face as the driver exited. She
was tall, at least six feet. Long, reddish blonde hair feathered back on the
sides cascaded to her mid-back. She was dressed in an inky black, form fitting
business suit with a knee length skirt. A tiny, dark grey fanny pack, barely
large enough to hold a deck of cards encircled her narrow waist. The creamy
white tone of her perfectly sculpted calves drew his eyes down and locked them
there momentarily. Too long.

“Eyes up lieutenant,” her voice said. The lieutenant jerked
his eyes upward, mentally cringing at his obvious case of “got caught looking.”

“Yes ma’am,” he barked as he stood at attention. She
approached and stood directly in front of him, gazing at his name tag before
slowly circling him. Like a shark. The faint scent of jasmine and vanilla
followed her wake.

“Damn, she was smoking hot,” Estes thought as he forced his
eyes to focus straight ahead on the distant horizon. She reminded him of that
Australian actress that used to be married to the guy from the “Top Gun” movie.

Her circuit complete, she turned her green eyes directly
toward him. “Am I correct in assuming that your unit has the capability to
refuel my vehicle?” Her voice was firm. Feminine, but lined with steel.

“Yes ma’am.”

“See that it gets done, Lieutenant . . . Estes,” she said,
eying his name patch.

“I’ll handle it personally ma’am,” he said, eyes still bolted
to the distant tree line.

“No, you will assign it to somebody else. Someone that you
personally guarantee will have the task completed when we return from our meeting
with Colonel Jordan. The meeting that you are going to escort us to.” Her
voice, although level and even, carried a hint of the steel being sharpened
into knives.

“Yes ma’am,” Estes snapped as he wondered who “us” was.

Estes watched as the dazzling redhead reentered the black
SUV, closing the door behind her. He motioned for Bones to double time it over
to his position, and assigned him the refueling detail with a word of caution
about not screwing up. Corporal Henry wasn’t an idiot. He knew what the
consequences would be if he fumbled this simple task. The corporal nodded his
understanding and stepped to the side of Estes, waiting.

“Bones, be sure, be one hundred percent sure to keep your
eyes on the horizon when the lady exits the truck,” Estes muttered under his
breath.

A few moments later the driver’s side door of Suburban
cracked open and the tall, crimson haired Amazon exited the vehicle. Her eyes
scanned the immediate surroundings, completely skipping over Estes but
lingering briefly on Corporal Henry. Even with their eyes locked in the
distance, both of them noticed a slight flash of stainless steel riding in a
shoulder holster underneath her dark jacket. Her eyes made one more circuit of
the area before she gave a curt nod toward the darkened glass of the truck. Exiting
out of the passenger door was an older man. Sharply dressed in the familiar,
expensive looking suit adorned with the “DHS” pocket flap ID, he cut a beeline
around the front of the Suburban and came to a crisp halt next to the redhead. Steel
gray eyes set wide in a face creased with years of command; Estes immediately
had him pegged as ex-military. His average height could barely contain the
vitality that positively oozed from him.

“Is this our escort?” the older man asked in a voice that,
although not unpleasant or pushy, had the distinct tone of authority.

The Amazon nodded her head towards Estes. “He is. The other
one’s on refueling detail.”

The older man approached the two soldiers who were standing
at attention. After a brief, cursory inspection he said, “At ease men.”

“Yes sir,” both Estes and Bones echoed sharply.

“Lieutenant Estes, please escort my assistant and I directly
to Colonel Jordan.”

“Yes sir, right this way sir,” Estes barked before he turned
and walked into the school, the stunning redhead and the DHS suit following
immediately behind him.

As soon as the trio disappeared into the school, Bones let
out a deep breath and thanked his lucky stars for the warning about not staring
at the redhead. Peripheral vision had been more than enough to convince him
that he’d never rate a chick like that. Well, unless he hit the lottery or had
a Porsche. For someone as fine a she was, it would probably have to be both. Two
quick shots broke the stillness of the morning. Somewhere over by the soccer
field he thought. Oh well, that wasn’t his patrol area, and in any case they
had standing orders to shoot anything or anyone who approached the perimeter. Yesterday
he blew through three full mags on his shift. Not a lot really, considering
some guys blazed through two or three times as much. At chow time they were
talking shit about how they waxed a couple hundred of the infected. Bullshit! 
Those sorry ass punks obviously confused “shooting at” with “hitting.” The
medical teams reported recovering twenty-nine total bodies outside the fence
after the engagement. He was positive that eight of those kills came from him
and Estes. That left twenty-one. Not quite the hundreds bragged about. Bones
let his mind drift back to the redhead as he walked down to the hastily set up
supplies staging area. Ten minutes later he was guiding a small fuel truck
towards the front of the school.

Lieutenant Estes held the front door of the school open for
the redhead and the obviously important gentlemen in the dark blue suit. Whoever
he was, he rated a personal bodyguard.

“This way sir,” Estes said.

The Amazon said nothing, her eyes busily searching the
hallway for . . . everything probably, Estes thought. Steel-eyes merely grunted.
Lieutenant Estes nodded at the two entry guards manning the desk a dozen feet
from the front door they had just entered. One of the guards at the desk had a
red armband encircling the bicep area on his digital BDU’s. Emblazoned around
the armband in an unbroken loop the word “medical” was repeated several times
in white letters. The other desk guard held out a clipboard toward Lieutenant
Estes. Estes took it, writing down his own name, as well as the time and date.

Extending the clipboard toward the suit, Estes said, “Sir, if
you will please sign in . . . .” His voice trailed off as the Amazon firmly
took a hold of the clipboard, halting its forward momentum momentarily before
pressing it back. With a slight but definite shake of her head, it was
impossible to misread her meaning.

Lieutenant Estes started to protest, it was after all the Colonel’s
orders that everybody sign in, every time. His thought was cut off when the
steel-eyed DHS suit spoke.

“Lieutenant, put the clipboard away. After all, it’s
impossible for someone to sign in who was never here.” His tone was low. Deceptively
friendly, almost daringly so. Something about it sent a slight chill down the
lieutenant’s spine.

Estes hesitated briefly, considering the fallout potential in
the proverbial “between the rock and a hard place” situation he found himself
in.

“Is there a problem lieutenant?” the redhead hissed, green
eyes no longer roving; they were locked on and boring straight into his.

Ass chewing from the colonel or a bullet in the back of the
head from the DHS. Not too hard of a choice there, Estes thought. “No sir, no
problem at all.” Turning towards the two desk guards, Estes handed the
clipboard back to them and said, “On my authority, I am taking our two . . . visitors
. . . to see Colonel Jordan.” Whatever they thought, they kept to themselves. Rumors
had been flying at only slightly less than light speed since the National Guard
captain was shot by the DHS asshole, apparently fully supported by Colonel
Jordan. Estes had been in that hallway, and knew that the rumors were true.

“This way sir.” Estes inclined his head toward the left
hallway.

“Lead the way, lieutenant,” the suit said. His tone was level
. . . unreadable. So perfectly, unnaturally neutral that it sent a cumulative
tingle up the back of Estes’s neck. Estes shook off the shiver and started down
the hallway, half expecting a bullet to punch through the back of his skull within
the first five steps. At step six he was still alive, a good sign. Somewhere
between steps fifteen and nineteen, a tumultuous jumble of realizations
cascaded through his mind, condensing into another unpleasant thought. Two
people were walking behind him—he was sure of that—but in the cold echoing
hallway that formally held second and third grade classrooms, he could only
hear one set of footsteps besides his own. Without turning around he was positive
that the polished wingtips were clicking softly in cadence with his own boots. That
meant that the Amazon was moving silently. Estes thought back to a book he read
a few years ago, supposedly written by a former member of a Mossad hit squad. The
guy in the book was talking about the difference between professional and
amateur assassins. He summed it up with one sentence. “With a professional, the
last thing you hear before you die . . . is nothing.” The lieutenant swallowed
that thought and quickened his pace.

Taking a right at the next intersection, Estes passed several
uniformed soldiers wheeling dollies loaded down with wooden crates and foot
locker size metal boxes. One dolly had a stack of large Rubbermaid storage
containers filled to the point of barely being able to maintain their
rectangular shape. He recognized one of the guys, PFC Pike, and gave a scarcely
noticeable nod of greeting, but Pike’s nose dive bombed toward the floor and
stayed there, no doubt in relation to his escort. A left at the next hallway
brought him three doors away from Colonel Jordan’s improvised command post. The
colonel was standing outside the doorway, talking to Major . . . what’s his
name. Estes couldn’t remember. The major was part of the medical detachment,
and was dressed in OD green scrubs with his rank insignia quickly stenciled on
the sleeves. Even when uniforms were worn only once before being incinerated,
the pecking order had to be maintained. A detachment of five heavily armed
soldiers lined the hallway outside the colonel’s door. His personal guard.

Colonel Jordan noticed Lieutenant Estes and his escort, a
slight frown crossing his face as they approached. The major, his back to the advancing
trio, was apparently oblivious and continued to gesture while he spoke. Estes
caught the words “terminal” and “concern” before the major finally became aware
that Colonel Jordan’s attention was no longer focused on him. He turned around
just as Estes came to a halt.

Lieutenant Estes snapped a textbook salute toward the colonel
and said, “Colonel Jordan, I have been instructed to escort these two . . . visitors
. . . to see you.”

Colonel Jordan tilted his graying head slightly downward,
allowing his eyes to gaze above the narrow, gold wire rimmed glasses that
perched on the bridge of his nose. “And so you have, lieutenant. Dismissed.”

“Stay right where you are lieutenant,” the steel-eyed DHS
suit said with an edge of annoyance in his voice.

Lieutenant Estes watched Colonel Jordan’s eyes widen and
cheeks flush with the obvious slap down of his authority. To the colonel’s
credit, he recovered quickly, puffing out his chest with practiced bravado
before replying . . . “And you are?”