Toward the Brink (Book 3) (14 page)

For now.

W
hat the new
arrivals to Sandspit had thought was a community center turned out to be the Sandspit wholesale fish market. It was constructed of corrugated iron on the outside, and the floor of the main area was solid concrete. The smell inside was bearable only because the place had been hosed out before the town’s population evacuated—or died.

The concrete floor meant it would be impossible to stay here at night. With temperatures in the mid to high teens, a person would freeze to death. There were some offices in the rear where administrative duties were carried out; they had carpeted floors and were obviously added on sometime after the main part of the market was built.

Darkness wasn’t far away, and though the Tall Man, Tom, and a few others were almost convinced the cold weather meant they had seen the last of the foamers, they didn’t want to be forced to look for another place to spend the night. Compared to the putrid stench of the foamers, the fishy smell was a walk through a rose garden.

“All right, looks like we can bed down here,” the Tall Man announced when he opened one of the office rooms. “Spread our blankets and stuff on the floor, and we should be good. Tomorrow we’ll find more permanent lodgings.”

Flashlights held by several of the group danced around the office into every corner and behind every piece of furniture. It wasn’t quite dark outside; the sun had just gone down. Inside, it was different.

They were so sure that no foamers or militia types were present that they disregarded their usual security drill of making sure the building was clear before they entered. Now that they were inside, Chess took a handful of his men and did a quick search of the other offices and checked the windows and all side and back doors.

“All doors are locked, Chuck.”

“Huh? What d— Oh. Yeah … Right. Good job.” The Tall Man was half frozen—he was more affected by the cold weather than he had disclosed. The cold, damp air was preferable to staying in an area overrun with foamers—even if it was dry and warm.

“The tower, Elliot, the tower,” Sam said from behind him. When Elliot turned, the man with the Bogey accent had drifted away.

The tower is the goal, and the goal is to survive, and we won’t survive unless we have a leader—a designated leader. And that’s what he’s pointing out, because I’m the one who has to lead!
Elliot told himself.
No longer can I be afraid of stepping on someone’s shoes. It’s time.

“After that trip, we all need some sleep, but we also need four people for guard duty.” Elliot paused to look around in the twilight. “Anyone got the time?”

“It’s just after six, Elliot.” Mulhaven sounded more like his old self.

“We’ll change over at ten, then again at two, okay?”

“Are you volunteering?” a tired Chess asked.

Elliot was well aware Chess had done more than his fair share. Since his unsteady start with the group, he had improved in his manner and showed a genuine desire to be a part of this group. Elliot even saw his buddy Chuck pay Chess some respect, but now it was Elliot’s turn to lay down the law. Shit, he was still a teenager, but if he didn’t lay it down now, he would never be taken seriously.

“No. You are. Grab three others and stay sharp.”

Elliot walked away without waiting for a reply. Cindy had laid out some blankets on the floor for them, but she stared openmouthed at Elliot. She wasn’t alone in wondering what would happen next. Chess stood for a moment, then called three other soldiers. “Let’s go,” he said. “Seems we get to sleep later.”

Cindy didn’t say a word but gave Elliot a big hug and a kiss then bedded down. A hand slapped him on the back, and by the size of the hand and the great height from which it came, Elliot knew it could only be the Tall Man. As Elliot sat on an office chair to take off his heavy boots—everyone slept in their clothes, but not in their boots—he heard a whisper from one side: “You’ve got the tower in sight. Keep it there!”

Elliot knew it was Sam, but when he turned, Sam could no longer be seen.

Elliot was proud of himself, too, but was glad for the dark in the room. No one could see his hands shake.

R
ed Beret wasted
little time once he made the decision to join Holmes’s crusade. Another night in Terrace, after the last battle, would be the last straw for him. He, and what was left of the Free Terrace Forces, as they called themselves, had rushed to this UPS depot on the outskirts of the city. This was a secondary command post and had been a fallback position should they need it—and they had needed it.

After they had caught the Prince George group on the bridge, they had relaxed. The force had covered the new arrivals with an armored vehicle that sported a 25mm chain gun. No need to be concerned; no one would argue against those odds. Sundown was still a few hours off, and as foamers only came out when it was dark, there was little to worry about on that front. The dark storm clouds that rolled in had changed that, however. With the sun hidden behind a thick layer, the foamers had ventured outside and caught the force off guard. When the armored car was taken by surprise, their advantage was lost. All they could do to save themselves was retreat. There were barely two dozen armed men left. But that was more than Holmes needed.

It was practically dark and the foamers would be out, but Red Beret and the others didn’t want to remain any longer. Within the hour, a motorcade pulled up outside the UPS depot, and when Holmes stepped outside, he stared at the number of vehicles in shock.

“What’s the matter, company man? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Red Beret took the extra time to dig at his so-called credentials.

“I, err … didn’t expect so many trucks and—”

“What did you think, we all lived here by ourselves?” The commander rubbed his beret (he clearly was very attached to it) then indicated the long line of Humvees, pickups, station wagons, camper vans, and bumper-pull trailers.

“Most of us have families here, and some of them with us now are the wives and children of those who didn’t make it. I promised them that I would see them through this and get them to safety. I even promised the children that I would take them to a place where Santa could find them. Do you know what it means to promise children that, Mr. Holmes?”

“No. No, I don’t.” He was honest. “But let me tell you this. Where we are going, you’ll be able to give these kids a Christmas once more—and that’s my promise to you.”

Holmes lied, as he always did to get what he needed, but Red Beret wasn’t to know. In his late thirties, he didn’t have the experience of a man like Holmes.

“Thank you. I hope you’re right on that. We can’t come back, you know that, right?”

Holmes nodded then looked down the dark street at the twenty-plus vehicles.

We leave the women and kids back in Prince Rupert while the soldier boys retake the island, then when we send for them to come over, there could be an accident on the high seas.

“Yes, that would work nicely,” Holmes muttered.

“What did you say?”

“Oh, I just mentioned that all these people coming along will work out nicely—it will be like starting our own community once again. Don’t you think?”

The old weasel had a way with words, and the more Red Beret listened, the more he trusted him. Even before the outbreak of the foamer plague, there had been very few people who trusted Richard Holmes still alive.

T
he motorcade traveled
through the night with their headlights on, making no attempt to avoid detection. Foamers didn’t roam the highways this far out, and once they were out of Terrace it was nothing but pine trees, pine trees, and more pine trees scattered across the countryside.

Holmes agreed with Red Beret that a surprise attack before sunrise was their best bet. It meant some hard travel. Some of the camper vans and bumper pulls were driven by the wives, and they weren’t great at driving on the Yellowhead Highway. At the speed they were driving, the ice that had formed on the surface made for some dangerous moments. They couldn’t stop; there was no time. Just keep going, that’s all they could do. Besides, Holmes thought one or two of them might miss a turn and sail right over the edge of the road, and that would be fewer people to worry over.

Holmes went over a target list with Red Beret in the lead Humvee.

“Don’t kill the tall one. You can wound him, but leave his demise to me.”

“Okay … wound tall one only.” Red Beret wrote these instructions down.

“Don’t kill any of the women, I—”

“How can you even think we would kill women? What kind of trash do you think we are, company man?”

“I didn’t mean to imply that you would, but accidents do happen, my friend,” Holmes reassured the commander. And Holmes did think they were all trash, but didn’t say that.

“Also, the president is with them, and—”

“President? You mean the president of the United States?”

“Yes indeed, my good friend, and as I was saying, please don’t kill him or his aide. A short guy with a rather large forehead, nerdy type. Leave them for me.”

“You plan to kill the president?”

“He’s just a regular Joe now, and he is the cause of all this mayhem. He doesn’t deserve the chance to live after he’s caused so much devastation!”

Holmes gave Red Beret a quick, ten-minute history of how the president had ordered the creation of the deadly plague, disguised it as a vegetable growth hormone, and permitted it to be used on the American people by injecting it into potatoes in Idaho. The man-made agent had mutated out of control, resulting in the foamers.

“The president did that? I’ll be—”

“Yes, exactly. We’ve all been bent over and fucked. Well and truly!”

“Most people here in Canada like your president, but I, for one, never trusted him. There was something about him, y’know?”

Holmes did know. The president was as honest as the day was long, a rarity in politics and especially for U.S. presidents, but he didn’t want Red Beret and his cohorts thinking that. He wanted them ready, willing and able to do his dirty work, and he had plenty of it.

He soon started to plan how it would be once he had taken control, and he thought of the woman whose house it was back in Prince George. He’d only had a few glimpses of her, but he liked what he saw. He had also overheard the way she spoke with that man Black. It appeared obvious they were an item, or were in the first stages of becoming one.

Well, with that big shit out of the way, she’ll make pleasant company indeed, whether she wants to or not
. He smiled as he closed his eyes for a bit of a nap. They had a few hours of travel yet. The smile remained on his face as he thought of enjoying a woman’s company again.

E
lliot crawled back
into his makeshift bed next to Cindy after he completed the second guard shift. He still had his jacket and fatigues on, but he was cold, and Cindy was warm under the blankets. How nice it would be to move into their own little cottage out here, maybe with a wood burning stove—

“Hey, we got movement out here,” one of the Secret Service agents, who stood on a chair to see through the high window, called.

“Where? What type of movement?” Mulhaven asked from somewhere in the darkened room.

Elliot didn’t bother with questions. He got out of his bed in a flash. He hadn’t even gotten to lie down fully. “Stay here,” he whispered to Cindy and kissed her. His lips were frozen, but she didn’t mind. Love doesn’t care about the cold.

He rushed over to the window as best he could while he pulled at the tops of his boots. The Tall Man was right behind him, then Chess and Tristan.

“You sure?” the Tall Man asked. He kept his voice low. He wasn’t concerned with waking anyone, but if there was movement outside, then it probably wasn’t friendly, and he didn’t want to alert whoever it was—or whatever it was—to their presence.

“Yeah, I’m positive,” the agent responded in the same hushed tone. “Up the top of the rise there, near the house on the left. Do you see it? There’s a patch of snow on the ground. I saw a dark figure move across it.”

“That’s it? That’s all you saw? Hell, it was probably a dog.”

“How many dogs you seen since you joined us, Chess?” The Tall Man knew that Chess and the others hadn’t done much sightseeing since their arrival, but in their travels through Prince George, Terrace, Prince Rupert, and now Sandspit, nary a dog or a cat had been seen. Only when they neared the coast had they seen birds again; it came as a relief, too.

“Exactly!” The Tall Man drove the point home when Chess didn’t answer.

Enough light from the stars and the half-moon came through the window for them to see each other’s outlines. Facial expressions were out of the question, though.

“That was my first thought, to be honest,” the agent continued, “but then I saw another shadow pass in front of the snow.”

“Chuck, get over here and take a look.” Elliot got off the chair on the other side of the window and passed the binoculars to the Tall Man.

The Tall Man noticed a change in the way Elliot seemed to be coping and was impressed.

The Tall Man stood on the chair pushed against the wall and peered out into the cold Sandspit night. Even for him, the windows were just a touch too high. He could see light snowfall through the powerful binoculars. Patches had built up here and there, but it wasn’t the worst situation. He looked along the road that led from the fish market to the top of the rise, where movement had been spotted.

“I can’t see any—” The sudden midsentence halt told everyone just what they didn’t want to hear.

Foamers!

W
ith his new
group of followers, Holmes motored along the Yellowhead Highway. At this rate, they would arrive long before dawn. The question on his mind was where they could obtain decent watercraft to get to Graham Island.

“You say there were no boats of any sort in Rupert?”

“I assume the others took the last one. Hell, maybe they sank what boats were left so no one could follow.” Holmes did an exceptional job of presenting the group from Prince George as dangerous adversaries.

“Sounds to me like this is one cutthroat bunch. You were lucky to escape.” Red Beret was starting to find respect for Holmes—though he still wasn’t sure about the CIA thing.

“Tell me about it. I can tell you stories of the president ordering executions like you ordered burgers.”

“I’d like to hear that someday.”

Holmes patted Red Beret on the shoulder. “Sure, sure. Once we get settled in, you’ll do just that!”

He had as much intention of telling stories with the commander of this force as he had of allowing their wives and children to take residence on the island. He had to make sure the resources weren’t spread too far. Besides, the woman who owned the farmhouse back in Prince George would more than satisfy his desires—whether she wanted to or not—once he took control.
Fuck him. Fuck ‘em all.
He smiled at Red Beret, who smiled back. The commander’s guard was down. He accepted Holmes now, and wouldn’t be suspicious—not even at the very end.

“Anyway, I’m not sure what we can do about a boat.”

“Port Edward is bigger than Rupert. We can look there. Used to be some fast cruiser type boats at Edward. If there are, we can get to Graham before dawn, I imagine. Do we know exactly where this group went?”

“Of that I’m not so sure.” They were among the few words of truth to come out of Holmes’s mouth since his return to Terrace.

“Well, Sandspit has a harbor of sorts, I think. We’ll need at least three boats, and we don’t want to be wading ashore like the fuckin’ U.S. Marines. I want to keep my boots dry!”

The commander who loved his Red Beret laughed at his own humor; Holmes joined in. He even made it sound natural. Whatever it took to keep him onside—for now.

“
N
o sound
, not a sound,” the Tall Man whispered. He wanted everyone in the room to hear him, but he didn’t want to be heard outside of the building. He didn’t know if the foamers could hear or just sensed things, but now wasn’t the time to find out.

“Tristan, go into the other room and tell the rest we’ve got company and to keep silent.”

“Roger,” he replied in a hushed tone. One room wasn’t big enough for all of them, so they had split into two adjoining offices.

“Tristan … no lights, okay?” Chess reminded him.

“Wouldn’t think of it.”

Everyone was now wide awake, not that anyone had been in a deep sleep. The fish market was better than outside, but it was far from comfortable. The realization hit hard: They had traveled from Twin Falls and Washington to get to Prince George, Canada, and from there to an island off the coast of Vancouver for the promise of a foamer-free and self-sufficient life. Now those hopes had been dashed. No one needed to be told to keep the noise down lest it should attract the foamers, but soon the whispers built into a murmur, and the murmur became a racket.

“Shh! For God’s sake!” The last thing the Tall Man wanted was a confrontation with foamers here. This was far different than their first encounter in Twin Falls, which now seemed like years past. There, they’d had power and lighting, and they knew the area. The same couldn’t be said of their situation now. There had been no power for days, no one in the group had ever been to Sandspit, and as the Tall Man noted, there was only one road in or out, and behind them was the Pacific Ocean. Not good odds for a stand-up firefight. Their only choice was to wait for daylight, when the foamers would retreat from the rays of the sun. But to achieve that, they needed absolute silence until dawn. They would be safe when dawn arrived.

“We have to remain totally silent until sunrise. We’ll be okay then, so keep quiet until dawn!” The Tall Man pulled off his glove and checked his luminous dial watch.

Four hours. About four hours to dawn
. He knew it would be a long four hours, and if the foamers stumbled upon them beforehand, it could spell the end.

“Dawn,” he whispered into Kath’s ear. She had joined him by his side. “We’ll be safe at dawn.”

A
t Port Edward
, Holmes and his new army found better results. Like other towns nearby, it was deserted, but it didn’t appear as if any struggle had taken place. More importantly, there were more than a dozen boats tied up at the marina. Most were gassed up as well, and jump-starting them presented no trouble.

The Port Edward harbor building was two stories high, and this provided adequate security for the families of the armed group from Terrace. A six-man security detail, mainly younger, less experienced troops, was left behind.

Holmes, with Red Beret at his side, looked over the force, which numbered twenty-one when he was counted with them. The group that included the former president wouldn’t be expecting anyone, much less an armed assault. With the benefit of surprise, they shouldn’t have any trouble, Holmes assured himself; Red Beret had told him as much, but Holmes thought of him as a comic book soldier. The confidence he showed in himself and his force would disappear the moment someone fired back.

“Sir.” A trooper approached the commander and snapped a salute. “Craft all fueled and ready, sir!”

“Good, good. Thank you, soldier.” He returned the salute then turned to Holmes. They were less cautious of the foamers here, and they had battery powered lamps running. “What do you think, Mr. Holmes?”

“I think we look like a damn bunch of motherfuckers you don’t wanna mess with. That’s what I think!”

That kind of tough war hero talk got Red Beret all fired up, even if the actual action didn’t. Holmes saw his face shudder in the lamplight and wondered for a moment whether the commander was about to have a seizure or an ejaculation, which, Holmes thought, probably amounted to the same thing for this veteran of war movies.

“Commander, commander?”

“Oh, huh … right, right with you.” Red Beret coughed and regained his composure, or part of it.

“All right, you lot, let’s get aboard. We want to get there by dawn, so let’s get to it!”

Holmes and Red Beret boarded the largest of the pleasure cruisers. Another member of the armed group was inside leaning over a map; he had a compass in one hand.

“Sir, it won’t be any trouble once we get through this channel. It’s basically a straight course to Sandspit. The sea has died down, and as long as we don’t get any wind, these boats will get us there at about sunrise.”

“Then get us under way, and good job.”

The trooper turned, started the boat, and eased it out of Port Edward Harbor. Two more sport/pleasure boats followed. Once they were clear of the harbor area, the big boats opened up to almost full speed.

Holmes checked his watch. In a few hours, it would be dawn, and he would be in Sandspit, coming face to face with the former president again. He was sure this would be the last time the two met.

A
tense several hours followed
. It wasn’t easy on anyone to sit in the dark and wait for the sunrise. At least no one among the party had small children; that would have been a nightmare. When someone needed a visit to the restroom, a soldier or even Elliot or the Tall Man accompanied them to the small bathroom. They waited outside while the visitor stumbled around inside. It was one such visit to the restroom that unleashed all hell just as the skies began to lighten in the east. The dawn was about to arrive.

The copilot of the Global Express tripped inside the restroom and reached out in the dark to grab hold of something—anything—to break his fall.

“What the hell is that?” the Tall Man swore under his breath when he heard a metallic clang as the paper towel dispenser was ripped from the wall.

“What the fuck happened?” He burst into the restroom.

“I tripped, and—”

“Yeah, I heard.” He hoped the foamers that lurked outside hadn’t. We don’t always get what we hope for in life, and he wouldn’t this time.

“Chuck, Chuck, come quick!” Elliot called from the office, no longer attempting to keep his voice low.

The shit had hit the fan!

T
he fish market
resembled a sports or community hall. The largest building, the concrete-floored area where the fish trade was conducted, was more than two stories in height. A single row of windows stretched all the way around this part of the corrugated iron building, but the windows were too high for any foamers to reach. The metal-framed door of the trading floor was also too strong—they hoped—for foamers to get through. The office rooms were different. All were a single story, but the windows in each were high in a corner, which suggested the offices were added later as they became necessary. If the foamers were capable of basic thought and were aware of living beings inside, they would find a way to scale the outside wall and get to the windows. Hell, if there were enough foamers … well, no one wanted to think about it.

“What, what is it?” The Tall Man felt his way along the wall and back into the first office where Elliot was. He still kept his voice down.

“Foamers! They know we’re here.” Elliot’s voice wasn’t quite a whisper; it was more like a hiss. A desperate hiss.

The Tall Man stood on a chair and looked out the window. The light had improved enough that he could now see silhouettes as they moved down the road. Toward the fish market.

“Shit, there’s a hundred at least!”

“You think they know we’re here?”

It was irrelevant whether they did or didn’t. The foamers had heard a noise from this area—the fish market—and were coming to investigate.

“I don’t know if they’re aware of that fact or not.” The Tall Man answered the question but didn’t know who asked it. Hushed voices sounded different. “But do you think all of us can remain silent while they search around the building, pound on the walls, or start to push the door in?”

Whoever had asked the question didn’t respond this time. He could see the logic. The first foamer to thump on the wall or howl would cause a panic inside the market. The women might scream, others might run from one room to the next, and those with the weapons might begin firing. There was no optimistic view; not this time.

The Tall Man went into the other office. He kept one hand on the wall to prevent himself from falling in the dark. Elliot jumped onto the chair and watched for the foamers’ approach.

From the other room, the Tall Man could see the Sandspit marina. The catamaran they came in on had drifted out and was about twenty yards—the length of the line—away from the jetty. A small dinghy was nearby and would hold maybe eight people, but in this light you’d want to play it safe and go with six. The Tall Man did some fast calculations: It wouldn’t work. It would take too much time to load six into the boat and send them to the cat, then have one of them bring it back.

“No. Damn foamers would be on top of us by the time we got the second load in the dinghy—if not sooner.” He rubbed the thick growth on his face. The market, because of its shape and how it was situated, wasn’t the most desirable defensive position. In the Tall Man’s eyes, it was close to useless.

“There’s only the one entrance and one exit from the market, so that will be easy to defend.”

The Tall Man turned sharply when Chess spoke behind him. He, too, had given up whispering.

It was time to fight!