Hellfire (The Bugging Out Series Book 7) by Noah Mann

Author:Noah Mann [Mann, Noah]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3, mobi
Tags: survivalist, Preparation, apocalypse, prepper, bug out, post apocalypse, survival
Publisher: Noah Mann
Published: 2017-04-05T06:00:00+00:00

Twenty Four

The Blackhawk hadn’t even stopped rolling when the left side door slid open. As soon as its wheels stilled, the sergeant’s fellow crewmembers carried him off the Blackhawk with Genesee and Carter jogging alongside toward the stairs already lowered near the tail of Air Force One. Captain Borenstein stood near that entrance to the aircraft, his small contingent of troops arrayed near him, not surrounding the plane as had been their stated mission.

Something had happened.

“Angela,” I said as I left the Blackhawk, shouldering Genesee’s gear for him.

“What?”

I gestured toward what I was seeing and Schiavo looked, just as Borenstein came jogging our way with his men.

“What’s going on?” Martin asked as he stepped out of the helicopter, surprised that we hadn’t begun to move toward our ride home.

“I think we’re about to find out,” I said.

Borenstein stopped, facing us, but his men continued past and boarded the Blackhawk.

“Colonel Schiavo,” he said, greeting his now superior officer with a salute.

Schiavo returned it, but was both puzzled and wary.

“You know about my promotion,” she said.

“We received word from Columbus,” Borenstein explained. “Along with orders.”

Past the Army captain there was more movement. The crew of the downed Blackhawk, minus their wounded comrade, came fast down the stairs and raced toward the helicopter just behind us, passing us at a dead run and joining Borenstein’s troops aboard the bird.

“Captain...”

Borenstein hesitated briefly at Schiavo’s prompting, his mood verging on grim.

“We’ve been ordered to Columbus to help with the evacuation of the president. The route they had secured out of the city is no longer safe.”

“We know,” Schiavo said. “We came through it.”

“Colonel Pedigrew and Major Handley will get you home,” Borenstein said, gesturing toward Air Force One. “They’re flyboys, but they get the job done.”

Schiavo nodded at the mild poke at the Air Force officers who would be flying us back across the country.

“We won’t give them any trouble,” I said.

“The Stryker unit will meet you at McChord to take you the last leg home,” Borenstein said, an obvious sense of finality to what he was sharing.

Behind us, the Blackhawk’s rotors spun at speed, just a bit more throttle necessary to get it into the air. Borenstein and the others would be on their way to face their destiny in no time. To me it seemed that he was not reluctant to perform the duty he’d sworn an oath to fulfill, but, rather, that he knew that this might be the last moment of his life which would exist without some form of death racing at him.

“Captain,” Schiavo said, locking her gaze with Borenstein’s, “you give them hell. And then some.”

“Will do, ma’am,” the man said, allowing a smile.

Schiavo nodded, and Borenstein moved past us, joining his men and the others. The Blackhawk’s doors slid shut and it rolled forward, rising into the sky, nose low as it sped fast over the runway and dead fields beyond. It was heading east, straight for the city.

“They’re not going to make it,” Martin said.

“We did,” I told my friend.

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