The Signal (The Bugging Out Series Book 8) by Noah Mann

Author:Noah Mann [Mann, Noah]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3, mobi
Tags: shtf, Dystopian, post apocalypse, Thriller, prepper, apocalypse, teotwawki
Publisher: Noah Mann
Published: 2017-10-17T06:00:00+00:00

Twenty Two

The bombs and warheads rested in steel racks, with electrical cables snaking from each to a central control box that was welded to the deck.

“This look familiar to you, Fletch?”

I knew what Schiavo was referencing. The sandbagged upper floor of the skyscraper in Columbus, Ohio. There the President of the United States had shown us one weapon.

This was not one weapon.

“Times fifty,” I said. “Maybe sixty.”

That’s how many weapons I estimated were held in the latticework of steel supports.

“Armored elevator to the hangar deck is back beyond them,” Martin said.

“Let me guess,” I said. “Welded shut.”

He nodded.

“They brought them down and sealed them in,” he said.

“Just like they sealed themselves in,” Schiavo added.

“I don’t imagine that just cutting all this wiring would disarm these,” I said.

“That’s not a chance we can take,” Schiavo said.

It was the cliché—the red wire or the green wire. Or the white wire. Or any wire. The truth was, we had none of the required skillset necessary to even consider attempting what I was wondering about.

“Can these all be detonated simultaneously?” Martin asked. “Won’t one going off destroy the others before they can go boom?”

Schiavo stepped close to the collection of megatonnage and put a hand on one of the bomb casings.

“More than one won’t be necessary if this ship gets close to Bandon,” she said, looking to me and Martin. “We can’t let that happen.”

“Agreed,” I said, lifting the shotgun I’d acquired up for display. “We won’t do it with these.”

“I know,” Schiavo said, turning to her husband next. “Can you get us to the flight deck?”

He shook his head.

“Hangar deck,” he said.

Schiavo accepted that limitation with a nod.

“We’ll rope it from there,” she said.

* * *

A few minutes later we were in line behind Martin, following his lead along corridors and up steep stairs, some of which we’d traversed while cuffed and under guard. The further we progressed, the clearer it became to me that we were nearing the starboard side of the Vinson. Soon after that realization I felt the cool wash of ocean air.

“Through here,” Martin said.

He pushed the door to a compartment open, revealing a narrow opening to some sort of balcony hanging over the water.

“We have to be just below the island,” Hart said, his map keeping skills estimating our location.

“Two decks below,” Martin said. “But all access into the island is blocked. This is the only way to move up. There’s another balcony adjacent to this one. Maybe a five-foot gap. We just have to cross, step inside, and there’s a short set of stairs up to the hangar deck. It lets out behind a wall in the shadows. I’d imagine that’s how the ones who tried to hit you got access.”

I stepped to the edge of the space, where solid flooring ended and the steel mesh balcony began. In the weak starlight I could barely make out the next balcony over, just as Martin had described it. Above, running from one to the other, a pipe was mounted on thick supports.

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