The Shift: Book II of the Wildfire Saga (44 page)

"
I don't like the way those clouds look, Actual
,” Garza said.

As Alston stepped between two buildings, he looked west into the darkening sky.
 
The storm was moving fast.
 
The lower clouds looked so dark they were almost black.
 
He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
 
Get real, what are the chances of getting hit by a tornado in November?
 
He glanced at the sky again and frowned.
 
On the other hand…stranger things have happened—like getting shot down in a plane full of Marines over Kentucky by Russians.

"Golf, we need to find temporary quarters most riki tic.“

"
Already there
.”
 
As the group approached, Garza stood and walked across the street, giving a bloated corpse
 
in the middle of the road wide berth.
 

Alston leaned next to a crumpled 4-door sedan and tried to hide how desperately he needed to catch his breath.
 
Gunnery Sergeant Morin jogged forward and took a long look at Alston.
 
His eyes narrowed and he turned to Garza.
 

Alston winced.
 
He knows.
 
Damn.

"What you got in mind?" asked Gunny Morin.

"Just up the street, a block to the west," Garza said making a hatchet motion with his hand.
 
"Got a church—looks in pretty good shape.
 
Clear field of fire all around.
 
I'm thinking that’s the most secure place we've seen so far.”

Alston forced himself to stand free of the car and blinked away the spots in his vision.
 
He wasn't immediately thrilled with the idea of hiding in a church, since in times of sickness and crisis a lot of people might gather there.
 
That could get messy.
 
He glanced around, examining the deserted shops that lined Main Street.
 
They all had large windows.
 
The church looked like their best option.

Alston nodded, relenting.
 
“Put on your Sunday best, folks.”

A gust of warm wind buffeted them and stirred the trash.
 
The odors that encircled the little group were extraordinary.
 
Alston had been in some pretty rough spots around the world as far as sanitation was concerned, but this was a whole new experience.
 
One of the Marines gagged and doubled over to dry heave next to a parked car.
 
The others looked on, not even bothering to ridicule him.

“Oh my,
God
,” groaned Huntley.
 
“That smell!”

Garza made a face and turned away.
 
"Storms comin’ in quick, sir.”
 
He coughed.
 
“This is just nasty.”

“It’s like your cooking,” muttered Deuce.

“
Besa mi culo, puto!
”

Deuce laughed and slapped Garza on the shoulder.
 
After a moment, the smaller Ranger grinned.

“What did he say?” asked Huntley.

“He told him to kiss his ass,” replied one of the Marines with a smile.

Alston cleared his throat.
 
They were wasting time and making noise.
 
Bad ideas behind enemy lines.
 
Alston stepped into the middle of his charges.
 
"Sgt. Garza will check out that church,” Alston said, pointing down the street.
 
“If it looks clear, we’ll make it our new base of operations.
 
It's not a five-star resort, but I think it's the best we can do under the circumstances."

Garza tested the front door, found it unlocked, and disappeared inside the building.
 
The medic reappeared a moment later, looked around, and flashed a thumbs-up.
 
“
All clear.
 
Got one body inside
.”
 

Thunder rumbled in the distance.
 
Alston looked up.
 
Time was running out.
 
They needed to get off the streets and do it soon.
 
If the Russians sent ground forces after them, their first stop would be Brikston.
 

Before signaling to move out, Alston checked the magazine in his rifle.
 
Everything was good to go and ready for action.
 
He coughed and looked over his troops.
 
Gunny Morin met his eye and Alston stifled a curse.
 
He knows now, too.

Alston’s men formed a protective ring around Chad and 13.
 
The Marines grouped in a similar formation around their wounded comrades.
 
All of them wore grim faces and gripped their rifles tight.
 
No eyes rested in any one spot for too long.
 
Everyone was alert and wary.
 
That was exactly what Alston wanted.

"Actual, Golf.
 
This place is clear.
 
I'm on the northwest side—I see movement down the street.
 
Recommend you hustle.”

That was all the motivation Alston needed.
 
“We are Oscar Mike."
 
He stood up.
 
"Let's go, everybody, on the double.”

Alston led his group down the street to the church as quickly as their injuries would allow.
 
The wind began to pick up and bits of trash and leaves swirled in little eddies across the street and down alleys.
 
The smell was absolutely atrocious, buffeting them like a physical presence.
 
There were two bodies in the street near the entrance.
 

Garza held the door open as the Rangers led Chad and his charge into the darkness.
 
The Marines quickly followed suit and after one final check to make sure the coast was clear, Alston stepped inside the vestibule and shut the door against the gathering storm.
 
He peered through the closest window and the view outside quickly darkened.
 
The first fat raindrops splattered against the window like a bug hitting a car windshield.
 
Thunder shook the church to its foundation.

Just in time.

He stepped through the vestibule and closed the heavy wooden inner doors behind him before walking into cool, putrid air of the nave.
 
His first order of business would be to remove that body by the altar.
 
Then he’d secure the perimeter, post guards, and take stock of their supplies.
 

Alston looked around the shadow-filled nave.
 
It wasn’t an ideal defensive position, but the church would have to do.
 
“Zuka, Deuce," he called out.
 
“Mr. Huntley, you too, please.”

"Over here, sir,” said Zuka, up by the altar.
 

“Found the priest,” added Deuce, looking at the body.
 
“This place needs an air freshener.”
 
The sound of his voice was swallowed by the cavernous sanctuary.

"You two secure all the exterior doors.
 
Make sure everything is locked and barricaded with whatever you can find."
 
He turned to one of the Marines.
 
"Corporal, you go with them."

"Yes, sir."
 
The Marine shouldered his weapon and moved off across the church, his footsteps muffled by the blue commercial-grade carpeting.
 
As soon as he’d turned his back, Alston coughed into his elbow.

“Mr. Huntley, could you move the priest’s body outside?”

“Me?” he said, glancing at the limp form by the altar.

“Yes, sir.
 
You can’t get sick, right?”
 
Huntley nodded.
 
“Then you’re the only one here who can do it without getting infected.”
 

Huntley clenched his jaw and took a deep breath.
 
“You’re right.
 
I’ll get him outside.”
 
He moved off toward the altar.

Alston turned back to Garza as Huntley reached down to grab the dead priest.
 
"Garza, make sure our wounded are comfortable and find a place for our HVTs."

"The priest’s vestry is up there behind the altar," suggested Garza, watching Huntley drag the corpse around a statue of the Virgin Mary toward the emergency exit.

"Perfect,” Alston wheezed.
 

He turned to 13.
 
"Ma’am, I need you and Mr. Huntley to follow Sgt. Garza.
 
You’ll be safer in there.”

 
"Sounds good to me," said Huntley’s voice as he reappeared behind the altar.
 
He wiped his hands on his jeans.
 
His shirt had been spotted by rain and he had a thoroughly disgusted look on his face. He gave Alston a long look before he put his arm around 13 and helped her limp to where Garza stood waiting at the door to the vestry.

Alston muffled another cough on his forearm and winced at the pain in his throat.
 
Damn it all.
 
He
turned back to face the large wooden doors at the front of the church.
 
He glanced back to the altar and saw one large, golden candelabra standing next to the altar.
 
Another had been knocked over and lay on the floor, halfway up the steps.
 
Alston walked over to that one, mindful of the blasphemous muddy prints he left on the blue carpeting.
 

He picked up the candelabra, tested its weight, and went back to the main doors to wedge it against the handles.
 
Alston shoved the heavy doors to test their strength and nodded in satisfaction.
 

The fast-approaching storm was almost on top of them.
 
Thunder rattled the church again.
 
He heard the hanging light fixtures jingle and looked up.
 
The vaulted ceiling was probably two floors up and looked like the underside of a boat.
 
The ribs and beams that held up the roof were fully exposed.

Alston shifted his gaze when lightning strobed through the stained glass windows on either side of the aisle.
 
More windows on the second level.
 
He turned in a circle and faced the main doors again.
 
There was a small balcony above those heavy oak doors.
 
The perfect spot for a sniper hide.
 
He found a stairwell off to the side of the main entrance that led up to the balcony overlooking the nave and went up.
 

From his perch, he could hear banging and scraping noises coming from the far side of the church—Deuce and Zuka were hard at work, securing the exits.
 
Satisfied that there was no immediate threat, he leaned his rifle against the wooden railing and let his knees sag until most of his weight was carried by the rail.
 
It felt good to relax, even for a moment.
 
He needed to catch his breath—every time he tried to suck down air, it felt like he was doing so through a wet sponge.
 

He could see every square inch of the building from his location.
 
Behind him, he found stained glass rosettes—circular windows with the individual panes of the window shaped to form petals in a delicate pattern.
 
He peered through the dark colors and could just make out the street below.
 
Lightning crackled and the world went bright pink.
 
Thundered erupted right overhead as soon as he’d seen the pink light.
 
That was close.
 

As he listened to his own breath rattling in his lungs, he wondered if this would be the last thunderstorm he would ever hear.
 

The stained glass window on the right was about 3 feet in diameter and didn’t appear to open.
 
The one on the left was the same size, but unlike its partner, had a small latch at the top and a tarnished brass hinge on either side of the circle.
 
He unlocked the latch and slowly pushed at the bottom of the window outward.
 
The top part creaked and moved in toward his face.
 
The sound of the storm bombarded his ears almost as much as the ozone smell that assaulted his nose.
 
Through the top half of the window, he could see in the dim light, rivers of rain washing down into the trash-clogged gutters.

He frowned.
 
It was terrible exposure—anyone from the street could look up and see right in through the odd window gap.
 
Not so good for a sniper, but it was the best that he had.
 
He lay down on the floor and rested his rifle on the lip of the circular window, struggling not to cough.
 
If he made himself as small a target as possible, he figured that the dark interior of the church would at least offer him some protection from people on the street.
 
He peered left and right, up and down the street and realized he had a pretty good angle of fire no matter where he looked.
 
There was no way anyone coming to the front door would be able to sneak up on them.

He coughed, a disturbing wetness in his chest.
 
When his coughing spasm subsided enough that he could breathe, he keyed his radio and tried to speak slow and steady.
 
Maybe if he remained calm he wouldn’t cough as much.
 
“Zuka,” he said.

"
Yeah?
"

"Grab whatever supplies you need and get up to the balcony at the front of the church.
 
You’re overwatch."

“
Hooah
,” replied Zuka.