Assault on Cheyenne Mountain (Denver Burning Book 4) Page 4

  “That’s your girl, Carson! Let’s move it!” Brunson broke into a trot, hurrying the other two along with his stick out.

  Doors in the main building flew open and guards boiled out. They quickly identified the breach in the prison fence and rushed toward it, shouting threats to the prisoners in the yard to stay back. They ran past the trio headed toward the helicopter with hardly a glance.

  Just as Carson and Khalil reached the helicopter, one more man exited the building. It was the blonde helicopter pilot, still clutching the briefcase with papers hastily shoved inside and sticking out at odd angles. He hurried toward his precious aircraft, ignoring the two prisoners and their guard. That was a mistake.

  Khalil’s shovel hit the man in the side of the head and dropped him like a sack of cement. Brunson watched it happen and then slid his truncheon back into his belt. “Okay, that takes care of him,” he said, raising an eyebrow in respect to the job Khalil had accomplished. The pilot lay on the ground, unmoving.

  They climbed into the chopper and Khalil began hurriedly checking over the controls. Carson slid into the copilot’s chair beside him, leaving Brunson to take a seat in the rear by the open bay doors.

  “Engine looks good. Fuel’s good—great, actually. Telemetry looks good. But I guess we won’t be needing that.” Khalil began flicking switches and the helicopter’s console came alive.

  “Khalil!” Carson hissed. “Forget that stuff. Emergency takeoff, man! Go! Go!”

  Khalil hit the starter button and fed fuel to the engine. “Okay, here we go. I’m gonna need a few seconds.”

  “How many?”

  “I don’t know. Like, thirty, maybe.”

  Carson turned and spoke to Brunson, who was fumbling with straps to secure himself. “Hey, you’ve got a sidearm, right? You might need to use it in a second here. Khalil says it will take thirty seconds to spin up.”

  Brunson nodded and drew his gun. “You got it. But Carson? Seriously, don’t ever mention my wife and kid to me again. Ever.”

  Carson ducked back into the cockpit and started strapping himself in.

  Khalil got the rotors spinning and then they began to lift off. Carson stared out of the cockpit at the guards swarming the breached fence. Some had hit the dirt, and others were scattering back toward the main building. They hadn’t even noticed the helicopter taking off yet. “They’re acting like someone’s shooting at them,” he said.

  Brunson yelled back over the rotor noise. “That’s because she is! We’ll need to land on the other side of that big hill so we can pick her up. Got that, Khalil?”

  The pilot nodded, and they rose above the level of the building’s roof and then lurched forward through the air.

  Finally rifle shots cracked from below, and Carson wondered desperately if the Hawk had any armor on its underbelly or crew seats. “Get us up, Khalil, up! You’re flying right over those guys!”

  “I know what I’m doing,” Khalil said, pushing the stick forward and swooping low over the heads of the guards in the yard. The men on the ground fell to earth as the scything blades of the chopper whirled and beat at them with a ferocious wind. Then they were outside the prison perimeter and Khalil banked hard to the left to get around a hill. The last they could see of the prison guards was several of them jumping back to their feet and waving, mouths open to utter inaudible screams of outrage. Then the mass of earth and trees obscured them from view, and the gunshots that rang out were impotent.

  It was exhilarating to be airborne. Carson felt a wave of gratitude and relief so powerful it nearly made him weep. In minutes he had gone from slave scheduled for execution to free and mobile, moving fast toward the future. He patted the wall of the cockpit and then squeezed Khalil’s arm. “You’re doing it, man!” He turned back to Brunson. “We’re doing it. We’re away!”

  Brunson grinned at him, leaning forward to yell over the engine noise. “Treason feels good!”

  Carson grinned back. “This isn’t treason, it’s emancipation. And they haven’t seen anything yet!” He scanned the scrub oak that covered the hillsides around them. “Where’s Agent Scala?”

  “Scala?” Brunson responded. “I don’t know that name. Your lady is coming down the hill right over there! Put it down, Khalil.” Brunson pointed, and Carson saw a woman in all-brown hunter’s camo running down the slope of the large hill between them and the camp. She held a rifle in her arms and didn’t even stop to look at the chopper, focusing only on keeping her footing as she raced downhill.

  Khalil swiveled toward her and slowed, bringing the Pave Hawk to a bumpy rest on the ground in an open patch at the valley between two low hills just to the west of the big one. They waited, rotors still thumping overhead, as the woman barreled down to the tiny valley floor and approached the chopper.

  “That’s… that’s Dana!” Carson said, voice catching in his throat. “Dana Ryan! I can’t believe what I’m seeing.”

  “Right,” Brunson said. “Like I said, she’s very determined. Never could have pulled any of this off without her. You’re very lucky.”

  “I thought she was dead,” Carson said.

  “Uh, nope,” Brunson replied, unbuckling himself to greet the woman and help her into the chopper.

  Dana leaped inside and grabbed on to the nearest seat. “Get us out of here!” she panted. “That took longer than I hoped. They’ll be coming any second.”

  Khalil cranked the turboshaft and the bird rose into the sky again. Soon they were headed north over the hills, far out of range of the guards at the prison.

  Carson found himself staring back into the passenger compartment of the chopper, unable to take his eyes away from Dana. She busied herself strapping in and then securing her weapon and other gear she had been carrying. But soon she looked up and caught his eye. She stared back for a second, and then looked away, embarrassed.

  Brunson reached over and clapped her on the knee. “You did it, Miss Ryan. You actually did it! Did you hit anybody down there?”

  Dana shook her head. “I wasn’t trying to. I didn’t want to hit a prisoner. No, I just kicked up some dust around them.”

  Part of Carson wanted to climb back there and kiss the woman he had given up for lost. But part of him was in agony and couldn’t quite grasp the reality that she was with him again. It didn’t help that she looked nothing like her old self. She had obviously come through even more extreme hardships to reach the prison than anything she’d faced at Hemingway Circle. Her hair was gone, her eyes were steely and dark, and she was skinny, almost bony. But he couldn’t take his eyes off her.

  Dana peered at Khalil until she seemed satisfied that he was indeed a skilled pilot and able to handle the craft. Then she looked at Carson again. “Hi,” was all she said.

  He gazed at her. “Dana. I… we have a lot to talk about. I’m so glad to see you.”

  “I’m glad to see you too, finally,” she replied. “It’s been a long, long time.”

  He nodded. “I can’t believe you came all this way. I can’t believe you’re here!” It was too much of a strain to yell over the rotor noise, so they gave up. But they continued gazing at each other for several minutes.

  The fuel tanks were mostly full, and Khalil kept them moving steadily north. They saw the city of Colorado Springs off to their left and blew past it at one hundred fifty miles per hour. It was a glorious feeling to know they were flying uncontested, with no other aircraft to pursue from behind and nothing ahead that could block their way.

  Within half an hour Denver appeared on the horizon, and Carson directed Khalil toward his old neighborhood. Down below, they could see people staring up at them. Dogs scattered, and flocks of birds took flight, startled at the noise after so long without any aircraft flying over.

  “Are you sure we want to head right through the city, man?” Khalil asked. “Where we gonna land?”

  “Trust me. There are weapons and supplies down there we’ll need,” Carson yelled back over the noise.

  “Hem
ingway Circle is not secure anymore,” Dana warned. “I guess it never was. Most of your stuff is still there, I imagine, but they know where you live. They’ll come looking for you here.”

  Carson agreed. “We land in the middle of the cul-de-sac, quick in and out, and then head north.”

  Khalil nodded, and several minutes later he set the chopper down neatly in the center of Hemingway Circle. The street looked as deserted as ever, for now. Rotor wash whipped up the trash littering the street and lawns.

  “Keep the engine going. If there’s danger, go up and circle.” Carson gestured for Brunson to follow him and slid out of his seat. They both jumped to the ground and ducked in a long run to Carson’s front door. Carson entered through the broken front window, senses alert. Brunson, handgun up and ready, followed.

  Minutes later they lifted clear of the dead street lamps and were back in the air, now with two hundred pounds of additional food, water, and gear. Carson and Khalil were armed, and Brunson toted a rifle in addition to his handgun, which he swept back and forth, covering the ground and rooftops as they gained altitude and moved north again.

  Brunson took the copilot’s seat this time, and Carson sat next to Dana. They watched their neighborhood fall away into the gathering dusk, wondering if they’d ever see it again, and Carson took Dana’s hand in his.

  “I’m sorry for how things went. I thought about you every day,” he said, wishing for a moment of quiet but needing to say something more to her.

  Dana nodded at him and sat quietly, appreciating the human contact. A brilliant sunset lit the western sky over the mountains as the eastern plains grew dark. She rested her head briefly against Carson’s shoulder.

  They were still holding each other’s hands when Khalil put the chopper down for the night on the concrete roof of a small, abandoned office building along a road outside of Erie. Brunson and Carson secured the roof access door while Khalil looked over the Pave Hawk. Dana watched from the roof to spot anyone approaching the building, but it had a clear field around it for half a mile and they weren’t concerned about intruders.

  As dusk gave way to night, they sat around a propane backpacking stove, cooking the freeze-dried meals they had selected and talking in low voices. Their situation was too precarious to be called festive, but there was still a quiet jubilation in the atmosphere. Brunson seemed to be at peace with his choice that day, Khalil and Carson were overjoyed to be alive and finally free of the prison camp, and Dana was quietly elated to be with Carson again.

  Finally, after the best dinner Carson and Khalil had eaten in months, they sat around the stove with a low burn on to ward off the chill spring night and they discussed their plans. Carson filled the others in on the details of his background and what he’d learned from Coulter and Tamare. He also told them of the mission objectives that had taken him to Colorado Springs.

  “My goal now,” he finished, “is to head to Longmont. I don’t have the key anymore, and Coulter’s probably already got his hands on the black box. But that facility is where we’ll best be able to pick up the trail that will lead us to 905T4. If the area is really a radiation zone, maybe it’s still there, but in any event I need to know what that facility was and why they would have housed a data drive that’s so important to Coulter. Whatever it is, it’s our best shot at unraveling this whole mess.”

  “It’s definitely a worth-while endeavor,” Khalil said, “and I’ve got nowhere to be. Not anymore. But if the area is irradiated, how are we going to get in there?”

  “Well, I don’t know for sure that it is,” Carson said. “Brunson, Khalil, did you hear anything while at the base about a nuclear disaster north of Denver?”

  They two men shook their heads. “But we didn’t pay much attention to anything outside of Colorado Springs,” said Brunson. “We were preoccupied with our own local problems. Speaking of which, I’d like to go after that Commissioner at some point.”

  “We’ll get to that,” Carson assured him. “That was another of my assignments. But it can wait. Let’s track down this black box first, get some answers. Somewhere, somebody is loving all this. I want to find them and ruin their day.”

  “Agreed,” said Khalil. “And strike back at Tamare. That guy is a huge part of the problem.”

  Carson turned to Dana. “How about you? You’ve been through a lot, and I don’t want to push you into anything more.”

  She gave him a long look. “Well, everything makes more sense now, after what you’ve told us. I’ll go along with you no matter what. Just don’t try to get rid of me again.”

  Carson grinned. “I won’t. You’ve won your spurs, and you can come as far as you like, although I can’t promise it’ll be pretty.”

  “Nothing’s pretty anymore, Carson.”

  “You are.”

  “Awww,” Khalil clowned, “look at the two lovebirds. How sweet.”

  Brunson kicked at Khalil and almost upset the camp stove. “Shut up, you heartless rotorhead.”

  Chapter 6: The Black Key

  “Check it out.”

  With headphones on, Khalil’s voice was clear even over the rotor noise. He tilted the chopper, giving them all a good look eastward over Longmont, Colorado and its surrounding area.

  Scala’s rumor had been half right. All buildings in the area were still standing, which ruled out any kind of actual nuclear blast. But the Fort St. Vrain Nuclear Plant seven miles away was visibly trashed, with part of the structure caved in. It was obvious that the rumors of a nuclear strike had their source in a reactor meltdown, not a warhead. The fear of radiation in the area had effectively cleared it of inhabitants; it was as desolate as Chernobyl.

  “Do we even land?” said Khalil. “The whole area might be radioactive, and we don’t know without a Geiger counter. We have no protection.”

  Carson studied the ground. From the air, he could see that the trees and grass to the south and west of the plant, mostly evergreens but with some poplars and cottonwoods, appeared reddish-brown and seemed to be withered or dying. The lines marking the affected area were fairly clear, and Carson did not see the same blight at any other point on the circumference of the area. The dying trees continued in a southwest swath past Longmont and into the hills, but didn’t seem to have affected the town itself or the foothills north of Longmont.

  “I think we’re okay,” he yelled into the mike. “You can see where the people south of Longmont wouldn’t have dared cross north through the dead zone, but we can just fly over it and set down beyond where the vegetation is dying. As long as we go in quick, we should be okay.” He paused. “No one else has to come.”

  “We’re coming,” Khalil said. “I think you’re right. We should be in the clear. It looks like a meltdown, not an explosion.”

  Even an exposure of one hour was probably relatively harmless, given how many months had passed since the meltdown. And when Carson measured the potential knowledge to be gained against the danger of the disaster zone, his choice was clear. It was worth the risk.

  Within minutes Khalil was hovering over the area Carson indicated on Bonner Drive, and they all watched as a horse, startled by the noise of the helicopter, bolted from a field it had been grazing in and galloped east down the middle of a street, mane tossing.

  “Hey, look!” Khalil pointed out. “That horse only has one head. I think we’re good.”

  Khalil settled the chopper down in the empty parking lot of the of the target building. It was a single-story structure with a huge generator and two satellite dishes outside. The helicopter’s engines powered down, and they exited, stretching their legs after the long flight.

  Brunson pointed. “Look.”

  To the southeast, perhaps a block away, a small herd of mule deer were grazing on the overgrown lawn of a deserted house.

  “Would animals be able to sense it if there was radiation around?” Dana asked.

  “Probably,” Carson said. “But I’m not sticking around long enough to do an in-depth study. We hav
e very limited time in there, given the radiation and the fact that the noise we made coming in is bound to attract attention soon. Let’s move.”

  They went to the front door of the bland, windowless building. The overgrown shrubbery around the perimeter testified to its abandoned, forgotten status. The only door was a solid rectangle of steel, painted a dull brown. A sign on the door said “Warning: High Voltage – Do Not Enter”.

  Brunson snorted. “High voltage? There’s no power lines going in or out.”

  “Could be underground,” said Khalil. “But that is odd. What is the point of this place?”

  “The point is to not attract any attention,” said Carson. “It’s supposed to be the most boring building around. The building everyone ignores because it’s so ordinary. Just another utility site.” He studied the door for a long minute. Then he turned to the others. “I have no key to this place. Coulter took it. So we’re going to have to do this the hard way. Khalil, is there a crowbar in the chopper, or an axe or anything?”

  “I have a way better idea.” Khalil was grinning maniacally. He pointed to the twin 7.62mm miniguns mounted on the side of the helicopter. “I have been dying to try those out.”

  Brunson chuckled, catching Khalil’s spirit of enthusiasm. “They would punch this door down pretty quick, wouldn’t they?”

  Carson considered for a moment. “You two worry me. But we are in a hurry, and we already made a lot of noise on our approach, so it’s not like we’re in stealth mode here.”

  “Wouldn’t it trash the building pretty badly?” Dana asked.

  “Nah,” Khalil answered. He was already walking toward the chopper. “And besides, it’s not like anyone’s using it now, right?”

  He climbed into the helicopter and routed power to the guns. Then he climbed over to sit behind the gun mount that faced the building. The others stood behind the chopper, well back from the gun.