Grand Hyatt Hotel
Manhattan, New York
Atlas sat with his back against the wall of the hotel room they had been assigned, a suite commandeered for the emergency. The entire Bravo Team were spread about, plus enough gear to fight a small war. Their mission wasn’t traffic control or even riot control. They were a rapid reaction force meant to deal with foreign governments or terrorists attempting to take advantage of the situation. He expected little if any action.
Yet he was antsy.
His sister lived about ten miles from here, and he hadn’t been able to reach her. Her cellphone was going directly to voicemail, the system apparently overwhelmed despite pleas from the government to stay off the phones. She was a nurse, and all medical personnel had been asked to report to work if possible, with the vast majority doing so.
And if he knew his sister, she’d have been first in line.
“Man, I’m going shack-whacky.”
Sergeant Will “Spock” Lightman’s eyebrow rose at Niner’s outburst. “We’ve only been here a few hours, and you’re already complaining?”
Niner leaped to his feet, pacing in front of the window, wisps of smoke dotting the horizon as rioters and vandals took advantage, lighting fire to abandoned cars with near impunity. “We should be out there, doing something. I mean, we’re twelve highly trained, handsome with some exceptions”—he eyed Jimmy who flipped him the bird—“soldiers, living the high-life in a fancy hotel, rather than getting out there and kicking some ass! This city is falling to pieces, and it’s only a few people responsible for it.”
Dawson grunted. “A few thousand would be more accurate.”
“Yeah, but drop us in the middle of one of the hot zones, and we can clean that up before nightfall.”
“It would mean killing Americans.”
Niner shrugged. “So? The moment they started looting they lost their rights, as far as I’m concerned.”
Dawson’s head bobbed slowly. “Maybe. But how do you separate the looters from those just trying to survive?”
Spock raised a finger. “Umm, the one with the jug of milk is trying to survive, the one with the TV isn’t?”
Dawson laughed. “That’s one way.” He motioned toward the television, CNN playing. “We might be called in regardless. This is getting out of control. They’re shooting at the resupply helicopters now.”
Niner stopped his pacing and spun toward the television. “Are you kidding me? Why the hell would they do that?”
“The gangs emptied the stores, now there’s already a black market for food and water. If the supplies get through, then there goes their profit.”
Niner cursed, throwing his hands up in the air then clasping them behind his neck. “This country has gone to hell in just days. What’s it going to be like tomorrow?”
“According to the President’s address this morning, ‘better.’”
Niner glanced at Spock. “Riiight. And he knows that how?”
“Things are starting to move. The ships have switched back to manual methods, so are moving again. The trains are running again. The airports are open. It’s just getting things in and out of the cities that’s the problem.”
Niner pressed his forehead against the wall of glass and peered down at the streets below. “Have you looked outside? There’re thousands of abandoned cars. And it’s not just a matter of the owners coming back for them. When the National Guard bulldozed their way into the cities, they created thousands of wrecks that’ll have to be hauled away. That’s going to take weeks, if not months, to deal with.”
Spock grunted. “Bus pass sales will go up, I guess.”
Niner turned to the unusually silent Atlas. “You’ve got family here, don’t you?”
Atlas looked up at him. “Yeah. My folks and my sister and her kids.”
Niner sat in one of the chairs, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “Have you been able to reach them?”
Atlas frowned. “My folks are visiting family outside of New Orleans, so they’re fine. I talked to my sister last night, but haven’t been able to reach her since.”
Dawson reached out and patted his friend’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t read anything into that. Most of the phone systems are jammed.”
“Jesus, look at this!”
They all turned toward Spock, pointing at the television, a banner splashed across the bottom of the screen.
“Vice President Kidnapped!”
Dawson’s phone rang and he answered it, speaking in hushed tones for a moment before ending the call. “They want a team in DC.” He pointed at Atlas who raised his hand, cutting off what was about to come.
“BD, you know I hate to ask this, but can I stay here?”
Dawson nodded. “Done.” He turned to Niner. “Niner, Spock, and Jimmy, you’re with me. Red, you’re in command here, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“That leaves everything pretty much wide open.”
Dawson grinned then pointed at Red’s furry red lid. “While you’re waiting, why don’t you give that thing a shave?” He jerked a thumb at Niner. “You’re scaring my boy here.”
Red drew his bowie knife and ran the razor sharp blade between his thumb and forefinger. He glanced at Niner. “Tennis ball decked out for Valentine’s Day, huh?”
Niner flipped over the back of his chair, putting it between him and Red. “Hey, who told you?”
The entire room replied in unison, “I did.”
Niner looked about. “Hey, most of you weren’t even in Mexico!”
Red stepped toward him. “News travels fast.”
“Yeah, and mouths apparently run fast too.” He held up his hands. “Hey, I think it looks great. It was meant as a compliment. I mean, who doesn’t like Valentine’s Day. And tennis? I mean, come on, tennis is awesome! And those fuzzy balls, why, they’re so cool. I could spend hours playing with fuzzy balls like those.”
The room groaned.
“Hey, that came out wrong!”
“So you like to play with fuzzy balls?”
Flies unzipped around the room.
Niner jabbed a finger at Atlas. “Don’t you dare. We might be about to go into battle and I don’t want my comrades here feeling inadequate.”
Atlas gave him a look, enjoying the momentary distraction at Niner’s expense. He squeezed his package. “Nobody has ever called them tennis balls.”
Niner grinned. “Volleyballs?”
Atlas’ head bobbed. “Once or twice.”
Niner jabbed a finger at Atlas’ nether region. “Keep them holstered. I don’t need to be traumatized before I go into action.”
“Your loss.”
Niner turned his attention back to the knife-wielding Red. “Get your ass in the bathroom and put that thing to use.”
Red tapped the side of his head with the dull edge of the blade. “So let me get this straight. You like to play with fuzzy balls, we’ve established what kind of balls those are, so essentially, what it boils down to is, you called me a dickhead.”
Niner’s eyes went wide for a moment, his head tilting to the side. “Umm, close one eye for me, and I’ll let you know.”
The room roared with laughter as Red lunged at Niner, Niner hopping back toward the door.
Red turned to Dawson. “BD, you better get him out of here, I’m liable to test my blade out on that turkey waddle he calls a set.”
Niner feigned personal injury. “One harmless little comparison to a red tennis ball, and we degenerate into ball shaming.”
Atlas’ impossibly deep voice delivered the knockout blow. “With balls like those, shame is the only honest reaction.”
Niner bit a knuckle then turned to Dawson, his voice cracking with his best Eddie Murphy Delirious impression. “Tito, get me a tissue.”
Dawson rolled his eyes. “Let’s go before I kill you.” He jabbed a finger at Red. “And I’m serious, you should do something about that. Your wife’s already called the Colonel asking him to order you to.”
The entire room roared, Red blushing slightly as he ran his hand through the fuzzy top he had grown since his ordeal in Syria. “Is it really that bad?”
“Yes!” cried the chorus.
He frowned. “Fine. Did anybody bring some clippers?”
“Yeah.” Atlas rose and grabbed his electric razor with trimmer, tossing it to Red. “You might want to rinse it out first.”
Red looked at it. “Why?”
“Because the last time I used it was on my volleyballs.”