"She was lost and gone forever, dreadful sorrow Clementine," Ross sang under his breath, not sure why the song had gotten stuck in his head. He backed out of the driveway while fishing through the glove box for his spare phone.

"Gotcha. Call boss man."

After a couple of rings, he thought he might not get in touch with Mike. In the back of his mind, he knew he'd have to come up with a plan.

"FBI director's cell phone. How may I help you?"

The woman's voice startled him.

"Who is this? Why didn't the director pick up?"

Gunfire cracked in the background. "He's a bit busy. This is Janice."

Janice had been the director's secretary for many years. A buxom woman of about sixty years. She loved to wear her traditional African tribal gowns to work. Ross imagined her in a colorful Kanga with matching headdress.

"Janice, it's Agent Harris. Is he safe?"

"Sounds like they're fighting a war out there."

Ross shook his head. "Did they receive the present we sent over?"

"I'm not sure what you're talking about but a couple of helicopters just dropped off two huge crates in front of the building here in Seattle."

Weapons? 

"Can you take him the phone?"

She whispered, "I'm hiding in a closet. They told me to stay put."

"Please, Janice. Try and get the phone to him. Take one step at a time. You see anyone without clothes on, duck and cover. Got it?"

Janice whimpered when she opened the closet door. The gunfire grew louder as she bustled down the hall.

"Dan," she said. "Where's Mike?"

Dan Burns happened to be the epitome of an FBI office geek. "Get back in the closet. Are you crazy?"

"I've got Agent Harris on the line. He needs to talk to Mike."

"Jesus. Okay. Give me the phone and get back to your hiding place." Static whispered in the background as the cell exchanged hands.

"Dan. Dan."

"Agent Harris?"

"Yeah. Where's Mike."

"We've got six or seven bogies out there. I think they're testing your new weapons on them."

Bullets cracked in the background. "Wait. They already reproduced the agent."

Dan didn't answer. Mike did.

"Harris. Where the hell are you?"

"Headed West. I'm looking for the Staten Trill."

"The what?"

"The first one. Savannah Staten. We need to find her. She may be key to ..."

"Great. Kill her and all the other bastards with her. This serum is working like Crackerjacks."

"What's the sitrep?" Ross swerved to miss a turned over bus. Torn up people dangled from the windows.

"Defcon four, son. President announced it this morning. Hordes of Trills are gathering the world over. Hundreds of thousands are marching on larger cities. Smaller groups took to the outskirts. They're tearing cities apart, killing every human. The President is calling it an extinction event. However, your doctor is brilliant. The serum works. We're having it put into tracer rounds with an armor-piercing tip. It's working out. I got one a little while ago. Keep up what you're doing. Gotta go."

Someone yelled, "East side! East side!"

"Kick ass and take names, Harris."

"You too ..." The phone went dead.

Tracer rounds. A brilliant idea. At least the Washington rats came up with something.

The phone buzzed and startled him. "Harris here."

"Harris, this is Major Bingham at Hill Air Force base in Utah."

"Hello, Major. Any intel for me?"

"Yeah. We picked up your group of Trills headed from Waldport Oregon; they're making a beeline for Corvallis. We satellite tagged your female and have her on GPS for you. I'm uploading the info to your cell phone now. Good luck."

"Thank you, sir." Ross thumbed through the programs on his phone until he found what he needed. The GPS showed the female Trill near the town of Philomath. Driving wasn't going to get him there fast enough and he didn't have the firepower he needed to take on an entire pack.

Time to call in a few favors.

Ross called and set up a rendezvous with a Coastguard helicopter at Tigard High-School. The Major had called back and said he'd be sending a package with guns and the new ammunition. They asked if he wanted any help, but he'd turned them down. He needed to get close to Savannah, build on the trust a little more. If he came in with a swat team or soldiers, she'd be out of there in a heartbeat.

Before he arrived at the football field he saw the parachute fall from the C-17 soaring high above. The package came to a sliding halt just outside the fence.

Ross scanned the sky for the helicopter he'd requested but found only Oregon storm clouds billowing above. He pulled the rig next to the large army issue duffle bag with the parachute waving in the wind behind it, hopped out and tossed the bag into the back seat.

Inside he found a plethora of guns and ammunition: two 9mm Desert Eagle pistols, two 9mm submachine guns, an M16, a .50 Tach sniper rifle (with infrared scope) and two bags of the new ammo for each. If he took out the males from a distance and isolated Savannah, maybe he'd have a chance to corner her and build on what report he had with her. Otherwise, she'd likely kill him.

The deep-orange helicopter buzzed overhead and made a wide arc in the sky before it swooped down and hovered above the center of the football field. Ross pulled the bag of weapons from the back seat and threw the strap over his shoulder.

"Holy shit this is heavy."

He waited for the helicopter to land. Instead, they dropped a rope ladder.

"Sonofabitch." They expect me to climb this thing with two hundred pounds of weapons and ammunition on my back?

Without hesitation, he latched on. One of the occupants leaned out. His helmet with dark visor reminded Ross of one of the pilots in Star Wars. His arm stretched out with a thumb up. Ross reciprocated the gesture and felt the rope start to rise. Good, at least he didn't have to climb it with the pack on.

He tightened his grip as the ladder ascended towards the open side-door of the helicopter.

A burly Guardian leaned out and pulled Ross in. He handed him a headset and motioned for him to sit in one of the empty seats. Ross strapped in.

"Welcome aboard, sir," he heard but wasn't sure which of the four men had said it. Then the pilot turned to him. "We should be above our destination in about five minutes."

"Thanks. We need to beat this group to Philomath." He handed the pilot the GPS.

"Shouldn't be a problem. Doesn't look like they're moving very fast."

Ross gave him a thumb up. "Appreciate the help fellas."

He unzipped the bag and started loading the weapons, slapping in clips and setting safeties on.

The pilot turned again and held up the phone. "They're close. You might have five to ten minutes to set up before contact. Where do you want us to drop you, sir?"

Ross took the phone. His fingers danced over the screen as he searched for a satellite image of the area. When he found one, he combined the image with the location of Savannah on his grid.

"If you drop me on the roof of the Philomath Fire Department, I should be able to intercept the female before she gets to town."

"You got it." This time, the pilot didn't turn around.

Savannah and her group had picked up their pace as if she knew Ross's plan. If he got lucky, he might have five minutes to set up before she came into range.

"We're here, sir." The stocky Guardian gathered a rope. "We'll lower you using this line."

"Sure thing."

The man wrapped a harness around Ross's chest and secured it before he opened the door.

"Just step out and we'll do the rest."

"Thanks again fellas, wish me luck."

"Good luck," they all said in unison.

Ross smiled at the soldiers, strapped the weapons bag over his shoulder, and stepped into the air. The helicopter grew smaller as they lowered him on the pulley. Ross thought it might be good to have some help but he had to do this alone. Time to use some good old-fashioned charm and expert marksmanship.

Please vote, comment, and share if you are enjoying the story.