By the beginning of the fifth day, and by the time warmer air fed into the north, a third of the U.S. population was dead.

*****

Captain Mallory and his group had found another clean hangar in which to spend the night. It was not as comfortable as the one the previous night, but with the gas heaters on, it soon became comfort able and the group bedded down once they had the standard fare of hamburgers and hot dogs followed by cheese and chocolate.

The weather got close to freezing outside and they decided to leave early, find their way to Raleigh’s airport, and then have breakfast. The fuel in their tanks would just make it, and after leaving a few dollar bills for the hangar owner from their now empty wallets, they left just after dawn with hot cups of black coffee and tea in hand. Two hours later, without seeing anyone else in moving vehicles, they reached the US 64 off-ramp and turned west towards Raleigh, their southern migration over for the time being.

Again, they noticed a slight increase in stranded vehicles as they got closer and closer to the city. A car sped by on the other side of the road and the occupants waved as they went past, driving towards the coast. Another car appeared in John’s rear view mirror, tailing them a half a mile behind. It shadowed them for several miles before it turned off the highway and disappeared.

They knew they were close when they entered the 440 Beltline around the state’s capital. Here, there were many more dead vehicles, but luckily a path had already been pushed through the pile of dead metal by other vehicles that had come before them—the Chinese convoy for one.

An old black Cadillac suddenly appeared on the other side of the highway coming towards them, with a second car close behind it, both driving through the wrecked traffic pretty fast. Captain Mallory could hear gunshots coming from them as he rolled down his window. The two cars seemed to be engaged in a gun battle with each other and ignored the convoy as they passed 20 yards away on the other side of the highway.

The group drove onto I-40 as the signposts to the airport directed them to. The cemetery of stranded cars and trucks was much heavier here, as this part of the road was the direct connection between Raleigh and Durham. There must have been many people travelling around midnight four days ago. There were blackened wrecks everywhere, and for the first time since Washington, the SWAT truck had to carefully force its way through tangled wreckage.

Captain Mallory thought he heard aircraft engines as they neared the off-ramp to the airport, and then three small, black dots flew over the gap in the trees a couple of miles in front of them. One of them, he recognized, was an old DC-3 going into the airport.

By now, his fuel gauge was on empty and he radioed back to John to find out that his was the same. They slowly crept up the high way off-ramp and turned right towards the airport. It took several more twists and turns before they came across the two blackened cars close to the underpass that Martie had told him to look out for.

They had already been moved to one side and the convoy continued into the airport itself.

The captain headed for the private terminal entrance and found the gate he had been told to look for, guarded in plain sight by U.S. Air Force guards. As he stopped in front of the gate and switched off the faithful truck’s engine he also saw a FedEx Cargomaster taxiing towards the guard tent. They had reached their first official destination.

*****

Breakfast was being served in the White House. The president had left Seymour Johnson at 7:00 am and arrived at Andrews at 8:30. Buck had fired up the Huey, and the general was already getting Ghost Rider refueled to continue on his base tour. Buck had taken off with the president, the ambassador, Manuel, their three bodyguards, and cases of food supplies for the Colombian Embassy.

Everyone apart from Buck and the president were getting off at the embassy, and helpful hands, shocked at seeing the U.S. President aboard the chopper, unloaded the several cases once they landed inside the embassy grounds. The Colombians asked Buck to fly in more supplies when he had a chance, and that for now they would protect their building.

Once everyone said their goodbyes and the president shook hands with many of the embassy staff, Buck rose off the grounds with the president in the front right seat and flew on to the White House. Both Buck and the president had a good chance to view the blackened mess that the capital city had become.

“I count about a dozen large areas where aircraft must have gone down,” Buck stated as he flew over the damaged Pentagon, and the untouched Capitol building.

“I think that we need to discuss when you can pick me up again,” answered the president, over the intercom. “I want to get the official letters printed for Preston, Manuel, and you as my private pilot, and you might as well have breakfast with me while they are typed up. I’m sure we must have a typewriter somewhere at the White House.”

“Picking you up, Mr. President is not a problem. It will take me about 90 minutes to get to the White House from Preston’s airfield and 90 minutes to get back. I can do it without having to refuel. I’m sure you will get permanent communications soon, as the general is getting a military radio sent in with an old jeep later today. They are also looking for other vehicles to commandeer. You will be patched into Andrews and then you will be able to communicate to Raleigh, Hill, and Edwards.”

There was an inch of new snow on the White House lawn when Buck readied to land, and an icy wind howled out of the northwest, making it pretty tough to get the Huey down in a gentle and disciplined way. The Secret Service was happy to have the president back but the bodyguards stared in disbelief when they saw him exit the Huey with no security detail.

By this time, the kitchen was running, a large section of the downstairs had electricity, and the rooms were warm. It was good to sit down in a hospitable White House and have breakfast.

They chatted for a couple of hours. Buck was introduced to the First Lady and the children, while the president was making some decisions about his next moves.

“I would like to go down and help with the food distribution project, and I’m sure my wife and girls would enjoy getting out of here,” he explained. His family nodded in agreement. “Will and Maggie Smart’s kids would give them other children to mix with, and I know my wife would love to get involved. There is no reason for me to sit here and do nothing, it will drive me crazy,” he added.

The president called for one of the office staff and dictated the necessary letters he wanted, and asked if they could be typed out on official White House letterhead. The staffer replied that a Commodore computer had been located with a working printer, and they were working on refilling it with ink. He would have the paper work within the hour.

“You know what Buck? It’s time I became a real leader again and gave orders myself. What is the weather like?”

“Certainly a bad storm to our north,” replied Buck. “I would say that going further north in the next few hours is not good. It seems that the more severe conditions are north of here and Washington seems to be on the edge of it.”

“Do you think you can fly into Dover Air Force Base in Delaware?”

“It’s about 100 miles due East of Andrews. I would think that the weather is no worse than here,” answered Buck.

“Good, get on your helicopter radio and find out where General Allen is. I believe he will be headed into Dover pretty soon. If he is, tell him to wait for us and organize some fuel. I want to talk to him.” Buck did as he was told and picked up a faint Ghost Rider transmission on the radio. The general was on his way to Dover from Langley Air Force Base in Virginia and confirmed that he would be available for the president.