CyberWar: World War C Trilogy Book 3

by Matthew Mather

  “He’s not wrong,” Chuck said to me, glancing at Damon. “I mean Archer isn’t wrong. Tyrell was involved in all this. His satellites wiped out everything up there. He and the senator had to have something going on.”

  Damon rolled his eyes but didn’t look up from his laptop.

  The awkward sensation of being a referee had returned, of being a nexus that two sparring sides trusted as a go-between. Problem was, one of the sides wasn’t being honest, and I had no idea which. Just because one side had to be wrong didn’t mean the other one had to be right. They both could be wrong.

  I was still looking at Archer, who stared back at me with wide eyes, the look asking me what I was going to do. “Maybe we should untie him,” I said and looked back to the road.

  “He did just try to blow a hole in you,” Damon pointed out.

  “Yeah, but he also let you tie him up.”

  “We had four guns pointed at him.”

  The more I thought about it, the more I realized Archer had let us tie him up. He could have probably fought his way out of the jam that Chuck had gotten him into. If he really wanted to take Senator Seymour to Washington, we would all be lying in a heap back in the cave.

  Archer had listened to Senator Seymour in the end. He hadn’t hurt us.

  I said, “I don’t think that mattered.”

  “He’s the only one who’s an outsider,” Damon said.

  Chuck replied, “You were once an outsider to us.”

  Damon didn’t say anything to that, but opened an image on his laptop. “The American military is now at DEFCON 1. There’s talk in a New York Times article of a limited nuclear strike against China. The Chinese have mobilized their nuclear attack subs, and Russia has warned the United States against it. The Russians are demanding peace negotiations.”

  Up ahead, a familiar figure loomed into view, walking along the side of the road.

  The man was stooped over and moving slowly. Burned forests swept up into the West Virginia foothills past the flattened rows of corn.

  “Stop the truck,” I said.

  “That’s Farmer Joe,” Luke said, standing in his seat and pointing forward.

  If I was my son’s superhero, then Joe was his hero. The Robin to my Batman, although I really felt it was the other way around. Joe was a certifiable warrior. He’d fought with the 101st Airborne, the Screaming Eagles, back in Vietnam. When we were here the week before, Joe had told us some harrowing stories of his fighting days.

  “Stop the truck,” I said to Chuck. “Park it over there. Behind those trees to the side. Go slow, keep quiet.”

  They hadn’t seen us yet. Of course. We were in an invisible spaceship. Two men walked together with Joe. Wasn’t sure who they were yet. Was it possible someone got here ahead of us? Irena and Terek had been there just a week before, same as us. Were they force-marching Joe ahead of them? The men didn’t look threatening.

  But it was always better to be on the safe side.

  Which was just the advice Farmer Joe had given me a few days before.

  Chapter 30

  “AFRAID WE WOULD be seeing you again,” Farmer Joe said.

  The man spoke with a wry smile that said he couldn’t be happier, though. He strode purposefully if slowly along the hardscrabble edge of the field. The sun low in the sky behind him.

  The air was still heavy with the stench of burn, but already regaining the earthy smell of the farmland and the clear air of the Virginia mountains behind us. I recognized the two men walking with Joe. Percy and Rick, one the owner of the gas station in town, the other the manager of the diner across the street from it.

  My level of stress edged down to a low simmer.

  Joe held out his hand. “Is Oscar—”

  “We had some trouble.”

  Joe’s head dropped an inch, but he kept his hand up. “I was afraid of that, too.” The lines in his weathered face deepened.

  Luke was ahead of me. He didn’t run straight into Joe and wrap his arms around him, as I feared for an instant, but stopped short and held out his hand. Joe smiled and redirected his own into my son’s.

  Why did I fear Luke running into him? I wasn’t sure of Joe’s reaction if my son suddenly wrapped his arms in a hug around his body. My son thought of him as a real-life action hero, but I wasn’t sure the old man returned the affection.

  That, and Joe suddenly looked frail.

  He shook my hand next.

  “We need a doctor,” I said. “We need help. Susie’s hurt really bad, and Ellarose...”

  I turned and indicated behind me. Lauren came out of the scrub on the opposite side, Susie’s arm around her neck.

  “Where did you just come from?” Percy asked. “Did you walk here? I didn’t see any cars up on the road ahead.”

  He and Rick had rifles slung over their shoulders and followed five paces behind Joe. All three had recognized me the moment I had appeared on the far side of the street and waved, even if they’d been somewhat confused. The last time I saw Percy, he was hugging and thanking me for helping save the town. That was just a few days ago. He’d nodded a greeting, but now barely cracked a smile.

  “That’s not important,” Joe said. “Get on the horn and get some help out here, fast. Get that medic.” He pointed at a fallen tree in the shade. “Lauren, you get Susie sat down over there. Percy, Rick, you help them. Get them some water.”

  “Luke,” I said. “Go help your mother.”

  Joe waited for Luke, Rick, and Percy to cross to them before asking, “Now tell me, what happened to Oscar?” He turned his back to the others and held a hand up as he looked into the sun.

  I turned with him. “They ambushed him.”

  Joe turned and inspected more of the blue sky. “By ‘they’ I assume you mean the same people you brought here? The terrorists?”

  “I’m sorry. We found the car up at the cabin, but we didn’t find his body. We didn’t have time. Maybe he’s alive.”

  “But probably not. And son, never be sorry. Just do your level best.”

  What was he looking for? I followed his eyes as he scanned the heavens. He took another few steps away from the others. Unsteady steps. He held a hand out, warning me not to try and help him.

  “Who else do you have in that vehicle up there?” Joe asked.

  I hesitated.

  “My eyes are still sharp, young man. That shimmering in the road up there,” Joe said, “some kind of fancy camouflage?”

  I paused again, but this time from amazement. “How did you know?”

  “I might be old, but I still read. A metamaterial coating? I’ve seen it in videos.”

  I felt like I was the only one who thought the technology was bordering on magic.

  Joe heaved in a wheezing deep breath.

  I checked behind me. Percy and Rick helped my wife and Susie to the fallen tree and were asking them questions and talking into a phone. A distant whine began in the distance toward the farmhouse. I could just make out the barn and top of the church next to Joe’s place across the flattened cornfields to my left.

  Joe gasped in another breath.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  “The old ticker. Had a bit of an episode two days ago. Think my pacemaker needs a tune-up. Hard to get in touch with hospital people, as I’m sure you’re aware. My diabetes meds have run out, too. In a bit of frail shape, but I’m fine.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t kn—”

  “You didn’t answer my question, son.”

  My mind backtracked. “Question?”

  “Who’s in your fancy truck? Wouldn’t happen to be Senator Seymour, would it?” Joe stepped away from the others. He scanned the blue sky to his right. Avoided looking at me.

  Joe said quietly, “I am putting two and two together.” He began slowly pacing back and forth. “People don’t usually show up in a hundred-million-dollar piece of newfangled military hardware without someone important inside. You were just at his house, right? He is your wife’s uncle?” />
  “Right.” An admission of him being correct on all counts.

  “I assume you do not have the cavalry coming? Seeing as you are showing up here asking my ragtag for help? And seeing as you about single-handedly saved our town a few days ago, seems I’m not in a position to refuse you.”

  “Chuck was the one that drove here,” I said.

  “You don’t want our help?”

  “Susie is hurt bad. Lost a lot of blood. My wife and kids, the senator, we’re being chased—”

  “Some of the boys will be a mite suspicious of Senator Seymour,” Joe said. “We need to be careful how we do this.” He wiped a calloused hand through his white hair and stopped pacing back and forth.

  “Careful? I’m not sure I understand.”

  “We haven’t had much contact with the outside world in a few weeks now. No TV. No internet. Now not even any power. Just KLMB radio that’s still broadcasting from Portsmouth, two towns over. That and some ham radio operators, and the meshnet that your friend Damon installed here.”

  “Damon’s in the car, too,” I said.

  “And which we were then instructed to uninstall from our phones,” Joe continued, still scanning the sky, “and install a new government version. Which made people suspicious.”

  “Of what?”

  He laughed. “Suspicious of everything. We are at war, young man. We get little bits of information—about the terrorist attacks all over the country. The drone attacks.” He scanned the sky to my left. “About the president being killed.”

  “You heard about that?” We had only just found out ourselves.

  “And the conspiracy theories. About Senator Seymour being the leader of a deep state attack against our own government.”

  He stopped looking at the sky and turned his gaze to me.

  I said, “You don’t believe that, do you?”

  “Hard to know what to believe. Three days ago, the feds were here, taking that Range Rover you left behind. The one owned by your terrorist friends. Last time you showed up here, your best friends were the very same people that have wreaked havoc on our nation. You are not the best judge of character, young man.”

  “They fooled us, Joe. I don’t know what to say.”

  “Fool me once...” Joe started walking again.

  The whine from the direction of the farmhouse grew louder. A motorcycle and driver sped along a dirt road toward us and kicked up a plume of dust.

  Joe said, “So the president is really dead?”

  “I don’t know, to be honest. We accessed some news articles and videos from Fox and CNN. That’s what they are reporting. Joe, you can’t seriously think that Senator Seymour has anything to do with this?”

  “I do not know the man from a hole in my stone wall,” Joe replied. “Do you?”

  This time, he didn’t fidget or look away past me. His eyes locked with mine. He seemed to be searching, but this time inside of me, not through the sky overhead. I didn’t look away.

  I held his gaze.

  What did I believe?

  That was a loaded question to ask, even to myself. I had been wrong before, more than once, even when my gut screamed at me that I was right. I hadn’t been able to see things right before my own eyes. I had made mistakes that almost cost my family their lives.

  Joe said, “You gotta trust your gut, son.”

  “That’s what I’m worried about.”

  “And that’s what learning from our mistakes is for.”

  “Seymour has nothing to do with this,” I replied. “You think he’d be out here if he did?”

  “I’m asking you.”

  “That’s what I think. I think they’re trying to make us think he does.”

  “And who is ‘they’?”

  “I...” Now that was a good question. “The Chechens,” I replied after a pause. “Islamic terrorists. We heard reports they’ve hit targets all over the world.”

  “You really think that?”

  “Who else?”

  “I think we are fighting an enemy who creates deception at all levels,” Joe said. He turned and began walking back toward the others. “That attacks when it seems unable. That is active when it appears inactive. When they are near, seem as if they are far away.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Sun Tzu, son.”

  “So, you believe me?”

  He was the second person in as many days who had quoted Sun Tzu to me. Tyrell had said something similar the day before. I followed Joe. The rumble of the motorcycle rose in pitch as it approached, now coming up the paved road leading down from here to the Ohio River.

  “That man in your vehicle might just be the commander-in-chief of the country I have sworn to defend with my life. And we are now at war, make no mistake about it, and this is war being waged on our own soil. Our own wives and children are now in danger.” He quickened his pace. “You go and get the senator. I’ll tell Percy and Rick and the boys to dispel this nonsense. We got more important things to fight than each other.”

  “We have other people in the truck,” I said.

  “I don’t doubt it.”

  “We got one of them.”

  That stopped Joe in his tracks. “One of who?”

  “We captured one of the terrorists, up at Chuck’s cabin. Well, we didn’t. It was Archer.” I paused. He was also tied up in the back. How was I going to explain that?

  I realized I didn’t need to sugarcoat anything when it came to Joe. Explain it in no-nonsense terms, and Joe would cut away the chaff. A sense of relief swept over me. Joe would know how to make sense of all this nonsense, would be able to get us all in line. I hadn’t had time to think in the past twenty-four hours. My brain was scrambled goose eggs.

  The motorcycle roared the last fifty feet toward us and squealed to a stop. A pickup truck followed a half mile behind and cleared the dirt path from the farm to pull onto the paved road. The young man on the motorcycle pulled up his visor.

  He said. “Who needs the medical help?”

  Joe pointed up the road. Lauren and Susie were partly hidden by the overhanging branches by the fallen tree. Charred branches hung high over their heads and into the burnt hills in the distance behind them.

  “Name’s Travis,” the young man said and held out his hand.

  “Mike.” We shook.

  He disembarked from the bike and held the two handlebar grips to maneuver to the side of the road. “I should make it clear that I’m not a doctor.”

  I inspected his motorcycle. A Yamaha YZ. Trail bike. I used to ride dirt bikes when I was a kid. Lauren made me stop riding motorcycles when we met. Said they were death traps. Right now they seemed about as safe as anything.

  Luke took hold of my hand. I had almost forgotten he was with us. He had been listening to Joe and me talking. “I like the bike,” he said.

  “Thanks,” Travis replied. His bike had a large set of saddlebags, one each side, and he had an overstuffed backpack on, almost splitting at the seams.

  “If you’re not a doctor,” Luke said. “How are you going to help Aunt Susie?”

  “Your Aunt Susie is hurt?” Travis said. “She’s the one in the middle?”

  He squinted and pointed with his right hand while he kept the left guiding the bike.

  Luke nodded.

  The pickup truck was halfway up the paved road toward us. Someone waved out of the driver’s-side window. Were they waving or shaking a fist?

  “I was a medic in the army,” Travis said to Luke, then looked at me. “And an electrical technician. Jack of all trades, really. Had to be, out where we were stationed.”

  “I didn’t serve.” I thought he was looking at me to ask if I’d been in the army.

  But he wasn’t looking at me, he was looking past me. He frowned and turned his attention back to Susie up ahead. “I know who you are, sir,” he said. “Everyone in town does.”

  “Luke, why don’t you go up and get everyone else out of the vehicle?” Joe said to my son. “
If that’s okay with your dad.”

  “Yeah, that’s a good idea.”

  Travis pulled out the kickstand and parked his bike. He slung his backpack off and opened it on the seat.

  I started to ask, “Where did you s—”

  “Mike,” someone called out in the distance.

  I turned. It was Ken, the head of the Vanceburg Rifles, who we had met the week before. He was the one driving the pickup truck. Another man was in the bed of the truck, his head just up over the cab. Two men, actually, in the back, and one in the passenger seat. Two rifle muzzles pointed high from the back. My stomach twisted. Ken waved again.

  Ken and Oscar had been best friends.

  Luke scampered up the road and pointed to show them where our truck was parked. Travis was on his way to Susie, twenty feet from Joe and me, when I heard the noise.

  He heard it too. Turned and squinted into the setting sun.

  “Mike!” Lauren called out.

  “Incoming!” Travis yelled.

  Chapter 31

  THE HAIRS ON my neck prickled at the thin whining of the drones. Not quite the buzzing electric motor of quadcopters, more of a fluttering-whirring-hiss. Nothing else sounded quite like them, and their insistent and growing trilling over the sound of the wind brought on nausea and vertigo. I almost vomited.

  “Mike!” someone yelled from my right.

  It was Damon. He ran toward me from the just-opened gull-wing door of the truck. Two hundred feet away. Luke was on his way over to him, but paused and looked back at me.

  Chuck was out of the vehicle as well, Ellarose in his arms.

  “Get back inside!” I yelled and waved.

  Damon had his laptop in his hands. “I’m getting a signal, there’s a control signal coming in. They’re sending drones—”

  “We know. Get back in the truck!”

  He pulled his gaze from his laptop screen and looked up at me. I pointed toward the sun. He stumbled and almost tripped up on himself—Damon was never the most athletically gifted—but he reversed course, hesitated, waited for Luke, and then they crouched and ran back to safety together.