by E S Richards
The bird he’d cleared for active duty was his best hope of collecting intel from the city, but that report wouldn’t even be due for an hour. While Wilson busied himself with public and political affairs, General Shepherd felt like he was standing over an army without any orders to give.
The outdoor courtyard was filled with soldiers, each one of them waiting for a command or instruction. General Shepherd knew he would need the men eventually and so didn’t tire them with drills, but he hated seeing so many trained professionals standing about so idly. Just as he was, really.
As he saw the matte black wings of the V-22 Osprey rising into the air in the distance, General Shepherd wished he could’ve been on that bird. He saw a great deal of himself in the young Private Dixon Daniels; a key reason why he had helped the boy get a job in the White House after his discharge from active duty. The bullet Dixon had received to his kneecap had put him out of action in his prime, the soldier only a few months away from a promotion. General Shepherd had been targeted by an ambush of enemy insurgents and Dixon was the one who had pulled him into cover before returning fire. Seven insurgents lay dead before Dixon went down, buying reinforcements from a nearby base enough time to arrive and save both Shepherd and Dixon. Since then, Shepherd had kept a close eye on Dixon and he knew how much it would mean for Dixon to get back in the action.
And on some level—unbelievable as it was—he was jealous of that soldier. Dixon would be the one to see what had happened to the city first-hand. He would be able to make a judgment on whether the city needed direct aid, or if the whole situation was being grossly over exaggerated. General Shepherd would merely be waiting on the ground for the bird to land again, twiddling his thumbs with a team of soldiers without a purpose.
***
Dixon couldn’t help but gaze forward out of the pilot’s window as the Osprey climbed higher in the air, looking down at the roof of the White House and thinking of the hundreds of people within. He was securely fastened into his seat for the ascent, Farley on the right of him and a soldier he hadn’t met before on his left.
Dixon turned his head and grinned at Farley, making no attempt to hide the excitement on his face as he looked at his companion. She returned the smile, both Farley and Croft sharing the same feelings as Dixon. It was thanks to him after all that they had both been selected for the mission and both were equally as keen to see the city from above.
Corporal Lawson sat across from Dixon, the third pilot and two other soldiers on either side of her. She continued to fiddle with a radio attached to her shirt, trying to find a signal even though nothing but static rewarded her. There was a semi-permanent scowl etched on her face, a feeling Dixon couldn’t understand. He lowered his eyes as the woman looked up at him, knowing not to pry when his senior officers were involved.
Once the Osprey reached cruising altitude the co-pilot turned from the controls and offered the corporal a quick nod. She was on her feet in an instant, unstrapping her harness from the chair and instead fastening it to a cable along the roof of the Osprey, giving her free range of movement up and down the belly of the bird, but still keeping her safely strapped in in case of emergency.
Dixon itched to join her on his feet but caught her eye once more as he moved to unfasten his own harness. With a quick shake of her head Corporal Lawson resigned Dixon to his seat. Instead, the three other soldiers she’d brought on the mission joined her. Now Dixon matched her scowl. What was the point of being up in the air if he couldn’t move around and experience the flight? From his seat he couldn’t really see the ground, as the angle of the bird had now leveled out after the initial ascent.
“How are we looking down there?” Corporal Lawson spoke to the pilot as she moved toward the cockpit, the line of her harness sliding quietly along the rope on the ceiling.
Dixon leaned forward in his seat. If he couldn’t see for himself he was at least going to listen to everything that was said. Nudging Farley in the ribs with his elbow, Dixon indicated for her to do the same and in turn she passed the message to Croft, the third in their small group sitting closest to the cockpit. Dixon needn’t have worried however; the pilot’s voice carried loudly through the military issue headset he was wearing, each one of them equipped to carry out conversations over the heavy whine of the Osprey’s engines.
“Full blown panic, Corporal. I count at least ten large fires burning between nine and three o’clock. Civilians are massing in the streets. Confirmed casualties,” the pilot paused, “potentially in the thousands. There are bodies everywhere. Too many to count.”
Dixon couldn’t help but gasp at the statement. Over a thousand people already dead? His mind immediately flew to Mary and where she might have been when everything happened. As Wilson’s daughter, he knew she would have been trained for a disaster—Dixon had even run through emergency procedures with her himself on a couple of occasions. But that still didn’t put his mind at ease.
She could’ve been in a cab like the one he saw outside of the White House, or trapped in a burning building. A lump formed in Dixon’s throat as he thought about his girlfriend and how he wished she were safely in the bunker with the president. In an instant Dixon decided he was going to do something both he and Mary had promised they wouldn’t do for several more years. He was going to tell Mr. Wilson about their relationship. He had to. If it meant there was a possibility he could find out about her whereabouts, about her safety, then it was worth it. It was a quiet vow Dixon made to himself, something he resolved to do the second the Osprey touched back down on the White House grounds.
***
“Right, I’m doing it.”
General Shepherd pushed open the double doors that led back out to the White House courtyard, setting a brisk pace as Wilson struggled to keep up behind him.
“Are you sure?” Wilson asked, “I can’t guarantee we’ll be back online any time soon. How will we receive updates on their progress?”
“It’s my duty,” General Shepherd replied firmly. “We can’t continue to have these runners coming in without sending some of our forces out to help. The civilians are making it worse for themselves; my men can create some semblance of order at least.”
“Do you not think it’ll just instill more panic?”
“Forgive me, Mr. Wilson,” General Shepherd finally stopped walking and spun on his heel to face President Bruce’s chief of staff. “But I am the ranking officer here. These are my men and this is the right thing to do. I won’t stand by and watch Washington crumble around me without knowing I’ve done everything in my control to stop it.”
Wilson sighed, raising his hands in front of his chest, palms out and shaking his head slightly. “I can’t stop you, General. Do what you think is right.”
“And I shall,” General Shepherd replied bluntly as he turned away from Wilson and continued striding toward a group of his soldiers, each one of them straightening up as they saw the general coming.
Wilson could only watch it happen. He had no control over what the general was going to do and knew ultimately it was useless trying to argue or reason with him. Even though they had sent a bird up in the sky no more than fifteen minutes ago for information, General Shepherd was much too impatient to wait for results. Of course, it didn’t help that all members of the military who had been on the streets when everything happened returned to the White House with reports of terror and freak explosions. All the news just got General Shepherd more riled up, and Wilson knew what that man could be like when he thought he was being useless.
Pursing his lips, Wilson started back up the steps to the White House, heading for the control room where—in extremely dim emergency lighting—several technicians and engineers were frantically trying to get the systems back online. Despite the general’s ideas, Wilson knew the easiest and quickest way to calm the public would be through a public broadcast. It was just taking a lot longer than expected to make that happen.
***
Dixon looped his hands in the thic
k netting behind his seat, hanging on tightly as the Osprey suddenly turned in a sharp arc to the left. Corporal Lawson and a couple of the other soldiers who were on their feet staggered sideways, one of the men crashing into the wall of the Osprey before he quickly regained his footing.
“What’s going on?” Corporal Lawson’s voice boomed through Dixon’s headset, her question clearly intended for the pilot.
“Mayday, mayday! We’ve lost an engine!”
Immediately Dixon froze. That one word had the power to send chills down any soldier’s spine and Dixon was no different. “Mayday” only had one meaning, the emergency distress signal not to be used lightly. The yellow cab flashed back into Dixon’s mind and round beads of sweat slowly began to form on his forehead.
“Status report!” Corporal Lawson shouted back into her headset as she struggled to make her way back towards the cockpit. The ride in the bird was now bumpier than Dixon had ever experienced, the whole belly of the Osprey leaning to one side from the engine failure.
“We’re going down!” The pilot’s voice rang out, a note of panic and fear present and clear. “Everyone strap in! Brace for emergency landing!”
The words were enough to get even Corporal Lawson back in her seat, her slight fingers quickly fumbling against the harness as she struggled to strap herself back down. Dixon couldn’t comprehend what was happening. He tried to lean forward again in his seat to get a better view out of the cockpit as a loud bang shook his side of the Osprey and red warning lights started flashing all around the helicopter.
“We’ve blown the other engine!”
“Prepare for crash landing!”
Dixon wrapped his hands tightly around his harness as he let the weight of what was happening slam down on him. The Osprey was going down. With both of the main engines blown there was very little chance the pilots could save them now; it would take a miracle for the bird not to break apart on impact. Dixon closed his eyes and silently prayed that the tilt-rotors on the helicopter would somehow manage to help them execute an autorotation landing.
The noise in the bird continued to a crescendo, the blaring of the emergency alarm along with the sound of thirty three thousand pounds of metal hurtling towards the city of Washington filled Dixon’s ears. Corporal Lawson continued to shout orders at the pilots as they plummeted lower in the sky, the fall seeming to take forever when it couldn’t have been happening for more than a few seconds. Dixon held his breath, closed his eyes and braced for impact, uncertain whether he would ever see daylight again.
Chapter 11
Watching their attackers slowly grow smaller and smaller on the shoreline, Len couldn’t help but smile. He knew they hadn’t made it yet, but not even Harrison could deny how much help the powerboat would be. Sinking into a seat and pulling his flask of water from the side of his rucksack, Len took a large gulp and stared out into the center of the lake. If he didn’t know better he could easily think Lake Michigan was the ocean, the water stretching for miles and miles.
“Don’t get too happy just yet.” Harrison’s voice broke through Len’s thoughts, forcing him to focus on the man behind the wheel. “There’s fuel in this boat, but we’re not making it more than an hour away from where we started. She won’t take us any great distance, I’m afraid.”
“An hour’s better than nothing,” Len retorted, refusing to be pulled down by Harrison’s mood. “And I’d definitely rather be on here than back there with that lot.”
Len threw his thumb back over his shoulder, gesturing in the direction of the gang. They had already covered enough distance to make it impossible to make out their faces, although Len could see the figures begrudgingly walking back the way they’d came. He couldn’t believe he’d encountered the same group again, nor how organized and uniform they appeared to be. There had been less than ten of them when he’d been intercepted in the city; by the dock there were at least fifty.
“Who do you think they are?” Len added as an afterthought, his voice raised over the engine of the boat and the sound of the wind whistling through the air.
“Not a group we want to meet again,” Harrison shrugged. “I’d bet my bunker that they’ve been preparing for this day.”
“What?”
“Aye, you’d be surprised,” Harrison half chuckled, slowing the boat down slightly to preserve fuel and taking a seat himself. “You surely didn’t think I was the only one in the city like me?”
“I mean,” Len stuttered. He did in fact find Harrison an anomaly. It had never occurred to him that such an event like the collapse of Chicago could happen and so he hadn’t wasted a second thinking about how to prepare for it. He was sure most people were the same as him too. Never before meeting Harrison had he even had a conversation about prepping for a disaster.
“You don’t know what you mean,” Harrison continued to chuckle, the wrinkles around the side of his eyes growing more pronounced as he smiled. “There are thousands of people out there like me, Len. And in fact, probably the vast majority of them are more like that gang than they are me. Didn’t you notice the second things started going wrong all the shops were looted? People weren’t running around helping one another, people were trying to save themselves. Trying to do anything they could to make sure they survived. Looking out for number one—it’s basic human nature.”
Len shook his head in thought. He’d seen store windows broken into but when he thought back to it, the only people he’d actually witnessed going into them were doing it for a good purpose. The two young boys just minutes after everything started happening, breaking into a store to find bandages for their bleeding mother. Then the families the day after; sure they had been looting stores, but not in an aggressive way. They were doing what they needed to do to survive. They’d helped him, not hurt him.
He opened his mouth to argue with Harrison but another thought suddenly stopped him. Perhaps he had just gotten lucky. He’d been underground when the worst of it happened so he didn’t really know what the streets of Chicago had been like. But one thing was for certain: he’d definitely met his fair share of bad people during his time living in the city. There were even several characters from his office that he could picture smashing through a store window, not bothered by who they hurt or what the consequences were. In a stark afterthought, Len realized he’d probably do it too if he had to. Everyone had their reasons, and if he needed to break something in order to save his son, he would do it. After all, he had also just killed several people mere minutes ago.
Turning away from Harrison, Len realized he couldn’t live by the same morals he’d had a week ago. If he started doubting and judging every person he came across, it would just make it all the more difficult to live with himself. To live with what he had done.
“Cheer up,” Harrison’s voice broke into Len’s thoughts again, forcing him to look up at the older man. “You do what you have to do in times like this and then when it’s over you move on and go back to how things were. That’s life. We live, we learn, and we move on.”
“Yeah,” Len sighed. He didn’t particularly want to talk about it anymore and hoped Harrison would take his own advice and move on. “Where are we going in this boat? How far up the lake can we make it?”
“Well,” Harrison paused and looked at the fuel gauge, his face dropping into a frown that didn’t instill much confidence in Len. “I think we’re best sticking by the shore. We’d make better time cutting straight across towards South Haven, but I really don’t think these tanks will get us there. Better staying close to land in case we need to make an emergency stop.”
“So how far?” Len asked again, trying to picture the shoreline of Lake Michigan and the cities that were dotted along it.
“I’ll aim for New Buffalo,” Harrison replied glancing forward into the distance. “In the meantime, let’s eat.”
Len’s stomach grumbled as if on demand at Harrison’s words, reminding him of the exhausting day the two men had shared. Reaching over to his backpack,
Len dug through it for some of the food rations Harrison had packed, a smile drifting onto his face as his hand brushed the familiar shape of his wooden box. So long as that was still there, Len still had hope.
It was harder than Len would’ve thought, adding water to the ration packs as Harrison maneuvered the powerboat through the water. His feet became rather wet in the process, water dripping down as he missed the small opening in the bag. Handing one to Harrison—along with a spoon the man had made him pack—Len tried to lean back against the side of the boat to eat.
The food had the texture of porridge and flavor of old Bolognese sauce but Len swallowed every mouthful and even wished for more once he was finished. After years of fry ups for breakfast, greasy takeaway lunches, and home-cooked dinners, Len had built up quite a belly and any food he could find to satisfy his hunger wasn’t going to be turned away. He was just wiping the spoon on his shirt to replace in his pack when a loud clunk sounded from the rear of the boat and Harrison swore loudly under his breath.
