Grave Games: A Collection Of Riveting Suspense Thrillers

by James Hunt

  Chapter 15

  Smith’s knee bounced nervously. He couldn’t stop fidgeting in his chair. The president’s secretary kept giving him a kind smile, which he returned. He checked his watch for the twelfth time.

  “I’m sure he’ll see you any minute, Congressman.”

  Smith smiled. “Yes, I know he’s been busy lately.”

  “And he’s not the only one,” she said, looking at him. “You’ve been in the headlines all week. You’re all anyone can talk about.”

  “Yes, it’s all very flattering.”

  The past week had gone by in a blur. All the meetings, news conferences, and interviews seemed to be one collective rush. But this meeting would be one he remembered.

  “Congressman Smith?” the secretary asked. “The president will see you now.”

  “Thank you.”

  Smith buttoned the jacket of his suit, exhaled, and pushed through the door of the Oval Office. The president was alone, sitting behind his desk.

  “Congressman Smith,” the president said. “So good to have you here.”

  “Thank you, Mr. President.”

  “Please, have a seat.”

  Even with everything that had happened, the corrupt democracy, treason charges, and the negative media assault, Smith still couldn’t help but feel awed by the history that filled the room. Countless ambassadors and presidents had sat on the very same couch he sat on now.

  “I have to say that your persistence has been admirable, Congressman. It’s good to know that we have politicians out there that will hold firm to the bedrock of our democracy.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Now, as you know, I’ll be signing your water bill into law this afternoon, but I wanted to speak with you privately before the media circus exploded. I’m sure you’re aware of the investigation of Congressman Jones?”

  “Yes, although all that I know is from what I’ve seen on the news.”

  “Ah, well, you know how the media is. Their business is just as much speculation as it is reporting the facts.”

  The president gave a good-hearted laugh, which Smith didn’t return. Smith knew the president had a connection to Jones, and this was the president’s way of vetting him.

  “Mr. President, I try not to speculate, so I’ll stick with the facts of what I know. Jones had deep financial ties with Strydent Chemical, which is now going to lose billions because of Dr. Carlson’s designs. I know that he had dirt and leverage on almost every official in government. And I know he was an avid supporter of your election two years ago,” Smith said.

  The president dropped the pleasantries. “That sounds like speculation to me, Congressman.”

  “Perhaps. But the good news is that the investigations across all branches of government will bring the facts to light soon enough.”

  A pause lingered between the two of them before the president finally rose and extended his hand. “Thank you for stopping by, Congressman. I look forward to seeing you at the signing this evening. And I hope to see you at the National Mall for the Navy’s award ceremony after lunch.”

  Smith shook his hand as the president quickly ushered him out of the Oval Office.

  ***

  The National Mall hadn’t been this crowded in years. It’d been a while since the city had had anything to be proud of. Eager faces kept looking forward, trying to get a glimpse of the war heroes who had risked their lives to save the very country that had abandoned them.

  A long line of Navy officers and seamen lined a makeshift stage, where the Secretary of the Navy was delivering a speech.

  “In times of great danger, and despite the adversity and odds stacked against them, the men and women on this stage today represented the fighting spirit of the Navy. They proudly served their country with honor, courage, and commitment. And it is my honor to provide them with the Navy Cross.”

  Captain Howard stood at attention toward the end of the line, and, standing next to him, his arm still in a sling and a shit-eating grin on his face, was Eric.

  “I suppose flashing the Navy Cross is almost like a get-out-of-jail-free card to the brass,” Eric said.

  “No, Lieutenant. That’s not what it’s for.”

  “Well, I know that’s not its intended purpose. I’m just saying that it could be an alternative use.”

  Howard shook his head, the lines on his face exuding the lack of excitement of being positioned next to the lieutenant.

  “Does this come with any type of prize money?” Eric asked.

  The Secretary of the Navy finally made it to Howard. He picked up the bronze piece of metal and pinned it to Captain Howard’s uniform.

  “Herold, your fortitude and commitment to the Navy was exemplary. Congratulations,” the Secretary of the Navy said.

  Howard saluted. “Thank you, sir.”

  “And you, Lieutenant,” the Secretary of the Navy said, “your skill in combat saved the lives of thousands of Americans.”

  “I guess that means I get a free pass on the jet I wrecked then, huh?” Eric said, saluting.

  “I suppose it does,” the secretary answered.

  Eric and Captain Howard stood side by side as the secretary continued his steady march down the line of soldiers who were receiving medals. Eric leaned into Captain Howard’s shoulder a bit.

  “Your name is Herold Howard?”

  “Shut up, Scratch.”

  “Ouch. Low blow, Captain.”

  ***

  A crowd of workers stood behind Dr. Carlson, who stood at the control panel of the factory. Buttons, switches, and gauges lined the platform. Dr. Carlson paused before entering the final sequence to start the machine.

  “Here we go.”

  The turbines and engines inside the factory roared to life, and the massive pumps digging into the Atlantic Ocean began extracting the saltwater for purification.

  “Gauges holding steady,” Dr. Carlson said. “We’re live.”

  Claps and whistles erupted from the workers. Dr. Carlson let out a slight sigh of relief and then made his way past the engineers heading to their posts to ensure the rest of the process ran smoothly. He’d done everything he could. Now all that was left was to wait for the final product: fresh water.

  “Well, I think the bet was ten days. I did it in nine,” Dr. Carlson said.

  Beth didn’t look up from her phone. “I suppose that’s correct.”

  “So?”

  Beth lowered her phone with an exasperated sigh. “Fine. Friday evening works best for me.”

  “I’ll pick you up at eight,” Dr. Carlson replied.

  ***

  The first things Brooke saw when she opened her eyes were the smiling faces of John and Emily. Both of them rushed toward her, and Emily slammed her tiny body into Brooke’s side. Brooke winced.

  “Whoa, easy, Em. Mom’s still recovering,” John said.

  Brooke rubbed her side but immediately smiled. She held out her arm and pulled Emily close. “That’s okay. I’ll take that kind of beating any day.”

  Her left arm was encased in a sling, and her ankle was wrapped in a large boot. Lines of tubing ran from her body to an array of machines watching her vitals and feeding her fluids.

  “Are you guys okay?” Brooke asked.

  “We’re fine, Mom,” John answered.

  “Amy,” Brooke said, her eyes widening, “What about Amy and Gabby?”

  “They’re safe. You did it, Mom,” John said.

  “Yeah, Mom. You saved everyone!” Emily echoed.

  “Let’s see… Reckless driving. Lethal discharge of a firearm. And enough property damage to make an insurance adjuster crap his pants. Yeah, I’d say you’ve graduated from the school of badass moms.”

  Brooke looked over to see Eric in the doorway holding a batch of “Get well soon” balloons.

  “Those for me?” Brooke asked.

  “No, these are my balloons. I don’t know what happened to yours,” Eric answered.

  “Eric!” Emily yel
led.

  “What? Don’t look at me, kid. It’s your fault you put me on balloon patrol,” Eric replied.

  “Seems like you’re feeling better,” Brooke said.

  Eric tied the balloon strings to the railing of Brooke’s hospital bed. He examined his arm and then pointed to Brooke’s shoulder. “Looks like we have matching injuries.”

  “I couldn’t let you have all the fun,” Brooke said.

  Before Eric had a chance to answer, Amy and Daniel rushed into her room. Amy practically shoved Eric into the wall then wrapped her sister in a hug.

  “Thank God you’re all right,” Amy said. “How are you feeling? Oh, that’s a stupid question. You were shot, for Christ’s sake.”

  “Amy, I’m fine.”

  Daniel came to his wife’s side and rested his hand on Brooke’s leg. “Brooke, I can’t thank you

  enough.”

  Amy clasped her hands together in excitement. “Well, should you tell her or should I?”

  Everyone in the room kept glancing at one another. Brooke rotated her head around, waiting for someone to speak up. “Tell me what?” Brooke asked.

  Emily jumped on the side of her hospital bed. “We get to go home!”

  “The Senate is voting on reinstating the exiled states this afternoon. It’s a little premature, but with everything that’s happened, we know it’ll pass,” Daniel said.

  “And?” Amy asked, nudging Daniel with her elbow to get him to continue.

  “And the fresh-water bill passed, allowing Dr. Carlson’s designs to be used. The first shipments should be arriving in the Southwest next week. Utility sites are already being scouted on the West Coast for more stations.”

  “Then that means…” Brooke said.

  “The drought’s over,” John replied.

  Every face in the room was smiling. Brooke rested her head back on her pillow and closed her eyes. She felt lighter. The pain in her shoulder eased, and the faintest hint of life began to well up inside her. It started small and distant, but the longer she kept her eyes closed, the more she felt it grow. Her cheeks grew tight and red. She could feel her chest shaking, and when she opened her eyes and saw the reflection of the same laughter and joy that she was feeling, she thought it was a dream.

  Amy squeezed her left hand, then John found her right, while Emily giggled around Brooke’s legs. Her family was alive. She was alive. And now they would get to go home.

  “Guys, we should let her rest,” Amy said. “C’mon.”

  John and Emily gave Brooke another hug each, followed by Daniel, then Amy. They left the room until Eric and Brooke were alone together.

  “Well, you sure know how to show a guy a good time, Mrs. Fontanne,” Eric said.

  “Thank you, Eric. For everything.”

  “You’re welcome. And I guess I should just send all of my medical bills to you, then? Yeah?”

  Brooke laughed. “How’s your friend doing?”

  “Dave? Oh, he’s fine. Pissed and angry as hell at me, but he’s fine.”

  “You know, he told me how you got your nickname.”

  “Ah, shit. Look, I was a kid. I didn’t know any better.”

  “I still don’t think you know any better.”

  “I don’t.” Eric paused. “Well, I’ll let you rest.” He tapped the railing lightly with his knuckle and turned for the door.

  “Jason would have been glad you helped,” Brooke called out. “And he wouldn’t want any type of debt hanging over your head. He wasn’t that type of man.”

  Eric leaned up against the doorframe. “I know.” He smiled then disappeared.

  ***

  News anchors filled the television screen in the living room. “Reports coming in today that two new water plants will be opening in Los Angeles and San Diego later this year.”

  “That’s good news, Diane. Congress will be holding their final hearings on the impeachment of the president. The investigations from three months ago into the death of Congressman Jones lead to widespread allegations about the White House’s involvement with the passing of Jones’s bill, which exiled the southwestern United States from the rest of the union. Jones was also linked to providing the Mexican government with weapons through the diversion of secret funds in his role as chairman of the resource committee that didn’t have the approval of Congress. Experts are saying that while the president may continue to deny an association to those accusations, he will most likely not be in the Oval Office for much longer.”

  “In financial news, the Strydent Chemical Company has declared bankruptcy in the wake of the Securities and Exchange Commission—”

  The television screen went black, and Brooke tossed the remote on the couch. She opened the front door to the house and stepped onto the porch. The yard of dust and sand had been replaced by small tufts of green sprouting up from the dirt.

  “John! Emily! Dinnertime!”

  John scooped up the basketball he was dribbling, and Emily parked her bike. The two of them ran past Brooke into the house.

  “Wash your hands before you sit down!” Brooke called after them.

  The cool rush of air conditioning coming from the house clashed against the hot air outside. Brooke lingered there for a moment, listening to the sound of her children’s voices. A smile crept over her face, and she took a look at the construction crews working on the homes around her. The veins of life had made their way back to the area.

  Brooke was home.

  Thank you so much for taking the time to read my story!

  Writing has always been a passion of mine and it’s incredibly gratifying and rewarding whenever you give me an opportunity to let you escape from your everyday surroundings and entertain the world that is your imagination.

  As an indie author, Amazon reviews can have a huge impact on my livelihood. So if you enjoyed the story please leave a review letting me and the rest of the digital world know. And if there was anything you found troubling, please email me. Your feedback helps improve my work, and allows me to continue writing stories that will promise to thrill and excite in the future. But be sure to exclude any spoilers.

  I would love if you could take a second to leave a review: Click here to leave a review on Amazon!

  Again, thank you so much for letting me into your world. I hope you enjoyed reading this story as much as I did writing it!

  Take care,

  James Hunt

  Static: An EMP Thriller

  Chapter 1

  Office workers bustled between cubicles, the floor noisy with phones and printers, the hurried conversations between co-workers, and the echo of construction from the renovation of the floor above. The corner office on the thirtieth floor of Gaines, Shirp, and Mott offered a beautiful view of the spectacular architecture of the Chicago skyline.

  Sunlight filtered through the floor-to-ceiling glass office windows that overlooked the busy streets of downtown, shining on the office’s simple, modern, and sparse furniture, which encompassed: a desk, a large drawing table, and a bookshelf that stretched just as wide and tall as the wall behind it.

  A jacket hung lazily over the back of a chair behind the desk, which was stacked with piles of magazines, books, papers, and photographs, arranged in hazardous attempts at organization. The desk phone had been removed from its perch, the cord wrapped around the device, and was tucked neatly in the corner next to a pair of black heels.

  Wren Burton stood in her white blouse, pencil skirt, and stockings, hunched over the drawing table, pencil in her right hand while her left gripped an engineering scale, both working seamlessly together over the trace paper. Her hands stroked the lines and curves effortlessly, every motion breathing life into her creation, challenging the skill and knowledge of those that had come before her, as she offered her own monument that would stand the test of time.

  A single strand of hair broke loose from her ponytail, and she brushed it back, the smudges on her fingertips staining her pale skin with the silver grey of her pencil. She
took a step back then circled the sketch, a master examining her work with an unyielding gaze, examining every angle, every inch, to ensure its perfection. She returned to the front of the drawing table and gave an approving nod. It’s finished.

  A deep vibration rattled her desk, shaking loose a few pieces of paper stacked too high, which floated gracefully to the floor. Wren wiped her fingers on a napkin, transferring the smudges of lead from her skin to the white of the half crumpled paper, and checked the name on the caller ID of her cell phone. She curled her slender fingers over the device, dulling the incessant buzz, hesitant to answer, before finally succumbing to the caller’s persistence. “Hey.”