by Bobby Akart
“The pickup, too?”
“No, that’s for our return trip. We’re to leave all of this with you. It’s my understanding you’re heading to Charlotte today.”
Chepe furrowed his brow, surprised that these men were aware of the plan. “Yeah.”
The driver continued. “Take the truck. It has a crew cab capable of carrying you plus four more.”
“Fuel? That’s a real prob—”
“Both tanks are full,” the driver responded abruptly. “If there’s nothing else, we need to get back.”
Chepe hesitated. “Um, I guess not.” The men walked away, and he called after them, holding the delivery notice over his head. “Hey, do you need to teach me how to use this stuff?”
“The guys you’ll meet up with will know.”
For a moment, Chepe watched the men unhook their transportation. He read the list again, which included military-grade weapons such as shoulder-fired missiles, grenade launchers, automatic weapons, and the corresponding ammunition.
They had equipped him for a war.
Chapter 13
Congress Heights
Washington, DC
“Prowler, are you up for a road trip?” Hayden walked toward the ceiling-to-floor windows as her cat made figure eights through her legs, methodically moving between them and rubbing against her calves. Cats were not bred as a herding animal, like some dog breeds, but they’d acquired this behavior, known as marking, as a way to get attention or, at times, manipulate their owner into doing their bidding. Whether it be a good scruffing behind the ear or a bowl full of yummies, cats, like most dogs, learned to communicate to their human companions through a series of actions and reactions. Humans, for their part, enjoyed being manipulated by their furry friends.
“Okay, okay.” Hayden relented to Prowler’s persistent movements, mainly because the large cat threatened to trip her up by accident. She bent over and hoisted up the twenty-pounder and cradled him like a baby. Prowler nuzzled against her chest and purred his appreciation.
The Washington area had received a significant amount of snowfall overnight, but the skies showed signs of clearing. She looked across the Potomac River at the plumes of smoke rising from Arlington Ridge on the other side of Reagan Washington National Airport. The primary commercial airport servicing the DC-metro area and its twenty-three million passengers a year had sat dormant since the cyber attacks of two nights ago.
The lack of public transportation had caused commuters and travelers to take to their vehicles to get around the District, causing traffic jams and tempers to flare. Traffic on Interstate 295 between her building and the Potomac was slow but moving.
“I think we’ll avoid the interstate, big boy,” she said to an oblivious Prowler. “We’ll head toward Joint Base Andrews and then pick up 301 toward Virginia. Whadya think?”
Prowler was asleep. He was a twenty-pound snuggle cat.
Hayden carried him to the sofa and gently laid him on a gray faux-fur blanket, Prowler’s favorite, from Pottery Barn. CNN was now covering news from the London Stock Exchange about the impact the attacks on the U.S. were having on international markets. Hayden wasn’t invested in the markets, opting instead to purchase physical silver and gold with her after-tax earnings. Both precious metals had skyrocketed in value as trading opened in foreign markets.
Before she began packing her Range Rover, she had to carefully consider what to bring. She had some things at her cabin already, namely food and clothing. Ryan had stored some of her weapons in the Haven’s armory, and the ammunition she’d brought down on her previous trips had gone into storage as well.
She hadn’t unloaded the truck from yesterday’s shopping trip to Walmart, as everything was designed to be used for bugging out. As a result, her task was limited to stuffing a few duffle bags with additional clothing and personal toiletries. She retrieved her handguns out of a safe built into her closet and set them next to the door by the rifles retrieved from her gun-range locker.
If she got pulled over during the four-hundred-mile trip to Henry River Mill Village in North Carolina, it would take weeks to talk her way out of the legal trouble law enforcement would make for her. However, she expected the cops would be the least of her troubles.
She filled a large olive drab duffle bag with her weapons and readied them for transportation down the elevator to the secured parking garage. She made several trips down with her rucksacks and Prowler’s gear first, surveying the garage and the building to determine if any looky-loos were present. Her building was remarkably devoid of activity, so on the fourth trip down, she carried the heavy bag of weapons.
Prowler, curious at the activity, conducted his potty business and was sitting patiently by the door when Hayden came up for him. Before she left, she looked around her loft, which she’d called home for years. It was her private space, decorated to reflect her taste, and perfectly suited the two of them.
In the moment, sadness came over her as she walked through one final time, as if she were checking a hotel room for a forgotten item. Prowler joined her side, periodically stopping to examine a piece of furniture or to swat at one of his many toys that were scattered about. It was their home, and he sensed they were leaving for a long time.
“We’ll be back, buddy,” said a melancholy Hayden. Her life revolved around the law and, most recently, defending the President of the United States. It was a dream job that surpassed her position as a clerk to Justice Alito on the Supreme Court.
Prowler responded with a meow, of sorts, using a deeper tone than he customarily used. He’s not so sure, Hayden thought to herself.
Neither was she.
Chapter 14
DoubleTree Hotel
Norfolk, Virginia
Tom Shelton returned to their hotel room at the DoubleTree in Norfolk, frustrated and annoyed with the circumstances. He had been pleased to find the rental car counter open at the late hour the night before, but when the attendant revealed their GMC Yukon would be only half full of gas, Tom became agitated.
“But, sir, you only pay for the gas you use,” explained the clueless young woman. She reminded him to return the vehicle with the same amount of gas as it had now. Tom didn’t want to explain to the naïve woman that he expected gas shortages to become the norm after the attacks, and the gas-guzzling Yukon would consume half a tank in just a couple of hundred miles. They had nearly four hundred miles to travel to get to the Haven.
Donna Shelton greeted him as he entered the room, where she sat on the edge of the bed, watching the local news. “You were gone a long time.”
“Yes, and unfortunately, I came back with less gas than when I started. As I suspected, the influx of travelers out of the northeast coupled with the attacks has stopped fuel trucks from running.”
Donna stood and helped her husband remove his coat. She planted a kiss on his cheek and whispered reassuringly, “We’ll be okay. Come sit down. There’s more.”
“Now what?” he asked, trying his best to shake off his fussy attitude.
“I’m surprised you didn’t hear about this while you were out,” she said, pointing at Norfolk’s WAVY News on Your Side playing on the television. “A wildfire got out of control overnight. It’s to the south of us, just beyond Chesapeake.”
Tom read the news chyron. “The Great Dismal Swamp? Really? Dear, are you sure they’re not referring to Washington?”
Donna gave him a playful slug and led him to the sofa to sit down. She had her iPad open to the Google Maps app. The Great Dismal Swamp extended from Southeastern Virginia into North Carolina. It was a vast area of forest combined with wetlands and tall grasses to create one of the most unique ecosystems along the Atlantic Seaboard. It was also no stranger to wildfires. A spark from a logging operation in the mid-1920s caused the Great Conflagration, which consumed nearly one hundred thousand acres. The fire raged for three years. More recently, in 2011, another fire caused by a lightning strike scorched six thousand acres and burned for weeks.<
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Donna was about to show Tom the road closures when he grabbed the remote and turned up the volume. The news crew on the scene was standing near a massive blaze that melted the light snow and the surrounding pine trees. The reporter explained what had happened.
“Here’s how a peat fire occurs. Beneath the Great Dismal Swamp lies large areas of peat. You know, the partially decomposed organic matter resulting from fallen trees, leaves, and other plant material. Eventually, after a few million years or so, peat transforms into coal or oil. Even in its current state, it’s highly flammable.”
The news anchor interrupted the reporter with a question. “It’s so damp out there. And we had a fresh snowfall. How does something like this begin to burn under those wet conditions?”
The reporter held his hand to his earpiece and turned as a sudden gust of wind blew dark smoke toward his position. “It does seem out of the ordinary, but here’s how it works. Once the fire is ignited, and let me reiterate, we don’t have an official cause as of yet although authorities have told me off the record that fireworks landing in the swamp is most likely the source of ignition.”
“From New Year’s Eve?” asked the news anchor.
“That’s right. You see, it doesn’t take much to ignite the peat. Once the fire sets in, it sinks into the surface and spreads down to the peat layer, which can be as deep as fifteen feet below ground. That’s why a peat fire is so difficult to extinguish. You have to saturate the swampland with more water. In 2011, folks around here were praying for a tropical storm to move through after the fire began. As you might recall, the rains never came.”
The reporter’s voice trailed off and Tom lowered the volume. He turned his attention to Donna, who was holding her iPad to show him the route options.
“All the major roads leading south of us are closed,” she began. “Traffic is being diverted to our west.”
“Richmond,” interjected Tom. “I suppose we could make our way to I-95. It’s a little out of the way to begin with, but then we should be able to make up time. Listen, it’s only a six-hour drive from here under heavy traffic. If we get going, we can be there by dark.”
“I’m almost packed and we’ve already checked out. All we have to do is load up.”
Tom patted his wife on the knee and stood to gather their belongings. He went to the bathroom, and while he finished, Donna told him about her phone call with Blair Smart.
“How are they holdin’ up?” asked Tom.
“They are incredibly prepared,” Donna replied. “They have a plan and they’ve stuck to it.”
Tom washed his hands and looked at the mirror. There’s that word again—plan. Everybody seems to have a plan.
“Oh?” he said inquisitively.
“She’s reached out to all of the property owners and heard back from most. Except for a few who intend to wait and see, as she put it, almost everyone who has a cabin is on their way. They only have limited space for property owners who haven’t built yet, but some have campers or motor homes. Plus, they have some kind of dormitory set up too.”
Tom emerged from the bathroom still drying his hands on a towel. He dropped it into a pile on the floor created by Donna to make housekeeping’s job easier. He helped Donna pack the last of their things. As they made their way to the door, they both looked around the room one last time to confirm they hadn’t forgotten anything.
Tom asked, “Do they have an opinion about all of this?”
The conversation continued as they walked alone down the hallway to the elevator.
“She said they’ve been too busy getting everything in order to give it an honest assessment,” replied Donna. “And she reminded me that they felt your military experience would be useful in sorting through the hyperbole seen in the news media. Remember, neither Ryan nor Blair have a very high opinion of the media.”
“I don’t blame them,” quipped Tom as the elevator made its way to the first floor. They stopped their conversation as they walked through the hotel lobby. Several groups of people were standing around, watching television monitors and talking on cell phones. Travelers and refugees alike were at a loss as to what they should do next.
The Yukon was parked near the front door and Tom quickly loaded the bags. Always the gentlemen, he helped his wife into the truck and walked around to the driver’s side. Just as he opened the door, his cell phone rang. It was their daughter Tommie.
Chapter 15
Norfolk, Virginia
“Hey, Dad, can you talk?” His daughter’s voice was hushed and sounded hurried. Tommie Shelton, their youngest daughter, was a Naval Intelligence officer stationed aboard the USNS Invincible in the Persian Gulf. Her full-time job was to lead a team that tracked terrorist activity emerging from Iran and Yemen. He hadn’t heard from her since their conversation on New Year’s Eve prior to the attacks.
Tom stopped short of entering the truck and replied, “Um, sure. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Dad. I’m worried about you two, but this is my first opportunity to get an outside, secure line.”
“Honey, we’re fine. We’re in Norfolk, making our way to the safe place. You remember the Haven, right?”
“Good, Dad. I’m sorry, but I have to hurry. Is Mom within earshot of you?”
Tom noticed Donna was intently watching him. She motioned for him to get into the truck. He shook his head and raised his left hand with his index finger in the air, indicating she should wait just a moment. He quickly backed out of the truck and shut the door. As he spoke with Tommie, he wandered around the side of the truck, fully aware that Donna was following his every step.
“Not anymore,” he replied. “What’ve you got?”
“Dad, I can’t believe I’m about to say this. I mean…” Her voice trailed off, causing Tom to grow concerned.
“Spill it, Commander!” he ordered somewhat jokingly.
“Dad, this is being analyzed from a lot of different angles, do you understand?”
“Yes, but how do you see it?” he asked.
“It’s not just us. It’s several intelligence agencies.” She paused and then continued. “Dad, it’s not an external threat.”
“A cell? They’ve been embedded within our borders for—”
“No, Dad.” Tommie cut him off. “It’s not a cell either. Internal.”
Her words soaked into Tom.
Internal. Not from outside, but from within.
“Do you have any kind of confirmation of this?” he asked.
“It’s fluid, but the process of elimination is leading several agencies to this conclusion,” she replied. She paused again. “Dad, I can’t say any more, and we’re on strict time limits for our communiques. Tell Mom I love her. Bye.”
Just like that, his daughter, the terrorist catcher, abruptly hung up. Tom stared at the icons on his phone’s screen and then slowly shoved the device in his pocket. He thought back to the number of times he’d been called upon to perform some innocuous task on behalf of George Trowbridge. His mind wandered to the immense power that people like Trowbridge wielded, and then he considered the advanced weaponry available to Trowbridge’s minions—just as he once was.
Tom slowly entered the truck and started the engine. He plugged Richmond into the navigation system in the Yukon and started them on their journey to the Haven. Donna sat in silence, clearly aggravated that Tom had found it necessary to exclude her from his side of the conversation. After several minutes, he tried to explain.
“Dear, that was Tommie,” he began sheepishly. “She could only talk for a minute.”
“A minute that obviously required you to exclude me.”
Tom nervously gripped the steering wheel and chose his words carefully. “Tommie is very protective of you, and I have a tendency to overreact sometimes. We just didn’t want to worry you.”
Donna turned sideways in her seat and leaned against the passenger door. “Tom, no more secrets. You promised. I’ve barely gotten over your special relationship
with that man Trowbridge, and now you find it necessary to talk to our daughter without me? I’m worried about her, too, you know. We could be at war and she’s sitting on a boat at the devil’s doorstep.”
Tom felt terrible. He had assured her there would be no more secrets. He considered assuaging her concerns by telling her that Tommie was not at the devil’s doorstep, as she put it. Most likely, the two of them were. Somehow, he wasn’t sure that would provide her a sense of relief.
“She’s fine and she wanted me to tell you that she loves you.” Tom reached over the console to take his wife’s hand in his. He felt bad and saw how hurt his wife was. He needed to stop coddling her, and now was as good a time as any. “Donna, you’re right. I’ve hidden too many things from you for too long. We have a new lease on life, and after what you’ve been through, I doubt anything I tell you could be worse.”
Donna bristled. “Exactly, Tom. Or is it Commander?”
Ouch.
Now he knew he had to come clean about everything, from the mysterious text message to Tommie’s revelation.
“Let me go back to New Year’s Eve first,” he began. He took a deep breath and exhaled. “Donna, I love you, and I’m sorry.”
“I love you, too. You have to believe in me, Tom. Please.”
“Okay,” he said with a smile. He reached into his pocket and retrieved his cell phone. With one eye on the road, he retrieved the deleted text message he’d received that night. He quickly logged into his iCloud account, found the deleted text message and restored it to his phone. As he went through the motions, he considered how the message had impacted him. It was signed in a way that reminded him of his past dealings with Trowbridge. “Here’s a text I received after we’d fought our way back to the Hyatt.”
Donna took the phone from Tom read the message.
The real danger on the ocean, as well as the land, is people.
