Martial Law
Page 5
After Abbie and Rhona had finished, they exited the ladies’ room. A woman followed them with a young child dressed in a yellow rain slicker.
“Excuse me, can you please help us?” asked the young lady. She shielded her child from the wind-blown rain that was picking up again. “I’m out of gas and walked here with my little girl. The phones don’t work, and I don’t think the police are coming. Ever since they started breaking into the vending machines, we’ve been hiding.”
“Where are you headed?” asked Rhona.
Drew cringed a little—conflicted. We can’t save the world. True, but what about karma?
“Lake City.”
Abbie pulled Drew close to her and whispered in his ear, “We can’t leave her alone.”
“Abbie, I understand. But we don’t have time to help her. And it’s too dangerous. The situation could get worse before it gets better.”
“But, Drew,” Abbie pleaded, “you see what has happened to people. This woman could get robbed, beaten or raped. What might happen to the little girl?” Abbie’s voice trailed off as her words resonated in Drew’s mind. He knew better than to make eye contact. That would seal it. Wasting time to contemplate a decision could be just as dangerous. The woman’s eyes darted between Drew and Abbie.
After a moment, he looked at the young mother and daughter. They didn’t ask for this. He decided to do a quick threat assessment by questioning the little girl, who was probably five years old. Kids can’t lie.
While watching the body language of the woman in his periphery, he kneeled down to address the child.
“What’s your name?”
“Roof,” she replied. “But all my friends call me Roofie.”
“Well, Ruthie.” Drew laughed. “It’s a terrible night to be out in the rain.”
“Mommy and I saw my grandma in Abalama.” The adults chuckled at her command of the English language in a four-year-old sort of way.
“And where do you live?”
“Wake City.” She looked into Drew’s eyes, and he studied her. Her smile showed her first missing tooth. One last question.
“Are you and your mom alone, Ruthie?”
“Yup. Papa wanted to stay home and watch footbaw.” Dad of the year.
Drew stood up and patted the child on the top of her slicker-covered head. The rain was starting to come down in sheets.
“Okay, ma’am. We’ll give you a ride to Lake City. Rhona, would you mind getting these young ladies settled in with you?”
“Not at all, Drew. Thank you,” replied Rhona. “Come on, girls.”
“Thank you so much,” replied the young woman and gave Drew an unexpected hug. She looked into Abbie’s face and mouthed God bless you.
The group made their way to the trucks.
“Look, Momma, a shiny bwack twuck like Papa’s.”
“Not quite, honey,” the mom replied. “Ours is twenty years old. Are you with the government?”
“Rhona, get our friend Ruthie settled in with a seat belt, please,” instructed Drew, ignoring her question. He turned to the young woman.
“Ma’am, I don’t mean any disrespect. But I hope you understand what I am about to say is said in all sincerity. We are with the federal government, and by taking you to Lake City, we violate every protocol.”
“I understand, sir. Truly, I do,” she replied. She then turned and said, “Abbie, we love you in Lake City. We need someone like you that understands how to put the country on the right track again.”
Abbie stepped past Drew, giving him the side eye, and gave the woman a hug.
“What’s your name?”
“My name is Regina Gates. It’s an honor to meet you.”
“Regina, we’ll do all we can to get you home safely in this mess. Okay?”
“God bless you, Abbie.”
“Yes, of course,” said Abbie, wiping the moisture from her eyes. “Thank you. Now, let’s get out of this rain and back on the road.”
Drew escorted Regina to Ripley’s vehicle, and Ripley shrugged. Drew just nodded as he closed the door behind her. Abbie approached his side.
“You did a wonderful thing, sir,” she said, adding a tone of sarcasm to sir.
“Okay, whatever. We can’t save them all, Abbie.”
“I understand. But we can save at least two.”
Chapter 11
Sunday, September 4, 2016
12:40 a.m.
Eastbound Interstate 10
Near Live Oak, Florida
Jonesy continued to navigate the Suburban, with Ripley taking the lead. Abbie dozed off in the backseat, so the trio drove in silence for a while. Drew was trying to process things. There were so many scenarios and potential causes.
He glanced at Abbie, who was getting some meaningful but fitful sleep. He had feelings for her, but the relationship was taboo. Drew tried to remain professional and maintain his distance, but the nature of his job had resulted in a closeness between them. The playful banter and flirting increased, but the rigors of the campaign never gave them time alone together. In Tallahassee, he had become consumed with protecting her. At this moment, he knew with utter certainty that he would give his life to protect her—not because it was his job, but because he was falling in love with Abbie.
Jonesy was fidgeting and finally broke the silence. Both men couldn’t stop their minds from racing.
“What the fuck, Drew? What do you think has happened?”
“I don’t know, man. It’s like we said earlier, there are so many possibilities. I believe we can rule out a solar flare.”
“Why?”
“With a solar flare, we would’ve had some warning. NASA and several other agencies, including the National Weather Service through their Space Weather Prediction Center, would have issued alerts. From what I’ve read, SPWC would provide twelve hours warning, but up to forty-eight hours is typical. No, this has to be an attack of some kind.”
“By whom?” asked Jonesy.
“Hell, pick one—Russia, China, North Korea, Iran, even terrorists like ISIS. This country hasn’t exactly been making friends in the world over the last several decades. They all hate us. Shit, they may have come together in a joint operation. They’re all butt buddies.”
“That’s true. But if they nuked us, they would have to know we would hit back twice as hard. You know, the whole mutually assured destruction thing—MAD.”
“I agree. Plus, realizing we know almost nothing in the way of facts, a lot of this is speculation. But the social media frenzy seemed to relate to the power going down, not a nuclear warhead detonation. It could have been a nuclear-delivered electromagnetic pulse.”
“But that would take several bombs, wouldn’t it?” asked Jonesy.
“I agree. A coordinated attack could take down the grid nationwide. But our defenses would be able to react to some of the incoming missiles. To me, that would prohibit a cross-country blackout.”
“Okay, if an EMP, whether nuclear or solar, didn’t collapse the grid, then what did?” asked Jonesy.
“Last Christmas, when I was visiting my folks, Pop gave me a book to read called Cyber Warfare. It was a detailed history of the use of cyber attacks by the bad guys we just mentioned, hacker activists like Anonymous, and our own Defense Department. Like Pop said, it was eye-opening.”
“Yeah, look what hackers did in Vegas back in the spring. They took down the grid on the Las Vegas strip. People died in the mayhem,” said Jonesy.
“I remember. There was one thing the author wrote that I’ve replayed in my head over and over again. He wrote—No bombs. No bullets. No sword fights. Just a few keystrokes on the computer, and we’re done.”
“Sounds plausible, doesn’t it, Drew?”
The sound of Ripley keying the mic in his earphone interrupted their conversation.
“Go ahead,” said Drew. After listening for a moment, he reached for the handset in his pocket and adjusted the dials. “Let me put you on speaker. Okay, go ahead.”
“We’ve caught a cell tower,” started Ripley. “Rhona can give us an update.”
Drew fumbled for his phone and held it up to observe the display. The signal strength meter gravitated between no signal and a single bar. Abbie stirred awake.
“We have cell service?” she asked in her half-awake state. “Is the power back?”
“Put her on speaker,” said Drew. “Rhona, tell us what you know.”
“Drew, I suddenly got cell reception as we passed the Live Oak exit. I didn’t receive a call, and I wasn’t able to call out. I continuously receive an all circuits are busy recording or a fast busy tone. Everyone in the country must be trying to use their cell phones as a means to get information.”
“What do you have for us?” Drew asked.
“I received almost two dozen text messages from various sources. I guess text messages are less taxing on the obviously overburdened cellular network.”
Drew was aware that Verizon and AT&T went to great lengths to upgrade their tower network with generators after the communications blackout triggered by Hurricane Sandy in 2012. As the storm battered the East Coast, flooding homes, destroying businesses, and taking lives, first responders felt helpless. Communications networks along the affected area were not functioning. As power outages became widespread in New York and Connecticut, cell towers relied on their backup power. As the demand in the region exploded, the backup generators were drained rapidly.
Telecommunications providers came under tremendous pressure to maintain complete service during any future disaster. As a result, Senator Charles Schumer of New York introduced legislation requiring telecom companies to beef up their systems and post-disaster capabilities. The companies banded together and successfully fought off the federal government mandates. Instead, they undertook to invest in more propane-fueled backup generators. They also had regional support facilities capable of erecting temporary cell towers if necessary.
All of this infrastructure upgrade was considered a positive step. However, the cellular companies did not expand their cellular traffic capacities to accommodate the potential onslaught of calls when millions of Americans sought to reach out to family or to gather information. The lines were jammed with attempts to call, which resulted in communications darkness for all.
Rhona continued. “The first messages were from Robby. He told me the plane would be grounded and to locate a safe place for Abbie. He was with Mrs. Clinton in New York for a fundraiser. The city was in utter chaos.”
“Do the messages have timestamps?” asked Abbie.
“They reflect the time they came to my phone,” replied Rhona. “I can only tell you the order in which they were sent.”
“Anything else?” asked Abbie.
“Yes, a couple of things. Your father sent a text that just read en route. I guess he’s on his way, Abbie.”
Drew made eye contact with Abbie, and she smiled. So far, so good.
Rhona continued. “I have some news from my brother, who works at Randolph Air Force Base in San Antonio. Texas still has power. The rest of the continental U. S. is dark. The informal assessment is a massive, coordinated cyber attack on the grid.”
Jonesy smiled and shook his head as he glanced at Drew.
Quiet settled into both vehicles as the occupants contemplated the magnitude of this possibility. Drew stared into the darkness and then suddenly realized it made sense.
“Have you noticed the amount of traffic headed westbound compared to the vehicles traveling in our direction?” he asked.
“You’re right, Drew,” replied Jonesy. “It’s easily ten to one. Thousands of people have received the same information Rhona just related, and they’re heading for Texas.”
“If this power outage is long term, the entire nation will migrate there,” said Abbie. “Rhona, has anyone heard from the President?”
“Robby didn’t offer any information other than the President is still in Hawaii, and they have not been affected by the outage,” she replied.
“Sir, do we continue as planned?” asked Ripley. As if on cue, a wind gust and its accompanying rain battered the Suburban. It was tempting to abandon this plan and adopt a new course for a military facility in unaffected Texas.
“Stand by, Ripley,” said Drew. He turned to Abbie and muted his comms. “Abbie, I know it’s tempting to turn around and head to Texas. It would be several hundred miles in heavier traffic. But we would be driving away from the hurricane instead of into it. At the other end, there would be any number of military facilities that could offer you protection. It is an option.”
Abbie was deep in thought for a moment. “What do you think, Drew?”
“This is an unknown world now,” replied Drew. “I do know your father is going to great lengths to travel here. He wants to protect his daughter. I don’t think we should leave him hangin’.”
“Okay. You know I will always trust your judgment. Let’s proceed.”
“Ripley, we’ll stay the course,” announced Drew. “Lake City is up ahead. We’ll take care of your passengers and then head southeast.” A Florida Highway Patrol cruiser sped past them on the entrance ramp.
“Roger that,” said Ripley. “There’s another rest area ahead. Is everybody good?”
Drew looked around and received a thumbs-up. “Proceed,” replied Drew. The rain was coming down in gusty sheets. Jonesy had the wipers operating on their fastest cycle. The vehicles crept along at roughly thirty miles an hour as Drew saw the highway sign indicating Interstate 75 was just a mile ahead. He leaned back in the seat and took a deep breath. They were coming to a crossroads.
Chapter 12
September 4, 2016
1:27 a.m.
I-75–I-10 Interchange
Near Lake City, Florida
As the tandem Suburbans approached the intersection of Interstate 10 and the north-south lanes of Interstate 75, one of the most traveled highways in America, their view through the soaking rain was illuminated by headlights and brake lights shining in every direction. Ripley slowed the team as they approached to get a complete view of the traffic. Drew interrupted his assessment.
“What’ve we got, Ripley?”
“Sir, it reminds me of Malfunction Junction in Tampa on a Friday afternoon,” he replied, adding, “during a hurricane, of course. It’s difficult to see through this freakin’ rain.” While Ripley was sure every major city had its version of Malfunction Junction. In Tampa, the intersection of Interstate 4 and Interstate 275 was well-known to Floridians. Every day was a traffic nightmare at Tampa’s Malfunction Junction.
“Traffic headed westbound has stopped as well,” observed Drew. Ripley eased over towards the shoulder to get a better look. He could make out a tractor trailer that lay on its side on the grassy medium. Two palmetto trees prevented the fifty-three-foot rig from skidding down the hill into the westbound lane.
“Look out!” exclaimed Drew into his earphone. Ripley pulled into the passing lane just in time to avoid being hit by a car speeding past them on the left. I almost lost the other mirror.
Playing follow the leader, he saw several other cars pull out of formation on both the right and left shoulders. Within minutes, they were blocked in on all sides as the two eastbound lanes quickly became a four-lane highway.
“Drew, I don’t like this,” said Ripley into the comms. “Traffic isn’t moving in either direction. Something is wrong.”
The winds began to pick up again, and lightning was now illuminating the sky. As the vehicles inched forward past the overturned rig, Ripley maneuvered to the inside shoulder along the guardrail. The other Suburban attempted to follow but was almost hit by a pickup that inserted itself between them.
“Come on, Jonesy, keep up,” Ripley muttered to no one in particular.
“Doesn’t matter, I’ve got you in sight,” said Jonesy.
Ripley continued to inch forward when the sound of gunfire came from ahead of them.
“Were those gunshots?” asked Rhona.
“I think so, but it’s hard to tell through the thunder,” replied Ripley. Then he heard the unmistakable loud report of a shotgun, visible with its bright muzzle flash.
“Shots fired, shots fired ahead,” screamed Ripley. He quickly looked in all directions. They were pinched against the guardrail. The only opening was behind them—where the semi had jackknifed.
Suddenly, the reverse lights on the minivan in front of them lit up before it crashed into their front bumper. Apparently panicked, other cars were now attempting to go in reverse. The van effectively pinched them into the pickup truck to their rear.
“Drew! We’re wedged in, and we’ve got shots fired ahead!” screamed Ripley.
Chapter 13
September 4, 2016
1:32 a.m.
I-75–I-10 Interchange
Near Lake City, Florida
Drew’s view was obstructed by the truck in front of them. Placing his communications unit on speaker, he replied to Ripley’s call.
“Copy,” replied Drew. “Jonesy, can you see around this truck in front of you?” Drew sat up in his seat, attempting to get a visual of Ripley and the lead vehicle.
“No, I can’t,” replied Jonesy. The blowing rain was continuous now as the feeder bands passed over more often.
“We need to get out of here,” muttered Drew as he swung his attention in all directions. The only possible exit was through the guardrail torn open by the jackknifed rig. There was no guarantee that they could get through the water-saturated median to the westbound lane, and they would still face the obstacle of another guardrail blocking their access. It was their only option.
“Jonesy, I don’t like this at all, but we don’t have any options here,” started Drew. He gestured as he continued. “We can still cut through the torn guardrail here and double back to the last exit. Make our way from there, right?”
“But Ripley is beyond the opening. He says he’s stuck between this pickup and another vehicle.”