by Bobby Akart
Sarge did not offer to share information learned from Julia’s Digital Carrier Pigeon network nor did he offer to share supplies or weapons. Either one of those things would have put his home and friends at risk. Sarge’s position on sharing the results of their preparedness strategy with others might seem callous and heartless, but it ensured his and Julia’s survival—his priority. Both before and after the collapse event, the extent of their preps was nobody’s business but their own.
PART THREE
Road Trip
Chapter 36
Saturday, September 3, 2016
9:07 p.m.
51st State Tavern
Washington, D.C.
Katie brought them another round of beers as the Mets fans in the 51st State Tavern erupted following a Curtis Granderson home run over the home team Nationals. Known as a hangout for New York sports fans, the twelve-year-old haunt was a typical sports bar featuring flat-screen televisions, a pool table, and guy food—buffalo wings, burgers, and cold beer. Situated in the West End near Foggy Bottom, Katie and some of her co-workers would slip away for drinks with the purposeful intent of avoiding their colleagues who preferred the traditional politico hangouts like the Capitol Lounge and Bullfeathers.
“I thought we came up here to get away from this shit,” moaned Steven to a grinning Katie. “The damn stadium is two blocks from your townhouse. We could have stayed at your place and dealt with fans.”
“Shut up, you big baby,” said Katie as she gave him a hug. “It feels good to get out—on a date. We don’t get to do this often. Besides, this is one of my favorite spots. You’re just pissed ’cause I’m kickin’ your ass on the pool table!”
“Whatever. How do you know I’m not letting you win?”
“By the look on your face when I do win,” replied Katie. They clinked their Samuel Adams and took a long drink of the lager. Steven racked the pool balls and grabbed his stick.
“Let’s go, rematch time,” said Steven. Gesturing with his stick, he indicated it was Katie’s turn to break.
Katie took her position and was ready to shoot when the power surged—brightening the room. Then the 51st State Tavern, and the rest of D.C., suddenly went black. The fans groaned, hurling a few curse words and a chorus of boos at the perceived inconvenience.
Katie found her way to Steven and said, “You did that on purpose so I wouldn’t beat you again, didn’t you?”
“Hell no. But maybe I should take advantage of you in the dark!” Steven groped in the dark and tried to grab an elusive Katie.
“Free beer!” shouted a man in the pitch-black bar, turning the jeers to cheers. For a minute, the patrons waited patiently, searching their cell phone browsers for ESPN.
Then the phones started ringing. Replacing the muffled conversations were the sounds of different ringtones, pitches, and volumes filling the air. Text messages illuminated smartphone screens while everyone fumbled in the darkness for their most beloved handheld devices.
Within moments of the lights turning off, the excitement level of the bar turned up to a fever pitch. Not even a Granderson home run could elevate the enthusiasm of the crowd as much as the news coming across their screens.
“The power’s out everywhere!” shouted one man.
“You mean in D.C.?”
“No, the whole damn country!” replied another.
“I have my sister on the phone in Kentucky,” shouted a woman. “Their power is out too!”
The restaurant manager brought out a flashlight to get everyone’s attention.
“Folks, I’m sorry the emergency lighting isn’t working,” he said. “I’m sure this is just temporary. Please keep your seats and we’ll see if there’s a solution.”
“No way, let’s get out of here,” screamed an inebriated Mets fan. The manager moved to block the door.
“Let me repeat,” he began with an authoritative voice. “This is probably temporary. Be calm, please, but if you must leave, I’ll need you to settle your tab first.”
The displaced New Yorkers would have none of that. Many were angry at losing the televisions. Some were genuinely frightened at the melee that was brewing inside the 51st Street Tavern. Others saw this as an opportunity to leave with free wings and beer in their belly. Regardless of motive, the final guests of the last night of business for the 51st Street Tavern hit the doors en masse, knocking the manager to the floor and carrying their adult beverages with them.
“Katie, stay against the wall with me until this clears out,” said Steven, pulling her toward him. “We don’t want to get caught in the stampede.”
Katie was looking at her iPhone and scrolled through a couple of text messages. Katie knew from reports following the San Francisco Bay earthquake in ’07, cell phone usage skyrocketed following a major emergency. Verizon said that within minutes of the 6.6 magnitude earthquake, cell traffic in Santa Clara County increased tenfold. Loved ones were either checking on the safety of family or friends or were simply excited to talk about the drama. Most cell users received circuits are busy or fast busy signals. The inability to communicate with others elevated the public’s anxiety following the quake, which increased demand for first responders and communications networks.
One of the solutions wireless network providers suggested was the use of text messaging during an emergency situation because the text messages required less bandwidth than a phone call. The use of text helped keep bandwidth available for emergency responders during a disaster.
“Steven, I have a text blast from the NSA,” said Katie. “This is serious.”
Steven leaned in and whispered, “Okay, let’s make our way outside and assess the situation. Stay close behind me.” Steven led Katie through the darkness toward the exit. They emerged in the cool night air and made their way under a tree canopy to the right of the entrance.
“I think the game’s over,” said Katie.
“What?” asked Steven.
Katie pointed at the pool cue Steven had carried outside with him.
Steven continued. “Oh, this,” he said. “Well, I’m not carrying a weapon because your fair city is a gun-free zone. Besides my knife, a pool stick is better than nothing.” Instinctively, Steven felt his pants pocket to confirm his Cold Steel Recon Tactical Knife was in his pocket.
They stood for a moment and took in the chaos on Pennsylvania Avenue where it intersected with L Street. People poured out of the buildings in search of answers. Typically heavy traffic came to a standstill at the intersection because the traffic signals were inoperative. Fire alarms were screeching from the direction of The Melrose Hotel.
“Steven, we’ve been attacked,” said Katie. She was scrolling through the messages on her smartphone again to make sure she read them correctly.
“They know this already?” asked Steven.
“Yes. Information travels much faster over secure government networks, especially at the time of a disaster. The NSA suspects cyber terror. The grid has collapsed across the country, according to the text.”
“Fuck me.”
“Yeah, all of us, in fact. They want me to come to the White House.”
“Okay, straight ahead eight blocks,” said Steven, pointing down Pennsylvania Avenue with the pool cue. They jumped back to avoid a Vespa scooter roaring by them on the sidewalk. “Damn it!”
“Here’s the problem,” said Katie. She was serious. “If I go in, you can’t come with me. You don’t have clearance, and I suspect the White House is on serious lockdown.”
“Okay. So I’ll wait outside or head back to your place and get the car,” said Steven.
“Once I’m there, I won’t be able to leave. I’ll be stuck for days, Steven.”
Steven thought about this for a moment. He didn’t want to be apart from Katie—especially under these circumstances. He also didn’t think Washington would be the safest place to be if a cyber attack was being used as a first strike.
“Katie, I don’t want to be selfish. But I have to point
out a couple of things. If this was a cyber attack, and the collapsed grid is nationwide, life has changed for this nation in a bad way. Just as important, there are some countries, namely the Russians, who use cyber warfare to gain military advantage before an invasion. Estonia, Georgia, and Ukraine come to mind. Either way, we need to stay together—because I love you.”
Katie let the words soak in. She loved Steven too and did not want to separate. Their corner of the world had become extremely dangerous.
“I don’t want to be in Washington, D.C., when the bombs start flyin’,” she said.
“Me either,” said Steven. “Let’s get the fuck outta here.”
“For sure.”
With the decision made, Steven and Katie made their way down Pennsylvania Avenue through Washington Circle, which resembled a NASCAR track crammed with a thousand cars. K Street, the world headquarters of lobbyists and special interests, was full of cars in both directions. The blaring of car horns was deafening. The shrill sirens of the Capitol Police reverberated off the buildings.
Thus far, there were no violent outbursts or signs of unrest where they were located. Katie was glad they reached their decision to leave the city without delay because calm could soon turn into bedlam. As they passed the buildings that housed the International Monetary Fund and the World Bank, her phone rang. Ironically, it was John Morgan.
“Hey, you’re getting a call.”
“It’s Mr. Morgan,” said Katie. “Hello.”
Katie listened to Morgan’s instructions. She was to contact General Mason Sears’s chief of staff and advise him to expect a call for the general shortly. Katie never questioned the tasks given to her by Morgan. She was paid handsomely and given the additional opportunity to be a part of the Loyal Nine. What’s the harm in facilitating a phone call when the shit has hit the fan?
They turned south down Eighteenth Street toward the Washington Monument. After she had hung up the phone, Steven quizzed her about the call.
“What’s on the big guy’s mind besides TEOTWAWKI?” asked Steven. Katie hesitated to make sure her answer wouldn’t be deemed classified by the Big Guy. She considered for a moment and thought the information was harmless enough.
“Hang on,” she replied, holding one finger in the air as she attempted to get a call through. “Damn, circuits are busy.” She wrote a text, and it went through.
“He only wanted me to contact General Sears’s chief of staff to expect an incoming phone call from Mr. Morgan. Sears is the chairman of the Joint Chiefs. I suppose Mr. Morgan gets his information from the top of the informational food chain.”
“I guess so,” said Steven. He grabbed her hand as they crossed Constitution Avenue onto the west side of the National Mall. Typically, the Tidal Basin reflected the lights of the King and Roosevelt Memorials. Tonight, the absence of the moon gave the water an eerie darkness. “Let’s work our way along the water down Maine Avenue. I don’t think it will be a good idea to walk through the inner-city streets. Once we pass the Gangplank Marina, we’ll make our way towards Nationals Park and your place.”
Katie replayed the phone call through her mind. Morgan had numerous other sources of intelligence, including the President’s staff. Why General Sears? As they crossed under Interstate 395, they were greeted by thousands of newly created pedestrians courtesy of the Metro system’s shutdown. The premature ending of the Nationals game dispersed fans to the west towards Arlington, Virginia, and the south towards Maryland. A mass of humanity, partially in shock and fear, made their way out of the city. But probably the oddest part of the entire hike towards her home was the lack of air traffic at Reagan National. Planes were grounded, the Metro was stuck in place, and confused people walked in all directions. Washington, D.C., was devoid of mass transit. My, how things have changed already!
Chapter 37
Saturday, September 3, 2016
11:49 p.m.
27 O Street Southwest
Washington, D.C.
Between the delays for traffic and travelers, together with the extra precautions they took walking across the heart of D.C., it took over two hours to traverse the five miles from 51st State Tavern. Steven and Katie quickly moved through her townhouse to gather up some essentials for the trip. Her Toyota Highlander was spacious inside and could carry a lot of gear. Steven wished she had more gas in it. The gauge read around two-thirds of a tank. They would have to find more along the way.
“Will you try to call Sarge while I load the truck?” asked Steven.
“Yes. I wish the satphone had a better charge. If I can’t reach them now, I’ll charge the phone in the truck and try again a little later.” She handed Steven another duffle packed with clothes.
“Where are the medical supplies that Donald put together?”
“I keep them in the back of the truck,” replied Katie. “I never remove certain bug-out essentials like the medical bag, a basic clothes duffle, and an everything-else-I-wish-I-had bag.”
“What the hell is that?”
“You’ll see it,” she replied. “It probably weighs fifty pounds.”
“If you had to walk, how would you carry it?”
“I wouldn’t take all of its contents, only the ones most useful under the particular circumstances.”
“Everything you wish you had?” asked Steven.
“Exactly. For example, I have things to create temporary shelters like paracord, mylar blankets, and a tarp. I have ways to procure and purify water like a LifeStraw, Aqua Iodine Tablets, and a small vial of bleach. There is a variety of fire starters like flint, waterproof matches, and wet fire tinder.”
“Whoa, you’ve been watching that show called Alone where they throw those poor suckers to the wolves in Canada.”
“That, plus Google is my friend.” She laughed. “I read a lot of survival fiction and imagined myself in the shoes of the characters. I learned from that and picked up the things I thought I might need if I found myself in a pickle out there. Some of this stuff may keep us alive.”
“Well, I’m impressed. But this should take care of all our needs,” said Steven, patting one of Katie’s 9mm handguns in a paddle holster.
“No doubt, our weapons will go a long way to protecting ourselves and what we’ve got in the truck.” She moved closer to Steven for a hug. “But a 9 millimeter can’t keep you warm at night, mister.” Steven resisted the urge to postpone the trip until tomorrow in favor of a roll in the sack with Katie.
“Listen, you better get away from me, or you’ll be in big trouble,” said Steven.
“Fine,” said Katie with a pronounced pout. He reached down for his duffle and zipped it up.
“Do you think we should get some sleep and head out in the morning fresh?” he asked, starting to have second thoughts.
“I’ve got a feeling that leaving D.C. is a good idea. This town can be volatile, and there are plenty of riot-control personnel to clamp down hard on all the citizens of the District.”
“Agreed,” he said. “I’m gonna pack the truck and then grab some food out of your kitchen for the road.”
“Let me find a map and try these calls again. Then we’ll leave.”
“Road trip!” shouted Steven as he walked to the front door.
“Yeah, road trip!” replied Katie.
Chapter 38
Sunday, September 4, 2016
1:35 a.m.
14th Street Bridge
Washington, D.C.
Steven settled in behind the wheel of the Highlander while Katie attempted to use its navigation system. The traffic and weather apps were inoperable, but the preloaded maps and navigation were available. As they made their way toward the Fourteenth Street Bridge heading west toward the Pentagon, Katie thought about her staff and friends who might remain in the metro D.C. area out of a sense of loyalty to their jobs and the government. She had a brief sense of guilt for not fulfilling her duties, but her priority was survival and Steven. There were plenty of bureaucrats in Washington who wou
ld love to have her job.
“I guess it’s obvious,” started Steven. “We’ll avoid the cities at all costs. I have no desire to drive anywhere near Baltimore, Philly, Trenton, or New York before, during, or after the apocalypse.”
“According to this navigation app, it’s four hundred and fifty miles to Boston as a straight shot,” said Katie. “If we take a northerly route, finding our way as we go, it will be over five hundred miles.” She picked up the map book and started thumbing through the pages to find the state of Maryland.
“Fuck me,” shouted Steven.
“What?” Katie looked up from the map. Traffic was at a crawl heading across the Potomac River. “Is everybody leaving the city?”
“Do you blame them?” asked Steven.
As they passed L’Enfant Plaza, the traffic began to move a little more often.
“Nobody is headed into the city.” As the Jefferson Memorial came into view on the south side of the Tidal Basin, so did the military vehicles blocking the eastbound lanes of Interstate 395 and the Fourteenth Street Bridge. “Look, they’ve blocked access to inbound traffic.”
Several military transports and Humvees blocked the road, and cars leaving the city were stopped and given a cursory inspection before being allowed to pass. As Steven approached the checkpoint, he rolled down his window.
“Good morning, Airman,” Steven said to the National Guardsman.
“Good morning, sir,” he replied. “I must advise you that the city is closed to incoming traffic. Once you leave, you will not be allowed back into Washington until further notice.”
“We understand, Airman,” said Steven. He pointed at the guardsman’s uniform. “You’re with the Mississippi Guard. Aren’t you a long way from home?”
