by Bell, Justin
“We don’t have casualty counts as of yet, but everyone is fearing the worst—”
“Can you turn that off?” Max asked, looking over at Winnie, who still looked enthralled by the constant stream of horror.
“Shut up, Max,” she spat back.
“Kids,” Phil said, his forceful tone surprising Max and Winnie and making them both close their mouths. “Knock it off. Now.”
“We interrupt this program for a statement from the White House,” the words snapped everyone to attention, all eyes jolting to the television set, the face obscured by streaks of garbled static.
“My fellow Americans,” the face said on the screen, “this is a troubled time for our country.”
Phil crossed his arms and glued his eyes to the screen. Even through the static he could tell the President was not actually in the White House and was likely thousands of feet in the air aboard Air Force One.
“This morning, our fine nation has suffered several terrible blows by brutal and unprovoked attacks on our sovereignty. Thousands have died already, and as we begin the process of rebuilding, I suspect we will continue to count and mourn our dead in the weeks to come. But we will not let these deaths define us. We will not let these murderers change our course, and we will make them regret the events of these days more than we do.”
Rhonda remained standing at the bar between the kitchen and living room, her eyes narrow and her cheeks finally dry for the first time in almost an hour. It felt like she had no more tears to cry.
“To those of you listening, do not despair. Do not fear. Seek out shelter and stay safe. Be calm and take care. But most of all, be observant and be resilient. We have been struck, but we have not been beaten, and we will not be beaten. We will rise up stronger than ever, and the strength of all of you will get us there.”
Max rolled his eyes, turned, and walked away, disappearing down the hallway.
“We are doing everything we can to assist those in the affected areas and evacuations will continue. You have my word that the entire force of the United States is being deployed, not just to fight back, but to help and support the survivors, and to ensure that our strong nation remains strong and that our people are safe.”
The television shifted back to the newscaster who looked artificially solemn and serious as she regarded the camera. “Strong words from the President of the United States,” she said quietly.
“Just words,” Rhonda said quietly, rounding the edge of the bar and crossing the living room floor. She reached the television and twisted the dial, snapping the screen to a dull gray blankness.
Winnie looked over towards her as if waiting for some magical words of wisdom. Words that mothers are just expected to instinctively know. But Rhonda had never really been one of those mothers, and that wasn’t about to change right now.
“Okay, kids,” she said. “Your father and I need to talk some things through, okay? Things might be a little scary at the moment, but we’re going to figure this out. Together.”
Phil came up and stood shoulder to shoulder with his wife. “Your mom’s right. We can get through this as a family. Just try not to worry and we’ll all figure out the next steps.”
Winnie leaned back on the couch and pulled her phone out of her pocket, glancing at the screen.
“No Wi-Fi,” she muttered. “I freaking knew it.”
Chapter 2
Like soldiers at attention, the phalanx of trees surrounding the cabin were straight and rigid, unmoving under the nearly non-existent spring breeze. Leaves ruffled slightly with the warm wind, but the trees themselves remained on guard and on defense, bracketing the small home against any possible threat.
Well, probably not any threat. Eventually even those trees wouldn’t stop the radioactive wind if it carried this far. Or a suitcase nuke if it was detonated close enough. Is that how everything would be calculated from this day on? How well it would withstand a tactical nuclear weapon?
Max stood out on the wide expanse of grass out behind the cabin, looking at the trees and the sky and drawing in deep, long breaths of fresh mountain air. Unlike Brad, he hadn’t spent his entire life cooped up in the big city, but he didn’t spend as much time out in nature as he would sometimes like, and he loved the fresh air. He wondered how much longer there would be such a thing. Part of him wondered whether he was breathing in lethal doses of radiation right this very moment without realizing it.
He closed his eyes and drew another long intake of breath.
“Yo, Max.”
“What’s up, Brad?” he asked without turning.
“You doing okay?”
“Yeah, I’m all right. What about you? Spooked without your parents?”
“Yeah. Spooked. What are you doing out here?”
Max opened his eyes again and watched the tops of the trees. “Ah, mom’s in there crying her eyes out. I don’t like seeing her cry. Usually she’s crying because of me.”
Brad came up next to him and let his eyes wander to where Max’s were directed. He soaked it all in. The trees, the grass, the bright blue sky, and the scattered white clouds. Brad couldn’t believe he was only a few hours from home.
“You like it out here?” Max asked.
“I guess. I’m used to the city, though. This place is almost…too wide open, you know? It feels too free. Too easy to get lost.”
Max laughed. “I think that’s why I like it.”
They stood in silence for a few moments.
“So you mind me asking,” Brad started, breaking the silence, “what’s going on with you at school? You’ve always been super cool with me. Really the only friend I’ve got there, but you’re always getting in trouble, aren’t you?”
Max chuckled again. “Yeah I guess.”
“Why?”
Max knelt down and picked up a discarded stick, balanced it in his hand, then cocked his arm back and threw. The stick launched over the grass, then arced over the edge of the lawn and spilled out into thin air.
“Whoa,” Max said. “What’s over there?” He walked to where he’d thrown the stick and Brad followed close behind. Standing at the edge of the lawn, he looked over. The rows of trees bordering the cabin’s yard began crawling their way down a steep decline, and as Max looked he could see the long and ragged cleft leading all the way down to a narrow, trickling stream below.
“A ravine,” Max said, smiling.
“So cool.”
The two boys looked over the edge, just staring all the way down into the water at the bottom.
“You know Scott Retal and his crew?” Max finally asked.
“Scott? Isn’t he a Sophomore or something?”
“Yeah I think he’s in Winnie’s class. Anyway, he’s always pushing me around. I think he likes my sister and he shows it by being a jerk to me.”
“That makes no sense.”
“We’re boys, we’re not supposed to make sense.”
“Fair point.”
“So, anyway, he told me that if I snagged some stuff from the cafeteria, he’d leave me alone. Stupid stuff. Some sandwiches, chips, a soda. So I did it. I did it a few times.”
“And did he leave you alone?”
“At first. But then he wanted other stuff.”
Brad didn’t reply. He didn’t feel like he needed to, he knew where this was going.
“I stole some beer for him from the local store. Got caught. Got suspended for a week. Mom lost her marbles. Started driving me to school.”
“Did Scott get in trouble?”
Max glared at him like he’d just spoken a foreign language. “Are you nuts? No, of course not.”
“Why not? You can’t let those jerks get away with that stuff. You gotta live your own life, man. Don’t worry about the other kids.”
Max shook his head. “That’s not the way school works, Brad. It just isn’t.”
“Sure it is, if you play it that way.”
Max looked at him. “Brad, c’mon. You’re like the only black
kid at school. You’re telling me you don’t do anything to try and fit in?”
Now it was Brad’s turn to laugh. “That’s exactly why I don’t. No matter what I do, some jerk will find a reason to hate me because I look different, I might as well just live my life how I want and not worry about what those thugs think. It doesn’t matter. School ends at 18, maybe 21 if you go to college. It’s like a third of your life, bro. Don’t ruin the other two-thirds because of it.”
Max bent down and scooped up another stick, then tapped it on his palm. “Anyone tell you you’re pretty smart for a city kid?”
“All the time, man. All the time.”
The two stood out there for a few more minutes, looking at the trees and listening to the birds. Nature was everywhere, and for the moment, anyway, any hint of manmade death, destruction, or catastrophe was forgotten.
“What are you kids doing out here?”
Max looked over his shoulder and threw Winnie a lame little sarcastic wave. “You get tired of mom’s bawling, too?”
“Max, don’t be a jerk. Do you have any idea what’s going on?”
“Yeah, Winnie, I get it,” Max’s throat caught slightly when he said the words, but he cleared it and stood there, looking out into the trees.
“You okay?” she asked, putting a hand on his back. He didn’t reply, but her touch was comforting.
“Kids! What are you doing out here?” Rhonda came storming across the yard, walking briskly.
“We’re fine, mom,” Max replied.
“Let’s come inside, okay? Dad wants to play a game with you guys.”
“What’s wrong with being outside?” Winnie asked.
Rhonda looked out into the trees, trying to look reassuring, but her eyes darted nervously and her lips quivered slightly. “Come inside, please? You never know who might be wandering around out here.”
Max caught her eyes glancing into the trees, then back towards the driveway. She looked genuinely afraid.
“All right, mom,” Max replied.
“I saw Monopoly in there, can we play that?” Brad asked.
“Never played that before,” Max replied, and the Frasers and Brad crossed the lawn, walking back towards the small cabin.
***
It was still early morning, but Brandon Liu felt like he had lived through a full week’s work already. The flavor of early morning victory had long since been washed from his mouth, leaving a stale, rusty aftertaste, the bitter reminder of small victories leading to huge defeats.
He sat on a bench in the long, narrow corridor of the building for the Boston branch of the Federal Bureau of Investigation—the same place he had been for the past two hours after confiscating the mysterious canvas duffel bag and handing it over to the Boston Police Hazardous Materials division. Staring down at his black boots, scuffed with dirt, he marveled at the contrast between them and the sharply polished linoleum floor of the hallway.
His sense of triumph over halting the attack had lasted all of twenty minutes, which was ten minutes longer than it took him to call his buddy Jorge Brunfield in San Francisco and warn him about the potential threat based on the terrorist chatter they’d been intercepting. News about Seattle, then Portland had come over the wire just after he hung up, and sure enough a few heartbeats later, confirmation that San Francisco, or more accurately, Sausalito, had been leveled by a suitcase nuke, and that it was very likely that the man he had just hung up with was now either dead or dying.
Not just him, but likely at least a hundred thousand civilians…and that was before the radiation hit.
He sat there in his dark blue uniform, the Customs and Border Protection patch on his right shoulder, clutching his black helmet in his gloved hands. The tactical vest felt tight around him, and suddenly he just needed to get out in the fresh air, get out and run and breathe. Or scream.
He hadn’t even called his wife yet.
Did his wife even know what was going on? Had the news broken?
How many people were dead?
“Agent Liu, can we see you please?”
Brandon sat up, drew in a breath, and glanced to his left. A well-dressed woman in a black suit and tie gestured towards him, and Liu pushed himself to his feet, following the FBI agent back through the doorway she had just come out of, his boots squeaking on the polished floor.
“I’m Agent Julie Swift,” the woman in the suit said as they walked down the secondary hallway. “I’m with the FBI’s National Security Branch.” She twisted as they walked and extended her hand, which Liu accepted.
“Brandon Liu,” Liu replied, “Customs and Border Protection.”
“First and foremost, Agent Liu, I want to commend you and your team on your exceptional work this morning. The actions of your operatives saved thousands, if not millions of lives, and I cannot overstate the appreciation of our country and our President.”
“Just doing my job, ma’am,” Liu replied.
“Well, thank you for doing it well.” She halted by another door and opened it, ushering Liu inside. “As you certainly know by now, several other agents and agencies across the country were not so fortunate.”
Liu stepped into the small conference room. A large, polished table sat in the center of the room with space for eight chairs scattered around it. Two of the chairs were occupied and Swift gestured to Liu to take one of the vacant ones.
As he rounded the corner of the table, a sharply dressed woman in a gray pantsuit stood up from her seat and reached across the table, extending her hand.
“Good morning, I’m Rita Kramer from Homeland Security’s Domestic Nuclear Detection Office.”
He nodded and shook her hand. “Brandon Liu, Customs and Border Protection.”
“Thank you for your exemplary work this morning, Agent Liu.”
A man stood up next to her and repeated the motion, and Brandon shook his hand as well. “I’m Agent Marcus Reynolds from the ATF. Thank you for meeting with us.”
Agent Liu looked around at others in the room, feeling considerably out of place in his tactical uniform as the others sat in their pressed and wrinkle-free business suits, clean shaven and well groomed. Regardless of outward appearances, Liu felt pretty sure that by the end of today, they would all at least feel how he looked. It was going to be a long one, of that he was certain.
“So, how can I help you?” Liu asked, extending his hands.
“We need a full debrief, Agent. What brought you to your surveillance point this morning?” Kramer asked, flipping up a sheet of yellow notebook paper and plucking a pen out of her breast pocket.
“Well, over the past few months there has been a dramatic increase in chatter among international circles. Talk about an upcoming attack on the security of the United States. More than we’ve intercepted in a very long time.”
“What was the specific nature of this chatter?” Kramer asked.
“There were rumors that a foreign nation, or an organization within the borders of a foreign nation, was preparing a multi-pronged assault on America’s infrastructure. Last reports were that operatives were potentially going to infiltrate our borders through both private airline and shipping container transport in an attempt to diversify their infiltration. Make it more challenging to isolate.”
Agent Swift nodded, then looked up from her own pad of paper. “How specific was this intel?”
“More specific than we’re accustomed to. The NSA’s algorithms measured the frequency of the intercepts and the detail of the messages and calculated that they were building up to a possible event this week. We had teams isolated to survey the Port of Boston every morning for two weeks, and this was our first hit.”
“It was indeed a hit,” Agent Reynolds said, nodding softly.
“National Security believes North Korea may be behind these attacks,” Kramer said, setting down her pen, seemingly not wanting to document this particular line of questioning.
Liu folded his fingers together and looked at her. It occurred to him then
that there might be a reason why they had focused on him for this particular intelligence brief. He was of Chinese origin, not Korean, but if there was any chance that North Korea had any involvement in this, being able to reel in the Asian guy could be seen as due diligence on the part of some of the less forward thinking political movers and shakers in Washington.
“I’ve only heard rumors, Ms. Kramer, and probably less detailed ones than the intel briefs you’ve already read.”
“That’s possible, but please, humor us.”
Liu smiled. “Well the rumors going around in the field were that North Korea’s recent bluster over their ICBM program was a distraction. A way to focus the attention of the UN on an overt and obvious global threat, meanwhile disguising the work they’ve been doing on smaller scale, lower yield nuclear devices.”
“Sounds about right,” Reynolds replied. Kramer flashed him what looked to be a heated look, encouraging him not to speak going forward.
“Were you aware, for sure, that the device you confiscated was indeed nuclear?”
“I was not aware at first. I didn’t seriously suspect it was until I started hearing about the West Coast.”
“So why did you get HazMat involved?” Swift asked this time.
“Seemed like the smart move. The bag came open and it certainly looked like some kind of undetonated ordinance. Protocol dictates you call in the bomb squad or hazardous materials, so that’s what I did.”
“It’s a good thing you did,” replied Swift. “Turns out that the bag-based device you uncovered was indeed a tactical nuclear device.”
“Good God,” Liu said. It seemed to be the only appropriate response.
“It’s a prototype device unlike any we’ve seen in practice before. A relatively high yield, around twenty kilotons, retrofitted into the smallest housing we’ve seen for these devices in all practical terms.” Rita Kramer tapped the pen on the paper as if to accentuate her points.
“Scary stuff.”
“We haven’t gotten to the scary stuff yet, Agent Liu.”
“What do you mean?”
Kramer and Swift exchanged looks, not even being shy about ostracizing Reynolds, who sat back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest.
