“…radiation fields don’t spread slowly from a focal point. It’s impossible. It violates the very nature of general physics, not to mention nuclear physics!” insisted one Asian-looking guest.
“I have to agree with my esteemed colleague,” said the other. “They must have their readings wrong, or it isn’t radiation at all.”
“So, what do you think it is?” asked the anchorperson.
“I cannot speculate on that matter, in the absence of additional data. I mean, that’s what science is; it’s evidence, not thought. So, it’s not for us to say. But what we do know is, that unknown field reported as spreading from the Pines Valley area is certainly not radiation, or not radiation as we know it, anyway.”
Oh, good answer. Love that ending. Not radiation as we know it!
I tried calling Mom again. The repeating and buzzing tone ended with the annoying message almost everyone in the world had become accustomed to, which informed me the lines were busy and could I call again in a few minutes?
Lines must really be clogged, I thought.
A sudden declaration of martial law across several states, the army mobilizing, an unknown event the government still insisted was a terrorist attack, would definitely make people start calling and Facebooking!
Don’t people use landlines anymore? Duh. Even your house doesn’t have a landline, the retort arose in my head.
Somebody appeared at the newsperson’s side and handed her a note.
“I am sorry, gentlemen,” she told the two guests, “But there’s a breaking event in Rapid City. We go now to our principal reporter in the field, Chris Murray.”
The scene shifted back to downtown Rapid City with the male reporter I’d seen before clutching his microphone. I noticed he was inside a van.
“Thanks, Sheila. We’re now proceeding to the Rushmore Plaza Civic Center where a major disturbance was reported. Tanks and armored vehicles have gone ahead to the site, and I believe I could hear the firing of weapons even from inside this news van,” Chris reported in a slightly trembling voice.
Aw, shit. Must be bad, if that quivering tone’s any indication.
I was glued to the television. This was not something happening thousands of miles away. This was unfolding right on my front lawn. Or at least on my neighbor’s front yard.
Abruptly, the van stopped and Chris got out, followed by his cameraman. The scene was dizzying as the camera was jostled up and down, though it still focused on Chris. I could see soldiers and tracked vehicles deployed around them. The sound of automatic small arms fire intermingled with the low staccato of heavier weapons could be heard above the cameraman’s labored breathing as he ran, trying to keep up with Chris. Finally, the reporter reached the side of a building.
I noticed soldiers accompanying the news team. No police were in sight. Getting his breath back, Chris faced the thankfully now-steady camera.
“Sheila, we have been prevented from proceeding further by the army. Apparently, even now, we’re too close to the center of the disturbance. However, nobody’s telling us anything and the volume of firing is unbelievable!” reported Chris as he gave the cameraman the signal to point the camera toward the soldiers’ direction of fire. At that point, I realized whatever the trouble was, it must have been recent.
The army hadn’t had the time to set up roadblocks to cut off access to the area.
Without the voice of the reporter or the heavy breathing of a running cameraman, the sound of firing became audible. It was loud, firing so intense it sounded like a constant rumble. It reminded me of the news feeds when the Battle of Mosul was going on. Now, I could hear the loud explosive thump of much heavier ordnance. Numerous plumes of smoke rose in the distance and hung there, ominous, like black balls of cotton wool.
Shit. It’s a freaking war zone!
Suddenly, the camera rocked violently before the display and sound cut out.
The last thing I heard, before the television screen went to the vertical bars of colors and hum indicating loss of signal, was an expletive followed by something about a disintegrating barrel.
2
The Fog of Lies
To say I was shocked beyond belief would be an understatement. I know it’s a bit clichéd but that was exactly my reaction. And possibly, it was the reaction of all the viewers watching the channel. I dropped the coffee cup from my unfeeling hands. Only the crash of the ceramic on the floor brought me back.
By the time I’d cleaned up the mess and got myself a new mug full of the brew, the station had come back on. I guessed that crowd at the station was understandably more dumbfounded than I was; concern and fear were still written on the faces of the news anchors too, if the stammering voices were any indication.
“We apologize for the interruption. But we seem to have lost contact with Chris. We’ll ask our other reporter in the area to find out what’s happened down there,” said the female anchor.
“Excuse me, but this is just in. The White House will be holding a press briefing in twenty minutes. A bit sudden but expected in the light of recent events,” announced her partner. “We will be transferring you now to our White House correspondent, Timothy Ward.”
The display changed to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, with the White House forming the backdrop for the new reporter. I didn’t focus on what he was saying; it was just a dull rehash of what I’d heard before and my phone awaited the call-back from Mom.
Still nyet. All I was getting were “the line is busy” tones. I cut off the call before the automated message kicked in. No text message arrived. Even from Jen. But I also sent her a message about what was happening should she be too busy studying or undergoing her examinations to watch the news.
I went up to my room again and grabbed my laptop and its charger. I placed them on the kitchen table and went checking for internet gossip. Stuff like what was happening would definitely bring out its denizens, that was for sure. I kept my cell phone beside the computer, both devices plugged in. It wouldn’t do to run out of battery at an inopportune time like this. I could use my phone to surf, but didn’t want to miss any call or message from Mom or Jen.
Nothing definite was on the net. More videos of military hardware and personnel and the black cloud, though there was an impressive recording of a night artillery barrage striking in the far distance. It was very short. I guessed that whoever took it had to do retrograde in a hurry. Conspiracy theories again were plenty. It’d be the same old people with the same old theories and lies. I didn’t bother with those nutjobs. Waste of time.
But I did a quick check on radiation—not my line of expertise as I was more on the humanities side of things—and it appeared Mr. Scientist was quite right. To a certain extent, at least; radiation did travel at the speed of light. So, based on modern science, what was creeping out of that site was not radiation. I hoped it was not a noxious or toxic gas of some sort, though the soldiers I’d viewed on television were not wearing NBC, or Nuclear-Biological-Chemical gear. Nary a Hazmat suit in sight. That was a relief.
I sent messages to Mom and Jen again.
Hell, I would have sent twenty to thirty but figured everybody and his brother would also be sending text messages to friends and loved ones. Adding to the problems of massively cluttered and overloaded networks was a dumb and selfish idea. Instead, I entertained the thought of going to the university to fetch Jen.
But I knew she had two exams scheduled that morning so that was also a no-go. I decided to wait for the announced press conference. I wanted to know—or at least have an idea of—what was going on. Anyway, I knew how to read between the lines, but was also praying it was indeed just a terrorist attack. Quite callous of me, some might say.
But an unfamiliar dread in my gut was telling me that what was happening was way beyond the capability of those so-called terrorists. I had a vague feeling it was wishful thinking, but I desperately wanted it to be so – a normal, familiar, and conventional threat. Even if a heinous one. But finally, the picture
changed on the screen.
It was the briefing room again, now so familiar to all of us and probably to a large part of the world as well. I was already on my third cup of coffee as I listened to the Press Secretary give her announcement. A bevy of military, defense, and other officials were at her back. Quite a display of colored ribbons on the uniforms flanked by nice-looking pressed suits. Quite unusual, reacted my suspicious mind.
My pancake still lay uneaten on the plate, a sorry-looking specimen.
And I had lost my appetite. My eyes wouldn’t leave the TV screen.
It was the same spiel, again and again. I wondered how they could all lie through their teeth and just regurgitate it all?
A terrorist attack on a major top-secret government research facility?
How the hell did the terrorists know its location? And for them to consider attacking it, how did they learn what the research was all about? That it was vital to them? There was nothing on the net about a Pines Valley scientific research facility.
Apparently, the installation was located underground on land belonging to the Air Force and the National Park Service. Well, according to the esteemed Press Secretary, use of the huge area was given over to DARPA.
Then the presenter continued, going on about the situation now nearly being under control as the military had surrounded the area.
Nearly under control? What?
A lot more men and equipment were heading toward that area if the various sources on the net were to be believed, even as the press briefing was being conducted. There were live streams on the net of trains being loaded with tanks and other hardware. Long columns of troops filled the highways leading to South Dakota. Camp Lejeune in North Carolina was virtually empty. It seemed only the navy was not involved.
Oh, wait. That’s not true. Marine Corps aircraft were being flown to nearby states. The scale of mobilization was immense…
About the cloud of smoke, it was declared that it came from the destruction of the facility, now apparently burning. Reconnaissance by drones, high-flying planes, and satellite imagery could not obtain a definite picture of the damage.
Oh, come on, I thought. Modern devices can penetrate through natural or man-made smoke. And that doesn’t explain its massive size!
When asked about the perpetrators, the Press Secretary said no definite group had been identified but it was suspected to be a loose coalition of fanatical groups from the Middle East, drug cartel operators, and criminal gangs, assisted by sympathizers.
Huh? They all got together, planned a major attack, and nobody was any the wiser? And whatever rag-tag group they came out with was able to withstand the might of a full air-land offensive, complete with main battle tanks, air support, and artillery?
I was about to add to my thoughts about the Rapid City events I’d seen on television as well as the issue of radiation when I heard the official answer.
The radiation was harmless; it was neither a noxious cloud of toxins nor other deadly material. It was only an after-effect of the explosive demolition of scientific equipment which, the presenter reminded the audience, comprised very, very expensive research gear.
I thought you couldn’t see through the smoke. And how the Hell did you find out it’s not toxic?
About the “reported” events in Rapid City, they were purportedly looking into it and preliminary assessment indicated it was a minor attack intended to divert attention from the pressure on the terrorists in the Pines Valley area.
Oh, my God! And she looked so confident when she said that!
On casualties, she affirmed that as far as they know, nobody in the site had survived the attack and subsequent destruction of the facility.
A reporter among those raising their hands in the animated and agitated crowd, asked about casualties among the reacting, and now attacking, forces; had any terrorist bodies been recovered? She had no idea. They were updating their information, and communications with forward units had been affected by the smoke.
And no, no bodies had yet been recovered.
So. Not toxic. Not radiation. Yet it interferes with shielded military communications transmissions. Wow. This one could really lie through her teeth.
Her lies and the magnitude of the problem it represented were frightening.
I didn’t listen anymore. It was apparent no reliable information was forthcoming. Either they didn’t know or couldn’t accept or understand the magnitude of the threat, or they feared the unbelievable panic that would ensue among the populace if it were known. Whatever the reality, things were clearly spiraling out of control and Earth’s mightiest military couldn’t do anything about it. The fear which had been kept confined to my gut rose and gripped my heart in freezing and steely hands.
I felt cold and my hands were clammy. I felt like puking.
Oh, fuck. I think we’re screwed.
And that thought kept repeating itself over and over again until I ran to the sink and vomited.
3
Fetching Jen
After a while, I calmed down. I’d puked the fear out of myself.
Forcing myself to finish off the pancake, I decided to go get Jen. I may not have been able to do something for Mom right now, but I could get Jen, make sure she’d be safe. Remember that uncomfortable feeling inside when your subconscious whispers something bad is going to happen but you don’t know what it is? Multiply that by three. That’s how it was.
I changed clothes and got the keys to my wonder car – that little second-hand machine I’d bought with the “honorarium” from Mom for housekeeping her accounts. I would have done the work for free but Mom had insisted. She told me she would have paid somebody to do it for her anyway, at a higher rate—and that’s excluding the billing preparation which was part of what I was doing.
I didn’t argue with Mom on such matters.
I hurriedly wrote a note for her, explaining where I was going, and left it on the kitchen table. Surprisingly, the television now had no signal. I grabbed the remote and quickly flipped through channels.
The screen remained the same – just vertical bars of colors with a monotone hum. As I removed my cell phone from its charger, its signal bar also told me it was kaput.
I didn’t think too much about it at that time, being too busy and preoccupied with locking down the house amidst a personal atmosphere of fear and my concern for Jen and Mom. In hindsight, though, I should have considered that the incident was too aligned with everything that was happening – nonfunctioning signal-related devices – to be mere coincidence.
As I drove out of our small community, only a few cars were about and nobody was walking around. Not even walking their dog. Usually, there’d be people outside doing their thing. The reality of martial law and the ongoing inexplicable events must have put fear in the community. As I entered the bypass leading to the university and then the town, traffic was a lot lighter than normal on the four-lane road. The university campus was about twelve miles from where I lived, the town two miles farther down.
A lot of buildings and complexes lined both sides of the road. The town was starting to attract start-up businesses now, IT concerns, and even a regional financial headquarters. The university may have had a major effect on the evident growth of business; maybe the companies had finally realized that the proximity of a university, though not as well-known as those in the Ivy League, ensured a steady supply of brainpower. Unfortunately, history graduates like me didn’t fit the profile of their desired employees.
And no, I didn’t want to be in charge of the mail room.
I turned from the main road into the tree-lined street leading to the main campus. Around the university was a vibrant and pleasant enough community. Jen had her apartment just outside the campus gate. Unlike me, she wasn’t a native of Montana. Jen came from Kansas, one of those towns between Kansas City and Lawrence. On a scholarship, she’d arrived two years ago and had been my girlfriend for a year now.
I didn’t know what she saw in m
e, but considered myself lucky. Jen had once told me it was my goofy smile. I hadn’t even known I had one and wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or insulted. But hey, she loved me for it, and that was good enough for me.
Then on another occasion, she said it was my practical bent that drew her to me.
And I still didn’t know which one was the truth but if whatever it was worked, then I really didn’t care. I just had to make sure I didn’t change a thing about myself or I’d probably lose her. One year was still too short a time for me to be confident she wouldn’t change her mind.
The sight of National Guardsmen on street corners greeted me as I made my way through the small community. There were no checkpoints, but the sight of armed soldiers backed up by Bradleys, an Abrams tank, armored Humvees, and MRAPs, or Mine-Resistant Ambush Protected vehicles intended to be anti-IED vehicles, made me slow down.
At one intersection, just before the right turn to the campus road, I caught sight of a familiar face. It was Stan. 2nd Lieutenant Stan Davis. Not part of my group of close friends but we got on well enough. But the guy was on the fast track, having gotten a computer science degree. He was a nice guy and had set up Mom’s client software.
Stan got paid, of course, but did the job with a lot of value-added enhancements. I parked the car on the street, got out, and turned to call him. But he saw me first and hurried over.
“Yo, Eric, my man, what are you doing here? I thought you graduated?” he asked when we exchanged fist bumps and a high five, a signature greeting which my friends and I shared but Stan was close enough to us to know that sort of thing.
Stan had his camouflaged helmet on, and was wearing the new Army ACU gear, loaded down with MOLLE attachments for magazines, and also carrying an M4 and a small pack—a three-day assault pack, I believe that’s what it’s called.
He looked loaded for bear. The guy even had two grenades.
“I’m fetching Jen,” I said. “With all this weird shit, I figured I’d get her and have her stay with us for a while.”
Planar Wars: Apertures (Book 1) Page 2
