Axis of Evil: Post Apocalyptic EMP Survival Fiction (The Lone Star Series Book 1)

by Bobby Akart

  He grimaced. He’d veered off course away from the beach and toward a small valley that held a narrow creek. The creek was rising from the cold rain, which had now fully penetrated his body and added twenty pounds to Park’s.

  Then the final volley came. They’d caught up to him. Despite the darkness, their rounds found their mark. The DPRK Type 88s, their version of the Russian-made AK-74s, ripped through the forest, and five powerful rounds embedded into Park’s back.

  The impact forced Duncan forward, causing him to lose his grip on his now dead friend and tumble head over heels, over and over down the creek until he reached a thirty-foot-tall cliff. Unable to gain his footing, he slid toward the edge until he careened over the side. His body contorted in the air as he tried to right himself, to no avail.

  When he landed flat on his back in the shallow creek, the blow knocked the wind out of him. A barely conscious Duncan Armstrong was floating face up in the icy waters toward the tiny village of Jai-do.

  Chapter 53

  November 16

  Armstrong Ranch

  Borden County, Texas

  Intuition had no real scientific explanation. To be sure, scientists tried when they defined the phenomenon as a process that arises within a circumscribed cognitive domain.

  What?

  Mothers know the meaning of intuition, even without the guidance of a phrase created by words that don’t seem to match. Some called it a gut feeling, others understood they’re tapping into something extraordinary, but they were not sure what. For a mother, intuition was one of the impenetrable mysteries of humanity, a protective mechanism that guided her as she cared for her children.

  Lucy Armstrong awoke just after four o’clock that morning by sitting straight up in bed. Her pillow and nightgown were soaked with sweat, and her body was covered with goose bumps. Major was pleasantly snoring his way until dawn, but Lucy bolted out of bed and immediately ran to the bathroom to look at herself in the mirror.

  She began to cry. Gentle tears streamed down her face at first, and she forced a laugh to calm herself down. She ran water in the sink to mask the sound from her sleeping husband, but when she looked in the mirror again, the waterworks came in earnest.

  “Lucy Armstrong, what in the world is wrong with you?” she whispered to herself as she patted her face dry with a hand towel. She reached for a Kleenex and blew her nose, a hearty effort that caused her to chuckle and blow again.

  After regaining her composure, she checked herself in the mirror one more time and smiled back at her aging face. Silly girl, she thought as she turned to return to bed.

  Rather than going back to sleep, she reached for her iPad to go through her morning routine. Fully awake, and with her normal five a.m. inner alarm clock ticking closer, she started with emails and text messages.

  This time, it wasn’t just a cursory glance at anything that might have come to her overnight. No, she went directly to the email account designed for contact with Duncan when he was abroad. He’d warned her not to use her personal email accounts when communicating with him in case he became compromised. She never asked what that entailed, precisely, but the concept of operational security had been explained to her many times by Duncan and Dallas. Maintaining separation from family, especially when there was a possibility of them being captured, was for their safety as well as hers.

  She opened the account, searching for a message from Duncan. Nothing. There were no messages via iPad Messages—the green one, as she called it, in order to differentiate from the blue Facebook Messenger icon. As the so-called IT guru of the Armstrong household, at least when it came to their iPads, Lucy was operating at a second-grade level.

  She bypassed the weather app and went directly to check the news. Has something happened? Lucy couldn’t overcome this sense of foreboding and apprehension. She had worried about Duncan in the past, but never like this.

  International news dealt with the planned ICBM missile launch of North Korea, which had apparently been cancelled yesterday. The usual pundits and experts, all of whom had their own political agenda, pontificated on the reasons for the cancellation.

  In national news, the American Automobile Association, AAA, issued a press release claiming a record number of travelers would hit the road for next week’s Thanksgiving holiday. Nearly sixty million travelers were expected to fly or drive to visit family or take a long weekend vacation.

  This reminded her of the rodeo kids’ planned travels to the Calgary Stampede in Canada next week. She knew how important it was for Cooper to compete, but his prior head injury was still cause for a mother’s concern.

  Is that it? Am I worried about Cooper?

  Lucy rolled her head and neck on her shoulders to release the tension that was still built up inside her. Her crying spell was over and had now been replaced with a determination to find out what caused it.

  While it was true that she was concerned for Cooper and the prospects of aggravating his concussion, she trusted her son’s judgment. He had a lot of years of bull riding ahead of him if that was the path he chose. Lucy knew he wouldn’t risk further injury, or even his life, after what he’d just been through.

  She moved on to the local news. Just after dawn, NASA was launching its mysterious X-37B space plane from the newly expanded Johnson Space Center south of Houston. At the behest of Defense Secretary Gregg, the Johnson Space Center had added a rocket launch site specifically for the X-37B.

  The space plane, which was a smaller version of the now retired space shuttles, was used for experimentation and risk reduction, according to the article. The robotic spacecraft was controlled by the Johnson Space Center, which had announced the mission two days ago. The impromptu press conference and the rushed schedule was unprecedented for the X-37B program.

  Lucy continued reading the article. Mission’s purpose unclear—length of time in space, unspecified—experimental nature.

  The article on the KHOU website in Houston showed a graphic of the projected flight path after launch. Because of the early morning hour, clear skies, and the sun rising in the east to illuminate the rocket, the X-37B would be visible to the naked eye from Amarillo to Lubbock.

  Suddenly, Lucy got excited about the prospect of a rocket flying overhead and decided to wake her husband up early so they could watch together. Her eagerness overcame her sense of dread.

  Nothing is happening to us right now. It’s gonna be all right.

  Chapter 54

  November 16

  The Roosevelt Room

  The White House

  Washington, DC

  President Harman and Chief of Staff Acton were several minutes late to the special briefing on the cancelled missile launch in North Korea. When they arrived, Secretary Gregg was reviewing a CIA report on tensions escalating between India and Pakistan. He intended to bring this up today, although it was most likely unrelated to the North Korean threat. It was, however, a reminder to the president that the threat of a global nuclear war should be taken seriously.

  President Harman entered the room, and everyone respectfully stood and greeted her. She seemed to be in a jovial mood as she passed around two boxes of Krispy Kreme donuts purchased for the occasion.

  “You know, once upon a time, all of us had jobs that didn’t required this level of stress. Some of us might discuss the upcoming Thanksgiving holiday preparations. Perhaps the guys might debate who the number one college football team was. These donuts are a reminder that we were all ordinary Americans at one time, at least to a certain degree. The weighty decisions made in this room were once made by others on our behalf.

  “However, all of us have agreed to take on this tremendous amount of responsibility. Our duties require more than political posturing or tweaking of economic policies. Sometimes, we make life-or-death decisions on behalf of the American people. From health-care coverage to sending troops into battle, what comes out of the room has a profound effect on everyday Americans whom we’ll never meet.”

 
; You have no idea, Secretary Gregg thought to himself.

  President Harman continued. “A week ago, I threw down the gauntlet to Beijing. I let them know our patience had run out and so had time for the regime in Pyongyang. I demanded they contact Kim Jong-un to cancel the scheduled ICBM test for yesterday, or in the alternative, have him reprogram the trajectory to travel over mainland China into the South China Sea. If our demands weren’t met, then diplomacy would end, and all options would be on the table.”

  President Harman paused to allow the forcefulness of her resolve to sink in. Secretary Gregg managed a smirk as he passed on the offering of donuts. He’d never been ordinary, and of all people, he knew what it meant to send his troops into battle. Unlike others in this room, he’d seen death firsthand. He’d also expressed condolences to the families of the fallen, something this president couldn’t find time in her busy schedule to do.

  He regained his composure and resisted the urge to put the president in her place. Make no mistake, Kim Jong-un, may the devil welcome him with open arms, was the reason the launch was cancelled. It was because he’d been cancelled.

  “As you know, the missile launch yesterday was in fact halted,” said President Harman. “While we’ve not been in touch with the Chinese embassy as of yet, I will be expressing my thanks to Beijing for their role in forcing the DPRK to stand down with this escalation in their nuclear program.”

  Secretary Gregg continued to thumb through the CIA report on India and Pakistan, choosing to avoid the president’s grandiosity. He detected a long pause in her self-congratulations and looked up. Acton had received a text message and was showing it to the president.

  Well, Madame President, you are probably now learning what stopped the launch, and it wasn’t your superior diplomatic skills.

  “Please turn on the television monitors,” instructed Acton. Two staff members scrambled for the remotes, and the screens came to life. MSNBC and CNN cable news feeds revealed a special news alert.

  Each network displayed a similar chyron, the electronically generated caption superimposed at the bottom of the screen on most cable news outlets. They read Kim Jong-un to make rare public appearance & remarks.

  Secretary Gregg frowned and shook his head. He sat up in his chair as sweat began to form on his forehead.

  Calm down, Monty. This is probably a prerecorded ruse. A disinformation campaign to keep their people in line.

  Everyone in the room was silent as the volume was turned up on the CNN feed. Alisyn Camerota, formerly with Fox News, had on her serious Diane Sawyer look.

  “In a rare public appearance, North Korean dictator Kim Jong-un will be making live remarks at the annual Mother’s Day Parade in Pyongyang in just a few minutes. In 2015, the regime declared November 16 to be a national day of remembrance in his mother’s honor. A parade and associated festivities are customary for this event; however live public remarks by Kim Jong-un are unprecedented.”

  Secretary Gregg was now visibly shaken as the state-run media in North Korea began to provide video footage of the parade. The weather conditions in North Korea were obviously deteriorating as the rain appeared to blow sideways, but that didn’t dampen the spirits of the cheering, adoring North Koreans, who dared not sit this one out.

  The sweat was now pouring out of his forehead, and he tried to nonchalantly wipe it away. His hands were cold and clammy.

  Come on, General, get it together. This is going to be a body double.

  The cameras eventually zoomed in on the staging area where Kim Jong-un emerged wearing his father’s signature fur hat pulled over his head, handcrafted with earflaps, which protected Kim’s face from the blowing snow as he waved to the crowd. Protected by plastic curtains on either side of the enclosure, he stood in his signature wool coat buttoned up around his sizable frame.

  “Who is the man standing to Kim’s right?” asked the president.

  “It’s hard to be sure because of the feed’s grainy, poor quality, but that appears to be his new state security chief, Jong Won-sek,” replied the deputy director of the CIA, who was in attendance.

  “He’s a relatively young man,” remarked the president.

  “Certainly not cut from the same mold of past military leaders for the regime,” added the CIA attendee. “He is rumored to be a brutal proponent of the totalitarian regime’s military policies. His greatest achievement, which probably earned him the top spot and the right to stand next to Dear Leader, was his success in expanding their Lightning Death Squad. This commando unit can rival many nations’.”

  As the camera panned the observation tent, Kim Jong-un flashed his signature grin. To Secretary Gregg, it somehow seemed different this time—much bigger and toothier. It reeked of arrogance. Secretary Gregg had seen the look before—after he’d cheated death himself.

  Kim began his remarks, and the English interpreter was able to expertly relay the dictator’s defiant tone.

  “Where is his sister, I wonder?” asked the president. “She’s almost always by his side. You’d think for an event like Mother’s Day, she be in his presence rather than his newest thug.”

  Nobody in the room answered as the interpreter continued to translate Kim’s opening remarks. Reality began to set in for Secretary Gregg. The assassination attempt had failed. Kim’s sister had been implicated and was likely under house arrest, or imprisoned, or dead.

  The team he’d sent in to kill America’s biggest nemesis was unsuccessful, which made him feel less guilty about calling off the extraction team. The risk of entering North Korean waters was too great. The two-man team had no outward connections to the United States whatsoever. Hopefully, they weren’t taken alive.

  The translator continued, but Secretary Gregg had lost his focus. The repercussions of failure hadn’t necessarily dawned on him. His eyes darted around the room, and they met the president’s. She had been studying him.

  He felt cold, clammy. He imagined that his face was pale, and the sweat wouldn’t stop.

  “Mr. Secretary, are you all right?” asked President Harman.

  “Um, no, yes. Yes, of course I’m all right. I, um, didn’t take time for breakfast. It must be a blood sugar thing.”

  The President of the United States leaned across the table and pushed a Krispy Kreme box in his direction.

  “Perhaps you should have a donut. That might make you feel better.”

  No, it won’t.

  Chapter 55

  November 16

  Sinmi-do, North Korea

  Duncan floated for an eternity. He didn’t know if he was alive or dead. His body was cold, so he assumed he was dead. He knew this time would come, his dad had told him so.

  Son, eventually every soldier runs out of bullets. Although his armor wears thin with time, it weighs heavier on his tired body. He simply must rest, remove his helmet, and lay down his head. It is then that his duties are over.

  In Duncan’s semiconscious state, he replayed the words over and over through his mind. As the cold overtook him, he found himself unable to remember his father’s words exactly. He struggled to gain full consciousness, sometimes becoming angry as his memory failed him.

  Floating, his body limp, he gave up control of his life. This was not his way of living, but he decided it was the way to die. Giving up control to God when it was his time to be taken to Heaven.

  Duncan abandoned his mental struggle to remember his father’s words of advice. He looked into his mother’s eyes and visualized the sadness on her face when she learned of Dallas being killed in action.

  He was home on that day when the dark green sedan pulled down the driveway. Duncan didn’t have to wait for its arrival before he knew what it meant. The chaplain emerged from the car first, followed by the notifying officer, and then finally a medic, who stood respectfully to the side.

  His mother came running out of the house, wailing in grief, which brought Duncan and his father racing out of the barn. The chaplain did his best to comfort Miss Lucy, but i
t wasn’t until she joined him in prayer did her grief subside.

  To you, oh Lord, I lift up my soul.

  Duncan could only remember the first sentence. He tuned out the rest as he began to question what kind of God would take his little brother. He’d made the mistake in confiding to Cooper days later that he was questioning his faith. He couldn’t have this conversation with his parents, as their emotions were still too raw.

  The comfort he’d hoped to receive from Cooper didn’t happen. Instead, Cooper blistered him with hurtful, stinging words—what kind of big brother would send Dallas off to war? You knew better! You knew better!

  Duncan had lived with the guilt of Dallas’s death ever since. He had seen battle and death. He’d seen men and women maimed by powerful weapons, later struggling to make a life for themselves. Sometimes they were shunned by friends and family, which made the wounded warriors feel a pain far greater than the loss of a limb.

  He’d tried to reconcile with his brother, but Cooper couldn’t find it in his heart to forgive, or forget. Now, karma was taking his life as he continued floating for an eternity.

  To you, oh Lord, I lift up my soul!

  Floating.

  Then Duncan felt himself being lifted out of the water, the icy cold moisture falling from his body. He could hear the gentle voice of a woman, yet he couldn’t discern what she was saying. A man provided words of support, but they made no sense.

  Duncan relaxed his body and allowed it to be taken higher, ready to meet God.

  Chapter 56

  November 17

  Home of Secretary of Defense Montgomery Gregg

  Georgetown

  Washington, DC

  Secretary Gregg was not a drinker, but tonight might have to be the exception. There would be no celebratory cigars or pats on the back for a job well done. They’d failed, and the repercussions could be more than any of them imagined. He waited in the dimly lit room for Director Carl Braun and Billy Yancey to arrive.