Before Simon could respond, a brilliant white flash blinded his vision from above. A few moments later, he dropped to the ground, then a subtle pressure wave hit his body, bringing with it a deep-toned oomph sound.
Simon turned to check on Slayer, but stopped when another oomph hit, then another, and another; each time it washed over his body and rang at his ears.
About fifteen seconds later, the waves stopped and so did the rain, leaving his ears free to listen. He heard nothing—nothing except the beat of his own heart. The countryside was eerily silent for the first time since the ominous weather first started.
His eyes drifted upward, checking the sky above the drenched landscape. The pink glow was gone, leaving only the original storm clouds, which had returned to their usual red color. He wondered if the rain would start drizzling again.
He checked the area. The previously floating objects were back on the ground, some lying sideways, much like his stomach felt at the moment. The SUVs had landed upright on their tires and looked to be intact.
The pressure across Simon’s chest was gone, but the disorientation remained, making him queasy. He looked at Slayer and Slayer looked at him—both men with eyes wide. Dumbfounded was the best description of the look on Slayer’s face. He imagined Slayer thought the same of him.
He decided it was time to go in search of Wicks, but before his feet could move, the weather changed again. The red storm clouds opened up and sent an endless sea of pink-colored lightning bolts at the surface, showering the countryside in streaks of high-voltage energy.
Slayer dropped to his knees and ducked, putting his arms over his head.
So did Simon, expecting the energy to dissipate after impact. But the bolts remained, almost as if the lightning had stuck into the ground, transforming themselves into steady beams of light.
The lightshow was seemingly everywhere, giving off a brilliant pink glow. The closest strand was twenty feet away, buzzing Simon’s ear like a fluorescent light on the fritz.
He checked a few of the contact points, expecting the energy beams to be randomly connected to objects on the ground like the farmhouse, trees, or machinery. But they weren’t—only the surface. Almost like they’d been targeting Mother Earth and avoiding everything else.
A moment later the light rays began to change, transforming from a fluorescent pink color to more of a soft, translucent look with flutters of white, yellow, and purple-colored energy pulsating inside.
Bands of color started shooting down from the clouds, as if the storm was pumping energy through a glowing plastic tube and injecting it into the surface. As the seconds passed, the color bands seemed to travel faster and faster as they raced down the insides of the conduit.
Simon forced himself to get up from his knees, fearing the energy would conduct through the water and make contact with him, but it didn’t. He didn’t know why but was thankful. Perhaps something in the red rain was channeling or controlling the electricity somehow, like it had inside the storm clouds.
He was starting to think this event was being controlled somehow—set to a specific agenda. The electrical storm seemed to have its own rules of engagement, something akin to changing the laws of physics for its own purpose.
“We need get out of here!” Slayer yelled, getting to his feet as well.
“And go where?”
“I don’t know! Anywhere but here!”
Simon grabbed his arm. “No! We stay here till this is over. We don’t know if these beams are going to move or change tactics, so we stand firm. Right now, they don’t seem interested in us. We should get in the truck and out of this water.”
As soon as the last word flew from his lips, every light strand across the sky disappeared in an instant, like someone had flipped off a power switch. The buzzing stopped as well.
He craned his neck in time to watch the storm clouds split into a million randomly-sized sections of color, then collapse into ever-decreasing points of light.
A handful of seconds later, the clouds were gone and the sky was burning blue under the faithful watch of the sun.
All that remained of the menacing weather event was the saturated ground, still covered in water and running red.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Simon held the driver’s pistol in a firing position, both hands on the grip of the semi-automatic. “Cuff him,” he directed Slayer, who was now crouched next to the unconscious driver.
“I don’t think he’s alive,” Slayer said, putting a hand on the man’s chest. “He’s not breathing.”
“Check again. You didn’t hit him that hard. Try getting a pulse on his neck.”
Slayer went to remove the man’s helmet and mounted headset, but couldn’t. The microphone was attached to the skin. “It’s stuck to his cheek. How the hell did that happen?”
“I don’t know. Doesn’t make sense.”
Slayer ripped it free, taking several layers of tissue with it and leaving behind a bloody patch. He inspected the unit with his eyes and pulled at it with the first two fingers on his hand.
“Looks like it was melted, Red. I’m guessing by the emitters?”
“Or a side effect of the pink lightning.”
Slayer touched the driver’s neck with two fingers and waited ten seconds before he spoke. “No pulse. He’s dead, all right.”
“Something must have stopped his heart. Probably the same thing that melted the headset.”
“Why him?”
“Good question,” Simon said, digging out three ammo magazines from the Velcro pouches on the driver’s chest rig. “Follow me. Stay low.”
Slayer nodded, slipping in behind Simon as they made their way to the closest NSG support vehicle. The men assigned to it were lying in the mud and none of them were moving. Just like the driver, their microphones were melted to their faces.
Simon took a minute to check the rest of NSG’s men. No pulse from any of them. “Must have been the tech they were wearing. It’s the only common denominator.”
“Well, that and the fact they were all assholes.”
“Can’t argue with you there,” Simon said, unable to hold back a grin. He took a moment to think. “The storm’s energy must have overloaded their gear, then arced across their bodies and stopped their hearts.”
“Could the microwaves have done it?”
“I don’t think so, otherwise we would’ve been affected, too. No, the gear must have been overloaded, and the only way I know for that to happen is from some type of an electrical surge. A massive one.”
“Or it was more than one surge.”
“What do you mean?”
“Those pressure waves we felt—could they have been EMPs being released? That might explain how the headsets got fried. You said earlier that the clouds were holding and controlling energy. Maybe the emitters were designed to overload their EM grid and cause a series of electromagnetic pulses.”
The kid might be on to something, Simon thought. “It would explain a few things. But I don’t remember ever reading that an EMP can kill a person. Or that you’d feel it like we did.”
“They were pretty low to the ground. Would that make a difference?”
“I suppose. They were definitely directional,” Simon answered, letting the facts percolate in his brain.
“Maybe it was a combination? EMPs and the microwaves?”
Simon nodded, albeit slowly. “It still doesn’t explain the pink lightning storm streaks at the end.”
Slayer pinched his eyes, then tilted his head slightly to one side. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Red, but doesn’t electricity tend to run to ground?”
“Yeah, to the nearest negative.”
“Then isn’t it possible the storm might have wanted to drain its remaining energy after setting off the EMP bursts?”
“You mean with pink lightning that seemed to stick in the dirt?”
Slayer nodded, then shrugged.
Simon couldn’t come up with a competing theory. “If that�
�s true, then it would imply intelligence, or some type of programming. I can’t believe something like that would just happen on its own.”
“Yep. That’s what I’m thinking.”
“I don’t know, Slayer. Seems like a bit of a stretch.”
Slayer smirked, like he’d been offended. “Hey, I’m just throwing out ideas. Trying to help.”
Simon put a hand on the kid’s shoulder. “Don’t sweat it. It’s all just a guess at this point.”
“Maybe we should check the engines?”
Simon like the idea. His eyes turned to the SUV they’d arrived in. It was sitting with its doors open. He went to it and sat in the driver’s seat. His fingers found the ignition and turned the key but he heard nothing—no click, no whine of the starter, and no engine turning over. He tried again. Same thing—nothing. It was completely dead.
Slayer stood next to him in the open door. “Like I said, EMPs. If I’m right, then wouldn’t all the electronics be fried?”
“You should try the others, just to be sure,” Simon told him, wanting to remain behind and consider their options.
“Sure,” Slayer said, turning and walking away. He went to each of the remaining SUVs and tried to start them. After each attempt, he got out of the driver’s seat and gave Simon a thumbs-down signal. He returned a few minutes later.
“Looks like we’re stranded here, Red. You’d think they would’ve been smart enough to build these things with a Faraday Cage or something. Like we’re doing for G’s computer lab.”
“Obviously, that’s not the case.”
“Yeah, but if nothing else, at least this truck with all the communications gear. EMPs are a constant threat, right?”
“They may have. But the doors were left open, remember. Shielding is useless unless it covers the electronics a hundred percent.”
“Oh yeah, there’s that.”
“I wonder if this happened everywhere?” Simon asked.
“You mean across the planet?”
Simon nodded. “It seems logical to assume that it didn’t just happen here. Otherwise, why cover all the major land masses with the storm?”
Slayer flared his eyes. “Lots of people use wearable tech these days. If the same thing happened to them—”
“Then there’s a lot of bodies lying in the streets.”
Slayer paused before he spoke. “Can you imagine what it must be like in Philly right now? Or New York? We’re talking carnage everywhere.”
“Yep. And they’re going to assume it’s some type of terrorist attack. Or pandemic. People are going to panic.”
“And then some.”
“Probably a good thing you didn’t still have the Taser in your sock.”
Slayer hesitated, looking down at his pant leg. “Shit, you’re right. Otherwise, I’d be dead, too. Wow, talk about dumb luck. Unreal.”
“Sometimes you just get lucky,” Simon scoffed.
“Still,” he said, shaking his head. “Unbelievable. I hope G and the rest of the crew got that shielding done in time.”
“Let’s hope. But right now, we need to go find Wicks,” Simon said, taking the assault rifle from the man lying in front of him, and a few thirty-round magazines. He gave the pistol to Slayer. “Try not to shoot me in the back.”
“Trust me. I only hit what I aim at.”
“Well, then, don’t aim at me. Verify what’s downrange before you squeeze the trigger.”
“Hang on. I have a better idea,” Slayer said, scooting to another NSG victim, who was lying on his back in the mud with a rifle sitting on his chest.
Slayer tucked the pistol inside the back of his pants, then snatched the man’s AR-15 and grabbed several mags before returning to Simon. “A man can never have too much firepower.”
“That’s true, but remember to fire in short, controlled bursts. I’m guessing these are automatics so don’t just start spraying and praying.”
Slayer laughed, checking the ammo inside one of the magazines. “Awesome! Green tips! Armor piercing.”
He held the firearm up and aimed it at a tree fifty yards away, then pulled the trigger. It fired a burst of rounds—maybe five—hitting the tree center mass. He looked at Simon and smiled. “Cool, it works. Needed to make sure with the EMPs and all.”
“Of course it works. ARs don’t have any electronics.”
“Still, I needed to check.”
“Let’s go,” Simon said, making his way to the front gate, stopping at the first corpse.
Its blindfold was off. He figured Wicks must have removed it when she ran from the SUV. Simon studied the victim’s face—it wasn’t Wyatt. He checked the other two bodies. They weren’t Wyatt’s, either.
“She must have gone inside,” Slayer said, standing over the last body, next to Simon. “I wonder if Wyatt’s still alive?”
“There’s only one way to know for sure. Follow me.”
Slayer grabbed his arm. “How about I lead?”
Simon hesitated as he thought it over. “Okay, but I’ll be right on your six every step of the way. Take it slow. We don’t know what we’re dealing with here and we don’t want to accidentally shoot Wicks or her brother.”
“Roger that, boss.”
* * *
G flicked on a LED flashlight and aimed it at the electrical subpanel in the basement of Pandora’s main house. He walked over to it and opened the panel’s door, wondering why the generator hadn’t kicked on when the power failed. He checked the breakers—each one of them was in the on position. None of them had been tripped.
The door at the top of the stairs squeaked open, then slammed against the side of the wall.
“You okay down there, G?” Dixie yelled.
“Yeah, why?”
“Oh my God! Didn’t you feel that?” she asked.
He wasn’t sure what she was referring to and honestly didn’t care. He had work to do. The Internet was still down and now the power was out.
It was already the day from hell and really starting to piss him off. So, too, were these endless distractions from the girls upstairs.
Most recently, it was Dixie’s incessant singing. Her voice was powerful, charging its way down the stairs and penetrating his workspace. It wasn’t that she couldn’t carry a tune, because she could—very well, in fact. It was more that he was forced to listen to her sing the song over and over. Like a hundred times already. Every time he turned around it seemed like Dixie was belting out another powerful rendition of Danielle Bradbery’s new country song, Time and Forever.
When he first heard the melody, he loved it. But now, it had become annoying. The tune was starting to feel like an army of fire ants burrowing into his brain.
A pair of feet came running down the stairs. He swung his head. It was Dixie. She used a knife to slice through the metal tape around the mesh gate they’d constructed to finish the room’s shielding. When she was done, she opened the gate and stepped through.
He pointed at the opening. “You do realize I’m gonna have to seal it up again after you leave. You can’t keep cutting it open anytime you want. We only have so much foil tape.”
“Sorry. But seriously, didn’t you feel that?”
“Feel what?”
“The oomphs, then the weightlessness.”
He didn’t answer her, pausing to consider the words she’d just used. He shot her a look of confusion.
She continued. “Just a minute ago. We all started floating in the air. It was really cool.”
“All of you?”
“Yeah. Didn’t it happen to you?”
“Nope,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Not down here where the laws of physics still apply.”
She looked up at the ceiling, then around the room. “I guess the shielding must’ve protected you.”
“From what?”
Dixie’s eyes flew wide and the tone of her voice changed to one of playful exuberance. “From everything that just happened. It was awesome, G. You need to come outside. There’s som
ething you need to see!”
“I don’t know. I’m kinda busy down here.”
“Seriously. You need to come check it out,” Dixie said, tugging at his arm like a two-year-old. “I’m not leaving until you do.”
“Okay. Okay. Don’t get handsy. I’ll go,” he said, pulling free from her paws. “I need to go check on the power anyway. I don’t know if a breaker tripped in the main panel or what, but the generator should’ve kicked on by now.”
“That’s what I want to show you. Something incredible just happened.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Jeffery Hansen decided to call out in the darkness after the lights went out and the ship’s engines fell silent. He craned his neck, aiming his voice at the retracted metal stairs that led to an elevated hatch where he’d last seen a live person.
“Hey! I need to speak with your boss! . . . Hello? . . . Anyone up there?”
He waited, but no answer came from above. All he heard was the lingering echo of his own voice as it reverberated along the riveted walls of the empty cargo hold that smelled of petroleum.
Originally, he thought the tanker ship was transporting him to the USA. At least that’s what Carlos Santiago had told him after the lengthy interrogation and subsequent agreement for ransom. But it was becoming clear that was all a lie.
Hansen hadn’t seen anyone for hours. Not since they’d dumped him in this metal prison. No Santiago. No guards. No Crosby. Just him, his own heartbeat, and his lingering BO that was fermenting by the minute.
When the engines quit and the lights went out a minute ago, it sent a slew of new thoughts and ideas into his mind.
He ran through the timing, letting them percolate with the other facts he knew. If his suspicions were correct, Project Trident may have just delivered its payload after being energized by the microwave emitters that had been secretly installed around the world by one of RaineTech’s subsidiary companies.
If all this was true, Trident had released its focused, low-level EMPs across the globe, bringing society to its knees. Not only above ground, but below, too, after the red rain had a chance to soak in and complete the subterranean ferro-chemical framework.
Redfall: Freedom Fighters (American Prepper Series Book 2) Page 11
