Officer Of The Watch: Blackout Volume 1

by D W McAliley

  Bill snorted again, and Eric shook his head. "You know what I mean. If that guy had been a better shot....well, I don't want someone else getting hurt or killed because we're too complacent."

  Bill touched his left shoulder lightly before replying, "I know what you're saying, and you're right. We've got to be more careful."

  Eric nodded. "I'll get Mike, and we'll take care of what's inside," He said. "You rest."

  Eric stood and motioned for Mike to follow him. They both carried flashlights and they had their pistols drawn. Mike went first into the store, and Eric followed him, keeping his eyes moving and checking the shadows all around them. The late afternoon sun was slanting through the glass front of the store, and it cast long shadows in the aisles that made Eric jumpy.

  The two moved to the back of the store where the body lay. They stood looking down at the deceased man for a long moment, neither really sure what to do next. Eric had to swallow the taste of bile several times.

  "Well," Mike said at last, "I don't think we'll be able to dig a grave with the camp shovel I have in my backpack outside. So, what do you suggest?"

  Eric shrugged slightly. "I don't know, man. There's a fire exit right there," Eric said, pointing to the back corner of the store a few feet away. "We can drag him outside and at least cover him up."

  Mike nodded, then looked back at Eric. "Head or feet?" he asked.

  It was the last straw. Eric turned, lurched three steps into the dark bathroom, and emptied his stomach in the dark.

  After he collected himself, Eric helped Mike pull the dead body out the fire exit as carefully as they could. If he hadn't already done it, Eric would have lost his lunch several times in the process. Once outside, they laid the man out as neatly as possible. Mike bent and began feeling the man's pockets, sticking his hands in them one by one. Eric was about to object when Mike abruptly stood with a thin wallet in his hand. He pulled out a driver's license and looked at it before handing it over to Eric.

  "Desandro Rafaella," Eric read softly. "Rest in peace."

  "Amen," Mike said softly, and he bent to cover Desandro's face with a black bandanna from inside the gas station.

  Eric turned to go back inside the gas station, but Mike suddenly caught his arm, "Do you hear that?" Mike said, his voice intense.

  Eric opened his mouth to say no, but stopped. He strained to listen and caught a very faint, very distant rumble of aircraft engines. At the same instant he and Mike bolted around the outside wall of the store to where the others were standing. Eric grabbed Christina's hand, and they turned towards the southwest where the noise was coming from.

  After a few moments, the sound of the engines grew to a roar, and a flight of eight C-130 cargo planes broke over the tree tops on the other side of the lake. They were flying low and fast, all four props on their wings roaring at max RPM's. Christina and Imogene both started jumping up and down and waving their arms, screaming and laughing and crying at the same time. But Eric frowned as he watched the aircraft fly over. Something didn't seem right, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

  "Where are the markings?" Bill asked suddenly from Eric's left shoulder, and Eric jumped.

  "Jesus, Bill," Eric said. "You'll give me a heart attack!"

  "Sorry," Bill said sheepishly. "But look at them. They're all painted jet black with no flags, no numbers, and no markings."

  Eric turned back and watched as the last of the C-130's flew overhead, and Bill was right. The planes were painted a uniform, unbroken charcoal black. Another flight of eight followed the first, and they were painted the same way. As the rumble from the C-130's was just beginning to fade, a new noise grew. Eric and the group watched as a flight of six charcoal black A-10's screamed overhead escorting four of the largest aircraft he'd ever seen in his life.

  Christina and Imogene had stopped waving their arms.

  "What the hell are those?" Eric whispered.

  "C-5 Galaxy," Mike said in awe. "Largest military transport the US has in service. I saw one at an air show with two tanks loaded on it."

  "What branch were they from?" Claire asked.

  Mike shook his head. "I don't know. All of the military aircraft I know of have flags and squadron numbers and all kinds of stuff painted all over them. The only exception is the B-2, and none of those looked like a stealth bomber to me."

  The group turned and watched as the planes banked and headed slightly to the north east, and Eric felt a lump form in the pit of his stomach. The strange aircraft were headed towards the cargo terminal at Charlotte-Douglas Airport—less than three miles from his house.

  Ch. 19

  Be Home By

  Joe waited until the sound of the Humvee's had faded completely before he cracked the front door. Even then, he sat with his ear pressed against the thin opening, barely breathing.

  All he could hear was the wind.

  Joe carefully eased the door open and set his rifle flat on the floor next to the wall, just inside the threshold. He left the door open and darted quickly down the stairs and to the mailbox out front at a low crouch. Joe opened the mailbox, grabbed everything inside, and sprinted back in the house.

  He turned and eased the door quickly, but silently closed.

  When he stood, Tom was back downstairs with Chris and Henderson. The three men faced him, their faces grim. The envelope from Parker was sitting on top, but it would have been easy to recognize if it had been mixed in with everything else. The envelope was plain white with no address for sender or recipient anywhere on it. Instead, there was a large seal of the Department of Homeland Security on one side, and FEMA on the other.

  He handed the rest of Tom's mail to him, but kept Parker's letter. Joe took a deep breath, flipped open a small, very sharp lock-back, and slit one end of the envelope open carefully. A letter fell into his hand, and he started reading. It didn't take long for his stomach to start to churn.

  The letter read:

  Dear Citizen,

  I'm sure you are aware that a catastrophic event has occurred. Please, do not be alarmed. The Federal Emergency Management Agency has established protocols to maintain order and stability in just such emergencies. FEMA, in partnership with the Department of Homeland Security, has declared a temporary state of Extreme National Concern, Threat, and Emergency. As such, there are certain mandatory precautions all citizens must adhere to for their own safety.

  Some of these concerns are:

  1) All persons under the age of 18 must be accompanied by an adult relative if they are to be in public areas.

  2) All persons over the age of 18 must restrict themselves to their place of residence from the hours of 6pm to 9am.

  3) All gatherings of more than four people who are unrelated by direct blood or marriage are hereby declared disturbances of the peace and a violation of protocol.

  4) All persons over the age of 18 must register with the Emergency Response Control Board to obtain information regarding restricted access areas, re-supply rations, and general information.

  We understand this is a difficult time, and we thank you for your patience and your participation in the Emergency response. Please, be advised that any violation of the above precautions will result in disciplinary action which may include, but not be limited to:

  1) Fines

  2) Forfeitures

  3) Incarceration

  4) Further disciplinary action to be determined

  Violators will be apprehended immediately on proof or suspicion of violation by authorized agents, and they will be required to present themselves before the ERCB Disciplinary Review board or the District Coordinator as instructed. All decisions rendered shall be final.

  Sincerely,

  Reginald Parker

  Chief Tactical Security Officer

  District 7 ANV 221

  Joe resisted the urge to crumple the letter in his fist, but not by much. He felt the pulse begin to race in his temples, and his adrenaline kicked in.

  "Welcome to marshal la
w, gentlemen," Joe said, and he handed to letter over to them. "It's gonna be a long night."

  Ch. 20

  Midnight Stroll

  There wasn't any moon to speak of overhead, and the night was darker than anything Joe had seen in a long time. Only the stars overhead twinkled, and there were so many it was breath taking. Joe wiped his eyes and blinked a few times, then flipped his night vision goggles down and nodded to Chris.

  Chris started off again at a brisk jog and Joe took up the rear. They hugged the edge of the gravel bed of the train tracks. The shadows cast by the overgrown fringes that shrouded the intermittent chain link fence were nearly complete. As long as they were relatively quiet, they might as well be invisible.

  Twice so far Chris had stopped as a group of six or seven late teen boys had passed within a few dozen yards of them, completely oblivious to their presence. Both times, the young men had been heavily intoxicated and stumbling along in a clumsy attempt at stealth. Chris and Joe had watched through their enhanced vision with safeties off, fingers off the trigger; just in case.

  Thankfully, nothing had happened.

  Chris set a hard, but steady pace, and Joe ground his teeth and sucked air when he couldn't stand it anymore. He kept a good eye on their back trail, though, and so far they were clear. Joe's right knee was throbbing, and he had a painful stitch in his left side, but he kept putting one foot in front of the other. He pushed the pain down and refused to accept it, cutting it off from his perception. It dulled, but it was still there.

  Joe ground his teeth harder.

  Suddenly, Chris pulled up to a stop, and dropped his hand flat to the ground. The two men dropped down on their bellies at the same instant, and Joe began moving forward slowly. When he was in reach, he gently squeezed Chris's right foot to let him know he was there.

  Once Joe worked his way up to Chris, he followed the other man's gesture and saw a bright glow in his night vision. After a moment, the overload filters on his goggles kicked in and cleared up the image. Joe could see four men crouched together with flashlights attached to their tactical vests. When he looked through his free eye, Joe could just barely pick out the red glow of the flashlights a good hundred yards down the track.

  Joe nodded to Chris, and the two crept forward slowly and carefully, bellies flat against the ground. They made quick time at first, sacrificing a bit on silence given the distance between them and their targets. At forty yards out, they started inching forward as quietly as possible.

  Chris gave the signal to stop when they were a little more than thirty yards out from the group of men. They could just barely make out what the men were saying.

  "It has to look random," the one in charge said, and he knelt next to an indistinct lump. There was a soft click, and the man stood. The other three did similar things, and one gave the lump at his feet a solid kick. The lump rolled, and an arm came out from under the rug it was wrapped in.

  The arm twitched a bit, and then started pulling at the rest of the rug.

  "Looks like we've got a squirmer," a second man said. The leader walked up, and grabbed one end of the carpet. He stood and yanked; the bundle unrolled and dumped a naked woman on the gravel. Without hesitation, the leader pulled a suppressed side arm and fired two shots into the woman's forehead.

  "Not anymore," he said. "Let's wrap this up. We've got four more appointments for tonight."

  Chris took a deep breath and brought his gun up, but Joe reached over and squeezed his elbow softly. When Chris shot him a one-eyed glare, Joe shook his head slowly. They couldn't afford to drop these animals, as much as both of them wanted to. If they started leaving a body count all along their trail, they might as well drop some bread crumbs as well.

  Chris's whole body went rigid as he fought with the internal struggle for a brief moment, but finally, he nodded, and relaxed. The four murderers finished their gruesome work then walked away and hopped up onto a dilapidated warehouse loading dock. In a few seconds, they disappeared, and the sounds of their boots faded.

  Chris waited ten minutes to make sure the men weren't coming back, and then he rose to a crouch and motioned Joe to follow him. The two carefully worked their way up to the warehouse and found three bodies rolled in bloody carpet, and one dumped rudely on the ground.

  Joe bent and pulled the carpet up over her face. He knew he shouldn't leave any sign, but he couldn't leave her staring brokenly up at the empty night sky. It twisted his stomach in knots just to think about it. Chris checked the other three for any vital signs, but shook his head sadly.

  "What do you think this was? Who would do something like this? Drug gang?" Chris asked, his voice ragged and his face pale.

  Joe bent and poked in the leaves and gravel with his knife. After a moment he stood and handed a small piece of black plastic band to Chris.

  "How many drug cartels do you know," Joe whispered, "use zip ties to secure a prisoner and a suppressed 9mm to execute a naked housewife? This is something a hell of a lot worse than a drug cartel."

  Chris nodded, and both men checked their weapons to make sure they were chambered and ready like they'd done so many times throughout the course of their midnight stroll. Satisfied, Chris turned and took off at the same ground-eating pace he'd kept all night, and Joe tried his best to keep up. They still had more than seven miles to go before they got to Chris's neighborhood.

  For Joe, the reassurance that he was locked and loaded wasn't much, but in the field you take what you can get.

  Ch. 21

  The Sound of Distant Thunder

  Eric ran a hand through his hair and heaved a heavy sigh. He was exhausted, but he'd given up trying to sleep in the tent next to Bill. The ex-ranger sounded like a perpetual rock slide when he slept. Eric leaned his head back against the warm cinderblock wall of the Stop-n-Shop. He looked up at more stars than he could remember seeing in decades. Meteorites streaked through the blackness every few minutes, but it was nothing like the show from the night before.

  Eric blinked.

  Could it really have only been twenty four hours since he'd watched The Blackout roll across the North Carolina country side? So much had happened and so much had changed throughout the day that it was difficult to wrap his mind around it all. So much of his focus and energy over the course of the past twenty four hours had been devoted simply to reacting and staying alive that he hadn't had the chance to really process it all.

  Sitting in the near silence of the night, though, none of it seemed real. It was as if he had observed the previous day’s events through a lens or a movie. Looking out at the calm, dark surface of the lake a few hundred yards away, though, it was difficult to ignore the stark reality of a half-submerged tail section from a 747.

  Eric closed his eyes and tried to clear his head. As he sat there, the night breeze shifted a bit, and Eric caught the faint hint of lavender and honeysuckles, and he smiled. "Couldn't sleep, huh?" Eric asked, and was rewarded by a disgruntled grunt. Christina plopped down on the concrete sidewalk next to him and snuggled her way under his right arm.

  Eric opened his eyes and looked up at the incredible array of stars overhead. He squeezed his fiancé close and kissed the top of her head. It all would have been very romantic if it hadn't been for the aircraft wreckage, the utter lack of any sound or sight resembling modern life, and the pervasive smell of old smoke and blood.

  Somewhere far off to the north and east, lightning flashed on the horizon and a long time later came the faint rumbling percussion of the thunder that went with it. Christina shivered a bit in the breeze and pushed herself closer to Eric's side and he hugged her tighter.

  "You did good today, babe," Christina whispered. "I'm proud of you."

  Eric snorted softly. "What, you mean running around scared half out of my mind and worried about you? Yeah, I was the pinnacle of cool thinking under pressure."

  Christina pulled back enough to look up at Eric through her eyelashes. "I mean it," she said seriously. "You got help for me when I
broke down; you pulled everyone off the mountain when the fire was coming, and you're the one who stopped Bill's bleeding and saved his life so he could keep all of us awake with his snoring."

  "Not all of us," Claire said softly, and both Eric and Christina jumped. Claire smiled sheepishly in the pale starlit night and said, "Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you. She's right, though, Eric. I think we'd have been in a lot of trouble today if it hadn't been for you."

  Eric shrugged uncomfortably and looked away to the south. Several flashes lit up the sky to the south, and the distant rumble eventually reached them. He didn't like the sudden focus and attention all resting on him; it made his shoulders itch.

  "You couldn't sleep either?" Christina asked, motioning for Claire to sit.

  "Not with that racket," Claire said, hooking her thumb over her shoulder at the tents. "I don't know how Imogene has put up with that for all of these years. I wouldn't be able to sleep a wink with that kind of noise going on."

  "What about Mike?" Eric asked.

  Claire shook her head. "He told me a story once about sleeping through a category 4 hurricane in an open garage when he was a kid. I never believed him before, but I do now. He's wrapped up in our tent, sleeping as sound as a baby."

  Four quick flashes lit up the night sky to the west, and several seconds later, a deep rumble washed over them. Eric frowned to himself. Something had been nagging him about this "heat" lightening they'd been seeing. He'd never heard of a storm being far enough away that you couldn't see any of the clouds associated with it, yet close enough that you could hear the thunder when it hit.