by D W McAliley
"You said the system would be up and running shortly," Jefferson said, his voice tight. "That was more than a day and a half ago, and we still don't have access. What is wrong with the system, Price?"
"Oh, nothing's wrong with it," Terry said with a slight shrug. "The unscheduled maintenance was completed without any problems."
"Then why can't I access my system?" Jefferson grated through clenched teeth.
Terry sat for a moment, meeting Jefferson's gaze calmly and evenly. The silence between them stretched again, and Jefferson's irritation began to show at the corners of his eyes and his mouth. He was losing his patience, albeit slowly.
"What you need to know," Terry said after another few moments, "is that I do have access to the system. And right now, only I have access to the system."
Jefferson's eyes narrowed. For a moment, he didn't speak or show any other reaction. Finally, he smirked slightly and shook his head. "I don't believe you."
Terry shrugged. "That's fine by me, you don't have to."
Jefferson's eyes narrowed again, and the carefully crafted smirk evaporated.
"I can't effectively do my job without full and unfettered access to the information and control systems," Jefferson said carefully. "I'd hate to have to arrest you to force your cooperation, but I do have the authority to do so."
Terry smiled slowly, and said, "What kind of person wants to be Chief Administrator of FEMA?"
Jefferson blinked and sat back in his chair for a moment, taken aback. He frowned and opened his mouth, then frowned again before answering.
"I was approached and asked to serve," Jefferson said, "and I accepted the request by the President."
"Really?" Terry asked, "because that's not what I saw on C-Span. You were asked in your confirmation how you first got offered the job. You admitted that you asked the President for consideration for the appointment in return for what you called 'advice and assistance' in his campaign. You were one of the President's best fund raisers, and by most accounts, one of his most trusted advisers. He didn't make a move without first running it by you. In return for that kind of guidance, you could have had any spot in the administration you wanted, and you chose FEMA. I just can't figure it out."
Jefferson's face darkened. Terry had come far too close to truths that Jefferson had thought were well hidden. The only way he could have found some of that information out would have been to read some very private communications, which of course meant that he did have complete access to the system as he claimed. Jefferson opened his mouth with an angry retort, but Terry spoke right over top of him.
"In any case," Terry said, "you're wrong about your authority at this facility. The funding for this whole system was somewhat controversial, so the Department of Defense agreed to pay for half out of its own bloated and conveniently classified budget. In return the DOD retained control over the first site to come online. This site, in fact. That means that this site and the people who run it. I and my fellow contractors alike, all fall under DOD chain of command, not yours. So your legal authority stops when you enter our air space."
Jefferson regained control of himself, and the only visible sign of his irritation now was the fact that his lips were pressed into a thin, white line. After a long moment of silence, his eyes rose and took in the two security officers, one at each of Terry's shoulders. It was the first time Jefferson had acknowledged their existence, but he still didn't comment on them.
"When I tell the President about this," Jefferson said, "and explain why I'm not able to do the job he hired me to do, I'll be sure to tell him it was all because you didn't feel like acknowledging a little interagency courtesy. I can only imagine what his reaction will be."
Terry snorted. "You get the President in this room with the two of us, and I'll answer any question he has for me with the truth, as long as you swear to do the same. You and I both know you won't do that though."
"And why is that?" Jefferson asked.
"Because you have a lot to hide," Terry said carefully. "I don't. I told you the first time you came here, I detected a threat to the system and I took action to defend it. That's my job; it's why I'm here. When I took that action, the other sites linked into this system initiated their own action simultaneously. It's a security measure to make sure all of the backup systems are locked out and protected any time there is a threat on one of them. Beyond that, I can't say."
Suddenly, Jefferson stood, and the two security officers shifted their position slightly in response. Jefferson eyed them again, but this time with clear annoyance. Terry remained in his seat, reclining slightly, with his fingers steepled on his chest. He hadn't moved the entire time.
"I had hoped we would be able to develop a working relationship," Jefferson said stiffly. "I'm sorry that won't be the case, Mr. Price."
Terry nodded. "I'm sure you are," he said. "I will be in contact when we have finished our investigation into the breach of system security. I'm sure you'll want to know what we find out."
Jefferson turned on his heel and strode to the door but he stopped when Terry said, "Oh, and if you do talk to the President, let him know that I have been trying to get in touch with him for some time now. For some reason, none of the official comm. channels seem to be functioning at the moment."
Jefferson looked for a brief moment as if he would say something, but then his jaw clenched, and he was gone through the door. After a few minutes of silence, Terry dismissed the two security officers but asked them to stay posted outside the outer doors of his office for the next hour and to make sure he wasn't disturbed under any circumstances. Surrounded by the silence, Terry sat deep in thought. With the fingers of his right hand he rubbed his left ring finger, itching to spin the academy ring that wasn't there.
Ch. 62
Lines In The Sand
In the back yard of Levy and Blossom’s farmhouse was a towering live oak with massive branches that spread over an area the size of a baseball’s dirt infield. The trunk of the oak was nearly four feet in diameter, and its wrist-thick gnarled roots jutted through the bare earth in the shade beneath it. In the summer seasons, thousands of slender, dark green leaves wove a tight canopy that blocked out most of the sunlight. Joe stood in the Live Oak’s circle of shade at the head of a long metal banquet table the family used when they had barbecues and other large gatherings. This morning, though, there were no heaping bowls of mashed potatoes or steaming pans of baked beans, only somber faces. Joe had just finished describing the moment the four missiles had detonated on the radar screen in the watch room.
“There’s more,” Joe said, somewhat hesitantly. “We ran the footage back and checked it closely. Shortly after the launch in New York Harbor, it seems a secondary device was detonated. The satellite image cut out before we could see just how bad it was, but the explosion was definitely nuclear and pretty high yield.”
Around the table, eyes widened and there was a near collective gasp. Tom and Chris both stared hard at their hands. Joe’s wife, Beth, had tears streaming down her face, and Levy’s face was grim. They all wore mingled expressions of shock, horror, and anger alternating with fear. Joe took a deep breath and steeled himself for what was to come. He’d already delivered a hard blow, but the worst was still unsaid.
“With this kind of attack,” Joe said softly, and the table grew quiet again except for the echoes of the children’s laughter as they played in the front yard, “there’s no telling if the government is going to be able to start putting things back together, much less when. For the foreseeable future, though, we are on our own.”
“What do you mean on our own?” Gilbert’s daughter, Beth Anne asked. “You said there’s a town right a half an hour from here, so why not just go get help?”
Gilbert patted her hand softly and shook his head. “Listen to what the man’s saying, hun,” he said softly, pointing to the horizon behind Joe. “You see them big clouds of smoke there, and there, and there? That ain’t forest fires, hun. Those are cities bu
rning. I seen it before in Belgium and Germany in the War.”
An uncomfortable silence fell as the people slowly began the long and painful process of letting go of the life they’d all known. Some of them whispered prayers, some cried silent tears, and some just stared off into space, their mind working too hard and too fast for the process to show. Joe knew what they were going through because he’d felt it himself in that moment that the satellite images slowly winked out as the sat-net was destroyed. It was a sense of numb uncertainty and distant fear too overwhelming to be confronted directly.
Joe wished there was something he could say to make it easier, something to take the sting out of his words and the knowledge they brought. But this was a pain that was necessary. They needed to feel it, needed to know it in order to accept it as real. Hiding from the truth now could only lead to disaster down the road.
“So what do we do now?” Maimey, Gilbert's wife, asked in her high-pitched, reedy voice.
“Survive,” Joe replied simply. “We’ve all had a long four days, I know. I wish I could tell you things are going to get better now, but we’ve all got a long row to hoe. We’re blessed with being somewhere that can support us, if we’re smart. But there are some things we need that we don’t have. Sugar and salt for preserving food, dry goods like beans and rice, flour, batteries. We need to make a run into town and get what we can now before it gets too bad to risk it.”
“You’re talking about stealing!” Jen, said, and Tom rolled his eyes slightly. “I don’t think I’m comfortable with that,” she continued, slapping Tom in the stomach. “I mean are we really ready to just throw society away and grab stuff because we need some stuff and we can get away with it? If that’s all it takes for us to turn into thieves, then doesn’t that say something about us?”
“A lady came down the road yesterday,” Chris said. “Her husband had died in his sleep the moment those nukes detonated in the atmosphere. His pacemaker was fried by the pulse. A hundred and ninety thousand other people died right along with him. Around five hundred thousand people get daily dialysis treatments because their kidneys are failing for one reason or another. I’d be surprised if ten percent of them were still alive after four days without it.”
Jen’s face was pale as she sat back in her seat, but Chris wasn’t done.
“My father had a pacemaker,” Chris said. “My Uncle, his brother, was on daily dialysis, and both of Meg’s parents are diabetic. Insulin goes bad without refrigeration, and there are twenty nine million diabetics in the U.S. That means by the end of the week you’re looking at thirty million Americans dead or dying, and that’s just three things taken down by this attack. Three small, tightly contained things, and ten percent of the population is gone inside a week.”
Joe swallowed hard and said, “I know it isn’t pretty, but it’s the truth. Now think about what it’s going to be like when the other ninety percent of the population realizes that they’re on their own, and their water is running out….their food is gone…”
“Desperate people,” Levy said softly, his first words so far, “will do the worst things to try and stay alive, and there’s people out there getting desperate right about now. We ain’t desperate yet, and I can tell you this much….I’ll do any damn thing in the world to make sure we don’t ever get that way.”
“This feels like the kind of thing we should decide together,” Joe said, looking around the table. “So how about it? I think we should go into town for supplies today, before it gets dark. All those in favor, raise your hands.”
One by one, their hands went into the air. Jen was the last one to relent, but she finally gave a small shrug and raised her hand with the rest. There was a soft sigh of collective relief that the matter was settled. It was comforting to make a decision that would actively direct at least a small portion of their fate that was still within their control.
“Okay,” Joe said, “I’ll need three volunteers to go with me. If we can get what we need without taking it, then that’s what we’ll do. But whoever volunteers needs to be ready to do what is necessary, whatever that means. We’ll meet by the…”
Joe trailed off, a frown on his face. A noise had been growing at the edge of his awareness for a while now, and he still couldn’t quite place it. It came at first as faint bursts of sound half imagined on the wind like a barely heard echo. Now, though, it was steady and growing, and it felt to Joe as if he should know it. Just at that moment, Henderson came sprinting down the road, Eric close on his heels. The two young men had been keeping watch at the far end of the quarter mile long driveway. Both of them were winded when they skidded to a halt beneath the oak tree and couldn’t speak for a moment.
“There’s a helicopter,” Eric panted finally, Henderson nodding in agreement, “flying low, headed this way. Henderson caught a glimpse through the trees.”
“That’s right.” Henderson said, “Blackhawk with a side gunner at least.”
Joe nodded and the soft, rhythmic sound he’d been hearing suddenly crystallized in his mind as the chatter of the rotors on a Blackhawk in fast flight. Without conscious thought, Joe ran down the list of options he had available, and chose a plan of action.
“Henderson, you take Bill and go up the left edge of the bean field,” Joe said pointing as he spoke. “Tom, you and Eric get in the edge of the vineyard, down the right side of the bean field. All of you direct your field of fire to the far end, down by the tree line in the far left corner of the field. If they’re going to set it down, that’s where they’ll do it cause it’s the most open and the farthest from the trees. No one shoots unless I do, got it?” They nodded and went to get their rifles. Joe turned to the women and children. “Chris, you come with me. The rest of you, get in the house for now.”
Joe was already walking by the time his words sank in, and people started moving. The stunned silence suddenly shattered into a thousand murmured voices at once. As he passed his wife, Beth reached out and caught Joe’s arm, stopping him.
“Do you really think they’re coming here?” Beth asked, a worried frown creasing her forehead.
Joe nodded, and looked for a moment at the Humvee. “Chris,” he said as Beth released him and began herding the rest of the crowd into the farmhouse, “you’d better get on Ma Deuce.”
Chris turned without hesitation and sprinted over to the transport. He climbed into the back and quickly loaded the massive mounted machine gun. He jerked the charging handle back and released it. The heavy spring loaded a round, and Chris swung the barrel around, pointing it towards the approaching sound of the helicopter.
Joe grabbed his bolt-action rifle and trotted over to the old, battered ’58 station wagon. He popped the trunk, raising the large metal lid to use as cover if the need should arise. Then he knelt by the driver’s side rear fender and used the car as a bench rest for his rifle. The sound of the helicopter grew steadily, and in a few short moments, the aircraft broke over the tops of the trees, flying low. It pulled a long, slow loop around the farmhouse and field, and Joe tracked it through his scope, watching for a clear shot at the pilot or co-pilot.
Joe frowned.
Something wasn’t right.
The helicopter was low enough that he could see clearly into the back passenger bay and the cockpit as it circled the farm. There was a pilot in the cockpit and a passenger with his open palms pressed against the clear glass of the window, but other than that the helicopter was empty. The bay doors were all open on the chopper, allowing him to see straight through to the other side. There was definitely a mounted machine gun, but no one was sitting in the bay to man it. The gun could be remote fired, of course, but if they meant to do that he felt the bullets would be flying already. Instead, the helicopter just circled slowly with Chris targeting his own machine gun on them.
Joe stood slowly and propped his rifle against the station wagon as the helicopter began to descend in the far corner of the field.
“Keep your gun on them, Chris,” Joe called. “
If they make a move, try and take out that helicopter without taking me with it, okay?”
Chris winked at him and grinned.
As the helicopter dropped, it kicked up a thick cloud of dust and torn soybeans. Joe stepped out into the edge of the field as the passenger door on the cockpit opened. A man stepped out, keeping his hands well clear of his body, fingers splayed open. The engines slowed as the pilot throttled everything down, but the rotors still spun rapidly. The man ducked and trotted forward enough to be clear of the long, whirring blades, and then stood with his hands raised and outstretched. The stranger walked slowly forward to meet Joe, and they stopped with twenty feet between them.
The stranger was dressed in tactical clothes that didn’t quite come to a uniform. Comfortable, but durable pants, close fitting button down shirt with what looked like a discretely Kevlar vest over it. There was a .45 caliber pistol in a drop-leg holster on his right side. It wasn’t an over the top gear kit like he’d seen on some of the more tactically aspiring contractors, but it was functional. And the man looked like he knew how to wear it and move in it.
“Are you Captain Joseph Tillman?” the man called.
Joe’s hand automatically dropped to his own holstered 9mm Beretta. He frowned and asked, “Who wants to know?”
The stranger’s face drained of color as his eyes followed Joe’s hand. He swallowed hard twice, then shouted over the rotors, "Terry Price says hello!"
Ch. 63
First Impressions
Marcus stood frozen for a brief moment and wondered for the first time if he’d made a terrible mistake. The man certainly fit the description Mr. Price had given him, and he was in the right place. But as soon as he said the man’s name, his hand dropped to his gun, and he suddenly became intense and focused. Those hard eyes were boring into Marcus’s skull right now.
