by Roger Hayden
“Yes, Sergeant!” they shouted back.
Harper ran her hand through her auburn hair as she contemplated different scenarios.
Private Walker approached her. “Excuse me, Sergeant.”
Harper granted him permission to speak, and quickly, for that matter.
“My phone was at full power and now…” He hiked his thumb back. “Bennett is dealing with the same problem. What’s happening?”
Harper turned to the computer. Off. The room started heating up. AC’s off, too. Thinking, Harper fished her key ring from her pocket and activated the pocket laser pointer. Broken.
“Sergeant?”
Ignoring Walker’s question, Harper beelined for the door.
She burst into the hall, letting her memory be her guide. Her heart violently smacked against her ribs. She passed by a few COs and bolted out the front door.
Under the blazing morning sun and thick, drifting clouds, twisted metal and crunched cars vandalized the streets. A woman screamed and pulled at her husband’s sleeve. His limp body was cast across the hood, and the windshield was broken. Other people cursed, trying their phones and getting no response. More shouted at each other, passing blame like the bubonic plague. The windows of glistening skyscrapers were blacked out.
“Sergeant Murphy.” A familiar deep voice filled Harper’s ears. She turned to Commander McCulloch. Sunlight bounced off his medalled chest and bald head. He frowned heavily, and although he’d mastered the art of emotional concealment, there was worry in his eyes. “You were not given orders to leave post.”
Harper couldn’t look away from the wailing woman and her bloodcurdling cries. “Sorry, sir.”
“Return to your post. Keep your men calm.”
“Yes, sir.” A shiver ran down her spine, and an uneasy feeling conquered her gut. As she passed the blacked-out buildings, her eye caught the solitary spire that was Washington’s historical monument.
DC was silent. Harper knew the signs.
EMP.
2
The Second Hour
Disbelief would have been the word to describe Harper’s state of mind. That was, if she could bring herself to speak. She always believed in the possibility of an EMP, but to see it, to soak it in…
The powered-down city of Washington, DC, bombarded her with torrents of regret. Distant cries and wispy fingers of smoke filled the sky. I should’ve prepared more. She trembled. I should’ve talked to Eli. Mapped out a contingency. Militaristic knowledge of lockdowns and martial law tore through her mind. She knew she needed to get her son out of dodge. And fast.
“Sergeant Murphy,” Commander McCulloch said, his tone lighter but still grasping Harper’s attention. “Law enforcement will handle it.”
The wailing woman sunk down next to her unresponsive husband. Her cries turned to whimpers, and a stranger shrouded her with a blanket. There would be no ambulance, no EMTs, no organized help. They glared at Harper and McCulloch, waiting.
“They need help, sir.” Harper’s heart labored as she watched them, and imagining the death toll from the last moment caused corroded breakfast to claw up her throat.
“And they will get it. But not from you.”
“Sir, we’re all they’ve got.”
Cracks formed in McCulloch’s stony gaze as he brought his silver eyes to the fresh widow, a little boy with a busted forehead, and a dozen other wounded stranded in the street only yards from them. His steel resolve broke. “Screw it. Rally your finest. Have them gather first aid, tents, whatever can be used as a gurney from the supply cache. We’ll set up temporary emergency medical tents here and here.”
Harper’s legs moved with purpose as the bulky man spoke. Wind gusted through her short auburn hair as she bumped up a step.
“Get a squad prepped for civilian escort,” McCulloch’s voice boomed. “These people need immediate medical assistance.”
“You can count on me.” Determination born of fear and loyalty ignited in her being.
“I know,” McCulloch said as Harper vanished inside.
Doors slammed shut, blocking out the light. The darkness of the hall enveloped her. Her boney knuckles went white the harder Harper clenched her fist. Fire burned in her core. One that she only ever felt when the crashing weight of responsibility splashed upon her. A silent pact to her country--to her subordinates--signed itself in the confines of mind.
As she felt her way a corner, faint whispers of doubt caressed her ear. But what about your son? Are loyal to him? A heavy pit formed in her stomach. An image of her son crushed and broken between two twisted, cadaverous cars filled her mind. A mother’s nightmare, nothing more. Still, ever-pressing gloom weighed heavily upon her, sucking her breath away.
Harper’s men were where she had left them, waiting anxiously in the light of the forklift. She took a deep breath, contemplating whether or not to reveal the truth. A troublesome quandary, as both would result in panic. She let focus ready her.
“Listen up!” Harper asserted her authority. “From what I know, Washington, DC, has just been impacted by an electromagnetic pulse.” The men exchanged worried looks. “Before you ask, no, there has been no word as to what or who could have caused this attack.”
The privates murmured with one another. Harper crossed her arms and tapped her foot. They took the hint and returned their attention.
“Outside, there are men, women, and children in need of serious medical attention. Believe me, I’m no open-heart surgeon, and unless someone’s got some hidden secret”--she noticeably glanced at Private Walker, sending a light chuckle bouncing around the circle of frightened men--“I don’t expect any of you to be either. So this is what’s going to happen: everyone with first-aid training or who wants to take a break from sorting MREs in the dark, raise your hand.”
Meaty hands sprouted up from the crowd. Harper quickly called out a handful, sending half outside and the others off to gather supplies.
“Green, Duncan, Stone.” She designated three men from the mass. “You’re dependable. I’m relying on you to get the severely injured civvies to the nearest hospital. Draft help from the peds if needed.”
They bobbed their heads agreeably, processing the information. Within moments, they bolted out the door. Harper fixed her uniform’s sleeve rolls and wiped sweat from her palms on her camo pants.
Beneath a squiggly wrinkle and woolly brows, Lieutenant Hanks peered in the room and, with a hurried wave, gestured Harper to follow. “I want this place lit and working when I get back.”
“Yes, sir!” A collective reply.
Hand-cranked lanterns cast blooming circles of light across the oval table. Shadows danced across the decorated walls. The conference room seemed a lot larger and more ominous in the odd lighting conditions, and worry and heat lingered potently in the air.
Harper sat across from the ever-brooding Lieutenant Hanks, who locked his fingers together on the cool tabletop. Commander McCulloch stood at the head of the table with his knuckles planted on the curving rim. As an NCO, Harper never really had an opportunity to get to know her commander personally. Nonetheless, they shared a bond of friendship and respect based on shared ideals and competence. Most of their previous interactions had started and ended with McCulloch’s infamous down-to-earth morale speeches, usually centered around supply and its importance. Though many mocked his urgency, Harper pursed her lips and took his words to heart. “A day will come we will fight. Until then, we will support our fellow warriors.” She believed it. She believed in him.
“We don’t know who caused the attack,” McCulloch started. “But it’s big. Maybe World War Three big.”
Hanks grunted in annoyance. “Do we know anything?”
“We know our communications are down. We know the Guard is probably soiling themselves, and we know there’s been no other attack.”
“Yet,” Harper spoke up. “Permission to speak?”
Harper Murphy bounced her eyes from man to man in the airless room. “I believe
the EMP was activated on the ground. Otherwise we would’ve seen it coming. So whoever did it… they’re still in the city.”
Eyes locked on the table, McCulloch nodded. Faint light reflected on his sweaty bald head. “You might be right, Murphy. They wanted our grid down for a reason. Now that they’ve succeeded, we can expect an attack.”
“So what do we do?” Lieutenant Hanks grumbled. His nose twitched to catch a tumbling bead of perspiration.
The commander tapped his fingers on the table, the cogs in his mind practically visible. “We load up and ship out,” he finally said. “Our company is small enough that relocating to Riverdale shouldn’t pose many problems. US-1 is going to be a mess, so we’ll have to stay on foot and work our way around.”
“Are you sure? What if the National Guard needs help and we’re eight miles away?” Hanks complained. “Or the people outside we’re giving government-issued supplies to--a stupid idea, if you ask me--when we hightail it out of here?”
The commander glared at him for a moment. “You’ll keep the peace, Lieutenant. I’ll leave you with a small a platoon, while the rest of us will merge in with the larger reserve center. If the Guard needs our help, we’ll have access to assault weapons and functional vehicles. Let’s pray to God we won’t need them.” He turned his silver eyes to Harper. “As for you, Sergeant Murphy, I’m going to have your unit head to Georgetown. There, you will meet up with the recruiting office and order them to transfer here. After which, you will rendezvous with me at Riverdale. That should keep this place functional.”
“Yes, sir,” Harper replied. Though it was her home city, she couldn’t escape this unusual feeling of panic and dismay. The conflicting swirl of confidence, immediacy, and accountability didn’t help.
They spent the better half of the hour discussing various ways to keep the center and makeshift medical facility running in their absence. Lanterns every so many feet, no heavy machinery, retake inventory of every crate in case of emergency extraction, proper documentation regarding used medical supplies, et cetera. Though it was the first time Harper had been able to give direct input to the other COs, her son kept robbing her of her thoughts. Eli was sixteen now. He fed himself, did the dishes unprovoked, and made his own decisions without going through his mother. But fear put her heart in a vise grip whenever she imagined him alone in the blacked-out city soon to be bombarded by an unknown enemy. Her leg bounced under the table. The longer she sat in the conference room, the more utterly useless she felt as a mother. Her only hope was that his high school would be on her way.
After the meeting, she waited until it was just McCulloch and her. “Sir, may I make a request?”
He sat hunched over a yellow legal pad, the tops of his fingers drumming softly on his lips as he reviewed the notes in the dim lantern light. “You may.”
“My son, he’s… his high school isn’t far off from where I’ll be heading.”
With indecipherable eyes, McCulloch looked up at her. “You want to pick him up?”
“With your permission, yes, sir. If this city gets quarantined, I’d feel better with him by my side.”
“We all have loved ones we want to look after, Sergeant. I got three little ones of my own.” A smile of sweet reminiscence bloomed on his round face. “Do you think it’s fair that your boy should take priority over everyone else’s?”
His words felt like a jab to the gut. “I’m not asking to leave. I’m asking to take him to Riverdale with us. He’s a bright kid, and if there’s an attack, we’re going to need all the help--”
“Murphy,” he interrupted. “Riverdale’s going to be chaotic with people coming and going. If your son happens to find the back door unattended, I guess I’ll have no choice but to enlist his help. Neither will the other COs.”
She could’ve given him a hug. Hell, even gone as far as planting a kiss on his sweaty cheek. Instead, she smiled, said, “Thank you, Commander,” and headed out the door.
Soldiers moved to and fro, setting up lights and shouting commands. Harper headed back into the supply room. Following orders, she had her men park the forklifts, take up hand-cranked lanterns, and start testing electronic equipment. Ninety-five percent was being tossed into the “junk” pile. Private Walker and a few others double-checked the supplies in every crate and confirmed the contents on the notecard that slid into the clear side pocket. After a good fifteen minutes, everyone knew their place and worked fluidly. Hands on her hips, Harper looked over her well-oiled machine.
Within the controlled chaos, she pulled aside Corporal Bennett, a tall man of twenty-four with broad shoulders and a defined angular face. He’d been under her supervision since she could remember and constantly showed great promise.
“We’ll be heading off to Georgetown soon,” she told him. “On the way there I’ll be making a quick detour. During that time you’ll be taking charge.”
He acknowledged her command but was startled by the unexpected responsibility.
“Keep your head on straight, and there won’t be any complications,” she told him.
Within the hour, McCulloch was ready to march. He would take forty-eight of the men directly to Riverdale. Harper would take her sixteen to Georgetown while Hanks remained in this center with the remaining eight men.
After a brief speech and briefer good-bye, Commander McCulloch ordered Harper to leave first while they stuffed their backpacks full of supplies.
Stepping lightly and holding a lantern in hand, Harper headed for the far door at the end of the black hall. The artificial light bouncing across the walls made her shadow dance. With the patter of her men’s footsteps near behind her, she reached the door and pushed it open. Sunlight blasted her.
The woman with the dead husband was nowhere to be seen. Led off by Harper’s assigned escorts, presumably. Nonetheless, the wrecked car’s hood still boasted a stain of crimson on its silvery paint.
Clenching their wounds, men and women of all ages and clothed in everything from ratty shirts and shoes to business casual--along with a few children--funneled into the two tents planted on the reserve center’s short lawn. Inside of one, a soldier stitched up a six-year-old girl’s slashed arm. She winced, exposing her pink gums where her two front teeth once resided. The soldier wiped his brow with his bushy forearm. Toward the back of the line, others paced back and forth, taking angry drags from their cigarettes. A few shadier characters lingered on the opposite side of the building. Their eyes were on Harper and her men as they trekked out of the front doors.
The number of civilians had multiplied since the initial blast, Harper noticed. She didn’t feel guilty seeing the army’s supplies used on the less fortunate. This was their war zone now. Eyes squinted, Harper scanned the crowd. Their enemy could be anyone.
Her eyes wandered to the parking lot. Her 2004 Toyota Tacoma remained where she had parked it a few hours before. She frowned and regretted getting a car made in this century. Memories of her son playing in the backseat repeated in her mind. Her pace quickened.
The small platoon cut through the fresh automobile graveyard. Tall skyscrapers interrupted the burning rays of the morning sun. The square reserve building slowly shrank away in the progressively urban cityscape.
Pedestrians watched them curiously, sharing chants and whispers with one another while the soldiers continued past the droves of vehicles violently fused bumper to bumper. The owners still tirelessly tried their phones. Others popped their hoods and scratched their heads. A few Good Samaritans assisted a family out of their crinkled car and tended to their bleeding foreheads and glass-ruptured skin. Outside the gore and destruction, it was pleasant to see selflessness. It’s only the second hour, Harper reminded herself.
The sergeant knew more than the average citizen and her fellow soldier regarding military extraction, contingency plans, and the results of societal collapse. With her knowledge came a creeping feeling of shame, as she had learned such things from books, manuals, and secondhand accounts studied throughou
t her years, not by hands-on experience. Nonetheless, her paranoia-driven pastime might save her life and the lives of her family. At least that was what she hoped.
The crowd grew dense around her and her men as they marched farther into downtown. Famous American monuments peeked out from behind a few buildings, and with them came muffled noises. Clearly outnumbered and underpaid, the police frantically patrolled, broke a large crowd, and pointed direction to a well-dressed wayward man to the nearest hospital. A woman begged them for answers, but as ordered, the officers kept their lips sealed. Puffing, the woman turned her hostile eyes to Harper, but the sergeant’s look quickly turned her away. With an attack seemingly moments away, the last thing this city needed was unnecessary panic.
Eventually, they reached the split in the road, and Harper turned to Corporal Bennett. “You’re in charge now, Corporal. Get our men to the Georgetown center. I’ll meet you along the way.”
Eli, here I come.
3
Fire Rising
Stress, fatigue, and sweat ruled Harper’s body. Without her cardio training, she’d probably be slouched on a curbside, gulping air. That wasn’t the case. She ran on.
The sun climbed higher in the summer sky, and the streets grew dense with people. Giggling children played hide-and-seek in the vehicle junkyard. With their little arms and legs, they crawled onto a crashed blue pickup and raised their fists to the sky in accomplishment. Running out of the local convenience store, the grizzly owner roared. The kids laughed and screamed as the angry man chased them away.
Not far from them a diverse mass of people circled the police station, swarming the front doors. An officer, flanked by two allies, tossed his fried megaphone aside and yelled out into the loud, apprehensive crowd.
“Remain calm…” Waves of noise drowned out his speech. “… doing our best to keep… order… Return to… homes. No questions at… time.”
