Day of Reckoning

by G. Michael Hopf

  “I need to find out what’s going on,” he snapped.

  “As your doctor, I now insist you rest,” she barked.

  The ground rumbled again.

  “I don’t understand. I need to see,” he said, racing outside.

  He recoiled from the bright midday sun. With his hand shading his eyes, he looked out.

  Spread out along the tarmac of the base was a sea of GP tents. His view of the downtown San Diego skyline was unencumbered to the north. There he saw large thick black plumes of smoke billowing out from the city.

  A loud whoosh tore his gaze upwards.

  A pair of F-18s were heading towards the city.

  He watched as they barreled down, dropped their ordnance and each veered off in opposite directions. Seconds later, massive explosions appeared followed by the concussion from the blasts.

  He turned to Sherry, who was standing just behind him. “What’s going on? What’s happened?”

  She stepped up next to him, her gaze upon the city. “There’s a lot of names for what’s happened. The Bloody Hand says it’s the end of days. Others simply call it the mutant apocalypse. Me, I think it was our reckoning. It was a matter of time, the writing was on the wall, literally in some cases,” she said. Her eyes cast upon the towers of downtown and the ominous smoke that swirled out. “Seeing this for the first time but must shocking.”

  “Those things, the ones we were fighting, you’re telling me they’re everywhere?” he asked.

  “I don’t know what you were doing before you came to us, but it all started the day you were brought in to us. It was May 1; everything seemed normal that day until the first reports came in about an attack at a school in North Carolina. There was some confusion as another report came in from New Hampshire, then Pennsylvania, Oregon, Arizona. The reporting of the attacks on schools spread. By midday, there were over a hundred reported attacks with many going unreported.”

  “Those things attacked schools?”

  “No, the attacks on the schools were your run-of-the-mill jihadis using regular weapons like guns; some had bombs. But regular terror attacks, the shocking thing was they were primarily targeting schools. It was horrific, the images coming across the television, so sad. We all thought the attacks…the slaughter of the kids at the schools was the worst of it, but it wasn’t. It all appears to have been a ruse, a way to get us to look somewhere else. Later in the day, reports of odd, strange attacks began to be reported. Those reports spread and widened until we had them everywhere. It will be difficult if not impossible to know exactly how it all happened. The government is huddled down in a secret location, the military is fighting feverishly against these things, but they multiply…fast.”

  “You’re telling me that this entire time I’ve been unconscious, the world ended?”

  “In so many words, yes, I guess I am saying that.”

  Several jets flew overhead.

  Brennan looked up and watched as they dropped their ordnance on some unseen target in downtown. He couldn’t believe it. All of it was so much to take in. “My team, do you know anything?”

  “I don’t, sorry.”

  “Why are they bombing downtown, is it that bad?” he asked.

  “It is, in fact it’s dire. There’s talk we’re to be evacuated soon to San Clemente Island. They’ve set up a base there.”

  “I need to find my team. I need to talk to someone. I need…” he said almost hysterically.

  She gently touched his arm and said, “What you need is rest.” She pointed to the city and continued, “This isn’t going to change, but if you plan on getting back in the fight, you need to heal.”

  “This is all so crazy,” he mumbled.

  “That’s one word for it.”

  More jets flew by, headed towards downtown.

  He looked up and watched as they delivered their payloads. She was right, it was shocking. “You, seem calm.”

  Laughing, she replied, “Don’t mistake my demeanor as calm. I’m terrified, really, but if I give in to it, I’d be useless.”

  “What happens now?”

  She stood in front of him, looked him squarely in the eyes and answered, “We fight.”

  “It’s that simple?”

  The ground rumbled from another wave of bombs.

  “It’s about survival now, we’re not fighting for a country, a flag, apple pie or freedom. We’re fighting for our very existence.”

  “Christ, it’s really that bad?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  He turned around and headed back into the tent. He began searching the tent. “Where’s my clothes?”

  She came into the tent. “What are you doing?”

  “My clothes, I need my clothes,” he said.

  “Your uniform was thrown away, it was covered in blood,” she answered.

  “I need clothes, a uniform,” he said.

  “You need to rest.”

  “No, I don’t. I’ve rested enough. You said that the world we knew had ended. You just told me a reckoning had befallen us and that we were fighting for our survival. I’m not going to just lay around while…”

  “There’s nothing you can do,” she said interrupting him.

  Nodding he said, “Yes there is, I’m a fighter and you said our only hope was to fight. That’s exactly what I’m going to do and you are not going to stop me.”

  “The trunk,” she said.

  “Huh?”

  “There’s a fresh uniform in the trunk,” she said.

  He went to the trunk and opened it. As she said, a uniform lay folded inside.

  “You really should rest, another day at least.”

  “Not going to happen, doc.”

  The ground shook.

  Unconcerned about privacy, he dropped the hospital gown and quickly put on his trousers.

  “Is there anything I can say to make you reconsider?”

  “Nope. You said our only hope was to fight and that’s what I’m going to do,” he replied. He put on his shirt and exited the tent.

  She followed him out. “Be safe, Sergeant Brennan.”

  He stopped and turned, “Doc, thanks for fixing me up. Much appreciated.”

  “It’s what I do,” she said.

  “And fighting is what I do. It’s time to get back in the game,” he said and walked off.

  He didn’t know where he should go exactly, but he’d start by going to the command building.

  The ground shook again and jets swooshed overhead.

  He looked towards the smoldering city. She was right. The world he knew had ended. But as long as he was still standing, he’d fight and do whatever was necessary to win this new war.

  Thoughts of Jenna and his yet unborn child came flooding in. Where was she? Was she okay? Was she even still alive?

  The best way for him to answer those questions was to find his unit first. Only then would he have the support needed to save her.

  He entered the command building. People were crisscrossing the halls; the volume of chatter was high.

  “Can I help you?” a young sailor asked.

  “I’m looking for Commander Shenkman,” Brennan said.

  “Second floor, room H.”

  Brennan got to the second floor and found room H. He didn’t bother to knock, he just walked in.

  “This is where we’ll begin…” Shenkman said and looked up at Brennan with a surprised look on his face. “Sergeant Brennan, you’re awake.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “We’re conducting…”

  Brennan interrupted him and asked, “I’m ready, sir.”

  “Ready for what?”

  “Fight sir, that’s what you’re planning, correct?” Brennan asked as he pointed at the map of downtown San Diego.

  “Excuse me, gentlemen,” Shenkman said walking around his desk. He walked up to Brennan and said, “Let’s speak outside.”

  The two went into the hallway.

  “Are you doing okay?” Shenkman asked.


  “I’m good, sir, ready to come back to Unit Five.”

  “Glad to hear you’re feeling better.”

  “How can I help with the offensive?” Brennan asked referring to the briefing he interrupted.

  Shenkman gave an uncomfortable laugh. “My dear, boy, we’re not planning an offensive. We’re planning a mass evac.”

  “But the bombing, the city?”

  “Report to hangar four, we’ll get you on a transport to SCI,” he said, SCI being a reference to San Clemente Island.

  “But I’m here, I’m ready to fight.”

  Shenkman put his hand on Brennan’s shoulder and said, “You’ve been unconscious for a while but I’ll give you the abridged version. We’re losing…badly. San Diego is lost. We’re leaving, all personnel are to begin evac in four hours.”

  “Losing?”

  “You fought those things, you’ve seen them firsthand.”

  “But..”

  “Go to hangar four, we have a transport heading out in an hour, I want you on that.”

  “But..”

  “Unit Five is there now, what’s left of it. We’re regrouping now.”

  “San Diego is lost?”

  “I don’t have time to explain it all, but San Diego is the last major city to fall. The others, all of them, gone. There’s no other way to say it, we’ve lost control of our country.”

  “How?”

  “Go to hangar four, get on the transport. I’ll have someone waiting for you on SCI.”

  Bewildered, Brennan said, “Yes, sir.”

  Shenkman patted Brennan on the shoulder and said, “Good to have you back, sergeant. I’ll see you on SCI.” He disappeared back into his office.

  Dazed, Brennan walked off. He exited the command building and sat on the steps.

  He watched as multiple waves of jets came towards the city, all dropping bombs and flying away.

  A massive explosion sounded to the east, he craned his head to see the Coronado Bridge collapsing, disintegrating and falling into the harbor below. The sight was surreal.

  “Did you see that?” a man asked another walking by.

  “That’s not a good sign,” the other man said.

  “Hey, hold up,” Brennan said.

  “Yeah,” one of the men said.

  “Not a good sign, what do you mean by that?”

  “Oh, we were told if they blow the bridge it means those mutants are getting close.”

  “Thanks,” Brennan said.

  The two men walked off.

  Distraught, Brennan darted his gaze from the city to the remnants of the once expansive bridge. Was this all a dream? He wondered.

  A flurry of activity in the tent city caught his attention. He looked and saw five ton trucks pulling up. Just past that he caught sight of the words, HANGAR 4.

  A sense of urgency filled him. He needed to do as Shenkman ordered. Get to hangar four and get out of here. He stood up and marched towards it.

  His thoughts were jumbled with all the new revelations from both Sherry and Shenkman. Their words echoing in his head. Losing. Reckoning. Over. Lost control of the country.

  He pushed those thoughts aside and pressed forward. His future wasn’t in San Diego anymore. As Shenkman said, it was lost. His future was now on San Clemente Island and from there…well, he’d find out. He stepped into the hangar and hollered out to the first person he saw. “Where’s the transport to SCI?”

  A man pointed outside to a CH-53 Super Stallion parked alongside the east side of the hangar.

  Brennan found the crew chief of the chopper sitting on the ramp smoking a cigarette.

  “Is this the bird going to SCI?” Brennan asked.

  “Yep, who are you?”

  “Sergeant Brennan, with Unit Five.”

  “Take a seat, we’re heading out in twenty.”

  “Copy that,” Brennan said walking onto the chopper.

  The crew chief took a long drag of his cigarette and said, “Let’s hope that chick you caught will help bring an end to this shit.”

  Unsure of who he was talking about, Brennan said, “I’ve been out of it for a bit, took a hit to the head. Who are you talking about?”

  The crew chief swung around and said, “You guys caught some bitch, I hear she worked with the motherfucker who created this.”

  “My team got her?”

  “That’s the word. She’s being held over in SCI now.”

  “Oh.”

  “You all are good. Took you a matter of days to get her.”

  “That’s good news.”

  The crew chief got up and walked onto the chopper. He stopped in front of Brennan and said, “You fivers, your good, that’s the word. A band of badass mothers.” He stuck out his hand and said, “Gunny Smithers, nice to meet you.”

  “Hi, Gunny.”

  “Well, let’s get you over to the island. Looks like you’re flying solo today,” Smithers said walking back to a panel. He flipped a switch. The ramp began to rise.

  “Wait! Hold on!” a woman’s voice hollered.

  “Oops, look like you’ll have company,” Smithers laughed lowering the ramp.

  A hooded woman ran onto the chopper and took a seat across from Brennan.

  “Anyone with you?” Smithers asked.

  “No, just me,” she said pulling the hoodie off her head. It was Tracy from the CDC.

  “Tracy?” Brennan asked.

  “Well, if it isn’t Sergeant Brennan, the man who doesn’t die,” she replied with a big smile. She hopped up and came over to Brennan’s side of the chopper. “How you doing? I heard you injured badly.”

  “Not too badly, I guess.”

  The rotors of the chopper began to turn.

  “I’m glad you’re back on your feet,” she said patting him on the leg. “And next time, call, me ma’am,” she joked.

  Brennan raised a brow.

  “That’s right, you don’t know. You all work for me now.”

  “What?”

  “Yep, you and the others are now under my command, I know, it sucks but it is what it is,” she said informing him of the new chain of command.

  “And our mission?”

  “You’re my seekers, anytime we get intelligence on something or someone that can help us, we send you boys out. So far, it’s paid off.”

  “I heard.”

  “Don’t worry, you guys are getting plenty of action.”

  The chopper lifted off the ground.

  “You should get some rest, you have a big night ahead of you,” she said.

  “We do?”

  “Yeah, the woman we brought in, she’s spilled the beans. We know who and where the mastermind of this whole thing is.”

  “Oh yeah.”

  “Yep. So, get some rest. It’ll be a long night,” she walked back to the other side of the chopper and sat down.

  The chopper banked hard and headed northwest.

  Brennan looked over his shoulder and down at the city. The number of smoke plumes had grown. As they flew further away, the entire coast came into view and all along it, similar black plumes of smoke rose. Southern California looked like a war zone, like something he’d only seen in Afghanistan or other faraway lands.

  War had come to the shores of the United States.

  The enemy didn’t use tanks or fighter jets, but science and deception. They had leveraged our own political differences to get inside. They had manipulated the media and brainwashed many of its citizens through political correctness, forcing them to look away as plots were being formulated and executed.

  Sherry was right. What had occurred was a reckoning. All the signs were there, but few took notice of them.

  Survival was the focus now. How and why would have to addressed later.

  The day of reckoning had come and with it brought; blood, despair, death and destruction.

  Brennan wasn’t thinking in those stark terms. For him, tomorrow was a new day, a day of retribution.

  EPILOGUE
/>   Tuesday, May 9

  Thompsons Lake, New York

  Max paced his small den countless times. He’d stop every time he was near his computer to see if any new e-mails had come through.

  A man that lived by constant communication, he was finding life after the attacks sufferable due to his lack of contact with the outside world. Odd for a man who lived in the backwoods of Upstate New York.

  The television media reports stopped almost a week ago but he found an old radio in his basement. Those broadcasts ceased two days ago. The emergency broadcast loop didn’t suffice as contact, so he turned the radio off and stowed it.

  His last bastion of communication was on his computer, but there he hadn’t received an e-mail from anyone in days.

  Growing impatient and frustrated, he was about to give up and go searching for people, anyone.

  A car horn blared in the distance. He ran to the front door and looked out. Was someone in need of help? Was one of those things there? Frightened by the latter, he shut the door and locked it.

  A ping came from his computer. He knew that sound, it was an e-mail.

  He sprinted down the hall and into his den.

  There on his computer, in bold font, was a new e-mail. He didn’t recognize the sender and didn’t care. He sat down and with excitement, opened it.

  The e-mail read; “ Dear Max, David would have sent this but unfortunately, he couldn’t. You’ll know what to do with this. – Joram.”

  Attached to the e-mail was a series of large attachments. He opened the first one to discover it was an audio recording of Joram and David talking.

  After listening for a bit, he came to realize these were the unedited recordings of David’s interview with Joram. This was pure journalistic gold, but what good was it now. There wasn’t any media to broadcast it on.

  With nothing else to do, Max decided to listen to the hours of recordings.

  He thought.

  Who knows, maybe there’s something important here.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  G. Michael Hopf is the best-selling author of THE NEW WORLD series and other apocalyptic novels. He spent two decades living a life of adventure before he settled down and became a novelist full time. He is a combat veteran of the Marine Corps and a former executive protection agent.