Storm Tide Rising: Blackout Volume 2

by D W McAliley

  "Going bad," Beth mumbled under her breath. "I hope that's not what's happening to my baby."

  Blossom snorted loudly. "You know better than that," she said, shaking her head. "Them strangers meant to kill every single one of us, you said it yourself. Joe and Doc did what they had to, and so did the law man. Even so, tore your boy up so much it near ate him up inside, and you say you're worried about him going bad? You got better sense than that."

  Beth knew her mother was right, but she was exhausted and worried and feeling contrary. She opened her mouth for another ill-tempered remark, but stopped short when another shot rang out. Blossom stopped too, her head cocked to the side listening. After a few moments, another shot rang out followed by a long stretch of silence. Then a third.

  Beth felt hot tears running down her face before she realized she was crying.

  Blossom saw it and stepped over to rub her back. "It's okay," she said soothingly. "They ain't in any trouble."

  "How can you possibly know that?" Beth asked through her heavy sobs.

  "Cause when men are frightened," Blossom answered, "they shoot a lot faster than that."

  Ch.50

  Speechless

  The first thing Marcus noticed were the beeps. They were regular, rhythmic, and annoying. There was also a strange sucking noise and an ever present hum that he couldn't quite place. Slowly, he managed to raise his eyelids, and his eyes felt like they had been coated with fine gritty sand. The light was so bright that he couldn't see anything through the blindingly luminescent haze. He blinked a few times and wished he hadn't as his eyes stung and began watering.

  Marcus was pretty sure he lost consciousness at that point because the next thing he remembered was trying to open his eyes again, though he didn't remember closing them. They weren't watering anymore, but the bank of LED lights overhead were still bright enough to sting. He opened his eyes slowly and let them grow accustomed to the brightness. Dim shapes slowly materialized out of the bright haze. Marcus could hear the odd sucking and hum, but his senses were still too dull to figure out what it was.

  He felt heavy and very tired, which probably meant he'd been sedated. The last thing he remembered was Hamilton's amazingly strong grip on his windpipe and feeling the very real fear that he was about to suffocate to death. He tried to shake his head to clear it, but lancing pains immediately shot through his head and neck and ran all the way down his spine.

  Marcus shivered, tried to groan past a tube he suddenly became aware of in his throat, and felt himself slipping back into unconsciousness once again.

  The next time he woke, Marcus could feel the tube in his throat, and it was uncomfortable to the point of being painful. His throat was dry, and gauze around his mouth was damp from drool. He didn't try to open his eyes this time but instead focused on moving his extremities. He wiggled his toes and fingers first, then managed to move his hands without too much clumsiness or difficulty.

  "You'd better go tell the doc," a man's voice said from somewhere off to the right. Marcus recognized the Chief that had been on guard duty. "He's starting to wake up. Tell the doc to buzz Commander Price and inform his as well."

  Marcus relaxed after hearing the Chief's voice so close. He knew there was someone there, someone who had seen him and recognized that he was still alive. Marcus' body hurt all over, and he was weary, but his mind was beginning to clear some. After a while, Marcus heard small, light footsteps enter the room. He thought about trying to see who it was, but he couldn't work up the motivation to open his eyes again.

  "What's that?" he heard the Chief ask.

  "Something for the pain and to help him relax," a woman answered. "We're going to have to take the tube out, and it'll be best if—"

  Marcus would have liked to hear the rest, but a cool sensation spread up his left arm from the port on the back of his hand. The cool, soothing sensation seeped slowly into every inch of his body, and sleep overtook him once again. Marcus became aware of pains first the next time he began to float up out of the darkness of drug-induced sleep. His throat felt scrubbed raw with sandpaper and his head was pounding. With every breath he took, a tight ache crossed his ribs and grabbed his lungs each time he inhaled and exhaled.

  "Don't try to speak," Commander Price's voice said from the foot of the bed. "If you do, you'll probably shred your vocal chords, and that'd be a pure shame."

  Marcus finally managed to force open his eyes. The lights had been dimmed and his eyes didn't hurt as bad. The Chief was standing next to the door, his hands crossed at his waist. He nodded to Marcus and stepped outside and closed the door. Commander Price stood at the foot of Marcus' infirmary bed, a grim look on his face.

  "So just how stupid are you, Lt. Commander?" Commander Price growled. "You decide to just stop by and pay a visit to a man we've arrested as a possible assassin; you go in on your own, and then get within arm's reach? You're damned lucky the Chief heard you gag or Hamilton would have crushed your throat and you'd have been dead before we could get you to the doc."

  Marcus swallowed past the burning, grating pain in his throat. "Sorry," he managed to whisper in a pained voice that was closer to a croak.

  Commander's Price's eyebrows drew even further down, and he shook his head. "I told you not to talk. That wasn't a suggestion, Lt. Commander; that was an order. I know you're not used to this new military structure, but you have to recognize when something isn't up for discussion or discretion. When I told you that no one was to go into that cell alone, that wasn't up for discussion and it’s not up to your discretion."

  Marcus struggled into a half sitting position and opened his mouth for a reply, but Commander Price slammed his fist down hard enough on the foot of the bed to make it shake. "Damn it Marcus, shut up!" Commander Price bellowed. "I don't know if you've considered this or not, Lt. Commander, but I have an enormous amount of pressure on me right now. There aren't many people I can really trust at the moment, and the stakes are high enough that people are losing their lives. Here. In these walls, people are dying."

  Commander Price leaned forward heavily, his breath coming in ragged gasps through his nose as he fought to regain composure.

  "I need to know that if I get killed you are going to be there to pick up where I leave off, Marcus," the Commander whispered after a long moment. "And that means I need you alive. Think about this, Marcus, we've been locked up in this facility for about two months now, but the lights have been dark for just shy of two weeks. That's only fourteen days, and already a good fifteen to twenty percent of America is dead. Do the math."

  Marcus did the mental calculations and felt a twisting knot grow in his stomach.

  "Say it, Marcus," Commander Price grated through clenched teeth. "Say the number out loud."

  "Thirty million," Marcus whispered painfully.

  Commander Price nodded slowly, raising his eyes to meet Marcus'. "That’s more than two million people a day, Marcus. Could be more, but that's by the models. Of course they didn't account for a nuke leveling most of Manhattan and New York. There's another four, maybe five million right there, dead. You know what that means? It means there's two hundred and seventy million people left out there, scared, waiting for someone to come and save them. And for most of them, that just ain't going to happen."

  Tears rolled down the Commander's face, but he didn't seem to notice them.

  "Because right now, it's just you and me, and the people in this building," Commander Price said softly. "A few units of Air National Guard down along the border I can still contact, mostly in New Mexico and Arizona. Europe's not coming to help us; they've got Russia to deal with. No one in Africa cares; South America's shrugged their shoulders, Canada's in worse shape than we are. Japan has surrendered to China, and Australia has pulled in everything. Looks like they're just going to ride out the storm. And that's from the little bit I can pull off the random satellite signal I can coax out of a previously decommissioned and tattered analogue satellite fleet."

  Comman
der Price was silent for a long time. Finally, he stood up straight and took a long, slow breath. "I actually got a missile destroyer on comms the other day, but only for a few minutes. They were dodging subs in the north Pacific and trying to regroup with their carrier." Marcus opened his mouth again, but Commander Price held up a hand to stop him. "The Chief out in the hall saved your life, Marcus. He shot Hamilton in the forehead and dropped him before he could crush your windpipe. From now on the Chief is your new bunk mate. He's never more than thirty feet from you at all times, and that is an order Lt. Commander. I can't do everything that needs to get done by myself, Marcus. I need you. Your country needs you."

  Commander Price walked to the door and then turned back to him. "There's a buzzer by your left hand. Press the button if you need anything. You'll stay here tonight and tomorrow. After that, I need you back."

  Before Marcus could respond, the Commander was gone. As he left, a very pretty young nurse stepped into the infirmary. Marcus thought he knew all of the women that worked in the facility, at least by site, but he'd never seen her before. He tried to say something, but the nurse shook her head sternly.

  "No sir, Lt. Commander," she said in a sweet southern drawl. "You need to rest your larynx so it can heal properly. You've got a nutrient and a saline drip, but you're gonna need to eat something when you wake up next time, okay? We'll try some gelatin and some ice cream maybe."

  Marcus smiled and watched as the nurse stuck a small syringe into his IV. She smiled as she dropped the empty hypodermic needle into a biohazard container. The nurse eased him back into a flat position and she adjusted his pillows.

  "What I gave you should work pretty quickly, Lt. Commander," the nurse whispered as she worked.

  Marcus swallowed hard and whispered, "Marcus."

  The nurse just smiled and winked at him. She stood and turned to go, but before she made it to the door Marcus was already drifting slowly and softly into the abyss.

  Ch.51

  Gloves

  Commander Price had been notified while he was still in the infirmary. It seemed that whoever was spying on his facility acted quickly in getting word out to their superiors. The incident with Lt. Commander Attledge and the prisoner Hamilton couldn't have been more than eighteen hours old, and already there was a helicopter on approach with the Chief Administrator of FEMA himself as passenger.

  The Commander had given a few instructions to the Chief at the door, and then he was on the move, and moving quickly. He gave orders to one of the four of his security detail to go and assemble a detail to keep an eye on the landing pad and on the helicopter.

  "If another helicopter, a drone, anything bigger than a sparrow comes your way," Commander Price said, "you go weapons hot, and you take out anything that's not on local, got it?"

  The man nodded and took off at a dead sprint. The Commander turned to another specialist. "You go and get another four guys. Two come here, three go to the systems access corridor. No one goes in or out past you, got it? Not until you get face to face orders to stand down from me."

  The man nodded and ran after the other soldiers toward the Special Tactical Unit's barracks. Commander Price turned to the last two members of his security detail. "The man who has come here is a traitor," he said, looking each man in the eye as his words registered at once. "He's not the commander of their forces, but he is a commander. And it was his operative that nearly killed the Lt. Commander yesterday evening. He's not walking back out of this place."

  The two men nodded slowly. They pulled their side arms and checked them, then re-holstered.

  "He usually has two guards in the hall, and two at the door," the Commander said. "When I make my move on the two inside, you take down the two in the hall." The two former SEALS shared a look with each other, then one arched his eyebrow at the Commander. "Look, I'm not as young as I used to be, but I'm still pretty damn quick. And hopefully they won't think much more of me than you two seem to, and then I'll have the element of surprise too."

  Both of the security officers chuckled, but neither made another comment. The three started walking through the halls up through the various basement levels toward Commander Price's office. They took an indirect route to stall as long as possible to allow Jefferson make his way to the Commander's Office and get impatient from the wait.

  Finally, the three stood one level below the hall that held the Commander's office. "Okay, this is it," Commander Price said, and the two men nodded as one.

  The Commander turned the handle, and they climbed the stairs to the next level. They took a few turns and finally entered the long corridor with the door to the Commander's office at the end. The adjutant's desk was empty, and the door to Commander Price's office was half open.

  Two security guards in Federal Security Services uniforms stood at ease by the door. They each wore a side arm, a collapsible baton, and a small bundle of zip ties on their belts. Extra magazines and other sundries were likely stored in their ballistics vests. They looked in the Commander's direction but seemed to discard him as a potential threat. He was wearing digitized camouflage BDU's with no visible weapon. They watched his two bodyguards pretty closely, though.

  Commander Price let the handle of his Ka-bar fall into the palm of his right hand. He kept the blade up his sleeve and hidden for the moment. He'd spent years practicing the simple move to flip his arm out and his hand back to expose the blade, and he was confident in his muscle memory. One advantage of his advanced age was that it made people think of him as non-threatening, which allowed him to become a threat, ironically enough.

  As soon as the Commander stepped through the doorway, he snapped his right arm out and flipped his hand back hard. The black-bladed Ka-bar came out of the sleeve of his blouse easily. He cocked his arm back and drove the blade as hard as he could into the throat of the man on his right; he left it sticking out where his throat joined his shoulders. The man gurgled once, his eyes wide in shock, and then he fell to his knees.

  The Commander turned to the left guard, who was in the process of drawing his 9mm Beretta. Price caught the man's wrist with his now empty right hand, and drew a small, concealed cross-grip dagger from a sheath at his back with his left. He brought the triangular bladed dagger down and punched it deep into the man's right elbow joint. The man's hand went immediately limp, and the Beretta fell to the floor. Commander Price stepped behind the man as he stumbled forward, slipped his right arm under the man's chin with a tight grip, cut off his air.

  Commander Price brought his right knee up as the man pulled at his elbow with one hand. With a sharp pull up and back, Commander Price kicked his knee forward hard. There was a sick crunching sound, and the Commander wrenched his body hard to the right once. A loud snap like a dead twig rang out, and the man went limp. The Commander dropped him and bent to pick up the Beretta that had fallen to the floor. He checked to make sure it was chambered, and the safety was off, then looked up at Administrator Jefferson's shocked face.

  Commander Price's two bodyguards stepped inside and nodded to him, then took position on either side of the door. The Commander leveled his newly acquired pistol at Jefferson. "Get up," the Commander growled.

  Jefferson started to argue, but the Commander took three quick strides forward and cut the difference between them in half. He cocked the Beretta menacingly. "I said get up."

  Jefferson stood and was careful to keep his hands well clear of his jacket and belt. "I don't know what you think is going on here, Commander," Jefferies said slowly, "But you're going to pay for what you just did to those men."

  "Save it," Commander Price grated, half out of breath. "I know you were in on it; you had to have been. You helped set off the attack, the blackout, everything."

  Jefferson's eyes went wide, and he swallowed. "That's ridiculous," he sputtered, trying to sound outraged rather than afraid.

  It hadn't been much of a hesitation, but it was enough. Commander Price had seen skilled liars taken off guard before, and he recognized
it again. Jefferson had started to sweat.

  "Like I said," Commander Price continued calmly. "Two questions. That’s all I have for you."

  Jefferson's eyes narrowed. "Is this some kind of deal you're offering?" he asked, finally. "I answer your two questions or you'll kill me?"

  Commander Price shook his head slowly. "I'm gonna kill you whether you answer the questions or not."

  The color completely drained from Jefferson's face. "Then why should I?"

  Commander Price shrugged his shoulders. "You'll have to answer that one for yourself," he said. "Maybe you just want to keep breathing for a while longer, cause if you don't answer the first one, I ain't gonna bother with the second. Were you the one handing down the orders?"

  Jefferson shook his head. "They offered me enough to buy my help. But I wasn't the one deciding what happened."

  "Then who was in charge of it?" Commander Price asked, “Who was the principle?"

  Jefferson shook his head and snorted. "No way. Go ahead and shoot me. I've still got some family alive, but if I tell you that, they'll follow me into the dirt. Next."

  Commander Price nodded and lowered the pistol just a touch. "I can respect that, I guess. What was your price? What did it take to sell out your countrymen and violate your oath?"

  "Oregon, Washington, Idaho," Jefferson answered after a moment of hesitation, "Wyoming, Utah, and the Dakotas. That was going to be my district. That's why you were my problem. You were in my jurisdiction."

  Commander Price frowned. "So the nation was going to be split up? Who was getting the rest of the districts?"

  Jefferson grunted. "That's more than two questions."

  The Commander shrugged, "If you'd rather I get on with it..." he said and raised the pistol again."

  "No, no!" Jefferson stammered. "Look, I don't know who was getting the other districts; they never told me. We would all meet in a room to discuss things, but never any names. We always had numbers, randomly assigned when we showed up. But I do know the Russians were involved. We were supposed to hook up with units of Russian Special Forces and regular military within the first few days after the blackout."