Storm Tide Rising: Blackout Volume 2

by D W McAliley

  Mike nodded. "My left knee and right shoulder. I was an accident prone kid, to tell you the truth. I was on a first name basis with our family orthopedist by the time I was a freshman in high school."

  "You know then," Arthur said, nodding. "I've had a knee replaced and rotator cuff surgery twice. The leg hurt more, but the shoulders took longer to heal and rebuild the strength."

  Mike took the lid off the impromptu stew and stirred the concoction to make sure it cooked evenly. It smelled delicious, though he was sure part of that was simply his empty stomach encouraging his brain to look forward to the meal. It was amazing how hunger could make things taste so much better than they deserved.

  The silence between them was just beginning to grow uncomfortable when Arthur broke it. "Alyssa and Maria said you all came from the McDowell refugee camp. It's amazing you got this far."

  Mike frowned. "What do you mean?"

  "They didn't tell you?" Arthur asked, and Mike shook his head. "Well, I suppose not with you just getting back on your feet. More important things to worry about and talk about, I guess. Things got bad when the camp was attacked. Cheryl and I were on the way down there looking for our daughter when it happened."

  Arthur shrugged his shoulders uncomfortably, a far off look in his eyes as he spoke, as if he were seeing shadows of things that were no longer there.

  "The FSS had the roads leading south blocked off," the older man continued. "They told us we could go west, east, or north, but not south. The situation was too 'uncertain' they told us. As if anything is certain these days. But their guns were bigger than ours, and so we started moving west through the outskirts of the city. We had just crossed South Boulevard and set up camp one evening when we saw flashes to the southwest and heard the echoes of explosions. It terrified us both, and a lot of people around where we'd set up our tent just went crazy."

  Arthur shook his head and pulled a canteen out of a pouch on his belt. He took a long drink before continuing. "People didn't know what it was, so their imagination went straight to the worst possibility. They thought we were under attack again, so people just started shooting anything that moved. Cheryl and I took cover under the South Blvd overpass on I-485. About an hour after the commotion started, an FSS patrol came through trying to restore order, but they were doing more shooting than anyone else.

  "They stopped under the overpass, but on the other side of the median," Arthur said, his voice little more than a whisper. "I knew they'd see us, but we couldn't move or they might shoot. One of the guys in the back of the pickup truck was looking our way like he was trying to decide if he was looking at trash, or people when a bullet took him through the throat. I'll never forget the expression on his face as he slowly toppled out of the bed of the pickup onto the pavement, gasping and bleeding. A mob hit the patrol, and they tried to run. The people chased the truck down road, shooting at it and screaming. We just sat up there waiting for them to come back for us, but they never did."

  Arthur fell silent for a moment, his face drawn in a deep frown as he looked at the floor between his feet. Mike didn't know what he could possibly say to offer any comfort, so he just kept silent. After a time, Arthur gave himself a shake and rubbed one hand across his eyes as if he were trying to wipe away the memories.

  "Anyway, the next day we started running into the refugees from the camp," Arthur said, his voice stronger. "They were all scared, dirty, and hungry. They never stopped long enough to really explain what happened; they just talked in short terrified bursts about the McDowell camp, the guards leaving, and then a mob attack. From what I could piece together, the FSS pulled off some of the guards just before the attack started. The ones that were left fought hard, but the attackers got to and breached the gate. And that's when things went badly for them. There were hundreds of attackers, but more than ten thousand desperate and terrified refugees. They ripped the attackers apart eventually, though, and the survivors broke out of the camp. For some people, I guess it's tough to stop that kind of thing once they get a taste for it. They just started looting, killing, burning and destroying everything in their path."

  "Is that when you turned north?" Mike asked, stirring the stew again.

  Arthur shook his head. "Had to get to our daughter," he replied. "So we kept pushing west, and when we got to a good point, we just went off the roads and through the woods, heading south. It took us a couple of days to get to the house she's sharing with her fiancé, but they were gone already."

  When Arthur said his daughter shared a house with her fiancé, Mike froze. The tiny hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, but he shook it off as mere coincidence. There had to be thousands of young women living with their fiancés in Charlotte.

  "At first Cheryl broke down completely," Arthur continued, oblivious to Mike's apprehension. "She thought they were both dead or worse, though I'm not sure what could possibly be worse. But the neighbor came over and told us that he'd given Eric his car so he could get out of town. The only place we can think they might have gone is Eric's parents' place up in the north part of the state."

  This time, Mike felt the hairs along his neck and arms standing on end as a chill ran down his spine, and he looked at Arthur, but the man seemed to be telling the honest truth. "This neighbor," Mike said hesitantly, "was he a tiny old man that looks a little like a turtle without a shell, and seemed tough enough to bite a ten penny nail in half?"

  Arthur frowned and turned toward Mike, surprised. "You've met Mr. Sheickles?"

  Ch.67

  Last Request

  The sun was just barely above the eastern horizon, deep ruby red light washing over the low mountains and shallow valleys. Marcus walked to the right of the prisoner and Commander Price walked to his left, all three in silence. The wind was blowing out of the north, cold and steady, with the dry sharp twinge of snow heavy on the air. The late summer heat had evaporated quickly, and with October less than a week away, it seemed that winter was coming early this year. A low shelf of steely gray clouds was gathered on the far northern horizon, but it would be a few days at least before the weather front moved through.

  The three marched across a low ridge line on the other side of the helicopter landing pad from the facility. When they reached the end of the ridge the prisoner took his place standing at the edge of a pre-dug grave. He looked down into the pit once, swallowed hard, and turned his back on it. The man had refused a blindfold.

  Once the prisoner was situated, Marcus walked with Commander Price to where a line of half a dozen men stood in full uniform, rifles in their hands. Commander Price stopped at the end of the firing squad, Marcus on his left. The Commander pulled a leather portfolio from his left arm and opened it. There wasn't a sound on the high plateau other than the steady north wind when Commander Price began reading.

  "Jason Alexander Soudeikin, you stand accused of high treason," Commander Price read formally, "conspiracy to commit murder, mass murder, terrorism, and rebellion against the government and Constitution of the United States of America. Quite frankly, you've committed crimes so terrible we don't have a name for them, don't have a law for them. And you have confessed to this much and more. Do you have anything you would like to confess before these witnesses and God above?"

  The prisoner threw his head back and laughed a raucous cackle. When he finally lowered his face, tears were streaming down his cheeks. "You have to be kidding, right? Confess? What could I have possibly done that you don't already know about? And what could I possibly have to say to your God?" The prisoner turned his head and spat. "God never had a use for me, never reached out to me. I'll be damned if I'm going to reach out to Him."

  Another bout of laughter shook the prisoner so hard he couldn't speak for a moment. When he regained his breath, he looked up at the men facing him, his eyes wild with rage and conviction.

  "Run," the man grated through clenched teeth. "Get out while you can. If you stay here, you will end up dead, every one of you. They'll surround this place, and th
en they'll sweep through here like a prairie fire and consume everything in their path. You have no idea what you're fighting against. Go hide now, while you can, before they come and destroy you all."

  Commander Price cleared his throat, and the prisoner's teeth clicked as he closed his mouth and straightened. He regained his composure, and faced Commander Price and the rest of the firing squad with contempt twisting his face and nothing more.

  "The judgment against you is death for treason against the United States government, the Constitution, and the People," Commander Price said formally. "Do you have any last words or last requests?"

  The prisoner spat to the side again. "Get on with it," he grated.

  Marcus stepped forward before the Commander could speak and he turned to look Cmdr. Price directly in the eyes. "I'll give the orders, sir. You had me do the rest of the dirty work for you, might as well do this too."

  He turned to the firing squad and snapped to attention. "Detail, present arms! Ready! Take Aim!" Marcus turned and locked eyes with the prisoner one last time, the sun bright at the man's back and the north wind ruffling his hair.

  "Fire!"

  Ch.68

  For Your Own Safety

  The suit was one that he had worn only twice before, and it still smelled faintly of cedar and leather from the coat trunk. The fabric was a black Italian wool and silk blend that had a slight sheen under direct light. It was the same suit he'd worn the day he was sworn in as the Deputy Secretary for DHS, and it was the suit he'd worn the day he'd taken the oath of office for the Presidency before his assembled staff. That ceremony hadn't been formal, of course, but it had been moving all the same and had served to lend a certain credibility and legitimacy that might otherwise have been lacking.

  Today, he had put it on again, and now he stood regarding his reflection in the large mirrors of his dressing room. The lights overhead were soft white LEDs that gave true white light without being harsh or blistering hot. The tie he'd chosen to wear with his stark white Oxford button down was a red so deep it was almost burgundy. A pair of well-shined black dress shoes, simple and unadorned, along with a small flag pin on his lapel completed the image of the consummate politician.

  As he looked into his own eyes in the mirror, he said the speech over and over in his head, visualizing each syllable and each gesture that would go along with it. He'd been mentally rehearsing since sunrise three and a half hours earlier, preparing to step into the Senate Chamber and address his assembled government for the first time on a matter of formal state business.

  A light tap at the door and he turned his head. "Mr. President," Daniel's voice said from the other side of the heavy oak door, "they're assembled and ready when you are, sir."

  He looked back into the mirrors and fixed his image firmly in his mind. In case he became nervous or uncertain on the stage, he wanted to remember that this was the man who was facing the assembled former members of Congress.

  They would see this man, their President, and they would obey.

  With that, he turned on his heel and strode confidently out of the dressing room and into the hall. Guards stood by the interior doors and at the doors of the main entrance to the Speaker's suite. Contractors were busy taking down some walls and putting new ones up all along this wing of the Capitol building. They were building to his own designs a palace fit for the most powerful man in the nation, and, ultimately, the world. For now, though, the construction left the office in chaos, even with the workers temporarily out of his way.

  With any luck they'd be finished and he could live in peace by Christmas.

  As he stepped out into the main hall, Daniel, always the patient assistant, followed him a few steps to his right and behind him. Ten men fell into step around them forming a box with two in front, one on either side, and two behind. Two men walked a half dozen paces ahead of the formation, and two walked a half dozen paces behind. All of the men wore the standard Federal Security Services urban combat uniform and carried a standard M4 carbine at the ready. Gone were the days of the President's secret, barely visible security detail. The new President wanted everyone around him to know full well the extent of his protection.

  In a matter of moments they stood at the back entrance to the Senate Chamber. "Daniel," he said softly, "you'll go in and announce me as the President. I'll step in as soon as you say my name. Watch to see if anyone is slow to stand or remains seated. We'll make an example out of them later."

  Daniel nodded and stepped through one of the small staff doors.

  "Ladies and Gentlemen of the Senate," he said loudly, "it is my honor to present to you the President of the United States, Phillip Hall."

  One of his security detail opened the door, and the President stepped through it and into the light cast by banks of LED flood lights on temporary poles around the room. The engineers were still working to install new diesel generators to power the building, but for now this would do well enough. It was more light than any other building in the city had, of that much he was absolutely certain.

  As he climbed the few steps up to the seat traditionally reserved for the Vice President, he heard a shuffling of feet as the members of the newly formed Federal Senate stood to attention. As the President took his place, the ten members of his security detail formed up at the bottom of the dais, facing the assembled Senators. They stood at attention once they were in place in the same way as the five dozen other members of the FSS that were spaced around the walls of the lower and upper gallery. All of them were armed.

  "Thank you for meeting with me this morning," the President said. "You may take your seats. I will be brief since I know there is much to be done as we begin the process of rebuilding the nation. I have delivered to you, as promised, a set of resolutions that I hope will be the first steps we take together toward that end."

  He paused to wait for applause, but there was none.

  "As you are all aware, the recent attack and tragic loss of life in this country is unlike anything we have ever experienced," the President continued. "We are faced with an unprecedented challenge, and as such we must take unprecedented steps to overcome it. I am, however, fully confident in our ability to do so, as long as we work together toward a common purpose and a common goal.

  "You'll notice that the first section of the Emergency Resolutions calls for the immediate convention of a Federal Senate for the purposes of providing for the administration, regulation, and legislation of all matters and directives approved by the National Emergency Response Director and the President, both offices which I currently happen to fill. Since you are all that remains of Congress, you have been selected and appointed as members of the Federal Senate for said purposes. I enacted that provision myself, and it is the reason we are gathered here today."

  There were more than a few murmurs as the Senators looked at each other and pointed to sections in the first paragraphs of the document all of them carried. The President waited patiently for a few moments, then cleared his throat softly, and silence fell once more.

  "All legislation and regulation you approve will be signed by me," President Hall continued, "and I will approve all administrative directives as well. For the duration of this crisis, both my signature and my veto are not subject to challenge. As outlined in your packet, these provisions are, of course, temporary and will expire once the state of national emergency has subsided. We're facing uncertain times and uncharted waters as a nation, and it is incumbent upon us to provide the stability and leadership the people who elected us expect."

  There were louder murmurs at this point, and one of the men toward the back of the crowd stood up. "Sir, with all due respect, you gave us these packets, as you call them, this morning," he said loudly enough to cut through the rest of the noise. The man lifted one of the three inch binders with both hands. "There are more than three hundred pages in here, and you want us to read all of that now and then vote on it?"

  The President smiled easily and shook his head. "Of course not,"
he said with a light chuckle. "That would be ridiculous. There's no way you could read all of the information in the packets today, much less read it all and then vote on it. We're here this morning simply for you to approve and pass the legislation. You may read the details at your leisure."

  There was a brief moment of stunned silence, and then the room erupted. The men and women were talking all at once, each trying to be heard over the others. Tempers quickly flared, and people began standing and pointing at each other, the volume rising steadily. One man three seats in from the aisle on the front row remained sitting, perfectly calm, without so much as looking at any of the people around him. His steady, unshakable stare made President Hall uneasy for some reason, and he didn't like it.

  After another moment or two, the situation began to approach utter chaos, President Hall picked up the gavel on the podium next to him. Three hard, determined raps on the podium’s flat hardwood top sent the sharp sound of authority throughout the chamber, and silence fell quickly over the Senators. President Hall scanned the room, his face serious.

  "We do not have time for this," he said, his voice stern and impatient. "This nation is under attack and innocent people are dying by the millions. We have to act, and we have to act swiftly. We all know you didn't read every single bill before you voted on it before this happened, and those were far less pressing matters than we're facing now. This won't be the normal operation, but I think you'll all agree that our current situation is not a normal one."

  The lone man who'd sat silently through the entire outburst stood slowly. He reached behind him and pulled a small leather-bound book from his back pocket. "You can't do this," the man said, almost quietly. "It's illegal and it's unconstitutional. I have a copy right here, and you can check it yourself."