Carlsbad, CA
“Where’s Mom and Dad?” Becky asked, cornering him the moment he walked into the house.
“I tried.”
“You didn’t try hard enough,” she snapped.
“It’s your dad, you know him,” Nicholas said in his defense. He pushed past her and walked into the kitchen. A tall glass of water stared at him, so he picked it up and drank it.
She walked up behind him and rested her head between his shoulder blades. Gently she wrapped her arms around his torso and pulled him in tight.
“Honey, I tried, but he’s a stubborn old man.”
“I believe you. I’m just worried for them,” she said.
“I know you are. I promise I’ll go back tomorrow and try again.”
“Well, at least we accomplished something. My pack is done and in the garage.”
“Good, what about Abigail?”
“She won’t stop trying to get her phone to work.”
“I need your help. I’m going to push the BMW out of the garage so I can get the Dodge in. I don’t need what must be one of the few cars that work to get taken.”
“Who’s going to take it? We live in a gated community.”
He craned his head around till he could see her and said, “Trust me; you should have seen all the people gawking at me as I drove that beast home. It’s a prized commodity.”
“What are we going to do going forward?”
“Just sit tight.”
“How do you think your brother’s doing?” Becky asked, referencing Michael, Nicholas’ older brother, who lived in Northern Virginia. Nicholas would joke that all they knew about him was he worked for one of the alphabet agencies.
“He’s a big tough guy; I’m not worried about him.”
She turned him around so they were looking at each other. “Nic, I’m scared. This whole thing is so weird. I want to think that the government will fix this, but I just don’t know if that’s going to happen.”
“I say this not to freak you out, but we should be worried. I need to find a way to get out of here. We need to leave and soon.”
“Go where?”
“I’ve been thinking, and your uncle has a place in the desert. We could go there.”
“The desert?”
“It might be better than here; I just don’t feel completely safe staying here for too long.”
“I’m not sure about that. You know Uncle Jim, he’s a bit touchy about anyone using his place.”
“He’s not there; he’s up in Montana. Listen, I don’t know how long we’ll be safe here if the power stays off for a long time and no one comes to help.”
“But if we’re leaving, my parents are coming with us,” Becky insisted.
“I can’t guarantee that. I can’t keep waiting for them, especially your father, to listen to reason. I can’t let his ignorance put my family in jeopardy.”
“We’re not leaving without them.”
“We’ve had this discussion before. Your parents sat in this house not nine months ago and told me they think all the stuff I was doing was crazy and that if it ever came to it, they’d rather die than live in a world where survival was key.”
“I don’t care what they said then, they’re my parents.”
Nicholas wanted to argue, but he knew it wouldn’t solve anything. It was hard to rationalize when people were emotional, so he moved onto something else. “How’s Abby? Please tell me she’s not trying to take her entire wardrobe.”
“She’s scared; she’s worried about her friends. She’s just scared, period.”
“Should I go talk to her?”
“I’d say yes, but don’t take this the wrong way. I think your intense response to this makes her feel uneasy.”
He pulled away and faced her. “What does that mean?”
“Don’t take it personally, but you’re an intense guy, and she knows if you’re concerned, it’s something to be worried about.”
“You make it sound like I’m doing something wrong.”
“No, please don’t take it that way. I just think she needs to process whatever this is.”
“I understand,” he said and pulled away.
“Where are you going?”
“To my office. I need to inventory our weapons.”
“Says the guy who’s not intense,” she joked. She snatched his shirt and pulled him back. “Don’t run off without a kiss at least.”
He gave in to her like he usually did and lost himself for a moment. If it wasn’t for her stopping, the kiss could have easily turned to foreplay.
“Now go to work. Stop loitering around the house,” she said and smacked him on the butt.
With a raised eyebrow he responded, “Yes, ma’am.”
Nicholas inventoried what he called his ‘arsenal of freedom’. He had always loved firearms since before the Marines and had collected a really nice variety of handguns and long guns.
With a look of admiration he stood above his weapons perfectly aligned by size. On the left he had seven handguns, three Sig Sauers, one Kimber and two Smith and Wesson revolvers. On the right he had rifles and two shotguns. At the top was a Sig Sauer Model 716 .308 caliber AR platform rifle, his latest addition, below that he had an AR-15, Winchester Model 70, a Ruger 77/22 and a Remington 870 pump shotgun. For him his collection of firearms gave him some peace of mind, but no gun in the world could save you if you weren’t trained in their use.
One by one he took the weapons and placed them around the house in secure locations. Having them in the safe was no longer prudent; he didn’t know who might come knocking. As he walked through the darkening house, clanking came from the kitchen, where Becky was attempting to make something.
She had taken up refuge there. Large southwestern-facing windows framed the space; this provided a blast of warmth and light from the descending sun.
Nicholas laughed about how the media would be reporting this situation, if they were. He imagined he’d only hear frenzy sprinkled with tidbits of useful information. A chuckle leapt from his mouth when he visualized them running political interference for the administration and attempting to deflect any blame that would come while simultaneously not trying to lay blame at the feet of Islamists even if it was obvious they had done it. The big question was who was behind this? It made sense it was Islamic terrorists, but it could be someone else without a doubt. The relationship between Russia and the United States had deteriorated considerably over the past seven years, and the most recent drop in oil prices had crushed Russia. Or it could be China, he thought. Yes, they needed the United States to be buyers of their products, but there wasn’t any dispute that the ideological differences between both countries were immense. But for Nicholas, who did it was less important than what he needed to do so he and his family would survive.
“Dinner’s ready!” Becky called.
Nicholas walked in and opened the freezer, took out a pint of melting vanilla ice cream and sat down at the center kitchen island.
“Don’t eat that. I made dinner,” Becky said.
“It’s melting, don’t want it to go to waste,” he replied as he shoved a large spoonful of dripping ice cream into his mouth.
“I wish we had generators,” Becky said.
Abigail was sitting next to her mother, but she might as well have been a thousand miles away. Her mind could only think about her friends but more specifically, Rob Robles. Rob was a year older than her and unbeknownst to her parents, he was her boyfriend.
Frustrated, she let out a grunt then tossed her phone on the counter.
“You can keep trying, but your phone is dead, caput, fried, burned out,” Nicholas commented.
“I hate hearing myself talk. Are you listening to me?” Becky scolded Nicholas.
“Generators, I know, I heard you.”
“Why didn’t you buy some of those?”
“This coming from the woman who rolled her eyes every time I went to a gun show or prepper show to get gear. N
ow you question why I didn’t do something. Honey, you need to be happy I got what I got. The food will last us a while.”
“Then what?” she asked.
He looked at her and wanted to give her an answer that would give her and him comfort, but she was right, then what? “I’ll make a run to a store tomorrow and see if I can scrounge up anything,” he said and went back to the freezer and opened it up. He took out two more pints of ice cream and gave one to Becky and one to Abigail.
Abigail looked at it and smiled.
Becky asked, “What are you doing?”
“Eat the ice cream. Enjoy it. Come on, sit down, pop open the top and enjoy what might be the last ice cream you have in a long time. Let’s make tonight just about us. Let’s talk and have fun.”
Becky looked at him and her concern began to wane.
“I think I’ve done all I can do for now. Let’s take the time to be with each other. I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow or after, but right now I have the two most important people in my life right here.”
His sentimental comments struck a chord in Abigail. She walked over and put her arms around him. Resting her head against his broad shoulders, she said, “I love you, Daddy.”
Nicholas raised his left arm and beckoned for Becky to come.
She did.
They embraced firmly and exchanged kisses and laughs. Nicholas appreciated this moment because he feared that it might soon be one of their last peaceful moments together.
USS Harpers Ferry, Sixty Miles off the Coast of Southern California
The mess hall reverberated with the sounds of hundreds of Marines and sailors discussing the topic that was undeniably the issue of their lifetimes.
Vincent looked around for a place to sit, but seats were a rare commodity.
“Sergeant Vincent, over here!” Berg, his driver, hollered from across the space.
Vincent’s military occupational specialty was a heavy machine gunner. He manned a Browning M2 .50 caliber machine gun and was the squad leader for his combined arms team. While deployed with the MEU (Marine Expeditionary Unit) many Marines were given secondary missions and responsibilities. His was the team leader for a TRAP team; these are small squad-sized elements whose responsibility was to recover downed pilots. He enjoyed this special-operations-capable mission above his job as a machine gunner. Vincent rose to leadership positions because of his dedication to all things Corps, but now he couldn’t wait to leave. He had fallen asleep thinking about his parents and woke with those same thoughts plaguing him. What his new mission would entail was vexing, and with the country hurtling towards chaos, he didn’t know when he’d ever make it back.
“Over here,” Berg again called out, waving his arm.
Vincent strolled over, tossed his tray on the table and took a seat.
“Not hungry?” Berg asked after seeing Vincent’s tray was practically empty.
“I’m tired of this slop.”
“God, I know, I was so looking forward to an In-N-Out burger, oh, and a carne asada burrito from Alberto’s.”
“That does sound good.”
“What do you think is going to happen?” Berg asked.
“I don’t know, but it can’t be good. According to you, this thing was big. All I know is most people act like fucking animals when they can’t get Wi-Fi or they miss breakfast at McDonald’s. Take away power…”
“Turn off their phones, Christ, they’ll eat each other alive,” Berg cracked, stuffing a forkful of pasta in his mouth.
“So true, take their phones away, they’ll have a riot.”
“I wonder how my girlfriend is doing. I bet she’s freaking out.”
“I hope she’s good. You worried?”
“Yeah, but she has family and they’re in a small town. I kinda think small towns can manage things like this better.”
Vincent thought about Berg’s comment. It was probably true. His parents too lived in a small town. Their ability to work with local authorities and know everyone would be beneficial say over a large city like San Diego with over two million people, most of whom didn’t keep more than a week’s worth of food on hand. This gave him a bit of peace knowing his parents were able people and the town manageable.
“What I’m worried about is she’ll hang herself over the fact she won’t be able to watch her reality shows.” Berg laughed.
“Now she’s starring in her own reality show called the apocalypse.”
“Oh shit, man, this really throws a wrench in my plans this weekend, but this can be fun.”
“In what way?” Vincent asked.
“We’re one step closer to a zombie apocalypse. People will go fucking crazy, start ripping and tearing at each other, and we can sit back and kick these civilians’ asses once and for all.”
“I’ve never heard you spout such contempt before,” Vincent commented.
“C’mon, Sergeant Vincent, don’t you tire of the self-righteous attitudes of civvies? We protect their rights to say stupid shit about us. But if we want to have a say in something or offer an opinion or say something political, we’re told we can’t. Ha, we can’t? We’re the motherfuckers who protect that right, but we can’t participate, such bullshit!”
Vincent watched Berg’s nostrils flare and eyes widen as he waved his arms around.
“Look, that’s the system and we volunteered. If you don’t like it, then don’t re-enlist, then you can be that asshole out there talking trash.”
“That was my plan, but do you think they’re going to be letting any of us out? Nope, today marks six months and a wake-up and my enlistment is up, but I think I’m here to stay for the duration of whatever is happening out there.”
“Don’t be so negative. Christ, Berg, by then they’ll figure this stuff out.”
Suddenly the mess hall’s volume rose dramatically.
Vincent and Berg turned towards the epicenter of the raucousness. There they saw a Marine jump on top of a table. They couldn’t hear what he was saying because of the jeers and yelling.
Vincent rose and walked closer.
Calls for people to be quiet grew until they were heeded. The mess fell silent.
“Everyone, listen, I just came from the ops center. Washington, DC, has been nuked, so has New York, Los Angeles, Chicago and Houston. We’re at war, motherfuckers, we’re at war!”
“Who, who did it?” a voice cried out.
“The Russians, but only after we nuked them.”
A chorus of loud chatter erupted as Marines and sailors discussed and debated the news.
Vincent was in complete shock. First the EMP, now five major U.S. cities had been destroyed.
Right on cue the loudspeakers came to life and a siren blared. “General quarters, general quarters.”
This was it, war, but not just any war, nuclear war. Never in his life did he imagine this sort of thing could have occurred, but it had. Now without a doubt any recovery effort they’d be participating in would be futile.
Berg grabbed his arm and turned him around. “Can you believe this shit?”
Vincent’s face showed his shock. His thousand-yard stare told Berg what no words could.
“You okay, Sergeant?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. I just can’t fathom this.”
“We gotta go, c’mon,” Berg said.
Marines and sailors hurried towards their areas of responsibility. For Vincent and Berg that was to be holed up in their berthing.
As Vincent navigated the bustling passageways, he ran directly into Gunny Roberts.
“Sergeant Vincent, you’re the man I needed to see. Come with me,” Gunny ordered.
“Where are we going?”
“It’s not where we’re going, it’s where are you going.”
“What?”
“Son, you got a mission. You leave soon.”
“Where?”
“You and your TRAP team are headed to San Marcos.”
“San Marcos, like east of Pendleton?”
“Yes.”
“For what?”
“You’re in charge of grabbing the CO’s wife and kids.” §
San Diego, CA
The orange glow from the two dozen tealight and various other candles bounced a multitude of shadows off the walls and ceiling of Bryn’s apartment. After their successful grocery-store run, she felt a sense of relief and accomplishment, enough to let her proverbial hair down to relax and drink a few hastily put together cocktails from the random assortment of liquors and mixers she had around the apartment.
With a mind towards the future, she forced Sophie to eat from among the foods that would spoil first. In her refrigerator she ate a half-eaten quesadilla while Sophie devoured the remaining rice and beans they had taken home the other night.
The cocktails gave her a reprieve from the day’s stress as she laughed at Matt’s silly jokes. After what they had been through at the store, she invited him over; there they would divide the spoils and just talk. Never in her life would she imagine feeling safe with him, but having him there did make her feel a bit more secure. She didn’t know him well, but she felt she could trust him. Somehow he didn’t give off the creep vibe like the three, Alberto, Dylan and Craig did. She trusted her intuition, as it had always served her in life, and in unsure times she planned on leaning on that sense more than ever.
“I can’t say it enough, you were a total badass today,” Sophie said, the few drinks already showing in her slurred speech. The fear and trauma she had experienced in the store was leaving her with each sip of her drink.
“You’re like a superhero; all you need is a mask and cape!” Matt said excitedly.
“Matt, you read way too many comics,” Bryn quipped and continued. “I just hate punks. Anyone that picks on the weak needs to get their heads smashed in.”
“Do you have training or something?” Matt asked genuinely curious.
“Nope, I just see red when those sorts of things happen and I act out without thinking.”
“She’s always been fiery, Matt, so get used to it,” Sophie added.
The Defiant: Grid Down Page 7
