The Gauntlet

by Mike Kraus

  A sense of perpetual dread seemed to hang in the air, its tendrils tugging at Frank as he hurried to keep up with Jackson and Linda. Every time he bumped into another person standing or sitting around with a vacant stare on their face he grew more uncomfortable with how eerily quiet they were. Far from the screaming and shouting he had witnessed and experienced during the opening days of the attacks, these people were largely calm and quiet. Somehow, though, that was scarier. The end of the world was supposed to be loud and noisy and violent as people fought tooth and nail against it. It wasn’t supposed to be accepted with a shrug and a sigh and an outstretched hand for another day’s rations.

  “What’s wrong with these people?” Frank caught up to Linda and leaned in close, whispering in her ear. “This is worse than what we saw in Washington. At least the people there were actually animated.”

  Linda kept her voice low as she replied. “A loss of hope and no sense of direction will do that. They’ve been here for quite a while. A lot have lost family or friends. There’s no timetable on when they can get back to their homes and without anything to do they’re just… stuck.”

  Frank looked back at the people they were passing with a newfound sense of compassion. “When will they be able to leave?”

  Linda glanced at Frank, not sure whether he was serious or not. She motioned at a nearby apartment building that had most of the interior lights on. “You think they’re moving people into these places by the millions just to send them back out to their homes again anytime soon?”

  “You mean… they’re going to live here?”

  “What else are they going to do?”

  Frank opened his mouth to reply before closing it, cocking his head and contemplating the question. He hadn’t considered what tens upon tens of millions of people would do after the entire country ground to a screeching halt. “There’s always cleanup, right?”

  “You don’t need the entire population of the United States on cleanup duty.”

  “What about repair work?”

  “To what? The electrical grid? Building new trucks? Repairing complex machinery and other systems? Those are all skilled jobs, requiring a lot of education and expense. Anyone still left alive who can do those jobs will be able to name their own price. But that’s still a miniscule fraction.”

  “Farming? We need food, don’t we? Plus all of the other stuff. Blue collar workers, managers, waiters….” Frank trailed off as he realized what he was saying. “I guess… if things are that bad… huh.”

  “As of a few years ago,” Linda screwed her eyes shut as she tried to remember what she had read, “The most common jobs in the United States by number of people employed in said jobs were retail salespeople followed by cashiers, office clerks, chefs and waiters and then nurses, if I recall correctly. Not a lot of in-demand positions there, except nurses, and I guarantee you that anyone with any skills in that area is already working overtime.”

  “What will everyone do, then?”

  “Try and stay fed, dry and warm, I imagine. Once all the dust clears I suspect the feds will implement some sort of programs to get people back to work. Rebuilding roads, getting farms back to work and things like that. Stuff that virtually anyone can do if they’re given a bit of direction.” She paused. “It’s a monumental task, though. An entire country upended, untold numbers dead and no clear way forward.”

  Frank was quiet as he contemplated Linda’s words. They continued pushing forward through the streets, occasionally bumping into people nearby. The crowds were growing thicker and more animated the closer they got to the command center and as the trio approached the security line around the structure they could see that there were a dozen or so people lined up nearby waving wrinkled cardboard signs and shouting slogans that none of them could quite make out.

  Jackson presented his ID to the guard at the gate, as did Linda and Frank. As Linda took hers back she threw a thumb in the direction of the people standing a short distance away. “What’s up with them?”

  The guard rolled his eyes. “Bunch of idiots if you ask me. They’re protesting about who-knows-what.”

  “Huh.” Frank took back his ID and slipped it into his pocket. He eyed the protestors carefully as he followed Linda and Jackson through the gate before whispering to Linda again. “Protestors? That doesn’t sound good, no matter what side they’re on.” Linda nodded in silent agreement before stopping as the three of them once again had to present their IDs.

  Frank took a moment to look around, noticing for the first time that they were standing in a relatively open area with trees and grass around them and a large, unusually shaped building in front. Frank took a few steps back and looked at the large sign hanging from the building.

  “The Temberly Theatre.” He looked back at the entrance as the guard standing before the door held out his ID. “The command post is in a theater?”

  ***

  Built a few years prior thanks to a multi-million dollar donation by local businessman and philanthropist Gordon Temberly, the Temberly Theatre was designed to be the most sophisticated, elegant, modern and up-to-date theater establishment in the entire country. The building’s exterior design came about after lengthy consultations with top modern designers and evoked images of the Sydney Opera House. The interior was crafted by computer algorithms and designed to carry sound from the main stage to every single corner of the auditorium thanks to a system of automated wall and ceiling sections that changed position and material based on what type of performance was taking place.

  In addition to the main auditorium there were two smaller auditoriums, one on ground level and one below ground in the main basement. These were often used for community plays, musical performances and other projects while the main auditorium was reserved for larger performances. Even the smaller stages were impressive, though, and featured as many modern amenities as the main one.

  Unfortunately, due to the state of the city—not to mention the country—the theater had been repurposed as a command post for the military forces working to keep the city safe and secure. The pristine walls and floors were marred with grease and dirt, the wide airy halls were filled with desks, supplies and equipment and even the auditoriums and stages had been turned into living quarters and offices.

  Though the number of people inside the theater was far less than the number out in the streets surrounding it, Frank felt much more cramped as he walked down the halls—and he was certain it had nothing to do with being indoors. If the mood outside the building was best described as depressed and downtrodden the mood inside was best described as desperate and panicked. Most of the civilians in the city had no clue that bombs had gone off in Chicago and Miami, though the few that did seemed to be less interested in that fact and more interested in staring blankly into space.

  For the men and women in uniform, though, things were radically different. With the device in Phoenix dismantled a large portion of the forces in the city were being sent out to other sanctuary cities, either to bolster flagging forces or work as replacements for troops being sent to Chicago and Miami. There was a sense of chaos in the building, but not the ordered kind.

  “This way, you two. Keep up.” Jackson turned to look at Frank and Linda, both of whom had slowed to a walk as they looked around the interior of the theater, taken in by both the building and the people in it. The pair hurried to catch up with him and they eventually found themselves in a quiet corner of the building surrounded by a group of men and women seated at desks speaking into headsets.

  “Is this the comms nest?” Linda asked.

  “You got it,” Jackson pointed across the room. “They should be getting a line set up for us to D.C. If they remembered, that is.” Jackson, Linda and Frank crossed the room and Jackson got the attention of one of the women who was wearing a headset.

  “This is Linda Rollins and Frank Richards. We’re supposed to have a secure line to D.C. set up for us?”

  “Yes, sir, Lieutenant.” The woman nodd
ed at him. “Right this way.” She led the trio into what looked like a repurposed green room and motioned at a communications setup on a table. “You’re all set to go in here.” She eyed Linda and Frank carefully on the way out and closed the door behind her.

  “Right, then,” Linda rubbed her hands together and sat down at the table, not keen on wasting any more time. “Let’s see if we can get Sarah on the horn.”

  It took sixteen minutes to get Sarah on the line, including the time to have the call actually established—Jackson’s suspicion was correct—and get through the layers of bureaucracy between the person at the other end of the line and Sarah herself. When Sarah’s voice finally came through, both Frank and Linda grinned as they heard her typical annoyance shining as bright as ever.

  “…the hell would you wait so long to tell me they called?! I said I was expecting a call and I meant it! Go find a crayon and stick it in your ear you great buffoon!” There was a sigh, the sound of someone putting on a headset and her voice again, though louder and more clear this time. “Linda? Frank and Jackson with you?”

  “Sarah.” Linda smiled. “It’s good to talk to you.”

  “You two, dear; now’s not the time, though. We have developments. Have Jackson make sure the line’s secure.” After a quick squeal and the input of a few numbers on the radio’s keypad, Sarah was back. “Good. Now, are all three of you there?”

  “We’re all here, ma’am.” Jackson spoke as he and Frank stood next to each other, hovering on either side of Linda.

  “Good. Now listen close. I’m guessing you heard about Chicago and Miami, but you haven’t heard everything. This isn’t to be shared, understand?” Frank, Linda and Jackson all replied in the affirmative and she continued. “The bombs in those cities were triggered remotely and the only reason it hasn’t happened in more cities is because we have broad-spectrum signal jammers set up in every other location where the devices are believed to have been delivered.”

  “Triggered remotely?” Jackson asked. “Through a radio signal?”

  “Could be anything. The jammers block everything from radio to television to satellite. The cities that are still standing are keeping their jammers enabled until the devices are contained.”

  “What about manual detonation?” Jackson spoke again. “Why aren’t the terrorists guarding them just blowing them up?”

  “Unknown. We’re guessing that they were put in place solely to guard the devices and act as emergency triggers. Their orders are likely to just guard the bombs until they’re vaporized by them. Hell of a way to go.”

  Frank crouched down next to Linda, leaning in closer to the microphone as he closed his eyes and spoke. “How many people died?”

  “No clue; not in my department. We’re mostly focused on getting the other devices found. Houston’s clear, Cincinnati’s clear and Richmond’s clear. That’s about it for now, though, other than you all.”

  “Sarah,” Linda said as she adjusted her chair, “I get the feeling that you didn’t just call us on a secure, encrypted frequency just to give us the details about which cities are gone and which aren’t.”

  “Darned straight.” There was a rustling again as, on the other end of the radio, Sarah got up and double-checked that the door to the room she was in was closed and locked. “The jammers have local unlock codes, but there’s also a master signal on a specific frequency that can punch through the noise. The unlock code is here in DC, in the sanctuary city, at the command post.”

  There was a long pause while she waited for them to catch up with what she was suggesting. “I’m… not sure I follow,” Frank finally answered.

  “Remember how I said I think that something odd’s going on around here?” Another pause. “This is going to sound crazy which is why I haven’t told anyone yet, but I believe Omar’s planning an attack here.”

  “Yeah, we talked about that, didn’t we?” Linda replied.

  “I don’t think he’s attacking just to get revenge, though. With those jammers up his plan’s foiled unless he can get runners on the ground inside the cities to hand-deliver a message to the terrorists guarding the devices. Every minute that passes is a minute that we’re closer to disabling the devices once and for all. If he could pull down all the jammers at once while simultaneously dealing a death blow to D.C. all while our military’s in disarray trying to respond to the devices….”

  Sarah trailed off and Linda finished the thought. “That would be it. Tens of millions or more would die in the first few moments. Countless more after.”

  “Forget about rebuilding,” Sarah replied. “Whoever was left would be trying to get passage to some other country so they could live away from all the hot zones.”

  “What do you want us to do, ma’am?” Jackson cut in, his voice firm and authoritative in spite of the dire news.

  “Get your asses back up here. Whatever’s going to happen next isn’t going to happen down there.” There was another pause and the sound of footsteps. “You three need to get on a plane to D.C. It’s time to end this once and for all.”

  “Uh, I have a question,” Frank said, raising his arm partway in the air like he was attending a lecture. “Why isn’t the military up there doing something about Omar? You were able to get through to someone about the devices, clearly. Why not just tell them about Omar?”

  “Because if she does,” Linda answered before Sarah could, “Then if the traitor’s still around and listening in then he would have that much more information.”

  “Exactly. Screaming at the top of our lungs about the devices worked, but I don’t know that we can risk it a second time. We’ll—hang on.” Footsteps came through the radio again, followed by the sound of a door opening and Sarah shouting at someone down a hall. A low rumble cut through the noise, making Frank’s ears perk up at the sound.

  “What was that?”

  Another rumble came through the speaker, though it was followed by the sound of an enormous explosion that filled the room, making Frank, Linda and Jackson all cover their ears in pain. “What the hell?!” Linda reached for the volume knob to turn down the sound and called out into the microphone. “Sarah? Sarah! Are you there?”

  As the ringing in their ears died down, they realized that there were no longer any transmissions coming through the radio. Whatever had just happened at the D.C. command post had disrupted the line.

  “Here, move out of the way, Rollins.” Jackson sat down in Linda’s seat and began working the transmitter as he spoke quietly into the microphone, trying to reestablish contact. After a few minutes of fruitless work, he turned in his seat and pointed at Frank. “Richards, get out there and tell them we have a situation going on in D.C. We need them to get our channel back up now!”

  “On it!” Frank ran out of the room, at first feeling bad for making so much noise as he burst through the door as he remembered the relative silence the people in the next room had been working in. The feeling didn’t last for long, though, as he saw that everyone who had been quietly tapping away at a computer or speaking softly into a microphone was now fully animated, loud and in a moderate state of panic. Looking around at the chaos and wondering what to do, Frank grabbed the nearest person he could find by the shoulders as they tried to dodge past him.

  “Hey, we need help back here. We were on the line with Washington and—”

  “Washington? D.C.?” The man’s eyes widened. “Something’s going on up there. We lost comms and can’t get them back. There was some gunfire or something before that happened and—”

  Linda and Jackson came through the door as the man was about to finish his sentence. Jackson glanced at Linda and nodded. “Be to the intersection in ten.”

  “We will,” She nodded back at him before turning to Frank. “We’re heading to Washington. Jackson’s going to get seats on the next flight out. We need to get our gear and some spare supplies and get ready to go.”

  The noise in the room was loud enough that Linda waved at Frank to follow her a
s he shouted in response. “What did you find out?”

  “Same thing everyone else here did, I assume. A surface to surface missile just took out the main comms array at their command post. There’s some kind of fighting force heading into the city.”

  “A fighting force? What does that mean?!” Frank broke into a run to keep up with Linda and the pair moved quickly down the street, pushing aside soldiers and civilians alike as they ran for where they had stowed their gear.

  “It means Sarah’s suspicion about Omar was right. All of it. He’s there in D.C. with enough people to start a fight.”

  “Can’t the military just… fight back? He can’t have all that many people, can he?”

  “Guerilla warfare, Frank. It’s a bitch and a half to fight against and Omar’s people are the best of the best. With his people and resources, whoever’s still stationed there won’t last very long.” As Frank and Linda hit the main road leading to a nearby airfield, a fleet of trucks racing by seemed to confirm what she was saying. “All the cities that are still searching for their devices don’t even know what’s happening in Washington so they can’t send any aid.” Linda shook her head. “This is bad. Really bad.”

  The squeal of tires made both her and Frank turn and they saw Jackson at the wheel of a camo-painted truck that roared alongside the convoy before squealing to a stop in front of them. “Get in!” Jackson shouted at them through the rolled-down window. Linda jumped into the front middle seat and Frank clambered in after her. As soon as the door was shut Jackson took off, honking the horn to alert the civilians and soldiers walking nearby to stay out of the way.