Trackers 4: The Damned (A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Series)

by Nicholas Sansbury Smith

  She didn’t blame them for staying at Constellation, but at the same time, she was increasingly frustrated at being out on the frontlines without the intel she needed to lead.

  The report of the Chinese fighters had struck her especially hard. It was one thing to see troops on the ground, but fighter jets? A soldier could only do so much damage. A fighter jet could level a city.

  “I authorized them,” Diego said after a few moments of silence.

  Raymond looked over at Charlize, apparently just as surprised as she was. At least she wasn’t the only one who’d been kept in the dark.

  “Without consulting with me?” Charlize asked. She picked the phone off the desk and brought it to her lips. “How am I supposed to do my job if you don’t tell me everything I need to know?”

  “I knew what you would say, Charlize, being a pilot and all, but this was part of the deal,” Diego replied. “I don’t like it either, but the Chinese want to be able to protect their assets on the ground.”

  “Against Americans,” Raymond said quietly.

  Charlize’s shoulders were a stiff line as she clutched the phone. “If one of those fighter jets fires on Americans, we’re going to have a shit show on our hands. Our citizens may not have access to social media anymore, but stories will spread like wildfire. You do realize that, sir?”

  “I understand your frustration, and I understand the risks, but this mission will save countless American lives if all goes to plan.”

  “And if it doesn’t go to plan?”

  “Then we deal with it accordingly, Charlize.”

  Vice President Walter chimed in with some thoughts, but Charlize was hardly listening. She wasn’t all that impressed with the man Diego had picked to be his second in command. He was the former CEO of a major energy company with ties to China, which Charlize found all too convenient, considering he’d helped jam the Chinese deal down the president’s throat.

  Now wasn’t the time to raise those questions, though. There was no use talking further with Diego about the fighter jets, either. He had made up his mind. Her job‌—‌her duty‌—‌was to make sure not a single missile, bomb, or bullet was fired by the Chinese. Although she knew that was going to be near impossible.

  “Charlize, I want you to know that I’ve had multiple conversations with the Chinese president, and he has assured me his pilots and troops will exhaust every possible solution before utilizing force,” said Walter.

  “Do you know how that sounds, Mr. Vice President?” Charlize asked, squinting in disbelief.

  There was a pause, then Diego’s voice spoke again. “Just do your job and we will do ours, Secretary Montgomery.”

  At least he called me by my title, she thought.

  “Roger that, sir,” she said as respectfully as possible. “In the meantime, I’m going to meet with FEMA and the Army Corps of Engineers.”

  “Madame Secretary?” said Peter Lundy.

  Charlize sighed. She had had a feeling the chief scientist at Constellation was on the line for a reason.

  “Please get me an updated count of the large power transformers the Chinese have brought. Those are the biggest hurdle we’re facing right now,” he continued.

  “You got it,” she said. “Anything else? I really need to get going.”

  “I’d also like an update on delivery dates for each power grid section.”

  “Understood.”

  “Good luck,” Diego added.

  Charlize hung up the phone and handed it back to Raymond.

  “Chinese fighter jets?” Harris asked. “Did I hear that right?”

  A nod from Raymond and a snort from Charlize.

  “Another reason your mission is so important, Captain,” she said.

  They walked back into the command center that had been set up inside the Coast Guard building. She studied the maps of the power grid sections Lundy had referred to on the call. The United States had been divided into ten different regions. It was going to be a hell of a job to get them all functional again.

  Horns sounded outside, the cry of more ships coming in to harbor.

  She passed a group of FEMA workers talking about moving water trucks. The American Red Cross, along with several local and state government officials, were huddled around a map of northern Florida. Chinese representatives were crowded in with them, an interpreter translating the conversation.

  Charlize slowed on her way out of the warehouse to listen to the multiple discussions. Judging by what she observed, the American and Chinese officials were working well together. Feeling more optimistic, she stepped outside and approached the waiting convoy of five armored Humvees. Her work here was done. Captain Harris would accompany the Chinese delegation, led by General Lin, as soon as they moved out of the city.

  Her next task today was to see how things were being managed on the front lines. And she was already late.

  The Green Berets were waiting for her. Colonel Raymond walked over to talk to Sergeant Fugate. He glanced over his shoulder at Charlize, then dipped his helmet.

  “Okay, we’re good to go,” Raymond said when he rejoined Charlize.

  “Good luck, and keep me appraised,” she said to Harris.

  “Yes, ma’am. I will do my utmost.”

  She watched him walk away. So much was resting in his hands, but she was glad she had someone on the ground. The young captain was going to be her ears and eyes out here over the next few months, possibly even years. The scope of the work ahead was staggering, but Charlize had to focus on one piece at a time. She boarded her Humvee and buckled in.

  “Let’s go,” Fugate said from the passenger seat. The trucks rolled out, moving in combat intervals down Seabreeze Boulevard. More soldiers were posted along the road, holding sentry to protect access to the survival center headquarters they were leaving behind. They had moved the SC operations out to near the shoreline, in order to separate the headquarters from the distribution of food and supplies. It was a smart move; if something happened, the command center wouldn’t fall, like it had in Charlotte.

  Unfortunately, that meant the people she needed to see were also spread out. Both the FEMA regional administrator and the Army Corps of Engineers administration were at a forward operating base set up near the piers, which was where she was headed now.

  They stopped at three more roadblocks before hitting the bridge over Stranahan River. To the north was the harbor, where the Chinese ships were continuing to dock and offload equipment. A crane lowered a bucket truck onto the pier. Forklifts, bulldozers, heavy haulers, and every type of truck imaginable, were being moved onto the platforms. This had been one of the busiest cruise ports in the world, which was one reason they had opted to bring part of the Chinese fleet here.

  “This isn’t looking good,” Sergeant Fugate said, gesturing to the people gathered around the operation. “There’s no telling what that crowd is going to do.”

  Hundreds of American and Chinese soldiers held the surging civilians back, but Charlize could see they had their work cut out for them. It was pure chaos near the docks. Thousands of people, all of them looking for food and other supplies. She could hear their shouts rising into a discord that reminded her of a music festival.

  “If it’s like this here, I can’t imagine what it’s like north of Orlando, where the grid is down,” Raymond said.

  “Exactly what I was thinking.” Charlize continued to watch while the convoy continued across the bridge. Yachts and fishing boats were docked in the canals below, and million-dollar homes lined the harbor. Most of that money was worthless now. In the blink of an eye, the wealthy one percent had lost everything, and many of them were out on the streets, just like the rest of the surviving Americans.

  Palm trees whipped in the salty breeze, and Charlize prepared for her final meeting of the day by looking through the folder Raymond had given her.

  The FEMA administrator was a man named Josh Howard who had worked on the recovery efforts during Katrina, where he’d made a n
ame for himself after going in to clean up the mess. She would also be meeting with the Army Corps of Engineer regional administrator, Major General Troy Brock.

  The Humvees took a left toward the piers and down another road guarded by American soldiers. After passing a small guard booth that had once monitored traffic coming into the cruise terminals, they arrived at their destination‌—‌Terminal 4, a large building with white pillars and a domed roof.

  Metal fences held back the hundreds of civilians waiting in line outside. Soldiers motioned for the crowd to get back as the Humvees came to a stop. Fugate and his men fanned out, setting up a perimeter along the flower beds with their weapons lowered. Several of them accompanied Charlize and Raymond to the front steps.

  Inside, the building was alive with activity. FEMA staff, Army Corps of Engineers workers, city officials, soldiers, and dozens of others hurried back and forth.

  “Secretary Montgomery,” called a voice.

  Charlize turned toward a man sporting a salt-and-pepper crew cut. He filled out his Army uniform with a broad chest. A pair of aviator glasses were tucked into a front pocket.

  “Major General Troy Brock,” he said.

  “Pleased to meet you,” Charlize replied. “This is Colonel Mark Raymond.”

  “It’s an honor, Secretary Montgomery, and good to meet you, Colonel. If you’d both follow me, Josh Howard is waiting for us upstairs.”

  The group continued to a large office overlooking the port. Sitting behind a desk was Josh Howard, a fifty-year-old man with a graying red beard, freckles, and receding hairline.

  “Welcome to Terminal 4, Secretary Montgomery,” he said, standing. “Colonel, welcome.”

  “Good to be here,” she said.

  “Thank you for meeting with us,” Raymond said.

  “As you can see, the ships have just arrived and are unloading. Others are still on their way.” Howard pointed toward a round table with six chairs. “Let’s have a seat to discuss what I know now, and what the plan is moving forward.”

  Major General Brock sat to his right, and Colonel Raymond sat next to Charlize.

  “I’m told you were instrumental in the recovery efforts after Katrina,” she said to Howard.

  He nodded. “We worked very hard in a very difficult situation. But this situation is a thousand times worse, and more complicated. I’m using lessons learned to help, but we have an uphill battle.”

  “There are 160,000 miles of transmission lines in the US,” Brock said. “The EMP surge did not damage all of them, but hundreds of miles will need to be replaced, especially in the region hit by the ground explosion.”

  “Like Washington D.C.,” Charlize said.

  She was heading back to D.C. soon. She wasn’t sure when, but the thought of returning to the crater that was once the symbol for democracy sent a chill up her back.

  “We’re also faced with repairing and rebuilding power plants, substations, and other facilities that were fried,” Brock said. “I’ve talked to Doctor Lundy numerous times, and as I’ve told him, it’s a mess out there. Frankly, I’m glad we have the Chinese help.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” Howard said. “During the last hurricane in Texas, we had eighteen thousand boots on the ground. We’re going to need fifty times that, plus protection for the crews while they work.”

  Howard let out a short sigh. “In a normal disaster, we’re faced with replacing transmission lines and poles. However, in this case we have to replace large power transformers. Half of the total cost for these is electrical steel, and China just happens to make thirty-five percent of the world’s supply. We’re lucky they offered to help.”

  “LPTs are extremely expensive and time-consuming to make, but the Chinese have plenty for us to get started,” Brock added. “With the help of their crews, we should be able to replace most of the LPTs in a year, instead of two. Assuming all goes to plan, of course. And only for easily-accessed areas. Other places won’t be so fortunate.”

  Charlize nodded as she wrote down a few notes for Lundy. There was a moment of silence, in which she thought of the places that would suffer the most. Rural areas, like Estes Park, Colorado. The isolated mountain community her brother had crash-landed near during the night of the attack was a prime example of a town that was both low on the government’s priority list, and difficult to access.

  The quiet was broken by Raymond, who pointed at the window. “Is that one of the LPTs being unloaded right now?

  Charlize stood and made her way over to the windows facing the port. Brock, Howard, and Raymond joined her there. The FEMA administrator handed her a pair of binoculars.

  “Yup, that’s one of ‘em,” he said, directing his finger at the machinery being unloaded by a crane.

  After glancing at the power transformer, she pivoted and focused the binos on the crowd of civilians surrounding the piers. Food, water, and other goods were being distributed to the desperate civilians by Chinese workers, while American and Chinese soldiers stood guard.

  “Look at that,” said Sergeant Fugate. He was staring at a Chinese ship sailing into the harbor. She moved the binos toward the vessel, noticing the sleek stern and the guns on deck. This wasn’t one of the vessels packed full of aid and equipment. It was a Chinese aircraft carrier, with dozens of L-15/JL-10 Chinese fighters on the deck.

  All of a sudden, this didn’t look like a major aid operation to Charlize. It looked more and more like an invasion.

  _____

  Fenix sat in the dining room of a lodge that overlooked the Rocky Mountains. The restaurant had once served the upper tiers of society‌—‌the rich, who came here on weekend getaways to ski, drink champagne, and eat tiny plates of expensive food.

  He had always hated those people, especially the political elite. They were the worst. The people who didn’t think the law applied to them.

  The tables around him were empty now, the people who had once sat here either in private bunkers or dying on the streets for a can of beans. He hoped it was the latter of the two.

  But what boiled his blood even more than the thought of crooked politicians, was the idea of a bunch of damned Chinamen flooding his country.

  Fenix looked down at his soup, his appetite gone. He hadn’t believed the reports at first. How could the government have been so stupid as to let them in? This had to be the result of a conspiracy even deeper than he had ever imagined. Someone at the top levels of the United States government had conspired to bring the country to its knees.

  The mission of the Sons of Liberty was more important now than ever. They couldn’t let the Chinese take over the country. The thought made him sick.

  “Not hungry?” asked Theo. “If it were up to me, I wouldn’t have given you anything in the first place. I would have made you eat it out of a dog bowl, which is what you are, Dan. A dog with fleas.”

  The redskin sat at a nearby table, watching Fenix with rage-filled eyes. He knew what hate looked like, and this was something even deeper.

  Fenix stared right back. He placed his spoon back on the table and turned to look outside, his heart stuttering in his chest, adrenaline rushing through his veins. He would have liked to pop his fist into Theo’s face, but the truth was, he was more worried about the Chinese than the damned injuns.

  The Americans had dealt with them before, and it hadn’t ended up too good for Theo’s people. But China? That was a different story. The cheeky bastards could crush what was left of America through sheer numbers.

  The serene view of the mountains outside helped calm him. The moonlight spread over the terrain and illuminated the main lodge and surrounding buildings. Most of them had burned, along with the trees on the perimeter. It really made a great place to ride out the apocalypse. Redford was a real genius to come here‌—‌at least, Redford probably thought so.

  “If you’re not going to eat that, I’ll give it to my men,” Theo growled.

  Fenix picked up the spoon and forced the soup to his lips.

&nb
sp; “You really need to lighten up, you know that? Take a lesson from Nile...I mean, Mr. Redford,” Fenix said, correcting himself. “We survived the apocalypse, and now it’s time to take over the country. We can’t let these Chinese fucks come in and take what’s ours.”

  Theo set his spoon down gently on the table and then brought up a napkin to dab at the sides of his mouth. He stood and gave his suit cuffs a quick tug.

  “I don’t think working with a Nazi is something to take lightly,” he said. “My cousin and I have never agreed on much, but if he knew your heart, I think he would agree that you deserve to die.”

  Fenix tightened his grip on the spoon and glanced at the .357 Magnum on the table in front of Theo. He was no more than ten feet away, but by the time Fenix got to the table, he would have at least two gaping holes in his body.

  No, he couldn’t try anything right now. He needed to be patient, and wait for his chance. But at some point, they were going to fight. It was just a matter of time.

  Theo followed his gaze to the gun. He grinned.

  “You want this?” he asked, tilting the gun from side to side.

  Fenix shrugged and slurped another spoonful of soup. He went back to looking out the window. The moon peeked through the clouds, illuminating the landscape. Two deer, a buck with a nice set of antlers, and a fawn walked through the courtyard below, searching for a meal in the burned grass.

  Theo walked around the tables, gun still in hand. The door opened across the room and Hacker walked in, pulling up his duty belt with one hand and carrying a plate of food in his other.

  “Shit is boring up here, man,” he said to Theo. “How long until we can get back to the compound? I want that poker rematch.”

  Theo didn’t respond. Fenix figured it was because he didn’t want him to know the answer, or perhaps because he didn’t have an answer.

  “You’re supposed to be on watch,” Theo said.

  “Jade is on it.” Hacker took a seat and shoveled several bites into his mouth. Theo silently watched him eat. He was clearly pissed off.

  “Fine,” Hacker finally said. “But I’m taking this with me. I’m freaking starving.”