by B. C. Tweedt
But Greyson didn’t know what to believe.
He slipped the book back in his fanny pack and zipped it shut. When he looked up, he saw Diablo staring at him, his arms flexed as he gripped the rifle.
Had he seen him reading it?
“Morning, ‘Blo,” he said, trying to crack a joke to distract from his nervousness.
Diablo stared back, devoid of emotion.
Greyson turned away to hide his snickering, watching the horizon, where the Dallas skyline stuck from the earth like the beginning of a Tetris game.
Seeing the city sobered him again, reminding him of the mission – their purpose. He felt the weight of responsibility and the seriousness of the cause. The landscape was beautiful. His country was beautiful. The calling to save it was great.
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The crowd grew excited, with cheers even as the woman continued to speak.
“Shall we be the first generation to not fight for peace? Are we lesser than they? Shall we surrender to hate and destruction? No!”
The shout echoed, swirling through the cheers as she continued on, louder and louder.
“Have we lost our fighting spirit? No! It is our responsibility – our duty – to preserve peace and freedom. Where are the brave? Are you the brave?”
The boy raised his hands and waved both arms with his dad smiling proud.
“You are. You are the brave. This is the home of the brave. The land of the free. The greatest country known to man. And when once it has been said that our generation inherited it, it will soon be said that we earned it.”
The boy saw a group of older men with military caps, canes, and wheelchairs. They were crying. Crying in public. They, too, held American flags, just like his.
The Senator paused on stage, allowing the cheers to quiet as she reshuffled her useless notes. Then she looked out on the crowd again, still silent, contemplative. With a sigh, she began again, like a whisper. “We will earn it. The cost will be great. Peace at all costs. Our founding fathers knew the cost. Abraham Lincoln knew the cost.”
The crowd reached a level of silence that made the boy uncomfortable. Then there was a great shifting of feet and murmurs. He didn’t understand what had happened. He searched the stage for something that could have scared them, but there was nothing out of the ordinary.
“They wrote in the Declaration, that when a government leaves a long train of abuses – when it ceases to represent the people, throws out the Bill of Rights, declares itself the giver of rights, takes our means of protection, stifles the press and imprisons its citizens, that it is our right, it is our duty, to throw off such Government, and to provide new Guards for their future security.”
The fright spread to the boy’s father. The boy could feel him hold his breath. The older veterans had stopped crying, and nervous smiles broke on their faces. Others increased their murmurs to one another. More phones and cameras popped up as if some great news story had just appeared.
“Let me suggest that our marathon has ended. The finish line crossed yesterday. We, peacemakers, have done all we could with great opposition, and we have failed. Our greatest efforts – marches, speeches, billboards, bills, a Convention of the States – all have failed. I have failed. But another marathon begins – an even more trying one with the same goal. And though I am about to be taken for treason, I am not the first nor will I be the last to join. Therefore, as far as I see it, peace will only be achieved through revolution. And a revolution with the best chance of a peaceful outcome…is secession.”
Commotion erupted on stage. Hesitant security guards edged toward the podium as she leaned in to the microphone for one last statement. The words rang out like an explosion over the crowd.
“Are you the brave?”
Chapter 69
Annoyed, Ryan opened the door and rushed out, his bare feet slapping on the pavement. He eyed the dumb dog and called him names. But the dog kept barking at the sky even though there wasn’t anything there. Nothing. Just the faintest orange and red on the horizon.
Ryan snatched up The Missouri Chronicle and glanced at the headline reading, “It’s Hammer Time,” giving it a scowl. Doesn’t make any since…
Then Pharaoh yipped and whimpered, running toward the door like something had frightened her.
Ryan turned to the sky with a jolt.
What the…?
Three winged drones flew in formation. Then a fourth joined it as if it were merging on to an interstate.
He gaped in awe. He’d never seen them fly in formation before. Then he glimpsed another three skimming high above, between the clouds. Then there were more. A dozen more formations across the sky – all heading in the direction of Kansas City.
Then, like a blast of thunder, three more roared over their neighbors’ house, so loud and fast it made Ryan stumble and drop the paper. Windows shattered and lawn furniture tumbled. The rumble lingered long after they had passed, rattling broken glass and chattering teeth. Neighbors emerged from their homes and so had Ryan’s dad.
Embarrassed, Ryan picked up the paper and used it to cover the dark, growing stain on his pajama pants. The dog yapped at him from the stoop.
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President Foster folded his hands and rested his head against them, deep in thought but also fighting sleep. It had been hours and hours, most of it spent in the bunker with the advisors who now surrounded him, waiting for his decision. It was a near impossible decision.
The entire fleet of remote-piloted-aircraft was no longer under their control. They were trying everything in their power to regain control, but nothing had worked. No one had claimed responsibility. Not the Chinese. Not the Russians. And not Pluribus. There weren’t any other options.
If they didn’t know who had taken control, they couldn’t retaliate.
But now it was becoming all too clear.
The culprits had first used the drones to attack specific sites. FEMA camps. Three nuclear sites. One assassination. But in the last hour they had seen the swarms forming. Hundreds coming together all over the nation, taking shape and choosing direction. Eight swarms of their most heavily armed drones heading toward eight major cities – all in states that had gone against Reckhemmer.
It was Pluribus. Somehow.
“Mr. President…”
He slammed his fist against the table, startling everyone. But he returned to his thoughts.
He had three choices. He could do nothing – hope it’s just a scare tactic or that his best tech experts could regain control. Second, he could order an attack on the satellites. But the newest satellites were weaponized and would repel any missile attack against it. Or third, he could order the attack on the drones – effectively declaring war on his own Air Force with his own Air Force.
What more would the Plurbs want? If his entire Air Force were decimated, it would leave him weak to respond against any secessionist state, rendering his greatest asset useless – at least until OSP was completed.
“Do we still have control of OSP?”
“Yes, sir. It’ll be operational by year’s end.”
He breathed a sigh of relief. He couldn’t imagine if they had managed to get their hands on that…
He thought about it once more and came to the only logical conclusion.
“Try to shoot the satellites down. Continue securing the cities. Order the attack only if the drones attack first.”
“But, sir! By the time they attack…”
“I will not be the president that destroys his own military!”
“The evacuations won’t be complete…”
“They may not; but the people will know that it was Pluribus that did this. Push the press to make it known that it was them.” The press had been one of their greatest allies, even if they had been forced. They’d kept the first FEMA camp attack limited to the conspiracy blogs, but there was no way to keep this from coming out. So th
ey would have to manage how it was getting out. “We can’t let Emory win this little mind game. If we play our cards right, he’ll be left with his most sympathetic cities smoldering and a nation out for his blood.”
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If Chase had to shop, this is where he wanted to do it: a huge warehouse store with ceiling-scraping aisles, carts the size of a bull, and a Texas-sized electronics section. Even for an early morning the aisles were bustling already. The atmosphere was a little tense, too, with hurried glances and hidden murmurs. Shrugging it off, he camped himself by the televisions as his mother got the groceries in bulk.
He asked a young employee, whose nametag read Aidan, if he could change the channel to ESPN on the biggest, most expensive television, but Aidan told him that all the channels were covering the same thing. He was right, too.
Images of drones filled every screen. One type of drone Chase had never seen before had crashed into the middle of a ball diamond, and a few others had struck homes. Wherever they were, anchors were reporting what they were seeing, apparently hoping that the more panicked and frantic they looked, the higher their ratings.
He watched for several minutes before he began to notice the others watching alongside him. Nearly a dozen had joined him. When he peeked over his shoulder, he saw a line of people rushing in, flashing their membership cards. But this wasn’t a normal morning shopping run. The shoppers were nearly racing into the store. Some weren’t completely dressed. Others let their children cry. These were the early signs of panic.
After another few minutes, he heard Aidan’s radio click on. Instructions murmured through. “Code blue. All employees to your stations. Code blue. Repeat. Code blue.”
The employee smiled at him and began to walk away.
“What’s Code Blue?” Chase asked in his thick accent.
“Just stay calm,” Aidan answered with a smile, backing up. “No need to panic.” He turned and jogged away.
Getting nervous, Chase looked over the aisles of goods for his mother. No sign of her yet. Crossing his arms, he eyed the television again where a map showed scattered dots across the country. Squinting, he put a finger out where one of the swarms was spotted. He then tracked his finger just a few inches to Dallas, where he was.
“Don’t mess with Texas,” he muttered, a grave warning. But his bravado could only go so far. They were going to mess with Texas, and there was little he could do about.
He gulped and hardened his chin, looking again for his mother. He wasn’t afraid, like really afraid – just concerned. Like many of the anchors, he wanted to believe that this was just a show of force – or maybe Foster’s odd way of celebrating his party’s victory. Still, though, there hadn’t been any statement from the government.
That’s when the military showed up. Four fully-armed soldiers marched right past the lady taking membership cards. She stood slack-jawed, without a word. Chase watched as a cadre of red-vested employees met them, listening as the soldier in front gestured toward the exits while giving commands. Nodding vigorously, the manager pumped his arms as he walked past customers with an all-too-fake smile plastered on.
Chase was sifting his way through the aisles toward the grocery section when his phone buzzed. And he wasn’t the only one to feel it. Two others reached for their phones as they watched. Three more with shopping carts, then a dozen. Nearly everyone on their phones.
On Chase’s phone was the same message as the others.
Evacuation Order issued for
Dallas and surrounding suburbs.
Go to FEMA.gov for maps and instructions.
A few of those receiving the message darted off. The noise inside the warehouse rose to that of a nearby waterfall. Chase texted his mother and then opened the link.
A soldier brushed past.
“Hey!” Chase shouted. “What’s going on?”
The soldier ignored him, parting the crowd.
Chase muttered fractured curses and turned back toward the entrance – the source of the most noise.
Even more people were flooding the entrance. None showed their membership cards. Had they gotten the evacuation order before he had?
He peeked at the map on his phone. It had routes, road closures, emergency shelters, and military zones. Zooming in on his location, Chase found the warehouse store. Military zone.
“Attention shoppers. Attention shoppers,” bellowed the loudspeakers embedded in the high rafters above. “An evacuation order has been issued for this precinct. Therefore, for your safety and our employees’ safety, our store will be closing shortly. Please make your way to the cashiers at this time.”
An electronic churning sounded behind Chase, and he turned to see the gate descending behind the entrance doors. Shouts rang out and a rush of shoppers darted underneath. One raced his cart underneath just in time, and the gate smashed against it, breaking its wheels off but failing to press through its frame. Instead, the gate seized, the gears sparked, and the engine smoked as a whine accompanied its death.
Soon after, more shoppers flowed underneath in full-fledged rebellion.
“Suck…” Chase muttered.
Glancing at the chaos one more time, he sprinted off, yelling for his mother.
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Forge yelled over his shoulder. “Comms!”
Diablo snatched his helmet and Greyson followed suit. Forge’s voice then came in loud and clear. “We have reports of eight swarms. They’re feeding us the locations now.”
Greyson and Diablo shared a look, listening together.
“Diablo. The closest swarm is forming near Hot Springs, Arkansas. It’s headed toward Dallas. If we go straight over we can intercept them near Texarkana. And it looks like we have six other Rubicon teams ready to intercept other swarms as soon as Avery gets the firewall down. I’m betting on you getting it done first, Diablo.”
The soldier’s only response was to find a wingsuit packaged against the wall and begin to put it on. Greyson was about to retrieve his own when Forge interrupted. “Orphan, sit down and look outside.”
He obeyed. The streets below were gridlocked with traffic, the highways jammed, and the airways full of helicopters. A caravan of green military vehicles made its way through a special middle lane – troop carriers, Bradleys, Humvees, and others he didn’t recognize.
“That third one’s a SAM. Surface to air missiles. See it?”
Greyson saw it. A big box on its rear. “Yeah. Does it see us?”
“Oh, we’d know it if they did. And that one with the big spot-light looking thing?”
“Yeah.”
“That one’s yet to see much action. HELMs. High-Energy-Laser-Mobile. They can knock a drone out of the air in a few seconds.”
“Could come in handy.”
“Let’s hope they don’t have to. But they’ll be setting up perimeter just in case. Think they got any HELMs on the roof, Diablo?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Try to spot them when we pass over, Orphan.”
Greyson watched the caravan below sliding into an underground tunnel toward the skyline that still loomed beyond. Their helicopter sped onward, straight toward the rising sun that sent its beams bouncing inside the cabin. They pestered Greyson’s eyes, making him blink and shift, trying to get the best view out the window.
When they passed high over the first skyscraper, he must have missed the HELM – like a spotlight among the roof’s air-conditioning units. He couldn’t see the beam. No one could. And at first, he thought the heat and rising temperature were from the sun.
He smelled the smoke, searched for the source, and saw the floor melting at his feet.
Chapter 70
Avery tried not to act impressed, but the Redmond building’s lobby was awesome. The walls were entirely glass, letting the mountains and pines provide a gorgeous backdrop in all directions, but they were only a background to the grandest centerpi
ece – a roaring waterfall, pouring through a hole in the roof and pooling in the center as any fountain would. The whole facility was backed against a real mountain’s waterfall, with doors on either side leading deeper inside the mountain.
As they walked into the open floor, Avery avoided gaping at the waterfall, choosing instead to march to the welcome desk in her high heels, leaving Jarryd behind.
“’Ello,” she greeted the pony-tailed receptionist.
“Hello. How may I help you?”
Avery pulled down her sunglasses, peeking over the top. “This is not the reception I was promised,” she said with a prude sneer.
The receptionist maintained her smile. “I’m…I’m sorry. Were we expecting you?” she asked, checking her computer.
Avery let out a long huff. “Obviously not. My fath’ah has a w’hy of forgettin’ things. Jarryd, he forgot to call ahead again!” she called out to Jarryd, who was reaching for the fish in the fountain.
“Oh! Wall-a-by!”
Avery’s nickel eyes gave him a silent warning before turning back to the receptionist. “You know who I am, don’t you?”
The receptionist gave her a second look and Avery removed the sunglasses for her.
But she shook her head. “I’m sorry.”
“Let me ‘elp you. A-very. Red-Mond. As in, I’m more important than you.”
Though the receptionist politely picked up the phone with a “just a second” finger, Avery could see her start to panic.
Good.
“Are you alright, babay? They treating you right?” Jarryd came up to her alongside the counter and both of them eyed a giant-of-a-man in a suit taking a step closer to them from his post at the left door.
The receptionist whispered into the phone.
