Harper kept her speed to outmatch the blockade builders. She assumed they’d already blocked off I-1 and the other main roads, so she once again curved up north and west to hit some of the niche roads only a crafty few used as shortcuts. The traffic grew denser. Two of her wheels pressed on the sidewalk, while the others took the street. Heat drummed on her skin from a fireball that burned stories into the air. The blaze remained in view far after the sign for Providence Hospital had left their view.
“To think that’s where Eli was born.” The inferno reflected in James’s eyes.
The National Guard had taken South Dakota Avenue, Sergeant Road, and even the metro track that ran north-south down the city. With cocked heads, they watched as Harper fishtailed around and blew down around the street. Within the next few moments, she learned the northern passage was exhausted. Good news for the army, bad news for her. Humvees from the Riverdale base created roadblocks and choke points on every possible escape. The eastern roads from which she came were not much greater. Harper’s stomach knotted as she trekked southwest… to the city’s core.
A roaring speck in her rearview mirror turned into a raging military machine. Shaped like a massive metal parallelogram toting a high-powered machine gun, the hulking M1117 ASV all-wheel-drive support vehicle zoomed past Harper. Like a 110-mile-per-hour battering ram, it brutally decimated the cars in its way. Metal hoods crunched, and side-panel plastic exploded into the sky like confetti as the disabled and battered street vehicles skidded to the curb. More Humvees enlarged in Harper’s rearview.
“It looks like the cavalry has finally arrived,” James said gleefully.
Harper loosened her grip. “Thank God. We should make way. The faster we get the western flank, the better.” She swerved the Humvee into the next street over and found herself on a main road. Around her, angry civilians lined the street and sidewalks. Trash and goods were cast across the street. Stores were robbed, violated by vandals. Men with bats, bludgeoning tools, and knives chased a screaming woman. Harper commanded Eli to look away as a man in a suit was beaten to a pulp by a masked killer. Blood dripped down his forehead and mouth bandana, and his numb eyes glared at Harper as she drove past. Then he snatched the dead man’s watch.
New York Avenue was far worse. A massive horde--hundreds strong--piled into the street. Why they were there, Harper couldn’t tell. Some had bloodstained riot gear pulled from police. Others were charred from an explosion. A woman in a silk dress lay dead on the roof of a car from a knife wound. The crowd quickly noticed Harper and darted her way, screaming of passage. Harper slammed the gas and flew down First Street. Hands out and begging, a bloodied man jumped in her way. The Humvee collided with a nearby trash can. Milk along with a concoction of liquids splashed over the windshield. Her wipers smeared the mystery drink left and right, only worsening the situation. Heart pounding, Harper pulled to a stop on the curb.
“Get it off,” she barked at James.
He took off his shirt and lifted his upper torso out of the window. Grunting and cursing, he swiped the liquid off the glass. After a few swirls, he wrung out the shirt and started again.
Drumming her fingers on the steering wheel, she eyed the approaching crowd. Her Hummer was like freshly dead meat to starving vultures. “Come on. Come on,” she whispered nervously. Eli twisted back, and his jaw dropped as he looked at the mob. He gave Harper a desperate look. Walker yelled down through the gunner’s station, “S-Should I… Should I shoot?”
“Hold your fire!” Harper shouted. Her mind went to all the persuasive arguments used to calm the crowd, but she knew it wouldn’t be as easy as it was with the civvies around Eli’s high school. This was a different kind of beast. One trapped in the confines of skyscrapers and boxed in by terrorists. The cry of the people grew louder and louder to point where the noise wasn’t even human.
“They’re going to take the car from us!” Eli shouted. “Mom, drive!”
Her eyes stayed on the hundreds of strangers coming right at her. In a mass of sweaty bodies, they moved like a tsunami, charging down the road, over the tops of cars and shoving the outliers into building walls, making them splash against concrete and glass and get lost in the shuffle.
James pulled his chest back in. “We’re good.”
Though still obscured by a pink, milky swirl, the windshield was again mostly transparent. She pulled into reverse. A gun’s barrel caught her eye. A bloodied man with a cut forehead and nasty face grabbed ahold of the window frame. “Open the door!” His spit rained on Harper.
In an instant, Harper floored the gas. The man’s shoes slid against the concrete. He tried using his gun hand to get a better grip but wasn’t prepared for the speed. One by one, his fingers plucked from the frame until he was gone. His body bounced and rolled down the street. Harper heaved. Every hard breath reminded her of her injured rib. James and Eli were silent. The crowd faded from view.
Golden sky turned amber.
Time was running out.
Harper swerved through a nest of bent metal and fire. Her eyes were drawn to a 2004 Toyota Tacoma still parked where she’d put it this morning. Next to it, her workplace. Her calling. Commander McCulloch’s reserve center.
Fire consumed a large portion of the building, but that didn’t deter the bystanders scurrying out the front door and across the street with boxes of MREs and water bottles.
Private Walker fired a few warning shots into the sky. The scavengers swiftly hid away. Harper tried to remain optimistic for Lieutenant Grant and others that came to mind, but the positivity felt disingenuous. As with the city, Harper’s world crumpled. James put a hand on her shoulder, and she knew she needed to press on. Painfully, she withdrew from the place where she once found purpose. The spire-like Washington Monument peeked into view.
The smoke from the National Mall dwindled into scrawny swirls of white smoke. Around the White House, the National Guard staked their camp. Long lines of armored vehicles and armed men faced off against a mass of people. Shouting words of discord and sowing seeds of rebellion, a youthful man with a blue bandana and a faded jean jacket rallied the crowd. Harper couldn’t hear the man’s voice as she inched by on a street that paralleled New York Avenue. Regardless, she could guess. The Guard’s protecting the president, not the people. Not our homes. Not our families. Harper frowned. We have families, too. A sickening feeling rose within her. This was what McCulloch was talking about. The head protester looked normal enough, but his purpose was far more sinister.
Depleted tear-gas canisters crushed beneath her Humvee’s wheels. She rolled around bodies and cars that were scattered on the looted street.
“Do you think we’ll ever recover from this?” Eli asked. His eyes followed the line of shops and buildings with broken windows, the corpses of the trampled, and the never-ending piles of trashed cars and goods that stretched as far as the eye could see.
“America’s strong. Its wounds will heal… It’s only a question of time.” Harper looked both ways at a crosswalk. The soft rumble of an engine drummed in her ears. In a khaki-colored blur, two trucks sped by on a distant road. “Something we can’t afford to waste.”
The machine kicked into gear and raced down the sullied streets.
James pulled his head back into the window. “How are those trucks still running?”
“Older models. Pre-1980, remember? Don’t have the relay on the same electronic parts. Long story short, the EMP doesn’t hit them as hard.”
“Are they friendly?” asked Eli.
Harper moved up to H Street then to Pennsylvania Avenue. The pair of trucks moved united and fiercely. Black turrets were firmly placed in the bed manned by raggedly dressed gunners in Kevlar.
“Those guys… They’re coming right at us!” James shouted.
Heart pounding, Harper caught quick snapshots of their ever-gaining progress between buildings and intersections. They sped up, making her speed. The gunner twisted the turret her way. The black barrel looked her in the eye.
With a swift rotation of the steering wheel, Harper veered onto a side street and quickly avoided a flaming car and bags of trash. Her wheels screamed and munched the blowing debris. Ash and paper rained down on her windshield. Some of the charred snowflakes drizzled into the gunner station and entered the vortex of twisting wind inside.
“Walker, get that gun ready!”
“Yes, Sergeant!” the private shouted back.
“James, Eli, keep your heads low.”
The father and son exchanged worried looks that quickly dissolved into determination. They ducked low, putting their trust in Harper.
Fire to her right. Looters to the left. Above, black smoke stained the amber sky. One moment, her eyes caught the blur of her competition. The next… nothing. James kept the bottom of the gun’s stock resting on his lap, while the tip of the barrel protruded from the window. Eli rested his gun across his thighs, his eyes curiously scanning the surroundings.
The city grew quiet.
Harper slowed as she entered Washington Circle. Traffic clogged the street, so she rolled over the large circle of dirt and grass. The cluttered overpass of Route 29 appeared in her sight.
“Sergeant!”
Walker didn’t need to explain. The two trucks appeared out of a side street and rushed toward the Humvee. The gunners on the back screamed something and took aim. Harper slammed her accelerator as bullets cut through the air and pelted the Humvee’s sides.
“Open fire!” Harper commanded and sent the Humvee screaming through the grass.
Mean, rapid blasts of Walker’s machine gun sawed through the nearby trees, missing the trucks by inches.
The opposing gunners sent a volley of gunfire back. Holes exploded over the copper statue of George Washington in the green circle’s middle as Harper drove around it. The second truck diverged to her left. As it curved around a skinny tree, the gunner rained hell on Harper. The sergeant took a swift turn, kicking up thick patches of grass and sending the Humvee drifting.
Walker sent a cluster of bullets through the first truck’s driver’s-side window. A splash of blood hit the inner windshield, and the truck smashed into a parked dump truck. The turret gunner went flying over the truck’s roof with a bloodcurdling scream. The crown of his head slapped the dump truck’s frame. Like a ragdoll, his body flopped to the ground.
The second truck gained on Harper. Walker and the gunner traded fire while Harper veered to the right and left, dodging the bullets with her unpredictable motion. When the truck tapped her brake light, Harper’s Humvee spun out of control. She clenched the steering wheel as the world swirled around her. Shell casings from Walker’s gun hopped down the windshield as he kept shooting. Within a moment, the Hummer stopped. Harper turned her head, spotting the truck driving parallel to her left. The gunner took aim.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
He collapsed into the bed of the truck, sending the turret’s barrel and bullets to the clouds. The driver, a man in a ski mask, set the truck into reverse. Before he could get far, bullets obliterated the glass and turned his head to pulp.
Harper checked on James, who was firmly grabbing his armrests. Eli held the assault rifle.
“Private Walker?” Harper shouted up the gunner station.
“A-All clear, Sergeant,” Walker replied before vomiting out the side of the Humvee.
James looked at his trembling hands. The blood had left his face. “Can we go?”
Harper nodded. She gave the trucks a final look, waiting for someone to crawl out of them. No one.
Her tires screamed, and then she shot up Pennsylvania Avenue. Charging through M Street, her Humvee rattled along, with the supplies and people within. Pain returned to Harper’s feeble flesh and damaged bones. Francis Scott Key Bridge came into view. Hundreds of mothers, fathers, and children crowded the lengthy bridge. They toted suitcases, backpacks, and duffels. On the sides of the bridge, both the National Guard and army directed people away from the scene. A tattooed man violently punched a soldier and was quickly brought down by the fists of three more.
James leaned forward in his seat, engrossed by the scene. “Holy hell. I can see why they need supplies.”
Harper rubbed the cold sweat from her face and gulped. The Humvee slowed, crushing an abandoned teddy bear. She exchanged looks with her passengers before inching her way into the civilians. Sweaty, with sunken eyes, the mass of people parted noisily as she rode through. Young and old, dozens of faces peered inside, all sharing the same look.
Eli extended an arm between the driver and passenger seat. Hesitant, Harper took the handgun from his grip and stowed it beside her. She hoped earnestly she wouldn’t need it, but thoughts of the last mob made her cringe.
The National Guard noticed her arrival. With gestures, whistles, and commands, they expedited the process of clearing civilians away from the nearing barricade. The ocean of people parted reluctantly and curled around Harper’s vehicle. A child smeared her handprint on Harper’s window as the mother raising her begged entrance. A man shouted to the others, telling them to leave the army alone. About a third of the way up the bridge, the National Guard had set up a checkpoint with metal barricades and Hummers. Using traffic batons, a soldier directed Harper through as more soldiers parted the metal barricade.
Once she was past, they closed it.
Night ate away at the daylight. Harper pulled to a stop and turned her head back to James and Eli. A smile broke her tired expression. A knock rattled the door. Harper turned to a familiar face. Under a furrowed brow and wrinkled forehead, Lieutenant Grant’s eyes went wide. Harper opened the door, and Grant gave her room to step out.
“I thought you didn’t make it, sir…”
Grant grunted. “Yeah, the bastards hit us. We took ’em down.” He peered into the Humvee. “What do you got in there apart from civvies?”
“Weapons, medical supplies, rations, and ammo all directly from Riverdale, sir.”
Grant reared back his head at the two dozen soldiers manning the bridge. “Let’s get some hands on this! I want this junk out of here and in its designated locales!” He turned to Harper. “Take a break, Sergeant. Get some water. You earned it.”
“Yes, sir.” Harper saluted.
James, Eli, and Walker jumped out of the Humvee. Harper grabbed water bottles from a nearby stack and tossed one to each. James and Eli downed theirs in a single go and chuckled, claiming themselves to be the faster drinker.
“You can’t beat me, son.”
“Psh. All right, old man.”
They grabbed two more bottles and drank them down, water spilling down their chins. When Eli finished first, James splashed him with the remainder of his drink. The teenager laughed and threw his bottle at James.
Watching the boys play, Harper grinned and took a swig. Every sip was like pure manna, but the regenerative property slowly died. The bridge behind them ended at salvation, but Harper’s eyes traveled to the city from whence they came. Fire burned into the early evening. The crowd of people struggled to fully evacuate the bridge. She stopped mid-drink and let her bottle-holding hand fall to her side. “Private Walker.”
The young private poured water on his head, causing it to run down his stubby ginger hair and freckled face. He shook off the water like a wet dog and shifted his attention to Harper. “Yes, Sergeant?”
“Do you have family outside of the city?”
“Yes, Sergeant. My grandmother.”
Harper smiled as she watched James rubbing his hand in Eli’s shaggy hair, telling him he needed to get a haircut.
“How would you like to see your grandmother?”
Confused, the private looked back at her, and she explained to him what would happen next. Harper returned to the Humvee and handed tin ammo boxes off to the soldiers around her. She wiped the sweat from her brow. Something in the distance made her squint. She crawled up the gunner station to get a better view. A dozen moving lights appeared on Canal Road where it intersected with Francis Scott Key. Another d
ozen moved from Whitehurst Freeway, which connected to the bridge from the other side. The sergeant’s heart skipped a beat as she saw more lights driving headlong down Thirty-Fifth Street, which merged onto the bridge.
Old 1970s Chevy and Ford trucks. Two dozen of them steamrolling toward innocent bystanders from three different angles.
Chapter Ten
End of the Line
Harper yelled at the top of her lungs. The soldiers drew their attention to her and her extending arm pointing at the attackers. She cocked the turret, but it was for naught. The hundreds of civilians being led away from the bridge watched in confusion as the trucks sped toward them at unrelenting speeds. Before the soldiers at the foot of the bridge could process what was happening, the massacre had begun. Headlights, gunfire, and screams lit up the night sky as the insurgent turret gunners opened fire into the mass of people.
The National Guard and army looked out in horror as the good citizens of DC were buzz-sawed by the vehicles plowing through the crowd. A terrifying choice came to Harper as she watched the howling people stampede away from the trucks and to the army’s barricade. No time to think, Harper acted.
“Get the gate open!” she commanded all who would listen.
In a perfect death-squad formation, the trucks drove parallel with each other on the six lanes, herding the civilians forward like cattle to the slaughter. Men, women, and children flung themselves from the bridge, sending up a bombastic splash of water upon the hard impact with the rushing Potomac. Others attempted to rush past the trucks but were quickly gunned down. Harper aimed the machine gun, but she only saw businessmen, office workers, the homeless, mothers, fathers, and children running her way.
“Open the gate!”
James and Eli darted to the metal bars that made up the barricade. As they tried pulling, Grant shouted at them. “Keep it closed, damn it! Ignore Sergeant Murphy! We can’t lose this line!”
No Power: EMP Post Apocalyptic Fiction Thriller Super Boxset Page 7
