by Barry Napier
Before Katherine walked to the edge of the tree line, she looked back up. The parkway was just behind her now, a looming shadow far over her head. The columns and struts that held it up came down on both sides, one on the other side of the river behind her, a few in the forest and somewhere farther down the river, actually in the deeper depths of the water. But now that the concealed lanes of the parkway had moved away from her line of vision, she got a decent look at the sky.
The fabled mushroom cloud had started to drift out of its form, but the shape was there. It was unmistakable. An almost umbilical-like column of smoke rose from the ground somewhere near the center of the city, holding up a ball of smoke that she’d seen countless times in horrific movies and her own imagined end-time scenarios. Sitting there in the sky and slowly coming undone, there was something about it that almost captured her admiration. It was both simple and powerful at the same time. And the dread it sent through her was an ancient sort of emotion, a fear that the human heart never truly understood until it was finally confronted with it.
It came with the understanding that she could very well be doomed. Not only her, but the entire country. Maybe the entire world for all she knew. And with that sense of doom came the need to escape it, to find a way around it. With that instinct pushing her forward, Katherine entered the trees, heading for the roadways beyond. She walked in an eerie sort of calm, the parkway completely silent and the rest of the world seeming to shudder quietly all around her. The only noise was the wet sounds from her shoes and her clothes dropping water to the ground as she hurried through the trees, praying the roads on the other side led to some sort of hope.
Chapter 7
Terrence Crowder was down to only one news feed and he could tell it, too, would be gone before the end of the day. It was coming from a station out of Montgomery, Alabama and would fuzz out every few minutes. As of yesterday, he had been unable to pull any live feeds from West Coast broadcasts because the internet connection was dead and the modified personal WiFi device he’d been using was also being disrupted by what was going on over his head.
The Montgomery broadcast had gone dead for a total of about ten minutes not too long after he’d seen where some sort of nuclear explosion had occurred in Richmond, Virginia. He’d stared at the footage of the mushroom cloud over the city until his connection dropped and then, even when the screen was blank, continued to stare.
The smaller explosions in New York and outside of Fort Worth had been different. They had been small and contained, the source of the Blood Fire Virus. But Richmond…it had been nuclear. Terrence was not a nuclear engineer by any stretch of the imagination, but his time with Homeland Security had provided him with enough knowledge on nuclear devices and nuclear fallout to know that a nuclear bomb was not an effective means of spreading any sort of bioweapon. The intense nature of the explosion would essentially destroy the biological agent. The smaller explosions had been a much better means to spread the virus. Judging from the speedy impact of the virus, those bombs had done their jobs extremely well.
But why Richmond? It was such a small city when compared to other potential targets. He knew that detonating a nuclear device in Washington DC was damn near impossible; maybe Richmond had been chosen because it was close enough to DC for them to feel some real fear?
Or maybe there’s something more strategic, Terrence thought. He envisioned a map of the United States in his head and pictured little exclamation marks where the explosions had occurred. New York…Fort Worth…Richmond. New York, being one of the most populous and influential cities in the world, was easy to understand. But Fort Worth and Richmond seemed almost random.
But he’d spoken with enough terrorists and terror suspects during his career to know that these things were very seldom random in nature. It was never just about proving a point. He was now more certain than ever that what was being carried out was what had been referred to as Chaos Dawn by men like George Kettle. While Terrence did not know every single piece and cog to Chaos Dawn, he knew that it had taken many years to put it all together. It was a plan of attack so grandiose in nature—so absolutely ridiculous in its scope—that it had never been taken seriously. When people had started to take it seriously, as Terrence had shortly before he’d been released from duty, they were mocked and teased about drinking the proverbial Kool-Aid. Terrence had understood it. He watched time and time again as interrogators and agents much more skilled than he was buckled under the pressure, falling for every fear-filled lie and exaggeration uttered by a terrorist. When the terrorist was especially dedicated to their cause, Terrence had even seen some men become sympathetic toward them.
In the end, that’s why Terrence had been released. He’d gotten too close to George Kettle; he’d bought into Kettle’s incredibly detailed and psychotic threats. He’d heard about the time, effort, and promise that had been put into what Kettle called Chaos Dawn and it had unraveled him.
And now, nearly eight years later, it seemed to be unraveling the country. And it was doing it fast. First the virus. Then the nuke. God, what else was coming?
As if in answer, the news feed came back on. The same shot of the mushroom cloud over Richmond was displayed and the anchors had very little to say. He did find a little note along the bottom ticket of the screen interesting, though. Apparently, a bomb had been discovered in Atlanta and, according to the ticker, had been “neutralized.” He wondered if it had been another Blood Virus bomb or a nuke, but the reporters weren’t talking about that.
Like a man in a dream, Terrence looked over to his laptop. He saw where the ongoing dialogue he and George Kettle had been having in an unsent email draft had been updated. It was the first time Kettle had responded in nearly an entire day and it was far too refreshing to hear from him. The nature of his message, though, was far from refreshing:
See the news from Richmond? I now know the order. I now know the route.
Louisville. Boom.
“Bastard,” Terrence said, his voice trembling. It wasn’t just that Kettle seemed to be making some sort of prediction—it was that he was being so cavalier about it. To indicate that an entire city would be nuked and comment with only “boom”…well, that was a whole different level of evil.
He’d like the convenience of being able to tell himself it was a bluff. Maybe Kettle was just having some fun with him. But he’d spoken face-to-face with the man for a total of thirteen hours; it was all recorded and documented. And they’d been keeping in touch for eight years now. He knew Kettle well enough to know that he did not bluff. If Kettle thought Louisville, Kentucky was next, then he had reason to believe it was true.
I’ve got to tell someone, Terrence thought. But even before the thought was fully formed, he realized just how stupid it was. Who was he going to tell? The last authorities he’d come in contact with were both dead back at his house, killed by his own hands. And even if he could manage to land a call to the local PD, they’d do nothing more than send him to either the CIA or Homeland Security. And God only knew what sort of mess they were in right now.
The sad fact of the matter was that he knew the only way to stop things from getting any worse was to get in touch with Kettle—to somehow get him to turn over everything he knew so they could maybe stop whatever happened next.
Louisville. Boom, he thought. That’s what happens next.
He wondered how much longer it would be. He wondered if there was anything to be done to stop it.
On his broadcast out of Montgomery, he saw that someone was on the screen, finally speaking. It was a woman who had been serving as the Press Secretary for the last few years. She looked as put-together as one could hope in a situation like this. The coverage clicked in while she was mid-sentence.
“…if no one has accepted responsibility for these heinous attacks. It is quite clear that our country is under attack. And this is no ordinary wartime attack. We’ve been hit with bioterrorism and now with a nuclear threat. We are currently operating under th
e assumption that the three attacks we have seen over the last five days are all part of one larger coordinated attack. We have numerous specialists rigorously questioning all foreign countries that we have strained relationships with and working with our allies to see if we can gather any intel that…”
Terrence stopped listening. While it wasn’t all lies, it was not nearly the truth. Someone somewhere knew exactly what this was. It was why two Homeland Security agents had come looking for him. Even before the Fort Worth explosion, someone had known where to look and who to ask. It brought back the haunting question: if someone had come looking for him, had they also gone looking for Kettle? And if they found him, what would happen to him?
Terrence uttered a curse as the broadcast displayed a split screen. One side showed the Press Secretary doing her best to remain professional while the other side showed a variety of live images out of New York City, the ruins of the small town of Destiny Ridge, Texas, and the outskirts of Richmond, Virginia. The ticker at the bottom ran a series of numbers that were so large and terrifying that they were almost meaningless. An estimated fifteen million were dead. Baltimore was pretty much a lost cause by now. People were reporting the Blood Fire Virus now spreading into parts of northern Virginia. Already strained emergency crews and Marine reserves were doing their best to manage some sort of rescue efforts in Richmond.
And Terrence knew it was only going to get worse. It formed a lump of rage that started at his heart and tried to swell out to the rest of his body. He had to do something. Sitting here in his bunker was, for now, the smart move. It was the only way he could ensure that he was not taken out by the virus. Sure, he had backup plans, but unless he was pushed into having to go there, he would remain still.
So for now, he could only wait, staring between the Montgomery feed and the unsent email. He considered typing something back to Kettle for a moment but restrained himself. If he responded now, it would be in anger and desperation. And that was not how Kettle operated.
Terrence looked behind him, to the box he had stuffed beneath the cot he’d been resting on from time to time. He did not want to open that box. Opening that box meant that the last ditch effort of survival was upon him and the end was near. But the news on the screen in front of him told him that he was going to have to open that box sooner rather than later.
He’d had it in his possession for about six years, thinking he might not live to see the day where it would be needed. But that day had come rushing at him like a train and he felt almost certain that within a few days, he’d have to open that box and take out what was inside if he wanted any chance of living through all of this.
Chapter 8
Olivia watched the little truck ahead of them, the orange triangle on the tailgate like a beacon. She’d noticed the few military vehicles pulled to the side of the road and they’d given her mixed feelings. On the one hand, such a visible military presence made her feel safe. But she also recalled how effective the military had been in New York. She wondered how much longer this set-up would be standing and moving along as if the world wasn’t going to utter crap all around them.
After about a quarter of a mile, the truck turned right onto a thin stretch of pavement. There was forest to the right and a mostly open field to the left. A makeshift gate had been set up across the road, guarded by two soldiers standing completely still with rifles held across their chests. They were wearing the same protective suits the first group of guards at the barricade had been wearing.
One of the soldiers stepped to the side and pulled open the gate. The truck ahead of them went through, and Paul followed.
“You sure you’re okay with this?” Paul asked her as they went through the gate.
She felt like she would be lying if she said yes, so she settled for, “I don’t see how we have any other choice. I think we’ll be safer here for sure, but I don’t like this feeling of…of, I don’t know.”
“Of offering up control of the situation to the men with guns?” he offered.
“Yes. That exactly.”
A few hundred feet down the paved road, the truck with the orange triangle on the tailgate turned left into the open field. Here, there were worn down tracks among the tall grass—tracks that had clearly been put there recently by one of the five large trucks that were parked in a perfect line. Beyond those trucks were what looked to Olivia like an odd mix of futuristic tents and greenhouses. There were six of them, all connected by small trailers. Off to the side, closed in by an encroaching forest on the other end of the field, were three peculiar looking structures: tubes the width of a small house and about ten feet tall, all connected with some sort of tubing that reminded Olivia, oddly enough, of coffee filters.
“What is this?” Olivia said.
“I don’t know,” Paul said. “But I’m starting to get a bad feeling.”
The truck in front of them pulled in beside the line of larger trucks. The driver got out right away and saluted to a pair of soldiers that came running out of one of the structures that looked like a greenhouse. These were also dressed in the same Hazmat-looking suits as the others. The driver then turned and gestured for Paul to pull their truck in beside his. Paul hesitated for a few seconds and Olivia watched as the driver and the approaching soldiers shared an uneasy glance.
The driver waved at Paul again and Olivia saw him taking a quick peek into his rearview. Olivia looked as well and saw that another Army truck had pulled up to the entrance to the trail into the field. Essentially, they were blocked in.
“Why would they do that?” Olivia asked.
“I’ve got a few guesses but they’re all paranoid.”
“They’re here to help, though, right? I mean, what reason do we have to be scared?”
Joyce shifted between them, looking up to Olivia with concern. “You’re scared?” she asked.
“No, sweetie. Maybe just a little confused.”
Joyce nodded ahead to the strange tent-like buildings. “We goin’ in there?” she asked.
“Looks that way,” Olivia said. “But like I said—these men are here to help us, okay? Just stick close to me and Mr. Paul and everything is going to be fine.”
Joyce nodded and when she looked back to the structures ahead of them, it was mostly with a dulled sense of childlike wonder. Paul finally followed the driver’s order and pulled up next to the row of trucks and killed the engine. When he opened the door to get out, Olivia noticed that the soldiers that had come out of the buildings took a single step back, their hands clasping their rifles.
Olivia did not move at first. She took Joyce’s hand in hers and watched Paul as he got out of the truck.
“You’re not sick?” one of the soldiers asked.
“No. I was already asked that up at the barricade. I’m fine, and so are they,” he said, nodding his head towards Olivia and Joyce.
“So why aren’t they getting out?” the soldier asked.
“This is all weird and scary,” Paul said. “The girl in there is four years old. Coping with the death of her mother. Understandably, she’s a little fragile.”
“Are you armed, sir?” the soldier asked.
“Not currently. I do have a weapon in the truck. A Glock 17. I’m with NYPD, trying to get this little girl to her father.”
“And where is that?”
“Minnesota.”
Olivia noticed that a few other soldiers had come to the entrance of the central building—one of the structures that looked like a greenhouse.
“Well, come on inside,” the soldier said. “We’ll get you tested and make sure you’re kept safe.” He hesitated here and added: “I hope you understand, we’re going to need your gun.”
“I don’t understand that, actually.”
“Sir, please don’t cause problems.”
“I don’t intend to,” Paul said. “But that gun is the only individual safety I have right now. I can’t just hand it over.”
“I assure you, we will keep you safe,” the so
ldier said. “For now, my priority is to get you inside, get confirmation that you’re not sick, and get you sheltered.”
Behind the soldiers, another one was approaching. He strode across the field with purpose and Olivia could tell that he was coming in as the equalizer. If things got squirrely with Paul, he was the strong-arm. Paul apparently noticed this, too. He looked back into the truck at them and then turned his attention to the soldiers.
“Fine,” he said. “Take the gun. But man to man…I ask that you make it a top priority to see what you can do about locating this little girl’s father.”
“You have my word, sir. I know this all seems scary, but we’re doing the best with what we have. Your safety and the prevention of the further spread of this illness is our top priority.”
Paul stepped aside and gestured to the truck. “It’s under the driver’s seat.” He then looked into the truck again, catching Olivia’s stare. “I think it’s okay to come on out.”
Olivia opened the door and helped Joyce out of the truck. Joyce seemed somewhat happy at first, stepping into the tall grass. But then she looked up to the soldiers and their serious-looking uniforms and the joy dropped away from her face. Olivia didn’t blame her; the clear plastic coverings around their faces, framed with a black border before the pale yellow of the suit took over was pretty jarring.
The small group of soldiers started heading for the joined structures up ahead. Paul waited for Olivia and Joyce to join him and then they fell in behind. With each step they took, Olivia started to feel that this might actually be the end of it all—that these men would quickly reunite Joyce with her father and somehow keep them all out of harm’s way until this madness was over. Maybe it was the wide, blue sky overhead or maybe it was the smell of the tall grass. It was all like some other blissful world when she thought back to what it had been like coming out of New York.
