Hideaway (Book 0): An EMP Thriller

by Hayden, Roger

  “Let this be a lesson to all of you. We control this area, and as long as you’re here, you will provide for us.”

  Adam noticed some of the men behind them boxing the group in as Brant continued his speech. “Now is the time to make an example of someone.” He paused and then leaned close to Charlie, smiling.

  “What… what do you mean?” Charlie asked, stunned.

  Before an answer could be given, a large man behind Charlie struck him in the back of the legs with the buttstock of his rifle. The crowd screamed. Charlie’s knees buckled as he screamed in pain and fell to the ground, wincing. Brant looked at him and smiled.

  “You’ve been demoted.”

  Adam broke from the ranks to get a better look at what was happening. The cries continued as threatening shouts from Brant’s men echoed through the air, ordering them not to move. The man, whose name was Malcolm, pointed the barrel of his rifle at the back of Charlie’s head as Brant stepped away to address the frightened crowd. “You must now learn the consequences of your actions.”

  He turned to Charlie as the cries of the crowd continued. Adam tried to pull away, but his father’s firm grip on his jacket kept him from doing so. From the front, Brant leaned eye level to Charlie and whispered something, only to step away.

  A large gun blast then rang out. Half the group flew to the ground, Adam one of them. Their screams peaked, like a rolling wave. Adam tried to get up from the slushy ground, but his father’s arm had him pinned. He looked ahead and saw Charlie on the ground with half his head missing and the reddest blood splattered all over the snow.

  2

  Before

  The weather forecast for the weekend was looking up. Seated at his desk, James Weller closed his laptop and glanced into his planner. His week-long solo getaway had been in the works for months, though he had messed up in scheduling it the same weekend as his fifth wedding anniversary. The night before, to make amends, he’d taken his wife Marla out to eat at one of their favorite steakhouses, and though she seemed happy, there remained a lot unsaid between them. He had sensed a drifting between them for months now, widening with every disagreement. A week apart would give them the space they needed, or so he hoped.

  They both led busy, career-oriented lives. Marla was a professional newscaster for the St. Louis local affiliate station. James was a successful novelist of mainly military espionage thrillers. His upcoming getaway was to a writer’s retreat at his own rented cabin. He was under a deadline with his publisher to turn in his latest manuscript, for which he’d been given an advance, and there was no better place to get some much-needed work done.

  In his early twenties, he had spent four years in the military as an army mechanic. He loved working on cars. It was something he was good at. But writing was his greatest love of all. He had spent the last two hours of the evening answering emails and still had a fair amount of packing to do before he left. He heard the sink running in the kitchen. Marla was still up despite her early assignment the next morning. There’d been some disagreements between her and her boss Kate, and Marla was on edge. He heard cabinets slam, one after the other.

  James leaned back in his chair, admiring his cozy home office. A packed bookshelf stood in the corner next to his spinning pedestal globe. On the wall hung a collection of writing awards and photos. Everything, including his glass display case filled with Civil War memorabilia, was arranged neatly to his liking. He did most of his writing in this room, his favorite in the house, but for one week, he was looking forward to the change of environment.

  James rose from his chair with a stretch and walked slowly to the door. He reached for the knob and hesitated. Another cabinet slammed and then came silence. The faucet turned on again as he searched for the right things to say that might make her feel better. He opened the door, making his way to the kitchen of their quaint three-bedroom home. The years living together in a picturesque St. Louis suburb had turned into a blur of sorts. James was thirty-six now. Both their parents regularly asked about grandchildren. The pressure was on.

  James went straight for the refrigerator and opened it. Marla was at the sink with her back turned toward him. “Hey there,” he began. “How’s it going?”

  Marla turned from the sink with her sleeves rolled up, drying her hands. “Fine.”

  “Good,” James said, taking an apple from their fruit drawer. He chomped into the apple with one bite and then closed the fridge door, approaching her.

  James glanced outside the small kitchen window above the sink. It was dark outside, and the motion lights from his neighbor’s backyard shined over the fence. His neighbor Vernon had two noisy Rottweilers who were noticeably quiet. James leaned against one of the counters as Marla finished wiping the other.

  “It’s that early morning assignment. Isn’t it?” he asked finally.

  She hung the dish cloth over the faucet and turned around, brushing back loose strands of hair that had fallen into her face. “I suppose. City hall at seven in the morning. I’ve had worse. They’re unveiling a new information center.”

  “Sounds like fun.” But he knew he wasn’t helping.

  “I’ve been with them for four years,” she said with an open hand. “I’ve always been willing to do whatever it takes, and I’ve never complained to anyone about any assignment.”

  “That’s why they like you,” James said. “It takes time to move up, especially at a local news affiliate.” Though he wasn’t sure if that was the case, it made sense in his head.

  Marla’s eyes drifted to the floor. “You know, I really thought this would be the year for me. But Kate still treats me like an intern. She acts like I’m lucky just to be on camera. I’ve had enough.”

  James searched again for the right thing to say.

  “And don’t tell me to find another network,” she said, beating him to the punch. “I can’t just start over somewhere else at my age.”

  He couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, come on. You’re only thirty-two.”

  “Thirty-three, James,” she said, anger rising in her tone. “Have you forgotten already?”

  James held up his hands. “Look. I’m sorry. What do you want me to say?”

  “Nothing,” she said, turning away and leaving the kitchen. “Forget about it. Enjoy your retreat.”

  “Hey, I have deadlines too,” James said, following her into the hallway.

  Marla stopped a few feet in front of their bedroom and spun around, surprising him. “Is that why you spend whole weekends in the garage, tinkering with your precious car?”

  The car she was referring to was James’s ‘78 Classic Pontiac Firebird Trans AM, his pride and joy. He’d bought the car years ago and had put a lot of time and effort into refurbishing it. Working on it was a therapeutic exercise in the sense that it reminded James of past times, working on cars with his father. It was true that he spent a lot of time in the garage, but it was the one break from writing he had. She didn’t seem to understand that.

  “What’s your problem?” James asked.

  “My problem?” Marla repeated with gusto. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Come on, Marla,” he pleaded. He watched as she went into their bedroom and slammed the door behind her. He followed her and turned the knob, but it was locked. “All right. You’ve made your point, now open up.”

  “Go away,” she called out from inside.

  “I need to pack. Come on.”

  She moved closer to the door but wouldn’t open it. “Not now.”

  James gripped the doorknob and shook it. “Open the damn door!” But there was no response. She was ignoring him.

  His head lowered as he sighed in resignation. He backed away from the door and then walked away, heading toward the living room. He checked the front door in the foyer and saw that it was locked. James went to the living room and sat on the couch, turning on the TV. Marla just needed her space, he figured. She couldn’t stay mad at him forever. In fact, he didn’t even know why she would be mad. T
heir last argument was over a week ago.

  Propping his sock-covered feet on the coffee table, he flipped through the channels, stopping at a cable news station. A big red banner consumed the bottom of the screen that said, Conflict Escalates with North Korea: Global Community on Edge.

  The news, as of late, read like a precursor to World War III. Iran, Russia, China, and now North Korea were making aggressive moves against the United States, and they had been doing so for some time now. James had been following the news closely, and as troubling as things were sounding, he wondered if it was just business as usual or the beginning of something far more serious.

  Old army friends still in the service had recently told James that the military was gearing up for something big, but no one could specify what. It was scary stuff, but James never worried too much about it. There was no stopping war. History had proven that much.

  He turned up the volume as a male news anchor continued with a tone of urgency. “Officials have unveiled direct links between North Korea’s nuclear arsenal and the Chinese government, fueling theories on who is propping up the dangerous, unpredictable regime with financial and military aid. With the regime’s claims that South Korea will be theirs, U.S. officials move once again to exhaust diplomatic measures that have so far done little to deescalate the conflict.”

  James stared at the screen as his mind drifted to other matters. It was September already, and he couldn’t believe it. The holidays were coming. His father’s birthday was in two weeks, his sister planned to visit next month, and his in-laws had an anniversary in a few weeks. He had to be sure to remember all of them. The next morning, he needed to pick up some things for his trip. Marla deserved the house to herself for the weekend. James was sure of it. The getaway was as much for her as it was for him.

  James woke the next morning on the couch with a stiff neck. A faint morning dawn glowed from behind the living room curtains. The TV was off, and he was lying on his side. He heard Marla in the kitchen and glanced at the wall clock. It was 6:05 a.m., and James couldn’t believe he slept through the whole night on the couch

  Marla would probably get a kick out of seeing him limp his way to the kitchen, cracking his neck. He sat up with a yawn and sat quiet as his thoughts returned. His anger toward Marla from last night had faded. He wanted to make amends and hoped that she felt the same way.

  He stood up, still in his jeans, collared shirt, and socks and crept toward the kitchen on the other side of the wall. He peeked around the corner and saw Marla in her bathrobe, hair in a towel, filling up a coffee pot with water. She hadn’t noticed him yet. Normally, he’d take the opportunity to give her a good scare, but he didn’t want to start the morning on the wrong foot.

  “Good morning,” he said, walking in.

  The sink went off as she turned around, slightly startled. “Oh. Hi.” She paused and studied his wrinkled clothes and disheveled hair. “Did you sleep on the couch?”

  James scratched his head. “It appears so. I must have fallen asleep watching TV.”

  She turned away and placed the coffee pot on its burner. James wasn’t expecting an apology, but he did wonder if she felt bad, keeping him out. To this, she made a comment, clarifying the record. “I got up and unlocked the door last night. You didn’t have to sleep out there.”

  James approached and placed both hands on her shoulders. “Like I said, I fell asleep. Don’t worry about it.” Initially, she didn’t move, but James remained undeterred as he apologized. “I don’t like seeing you upset, Marla. You know that I’m here for you. Always.”

  Her hand eventually made its way up as she placed it over his. “I know. I’m sorry too.” She then turned around and faced him. There was remorse in her hazel eyes.

  “I just want us to be happy,” James said.

  “Me too,” she added.

  He pulled her closer as they hugged. “I’ll stick around and watch you on TV. How about that?”

  Marla laughed as she pulled away. “Sure. Just don’t expect a hard-hitting report.”

  James laughed as he opened the refrigerator and grabbed a carton of orange juice. He stood completely still for a moment and placed a hand there, frowning and looking startled.

  Marla turned and noticed his quiet, foreboding stare. “What’s wrong?”

  “Ah, nothing,” James said, taking a deep breath. “My stomach’s been messed up since the other night.”

  Curious, Marla leaned closer. “Our anniversary dinner?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Not sure what it was.” He slowly moved his hand away and went to the table, pouring a glass. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Just take it easy,” she said, walking around him. “I have to get ready now.”

  She stopped and gave him a peck on the cheek and then hurried off down the hall. James looked to the boiling coffee pot on the counter and prepared to pour himself a cup. He’d need to be as awake as possible for the drive ahead of him. He stood up and walked to the counter, yawning. It was barely daylight outside. He grabbed a mug and poured hot coffee almost to the brim, the rich aroma alerting his senses.

  He turned from the counter and left the kitchen. Inside his office, he grabbed his laptop and carry bag and began to pack. Next, he entered their bedroom where Marla was brushing her hair in the adjacent bathroom. He turned on the TV atop their dresser and went inside their walk-in closet where his empty luggage awaited him in the corner.

  He carried the smallest of the bags to the bed and glanced at the TV. The news hadn’t changed much from the night before. Only now, it seemed to have just gotten worse. An ongoing standoff between U.S. naval vessels and Chinese warships had escalated around a disputed area within the Asia Pacific. James pulled some clothes out from the dresser and tossed them onto the bed as Marla emerged from the bathroom wearing a blue short-sleeved dress shirt and lightweight slacks, ready for the day.

  “Sounds like things are heating up,” James said, pointing to the TV.

  “It sure is scary,” she said with concern.

  “China would never attack us,” James said. “They just need to get North Korea under control.”

  Marla took a thin jacket from the closet and motioned to leave. Her long dark hair was brushed to each side, framing her face, with waves running through it. She never wore too much makeup, even on camera. “Wish me luck.”

  James stuffed a folded shirt into his bag and then walked over to her. “Have a good day,” he said, pulling her close for a hug.

  “You too,” she said, hugging him back. “Have fun at your retreat.”

  After a quick kiss, she left the room. James then went to the bathroom where the mirror was still misty and thin wafts of steam flowed by. He reached for his travel kit bag under the sink and checked to make sure it had all the toiletries he needed inside.

  “It’s only a week,” he said under his breath as he zipped the bag shut. He tended to overpack. He undressed and turned the shower nozzle on, then stepped inside. The water sprayed against his face, refreshing him as he reached for the soap. He and Marla had made up, and he felt a lot less guilty about leaving. He was going to have a great time. Nothing would get in his way now. He was sure of it.

  3

  Change of Plans

  The morning sun was out, but there was a chill in the air. James walked out the front door and locked it behind him. His laptop carry bag hung from his shoulders as he wheeled his single suitcase to his Jeep Wrangler in the driveway. He’d love to be able to drive the vintage Pontiac, but the car wasn’t quite ready. It needed new shocks and brake pads, though he had made progress over the past year, even getting it a shiny bronze paint job. The Jeep would have to do for the week.

  He went to the passenger side and opened the door, placing his suitcase inside. Other vehicles passed the house on their busy residential street with homes on both sides, close together. Their neighborhood on Baldwin Drive had expanded over the years. James saw his neighbor Vernon out on his front porch with his stark white hair
and old-fashioned aura. He was sitting in his chair like most mornings and reading the paper with his cigar resting in a nearby ashtray.

  James waved as he entered the Jeep, receiving a wave from Vernon in return. He then started the engine and backed out of the driveway, ready to leave. As he continued through the neighborhood, James went through a mental list of items: cell phone, cell phone charger, toothpaste, running shoes, laptop power cord, jacket in case it got cold, cash if needed, and the list went on and on. He thought he had everything, and if he didn’t, he’d have to make do. He saw that the tank was half full and made plans to top it off before getting on the highway.

  Interstate 55 would take him onto the 270 toward Wood River. The drive wouldn’t take more than an hour and a half, given traffic. Once he arrived at the cabin, he planned to settle in and start writing immediately. He’d see other writers there as well. Some were friends and colleagues he regularly stayed in contact with. He couldn’t wait.

  James pulled into the Drive N’ Save gas station right on the corner before the highway entrance ramp. He figured he’d get a cup of coffee while he was at it. He stopped at the nearest pump and switched the engine off while rotating his neck. It still ached from the couch. The station was busy with people entering and exiting through the front, and not a space was available. He got out and swiped his credit card at the pump. Once ready, he placed the nozzle into the side of his Jeep and began pumping.

  A man on the other side of the pump was fueling his own car while talking wildly into a cell phone held against his ear. James only took notice upon the man’s increasingly loud conversation. He had slicked-back hair and wore sunglasses, a dress shirt, and a tie, probably someone who considered themselves quite important. James wasn’t about to get into the man’s business, but he wasn’t too keen on the risks a cell phone and a gas pump presented. Among other warnings, there was even a sign at each pump that prohibited cellular usage. James took a deep breath and leaned closer to the pump, calling out to the man.