The main display in the center console lit up. The rugged good looks of the main Fox anchor filled most of the screen. “Reports are coming in that it appears to be arson. A team of firefighters managed to get into the foothills and report back that an accelerant similar to gasoline had been detected, but as yet, no further contact.”
“Are we connected to a network?” I asked.
“This is material we downloaded from the terrorist’s network when we connected. Tyrell got into a media server and grabbed as much as he could from the past twenty-four hours.”
The screens in the backs of the seats lit up all around the truck. The main display in front of me changed from the news anchor to a list of HTML files.
“Click on them to read the story or watch the video,” Damon said.
“Why would the terrorists download news clips?”
“I bet to see what impact their handiwork is having,” Chuck said.
“But Tyrell got us these?” Archer said. “How much can we trust what we’re looking at?”
“You think he faked them?” Damon asked.
“I do not think anything was outside the realm of possibility with that guy. Including him not being dead. I have a feeling we will be seeing him again.”
“Look at this,” Chuck said.
A Washington Post story. “Martial Law Declared.” The entire United States had been placed under martial law as of 4 p.m. today.
I checked my watch. That wasn’t even six hours ago. What had happened in that time? I kept reading.
Reports of drone attacks all over the country, from Oregon to California and Minnesota to Florida. And not just in America, but in Moscow and all the European capitals.
The Stafford Act had been invoked and the National Guard brought in across the nation, but as of 7 p.m. Congress had been locked down under an emergency order as it tried to give powers to the president to bring in the military on domestic soil.
“Are you guys reading this?” I said. “The Washington Post article?”
The Fox News anchor appeared on my screen, replacing the newspaper story. “China is now backing up India’s claim that the initial round of anti-satellite launches did not originate in India, but provides no other explanation. China has used the opportunity to invade Taiwan, cutting off all communications to the island nation and surrounding it with its navy.”
“I told you,” Chuck said. “The Chinese still have their BeiDou geopositioning satellite system up there working. Russians are blind, same as Europeans. The Chinese are taking advantage.”
“They’re not the only ones,” Lauren said.
The image on the screen was replaced with a large CNN logo. A flash alert. Even Chuck didn’t laugh at the CNN flash alert. Not this time.
“It is difficult to piece together information,” the news anchor said, a very worried-looking blond woman with her hair done up. She seemed on the verge of tears. “Iran has attacked Saudi Arabia, although this is unverified, and Syria is now fighting with Israel. But we are getting reports, verified by multiple new sources in Europe over shortwave communication, from MTI in Hungary...Russian tanks have rolled over borders...”
“This happened today?” Chuck said incredulously. “All at the same time?”
“So far, NATO has declined to invoke Article 5 of the collective defense treaty, but at the moment, it is not clear that NATO really exists. NATO Cyber Defence headquarters in Tallinn were occupied by Russian forces pushing into the Baltic countries last week—”
“See,” Chuck said, “I told you.”
“Be quiet,” Lauren said.
“And the American NSA—National Security Agency—and CIA and FBI together are now saying that the rolling blackouts across America are not just the product of misfired timing signals from the loss of GPS satellites, but are the results of a coordinated cyberattack against the infrastructure of America. Communications have been blacked out across much of the country, emergency services crippled. The same reports are coming in from Europe and Russia. There is worry of dam failures, nuclear power plant meltdowns—”
“Holy God,” Chuck said, “look at this.”
He took control of the screens and punched up another news story on Fox.
The news anchor changed back to the blond-haired guy. Now he seemed on the verge of tears as well. “With financial markets closed around the world, China has announced that it is unpegging its currency from the American greenback and calling in its loans. Even with markets closed, this has sent the aftermarkets into total chaos. The value of the US dollar has plummeted, and US Treasury bonds have been degraded to junk status. All shipments of goods into the United States have stopped—”
“Can I switch to a New York Times article?”
It was a story about Secretary of State Timothy Chen, a man who had just been appointed by the president a few weeks before. The story detailed his birth in San Francisco just days after his mother arrived in America from a small village outside of Beijing. It detailed his inexperience in global affairs, and his mother’s links to the Chinese Politburo through an uncle who had risen through the ranks over the years. Many of these connections to the political apparatus in China apparently hadn’t been properly vetted before Chen was appointed.
Another article talked about a conspiracy theory from Xenon, the mysterious source who claimed to be a senior figure in the administration, which claimed that the attacks on the United States were not from outside, but from a deep state takeover. China was also claiming that the American NSA was to blame for the satellite attacks, not China, using their own covert military satellite network. Russia claimed that the cyberattacks crippling its infrastructure originated in America as well.
I muttered, “What in heck’s name is going on?”
A tingling fear raised the hairs on the backs of my arms, still matted down in blood and caked with dust from the explosion in the basement. It felt like the floor of the truck yawned open and we’d begun falling down through a rabbit hole. The entire planet was tipping into global conflict, the exact thing I thought we had averted just days before.
“China says a dozen shipping containers of its Chengdu mini-dragon drones were stolen last month, and that these are the ones appearing in Europe and America.” Chuck brought up an image. “Those are the same ones. Those little bastards on the electrical wires.”
“Look,” Lauren said, “there’s a video on Uncle Leo.”
She clicked it and brought it up on all the monitors. The Fox News anchor returned and said, “Senator Seymour, president pro tempore of the Senate, is now reported missing as well. Emergency services were called to his house this afternoon only to find that the entire structure had burned to the ground in what is assumed to be another drone attack. The US Air Force has begun sending out RC-130 reconnaissance aircraft across America and anti-drone platoons have been deployed—”
“My God,” Archer said.
He changed our viewpoint back to a CNN news story, the most recent, from just an hour ago. “I repeat,” said the blond anchor, now with tears streaking down her face, “both the president and vice president have been killed, along with several leading members of Congress, including the Speaker of the House. With Senator Seymour missing and presumed dead, the line of succession falls to Secretary of State Timothy Chen, but senators are refusing to accept—”
“Oh my God,” I said and turned in my seat.
I looked at Uncle Leo. “You’re now the president of the United States.”
Chapter 26
SILENCE IN THE truck for long seconds.
Chuck broke the ice. “He’s not exactly president yet. Someone’s trying to steal it from him. Or the other way around.”
“And what way around would that be?” the senator said. “I would appreciate it if you would talk to me, son, not about me.”
“Leo, with all respect, he’s right. You’re not president until you’re sworn in,” Damon added. “But let’s not start layering on conspiracy theories
alread—”
“You don’t think there is conspiracy here?” Chuck interrupted.
“None of this might be true,” Archer said from the back. “The terrorists might have dumped all this information on us on purpose.”
“To make us think what?” Damon asked.
“I don’t trust the source.”
Damon said, “You think they have the anchors for Fox and CNN holed up in a cabin somewhere, and are recording fake episodes of ne—”
“I think your friend Tyrell could fake just about anything, video or digital, including his own death. He’s been a vocal critic of the American government the last ten years and growing in power.”
“Half of America has been a vocal critic of the United States government every year for as long as I’ve been alive. What does that prove?”
“Not like him,” Archer said. “Leader of a Libertarian cult—”
“It’s a political party,” Damon said.
“It’s a cult. I’ve seen the dossier on Tyrell.”
Damon said, “Dossier? Like a McCarthy-style red scare file? You want to know where the conspiracy theorists are? Go look in a mirror in the J. Edgar Hoover Building.”
Ignoring him, Archer said, “Whatever you want to call it, Tyrell and his billionaire Silicon Valley buddies have been pushing an agenda to overthrow the American government the past five years.”
“You mean vote out?” Damon sighed long and hard. “Citizens are allowed to create political action committees.”
“I’m not talking PACs. And I wouldn’t call controlling misinformation flow on the world’s networks ‘voting.’”
“The guy’s not dead ten minutes, saved your life already today, saved Luke’s life, and you’re already denigrating him? He wants to reform the American system of government. Go to direct democracy, eliminate the layers of inefficiency. A technocratic solution. Does it seem to you like our government is working lately?”
“Now just hold on,” the senator said from beside Archer. “You might not like the way our government works, but it is working. And it’s working for you.”
“Sorry,” Damon said sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to—”
“I think you did, actually, son. You’re implying that I might have something to do with this. And I can assure you, I do not.”
Damon didn’t reply but nodded his head in silence.
“You said wants,” Archer said.
“Pardon me?”
“Not wanted, as in past tense. Even you don’t think Tyrell is dead.”
“You just don’t give up, do you?”
“Kinda my thing.”
“Boys, boys, can we keep it civil?” Lauren said quietly.
“I think he’s Xenon,” Archer said. “I think Tyrell is the one flooding the social media networks and meshnetworks with false information, claiming the terrorist attack is a false flag operation run by our own government. He’s the head conspirator.”
“He’s dead,” Damon said. “You can stop worrying.”
“I did see him get shot,” I said.
Or did I? It was dark, and it happened so fast. Was he attempting to stop my son from pressing the EMP button? Or was he trying to shield Luke with his body?
“We’ve seen these drones in action,” Lauren said, her voice rising. “One of them killed my mother. A whole swarm of them.”
The interior of the truck went quiet at that statement. For the first time, I noticed how much I stank of the manure I swam in.
Lauren continued, her voice lowering, “This isn’t make-believe.”
I said, “We’re trapped inside an invisible truck, in the dead of the night, in the middle of nowhere—with the president of the United States in the back seat. My sense of disbelief is—”
“Nobody is making up these news stories we just saw,” my wife said. “It’s real. It’s happening today, right now. Damon already said these were Chinese drones. The attackers are recording all these shows and articles as a highlight reel. Probably going to use them to attract more converts.”
“And why let us have them?” Archer said. “Why did they give us the videos?”
“They didn’t let us. Tyrell took them. Hacked in.”
“Seems a little too easy.”
Damon said, “Next time I’ll let you do the hacking. See if you think it’s so simple.”
“Enough,” Lauren said. “Susie is badly hurt and needs a doctor. She’s pale and cold. At minimum, she needs a lot of water, probably some blood. Archer, you’re hurt too, I can see you shaking. And Ellarose has a serious concussion, maybe worse. We need to get to a doctor, or better yet a hospital. At least get some supplies, antibiotics, bandages, some food.”
“They’ll be gone in two days,” Susie said quietly. “The terrorists. That’s what she told me.”
I said, “So, we just have to hide for two days?”
“She said something else,” Susie said quietly. Her voice was reedy and thin. “When I was inside with her. She said they had brothers and sisters all over the world.”
“Makes sense,” Chuck said. “Boko Haram, Hezbollah, ISIS, Al-Qaeda. There are Muslim terrorist groups everywhere in the world. Doesn’t surprise me that they finally coordinated on something.”
“Not that. She said, don’t you wonder how it’s possible she was still here? Something to that effect.”
“Meaning what?”
“Like she had some inside protection. Within America.”
“The government?” Lauren said. “I wouldn’t trust anything she said.”
“And she said something about you,” Susie said.
“Me?”
“Were you working on the US drone program, Lauren?”
Chapter 27
THIS SIDE OF the mountains had the feeling of a ghost state.
Throughout the night, we tried to keep off main roads, staying on trails and logging roads, trading speed for stealth as we crept over the top of the Shenandoah range and down the other side, tracking mile by mile away from DC.
Archer muttered in the back the whole time, saying we were making a mistake and should be trying to go the other way. We had taken a vote, and the majority decided this was the safest plan.
We found a small bridge that crossed the North Fork of the Shenandoah River, then headed south and west, taking a chance on a small road underpass to cross Interstate 81 that ran all the way up and down the East Coast of America. From there we edged into the sparsely populated backroads of West Virginia and the Monongahela Forest.
We passed through the villages of Cootes Store and Fulks Run.
No streetlights, no lights over highway intersections. The local police stations closed. Stores along the main street had their windows boarded over. Occasionally the glimmer of an electric light and hum of a diesel generator, more often the flickering of candles through windows.
Selena displayed a ghostly image in 3D of the roads and buildings around us as we navigated in the dark. Once, a car passed us, its headlights glaring, but we pulled to the side. Whoever was in it didn’t see us.
We stopped at a gas station.
Not to get fuel, but for food and water.
Chuck broke the window to get in, but the shelves inside had already been stripped bare, except for a few bags of chips and bottles of water. Almost as important, we found some T-shirts for Chuck and I to change into, so we could get rid of the manure-stained ones we had on.
The truck had taken dozens of rounds that punctured the metamaterial exterior and damaged the OLED beneath it. The windows were cracked in places. It wasn’t really invisible anymore; not as stealthy as it had been. With sunrise coming in a few hours, we needed to get off the roads and into cover.
We needed somewhere to hide, and we needed help.
The forest around the house was slowly reclaiming the land.
The old homestead looked like it had been built a hundred years before, the beams and boards probably hewn from the trees that had been removed to make the two-hu
ndred-foot clearing. Vines engulfed the left side of the structure, their tendrils crawling onto the front and roof. Moss and lichen ate into the edges of the plank siding; most of the paint had peeled away.
The air was humid enough that a fog drifted between the dense foliage and canopy surrounding us. Cool but not quite cold. An old banana-seat bike from the seventies rusted to one side of the deck. Frogs chirped as the last dregs of the night slipped away. Between leaves of the canopy overhead, the sky began to turn purple as the sun rose over the Appalachian range to the east.
We parked the truck a few hundred feet up the road and walked down the driveway to the house. There were two rusting old Chevies in the driveway and we saw lights in the windows. We walked in slowly, hands up in case the occupants felt threatened, making sure they could see we didn’t have any weapons.
We knocked on the door, but after five minutes, nobody answered.
“Hello?” I said in a louder voice. “Please, we need help. We have someone who is hurt.”
I leaned over a sagging bench to the left side of the front door to tap on the window.
“We’re going to need to talk about this,” I said to my wife under my breath. “I need to know about the work you were doing with Leo.”
“Can we do this later?” She knocked on the door again and said in a loud voice, “I saw you looking out the window. Please, we need help.”
The curtain in front of me edged back a few inches, pulled back by the double-barrel of a shotgun. A twangy Southern female voice said from inside, “Y’all just get going, you hear me? We don’t want no trouble.”
“We don’t either,” Lauren said, raising her hands.
“Then why you wearing face masks like bandits? You got a virus or something?”
“We’re not sick.” Lauren looked up, made sure she was well covered under the awning from any view to the sky, then pulled down the cloth she had over her nose. “We are being careful. You heard about the drones? Killing people?”
Damon made us wear coverings over our faces and mismatched clothing, changing what we had been wearing before and turning things inside out. He said we needed to be careful and not give anything that pattern-matching AI might be able to recognize, especially making sure to hide our faces.
CyberWar: World War C Trilogy Book 3 Page 18