Cyber Apocalypse (Book 1): As Our World Ends

by Hunt, Jack

  But it was no natural disaster, it was manmade, an act of war.

  Petaluma Community Center wasn’t far from the hospital. It was located in Lucchesi Park close to the lake just off McDowell Boulevard. The huge parking lot outside was full of camping tents where surviving families had taken up temporary residence. “We’re using the entire park. It’s central and close to the facility where we can supply food, water and medical services.”

  “Any idea the scope of the disaster?” Liam asked.

  “No telling. However, we have hundreds of search and rescue combing the streets and rubble in the surrounding area. It should be a little easier tomorrow when we can see the full extent of the damage but right now we are just doing the best we can.”

  “I’d like to help,” Elisha said.

  He chuckled. “That’s kind of you but I think you should get that arm seen to first.”

  “What are some of the challenges right now?”

  “Besides digging out folks like you?” he asked glancing in his rearview mirror at her. “The hardest part is dealing with the looters.”

  “You’d think people would rally together and try to help one another,” Liam said.

  “Most of them do. It’s gangs that are doing it.”

  “Gangs? I didn’t think Petaluma had any,” Elisha said.

  Garcia snorted as he veered into the lot. “Yeah, as a department we do our best to keep them off the streets and most of our encounters with them don’t even hit the newspaper, but trust me, they’re out there. Sonoma County has its fair share. Around 1,500 members. Sureño make up around half of them, the rest are spread between four other gangs, of course rivals.”

  Elisha couldn’t resist the moment to ask. “That tattoo on your neck. You have any association to them?”

  He laughed. “Wondered if you would ask. I have a history. Let’s leave it at that.”

  He parked the car and hopped out and directed them to a tent that was dealing with the injured. They were taken inside a makeshift setup where several people were going from cot to cot and dealing with everything from burns and smoke inhalation to broken bones. One woman screamed loudly as two nurses held her down and a doctor injected her. A few seconds later she relaxed.

  “You should be in good hands from here on out. I need to get going. A lot to be done,” Garcia said.

  “Thank you,” Elisha said. “Will we see you again?”

  “Unless a bomb drops on my head or I take one to the chest, I’ll be around.”

  They thanked him and Garcia disappeared out to help others.

  15

  North Carolina

  Sophie awoke with a shake. Fear. Panic. She almost gave Alex a right hook as her mind tried to process where she was. “Whoa! Whoa! I just thought you might be hungry,” he said, leaning back, one hand protecting himself, the other offering her what looked like a burrito.

  “Where did you get that?”

  “In town. You’d be surprised at what some businesses are doing to keep things ticking over. I had to pay a fortune for it but it was better than Ryan breaking into a place, which incidentally — that break-in back at the church probably wasn’t a good idea.”

  “I’m awake less than twenty seconds and you are already wanting to argue?”

  He chuckled. “Hey, I come in peace. Come on, let’s put our differences aside. Let’s make an agreement. I won’t bring up the incident with the junkyard or church, and you won’t mention Elizabeth City. Agreed?”

  She narrowed her eyes and gave a nod before quickly unwrapping her food and taking a huge bite. Her head tipped back and she let out a sound of satisfaction that was akin to their time in the sheets. “Good, huh?”

  “Oh it’s heaven.”

  “The owner had one of those hot dog stands — you know like the ones we saw in New York. Seems some folks see the glass half full.”

  She smiled thinking of the trips they used to take. They laughed more back then, before the Coast Guard hogged all his time, and she found herself working all manner of shifts at the hospital. He would take her on spontaneous trips to different cities. They would get a nice hotel, and spend a few days roaming antique stores, sipping coffee and enjoying each other’s company.

  As she was chewing, something dawned on her. “You both went into town?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And left me alone?”

  He shrugged while taking a bite of his food. “Was okay, right?”

  She gave him a slap on the arm. “Don’t ever do that again. Someone could have slit my throat, kidnapped me or…”

  “Calm down, Sophie. I wouldn’t have left you if I thought you were in any kind of danger. We didn’t go far and there are a lot of police out cruising the streets. Not every town is like some of the ones we drove through. Not everyone is out for blood. And besides…”

  She stabbed a finger at him. “You said—”

  “I wasn’t about to bring up the junkyard. I was going to say, I had you in line of sight at all times.” He pointed across the way. The BBQ stand was set up outside the Waffle House. “I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”

  It was the first thing that sounded genuine.

  “Anyway, I’ve filled the gas tank, purchased another canister. I’m thinking we drive on and don’t stop for the next five hours or so until we reach Asheville. Ryan said he wants to drop in on his brother. Might be a good place to put our heads down for a night. Sound good to you?”

  “Sure. I’ll drive. I didn’t get much sleep but I feel more awake now.”

  “Oh, here.” He got out of the car and returned with a water bottle and a cup of coffee. “Got you these.” She smiled and thanked him as they changed seats. The car filled with the aroma of roasted beans and for a moment Sophie was hesitant to leave Tarboro. At least the place gave her hope. If one town was able to pull together, perhaps others would too. “And by the way, you know Ryan smokes?”

  “What?”

  Sophie glanced at Ryan as he got back in. She was still learning a lot about him. With all that had happened and their relationship only beginning, she didn’t want to rock the boat but she would have to eventually bring that up. Sure, she smoked but that didn’t mean he could.

  The SUV swerved out of the parking lot and they continued on their way heading west, their bellies full of food, and with a new sense of hope that maybe America could bounce back. The sight of police and military on the way out and a community rallying together was inspiring to see. Sure, there would be those looking for a chance to take advantage of others, and even kill but they were in the minority, at least she hoped so.

  That would soon change.

  Passing through Rocky Mount, a city in Edgecombe County, they were horrified by the devastation. It had been hit hard, and unlike Tarboro there was no one helping others, just fire and smoke illuminating the night sky. The SUV crawled through ash drifting like snowflakes. It was ominous and disheartening after seeing such strength and resilience in the last community. They didn’t linger and she left the ruins behind in the rearview mirror, nothing more than a town ablaze.

  Pockets of fire could be seen all along Highway 64. They gave the city of Raleigh a wide berth and took the Northern Wake Expressway before rejoining I-40 and passing through Burlington, Greensboro and Winston-Salem.

  By the time they saw signs for Asheville, it was late evening. Alex had managed to get some sleep so had Ryan.

  Alex put his seat back into an upright position. “If it wasn’t for the explosions, I don’t think Tommy would have been so brazen back there. The power going down is one thing but bombs dropping are another.”

  “They’re not bombs,” Ryan said in a low voice.

  Alex looked over his shoulder. “Of course they are. And anyway, how would you know?”

  He shrugged but didn’t say anything, making them assume he was taking a stab in the dark. “Look, we’re nearly here. What’s the address?” Sophie asked. Ryan leaned forward between the seats and took out a
scrap of paper and reeled it off.

  “You didn’t know it?” Alex asked.

  “No, I’ve never been there before.”

  The rest of the journey was spent in silence as they observed and made comparisons to the damage seen in the cities before that. For a town with a population of 91,000, Asheville had fared well.

  Nestled in the shadow of the Blue Ridge Mountains, the town looked as if it had been swallowed by the surrounding pines. The first thing they noticed as they drove through the downtown was how many buildings were still intact and illuminated by fiery torches inserted into grassy areas. The flames created shadows that danced on the walls of buildings revealing funky and eclectic painted art.

  “Smart thinking,” Sophie said.

  They passed by several vehicles, and avoided a police blockade before turning into a suburban community called Livingston Heights. After they drove down Camby Street, Ryan jabbed his finger out. “There it is. Pull over here.”

  “I can pull into the driveway,” Sophie said.

  “No, no, this is fine. I want to surprise him.”

  “Okay.” She swerved to the edge of the road and killed the engine.

  Alex went to get out and Ryan patted him on the shoulder.

  “Hey, uh, just give me five minutes. He’s a little funny about strangers.”

  Alex frowned. “Sure.”

  They watched him dart across the road, enter a gate and climb the steps up to a baby blue clapboard, two-story home. Ryan cupped a hand to the front window and then turned back to them and shrugged before going around to the rear.

  Alex squinted. “Did he even knock?”

  “If he did I didn’t see it.”

  “Did Rachel not tell you about this?” Alex asked.

  “No. They said he had no family.”

  “Strange. Well if he hasn’t met his brother before, how would he know if he has problems with strangers?” Alex asked.

  They looked at each other.

  “Maybe I should go over,” she said unbuckling her seat belt.

  He placed a hand on her knee. “No. Stay here. I’ll go see.”

  “Alex. He’s my responsibility. If he has family, I would like to meet them.”

  “Yeah, and you will. But—”

  “I’m going, you’re staying.” She got out and closed the door and made her way across. As she got close to the house, she could hear yelling, then a light came on from beyond the curtains. At the top of the steps, the yelling got louder. It was Ryan.

  “You screwed me over!”

  “They gave me no choice,” a male replied.

  “Well you don’t have one now. Come here, you bastard.”

  Glass smashed and she turned and beckoned Alex over as she sprinted around the back of the house to find the door wide. No sooner had she entered than she found Ryan on the ground with his hands around a guy’s throat.

  16

  California

  They were on a rampage of murder and mayhem. Even with highly trained officers patrolling the streets it wasn’t enough to deal with the increase in crime and looting. Locals weren’t the issue, the gangs were. The tide of violence had been bubbling behind a wall of hatred for some time, and this event had caused the dam to burst.

  Garcia’s nine years with the department and close ties to the gangs had opened the doors to lead the gang enforcement and crisis response unit. Unbeknownst to the residents he’d stopped many a bloodbath in the city.

  But that was then, this was now.

  He peered through binoculars at a crew of six that had broken into the CVS. He’d already called for backup but with the town ablaze, and officers dealing with their own crisis, he was faced with walking away or handling this himself.

  The sound of boots pounding the ground made him turn. It was Andre Flores, hunting rifle in hand, a grim look on his face.

  An old gang buddy of his, Andre was one of the few who had got his life in order and turned over a new leaf.

  A few years younger than him, Andre had settled in Petaluma four years after he’d joined the police. He’d been lucky in many ways. Had it not been for a friend of his mother who worked in the department; good behavior, a lack of a criminal record, months of night school and hours of volunteer time, the police wouldn’t have hired him.

  Martin Salanez had been pushing for a unit that dealt with gangs and what better way than to hire someone who could act as a go-between. Of course, they didn’t just hand it to him on a plate. He’d interviewed three times with the department over many years before they hired him. Even then he started at the bottom. Garcia earned his way to a position of trust, and after four years patrolling the streets, he received a commendation for saving a young girl’s life. After that he began the journey toward promotion.

  “You should have left the rifle in the car, Andre.”

  “Would you?”

  “I’ll go down and speak with them but if shit goes south, you know what to do.”

  “Reminds me of the old days.”

  “Yeah, just don’t go shooting me.”

  Geared up in a vest, packing a Bushmaster rifle and pepperball launcher, he got up from a mound of grass and jogged down. There was no way in hell he was going to swing up in his cruiser. It wasn’t uncommon for some of these gangs to be packing AKs and what were known as “Ghost Guns” — a name given to weapons that were untraceable because they built them. Garcia didn’t need to attend the training with the ATF as he was the one that gave it to the rest of the department. It was the easiest way to for gangs to obtain weapons because they couldn’t purchase guns legally. Often the gangs would get their hands on unfinished kits used in AR-15 manufacturing and create their own. If they were caught, there were no serial numbers. There was also big money to be made in it. Handguns, modified AR-15s, he knew the ones responsible and had busted his fair share of them in the past few years, all of which had tainted his reputation with the gangs.

  That’s why he’d been treading carefully over the past year.

  Word on the streets was a hit had been placed on him.

  Now with the world going to shit, this would only give them more reason to see through on that threat. Using vehicles as cover, Garcia ran at a crouch from one to the next. There was no telling how this would play out.

  Since the event, he hadn’t run into trouble with the gangs but he knew they were out looting. With supplies dangerously low, the focus of the department’s attention had switched to patrolling groceries, pharmacies and gun stores. And with minimal communication through short-band portable radios it was making their job a lot harder. Garcia figured he could talk them down. At least that would be his first approach, after that he would pepperball them and worst-case scenario — use deadly force.

  What made it hard was that he knew most of these young guys back when they were just kids. Now they were full-fledged gang members, walking in the shadows of their fathers who were either locked up or dead.

  Making his way up to the main entrance, he avoided the glass from where they’d pushed a shopping cart through the window. He took cover by the door and looked back at Andre who was perched on a mound of grass, no doubt with one of them in his sights.

  He’d given him strict instructions not to engage unless the situation went sideways. Of course, the chances of that were high but he figured with a lack of support, a lack of communication, and a town on fire, he could justify it.

  Garcia peered in gun-first around the edge of the door frame and took in the scene.

  He recognized two of them. Members of La Primera. The gang was established back in the ’90s by two Sureño brothers. It was believed there were around a hundred members split between Petaluma and Rohnert Park.

  Inside, they were going from shelf to shelf pulling down products and filling baskets, while two of them were in the back collecting thousands of dollars’ worth of meds in a large cart.

  “Benny Zonaras. It’s Officer Garcia from Petaluma Police Department.”

 
He observed two of the six drop what they had in hand and reach for handguns in the front of their waistbands. “Now, now, guys, no blood needs to be shed here.”

  “Garcia. Figured you would have turned tail and got out of the city by now,” Benny shouted.

  “Oh, you know me, I’m a sucker for this county.”

  “Homie, how can you wear that uniform? You were one of us.”

  “Look, I’ll make this really easy for you all. Drop what you have along with the guns and walk out of here and I’ll turn a blind eye to the damage you’ve done.”

  He heard Benny laugh. “Hey homie, fuck you.”

  Garcia expected no less than abuse. It was just their way. He looked back toward Andre who was still watching like a hawk as Garcia pulled the pepperball launcher around and gave them one more chance.

  “Benny. I know Carlos. He wouldn’t want you doing this. Now I’m asking as a friend to your brother.”

  “A friend? Fuck you. You busted some of us last year.”

  “You were carrying assault rifles.”

  “And?”

  He was losing patience with him. Garcia donned an Avon C50 mask with voice amplifier and prepared for the worst. “Do it your way.” With that said, Garcia began firing projectiles into the store at the floor, round after round. As soon as the projectiles hit, a cloud erupted and he began hearing them cough. Garcia pulled back and fired another ten or fifteen more, expecting that to do the job but it didn’t.

  What came next was an eruption of gunfire from them that shattered the remaining glass. He took cover behind a truck and swapped out the pepperball launcher for his rifle. He raised a hand to give Andre the heads-up. It was madness, total madness to think they could shoot their way out but he’d lived in their shoes, and he knew what it was like to be young, full of spit and vinegar and trying to impress.