by David Mack
Tom watched her go, then turned back toward Marco and Jed. “You know she’s crazy, right?” The other two men nodded. “I mean, I’m not wrong about this, am I?” His friends shook their heads. “Tactically speaking, staying here is the safest choice.” More nods from his comrades.
He looked toward the video screens and saw the spreading blot of ash, dust, and smoke blanketing downtown Seattle. The fleeing crowds of civilians, the raging fires, the mayhem in the streets, the Black Hawk helicopters entering the city’s airspace unopposed by Jordan’s people.
For a very long minute, he couldn’t decide if the gnawing sensation in his gut was his sense of duty, a pang of guilt, or a brand-new peptic ulcer.
Then he drew his sidearm, checked the clip, reloaded it, and holstered his weapon. He stuffed two magazines for his rifle into pockets on his tactical vest, walked to the door, and looked back at Jed and Marco.
“You know I have to go with her, right?”
The two men nodded in understanding.
“Hold the fort,” Tom said. “We’ll be back.”
10:56 A.M.
“Can anyone explain to me exactly why the hell our satellites even have self-destruct systems?”
Keith Bain, the secretary of defense, stared down the table at the Joint Chiefs and several high-ranking members of the U.S. intelligence community who were gathered in the Pentagon’s situation room, and waited for an answer to his question. No one seemed in a hurry to speak up.
Then, in a gruff, matter-of-fact voice, General Wheeler of the Air Force said, “We use it to prevent reverse engineering. If an enemy captures one of our birds, we slag it.”
“Has that ever been necessary?” Bain asked the lean and wiry man, who at fifty-one was the youngest of the chiefs.
Wheeler looked up with a tired, put-upon countenance. “Not yet, Mister Secretary.”
Bain nodded. “That’s quite confidence-inspiring, General. It would be even more impressive if our entire satellite network hadn’t just been reduced to an orbital junkyard.” Looking to the others, Bain said, “Someone spell this out for me: How bad a hit did we just take?”
Admiral Kazansky replied, “Those satellites were the basis of our Global Positioning System.” All eyes turned to the trim, white-haired officer. “Without them, our ships, aircraft, and ground units will be forced to rely on less precise means of navigation. We also can’t guarantee the accuracy of any guided-weapon systems, such as cruise missiles.”
“We can compensate for that,” added the heavy-jowled, gray-haired General Hirsch, chief of the Army. “Laser-guided munitions won’t be affected.”
“But they will be dependent on personnel deployed against forward positions,” Kazansky said. “Which in turn limits our target-selection options and operational range.”
The secretary of defense sipped his tepid black coffee and grimaced at its bitter aftertaste. “What about SIGINT?”
“The NSA’s still up on anything that passes through a landline or a switching center,” replied General Braddock, the square-jawed commandant of the U.S. Marine Corps. “But our ability to pick calls out of the air is offline. And whatever took down our birds also scrambled the Carnivore mainframes.” He nodded across the table at deputy directors from the CIA and FBI. “Which leaves you boys shit out of luck, too.”
A tall and gangly civilian with a silver crew cut and a mustache like a wire brush interjected, “The NRO’s also down, which means most of our global tracking of foreign ships, submarines, and aircraft is offline.” Casting an almost apologetic glance at General Wheeler, he added, “And unless I’m mistaken, General, NORAD’s lost its missile-warning system.”
The room’s collective focus landed on the Air Force chief, who shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
Secretary Bain fixed the man with a steely glare. “Is that true, General? Are we currently without an adequate defense against a possible nuclear missile attack?”
After a pause that only served to ratchet up the tension in the room, Wheeler said, “Yes, sir. For now, I’m afraid it is.”
“Holy shit,” Bain said, arching his eyebrows in disbelief. He massaged the fatigue from his forehead, then asked Kazansky, “Admiral, do we have a working landline to NS Everett?”
“Yes, Mister Secretary.” He placed his hand on the phone receiver directly in front of them. “They’re standing by on this line for new orders.”
“Good,” Bain said. “Tell them to pass the word to General Maddow: Operation Stormfront is authorized. Deploy all enhanced soldiers into Seattle immediately. We’re taking back the city.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
11:08 A.M.
ALL THAT KYLE could taste was dust. He had followed Jordan and his small but growing band of survivors as they’d started their long walk away from the fallen Collier building, but the toppled skyscraper’s cloud of ash was spreading faster than they were walking. Now the gray-brown haze lay over the city like a filthy shroud and filled Kyle’s mouth with sticky grit.
Hacking and struggling for air, he almost hadn’t heard Cassie calling his name. Squinting through the wind-driven dust, he saw her beckon him off the road. “Follow me,” she said.
He left Jordan’s group and staggered toward Cassie.
Her appearance was immaculate. One of the advantages of existing only in my mind, Kyle thought with a twinge of envy.
“This way,” she said, pulling him through the earthen fog. He still didn’t understand how it was possible for him to “feel” her when she wasn’t really there, but some reading he had done in recent months—coupled with repeated viewings of The Matrix—had led him to think that it had something to do with his mind fooling itself into believing that she was real.
She led him to a soot-covered door that swung open as he put his weight against it. He stumbled into a small stairway enclosed on three sides by glass walls that had been rendered opaque by the ongoing deluge of pulverized human remains.
Looking up, he blinked his eyes clear and realized the staircase serviced a multistory parking garage. Voices echoed from somewhere high overhead, probably from other survivors using the garage for shelter.
He turned and glowered at Cassie, who leaned against the wall and regarded him with a smug expression. “Well, well,” Kyle said. “If it isn’t my very own personal demon.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Cassie replied with mock contrition. “You’d rather be coughing your guts out back in the street? Don’t let me keep you. Vaya con Dios.”
“Fine,” Kyle said, waving one hand at her while planting the other on his knee to support himself while he doubled over and coughed a few more times. “Thanks for the break.” He spit a bad taste from his mouth, then stood up. “What do you want?”
Feigning indignation, Cassie replied, “Who says I want something?”
“When do you not?”
She prowled toward him with a salacious smile. “Maybe I just want to keep you safe,” she said with a teasing lilt. “After all, I’d be nothing without you.” Caressing his dirty face with her pale fingertips, she added, “And vice versa.”
Kyle froze as Cassie’s fingers traced the line of his jaw, traveled down his neck, and then slid down the front of his shirt. He knew from past experience that he found it all too easy to surrender to Cassie’s charms. When she wanted to manipulate him, she had a knack for making herself irresistible. The gleam in her powder-blue eyes, the shine of light off her coppery red hair, and the seductive purr of her voice all worked together to make him her helpless puppet.
Not this time, he decided.
“Enough,” he said, sidestepping her to free himself momentarily from her wiles. “Get to the point.”
“I was trying to,” she said with a come-hither smirk.
“You didn’t pull me in here for a quickie,” he shot back.
She unfastened the top button of her jeans. “You sure?”
“Let me know when you’re ready to be serious.” He opened the door, letting in a gust o
f filth.
“Fine,” she said, slapping her hand on the door and pushing it shut. “I thought we could mix business with pleasure, but you’re clearly not in the mood.”
Holding his arms from his sides, he cast an appalled look at his grime-caked clothes and grumbled, “Gee, I wonder why?”
“It’s time to start making some changes,” she said.
Sensing the gravity of her message, he eyed her warily. “Changes to what?”
“To the Movement,” Cassie said. “It’s falling apart, Kyle. You can see that, can’t you?”
He paced beside the stairs and frowned. “Exaggerate much?”
“You know what I’m talking about,” said his red-haired hallucination. “The Navy shoots a missile at Jordan, and he sends back a press release. They blow his headquarters to bits, he knocks out some of their satellites.” She stepped into Kyle’s path and leaned her face toward his, as if they were rams locking horns. “He’s not playing to win, Kyle. And in a war, if you don’t play to win, you’re guaranteed to lose.”
Pivoting away from her, Kyle replied, “I tried telling him that. You were there. He doesn’t want to hear it.”
As Kyle walked to the gray-filmed window, Cassie retorted, “Jordan doesn’t want to listen to anyone but himself. Do you know how many of our people died in that building collapse?” He heard her walk toward him, then her voice was behind his shoulder. “Jordan’s not the leader the Movement needs, Kyle. In a time of war, we need someone in charge who isn’t afraid to use force. Someone who’s ready to get their hands dirty.”
Her fingers closed with firm but gentle intimacy on his shoulder and turned him to face her. “This is your moment, Kyle. It’s time for you to step up and lead the Movement.”
He recoiled from the mere suggestion. “What? No! I don’t want to be in charge!”
“Don’t be so selfish, Kyle. It’s not about what you want, it’s about what the Movement needs.”
His mind reeled with horror at the notion. “No way, that’s crazy,” he said. “The last thing the Movement needs is a power struggle at the top. Besides, even if I did challenge Jordan, who the hell would follow me?”
Pinching his chin between her thumb and forefinger, Cassie smiled and said, “Silly! I’m not saying we should hold an election. This is wartime. Bad things happen. If Jordan were to wind up on the receiving end of a sniper’s bullet …” She let go of his chin and gave the tip of his nose a gingerly tap. “Guess who’d be next in line to lead the Movement to victory?”
They regarded each other with wide-eyed stares—hers one of mad ambition, his one of mute horror.
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “There’s no way I could—”
“Liar,” Cassie said, her words a warm hush across his lips. “You did it once before …” She sank to a low crouch in front of him as she added, “You can do it again.”
Frozen in place, all he could muster was a feeble denial. “But that wasn’t really me that shot Jordan … it was the Marked. I was just a puppet.”
“I know,” Cassie said, lowering the zipper of his jeans. He closed his eyes and tried to pretend he didn’t feel the velvet stroke of her fingers or the sultry kiss of her breath as she whispered, “But I’m sure you remember how to do the deed …”
Diana watched flames dance inside the charred husks of cars that had been abandoned on nearly every street in downtown Seattle.
A golden-brown haze made it impossible to see more than ten yards ahead, forcing her to drive at a creeping pace through the dazed, wandering packs of survivors. The kaleidoscopic effect of tears in her eyes only made it that much harder for her to see. An acrid stench of burnt hair and scorched steel snaked through the car’s vents and made her cough, then hold her breath.
Beside her, Tom sat leaning forward, his forehead almost touching the windshield. He peered through the narrow arc cut by the wiper blade through the car’s thickening layer of grime, searching for any sign of anyone who looked like Maia. Both of his hands were under the glove compartment, wrapped around his semiautomatic pistol, ready to react to any threat.
On either side of the car, looters—some in bandannas and ski goggles, others sporting military surplus gas masks—emerged from storefronts with their arms filled with everything they could carry. Diana gazed at them with contempt.
“Middle of a war zone, and all these morons can think about is swiping a new TV,” she said, swerving through a slalom of jaywalking thieves portering massive cardboard boxes.
Tom chortled grimly. “If you want to run a few of ‘em over, it’s fine by me.”
“Don’t tempt me,” Diana said, feeling genuinely homicidal.
They turned a corner a few blocks from the former site of the Collier Foundation. The fog was heavier here. Grit crackled under the car’s tires as Diana steered slowly around massive blocks of shattered concrete sporting twisted lengths of iron rebar. She heard a high-pitched scrape as one of the metal protrusions left its mark on the side of her sedan.
Another turn led to another street blanketed in ashen fallout, but the haze in the air was brighter, backlit by the afternoon sun.
Diana stepped on the brakes.
Shadows took shape in the wall of dust. Silhouetted in the pale smoke, human figures of all shapes and sizes walked toward Diana and Tom’s car.
For Diana, it was a moment of déjà vu. Her mind flashed back to the day of the 4400’s arrival, nearly four years earlier on the shores of Highland Beach. From a thick white fog rolling off the crystal-clear waters of a mountain lake, forty-four hundred people—some of whom had been missing for years, others for decades— had appeared from a ball of light, with no memories of their abductions and no explanations for their return.
She opened her door and got out of the car.
“Diana!” Tom shouted, but she ignored him and stepped around her door to stand in front of her vehicle.
From behind her, she heard Tom’s door open. A moment later he was standing beside her, wincing and wrinkling his face against the onslaught of foul-smelling fog.
Together they watched human beings appear from the penumbra of dust, which had painted its victims a uniform ghostly gray. Even robbed of color, familiar faces appeared.
At the forefront of the crowd was Jordan Collier.
Behind him followed Gary Navarro.
And sheltered under Gary’s brotherly arm was Maia.
Diana rushed forward. Maia bolted away from Gary and leaped into her mother’s arms. Wrapping her daughter in a fierce hug, Diana wept with relief. “Thank God, Maia!”
Between desperate sobs, Maia said, “They said you left! This morning, on the plane!”
“No, sweetie,” Diana said, stroking Maia’s dust-caked hair. “They tried to make me go. But I’d never leave you. Never.”
She lingered, grateful to be holding her daughter even as the world went to pieces all around them. Then she realized that Jordan and his legion of followers had halted in the street and were watching her and Maia.
Jordan regarded them darkly.
“Maia,” he said. “We need to keep moving.”
“I know,” Maia said, extricating herself from Diana’s embrace.
Gary walked away, heading northeast, leading the crowd past Diana, Tom, Maia, and Jordan.
“Wait, no!” Diana protested. “Maia, you need to come with me, honey. We need to get back to NTAC until this is over.”
Maia shook her head. “No, Mom. My place is with my people.”
“We need her, Diana,” Jordan said. “She predicted the attack on our headquarters, and she knows where the enhanced soldiers are going to strike. The entire city’s a target now, and NTAC’s no exception.”
As shade-pale survivors shambled around her, Diana directed her fury at Jordan. “At least NTAC has some defenses! Bring your people there; we can help you.”
“Thicker walls won’t save us this time,” Jordan said. “All my people who have abilities they can use in combat have been
sent to meet the enhanced soldiers. Everyone else is coming with me to find shelter.”
As Diana struggled to tame her anger and find the words to change Maia’s mind, Tom stepped between her and Jordan. “Have you seen Kyle?” Tom asked. “Did he survive the attack?”
“Kyle’s fine,” Jordan said. Nodding at the passing crowd, he added, “If you want to wait, I’m sure he’ll be along sooner or later.” With a featherlight touch, he nudged Maia into motion beside him as he resumed walking. “Let’s go.”
Tom stayed behind as Diana hurried along beside Maia. “Honey, please,” Diana said. “Don’t do this. You need to come with me. It’s not safe out here.”
“It’s not safe anywhere,” Maia said. “But I’m safer with my people than with yours.” She reached out and took Diana’s hand as they walked side by side. “Come with us. We’ll protect you.”
She desperately wished she could make Maia understand. “I can’t do that, sweetie. I have a duty, to NTAC …” She glanced over her shoulder as her voice tapered off. The ensuing silence smothered her unexpressed thought, And a duty to Tom.
“I understand,” Maia said. “You have your duty, and I have mine.” She looked up at Diana with a surprisingly mature mien. “Don’t worry,” she continued. “We’ll see each other again before this is over. I promise.”
Maia let go of Diana’s hand.
Diana stopped walking and let her go. Within seconds, her daughter had vanished into the amber afterglow of destruction, trailed by Jordan’s newborn army of gray ghosts.
Minutes passed without a word being spoken. Tom stepped up beside her, and they stared into the bright veil of dust.
“We raise our kids so that someday we can let them live their own lives,” Diana said. “But how do I make myself let go?”
Tom frowned. “If I ever figure it out, I’ll let you know.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
11:39 A.M.
COMMANDER ERIC FROST marked targets with a red grease pencil on a laminated map, which was spread flat on the concrete floor of the Elliott West CSO Control Facility. He and the other twenty-nine enhanced soldiers who surrounded him were garbed in black-and-gray urban combat uniforms whose pockets were stuffed with everything from bottled water to smoke grenades.