by Schow, Ryan
Dark Days of the Enclave
Ryan Schow
Copyright
The eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you are reading this eBook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy so that you may read it with a clear conscience and not one day end up in hell over a shitty technicality. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.
DARK DAYS OF THE ENCLAVE
Copyright © 2020 Ryan Schow. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, cloned, stored in or introduced into any information storage or retrieval system, in any form, or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical without the express written permission of the author. The scanning, uploading and distribution of this eBook via the Internet or via any other means without the express written permission of the author or publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Author’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents—and their usage for storytelling purposes—are crafted for the singular purpose of fictional entertainment and no absolute truths shall be derived from the information contained within. Locales, businesses, events, government institutions and private institutions are used for atmospheric, entertainment and fictional purposes only. Furthermore, any resemblance or reference to an actual living person is used solely for atmospheric, entertainment and fictional purposes.
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
Cover Design by Milo at Deranged Doctor Design
Visit the Author’s Website: www.RyanSchow.com
Contents
Also by Ryan Schow
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Your Voice Matters…
Dark Days of the Purge: A Look Ahead
FREE Prequel: The Last Light Of Day
Also by Ryan Schow
THE COMPLETE DARK DAYS OF THE AFTER SERIES:
THE LAST LIGHT OF DAY (PREQUEL)
DARK DAYS OF THE AFTER
DARK DAYS OF THE SURGE
DARK DAYS OF THE ALBATROSS (INSIDE ORIGINS OF HONOR ANTHOLOGY)
DARK DAYS OF THE APOSTASY
DARK DAYS OF THE ENCLAVE
DARK DAYS OF THE PURGE (May, 2020)
THE COMPLETE AGE OF EMBERS SERIES:
THE AGE OF EMBERS
THE AGE OF HYSTERIA
THE AGE OF REPRISAL
THE AGE OF EXODUS
THE AGE OF DEFIANCE
THE COMPLETE LAST WAR SERIES:
THE LAST WAR
THE ZERO HOUR
THE OPHIDIAN HORDE
THE INFERNAL REGIONS
THE KILLING FIELDS
THE BARBAROUS ROAD
THE TERMINAL RUN
THE COMPLETE SWANN SERIES:
VANNIE (PREQUEL)
SWANN
MONARCH
CLONE
MASOCHIST
WEAPON
RAVEN
ABOMINATION
ENIGMA
CRUCIFIED
Chapter One
Da Xiao Zheng flew in luxury over the Pacific Ocean, sleeping most of the way. He woke up upon landing in Los Angeles. Gazing out the window, studying the fallen city below, the highest ranking field officer in the People’s Liberation Army felt himself frown.
And he thought China was ugly…
An armored Chevy Escalade and a regimen of armed security were waiting for him on the airstrip. He was escorted off the plane and into the Escalade, then offered a bottle of clean, chilled water. He drank deeply, then signaled the driver to go.
“Are we still heading to Diablo Canyon?” the driver asked.
“Yes,” he said. “What is your name?”
“Jun Wengen, sir,” he said. “We had some trouble coming in through S. Sepulveda Blvd. I’m not sure if we’ll run into it again.”
“What kind of trouble?” Zheng asked, perking up.
“Dissidents,” Jun answered.
“And?”
“You might see the remains of them,” he said. “But there may be more fighting in their stead. The 405 is clear, as is the 101, but getting to the interstate might require extra firepower. We are not in charge of that, of course, but we are aware. I wanted to be sure you knew.”
“If there are problems that require a violent reaction, I’d like to know in advance,” Zheng said.
“We are equipped for this,” Jun said, sounding nervous. “There’s no need for concern.”
“Yes, but I’d like to watch,” he said, sipping from his bottled water again. He saw the PLA’s EQ2050, China’s Dongfeng built equivalent of the AM General Humvee. The EQ2050 had received significant upgrades, but the ones in front of him and behind him had bigger, more fuel efficient engines, gun turrets and lightweight bulletproofing.
Jun caught his eyes in the rearview mirror. Zheng smiled, almost like he wanted to see people die. He did, and there was no use masking it.
“If there is dissident American bloodshed,” Zheng said, trying to contain his subconscious glee, “I would appreciate the entertainment, for the flight was long and boring.”
Jun nodded, his eyes returning to the road ahead.
The convoy came under small arms attack—nothing significant enough to even dent their outer armor—an attack that was loud enough to spike Zheng’s blood pressure. Rubbing his hands together, he was finally excited to be in America. A brick slammed into the door, making him jump. He startled, and then he found the delight of such entertainment overwhelming.
“Are you alright, sir?” Jun asked.
“Perfectly,” he said, grinning.
“I’m told we have a larger problem up ahead,” Jun said. “Fifty dissidents with weapons blocking the entrance to the 405.”
Jun had an earpiece.
Zheng scooted up and watched the scene out front unfold. There were two EQ2050s in front of them and two behind. Jun looked back at Zheng and said, “Your orders, sir?”
“Get me a better view,” he said, breathless, “then mow them down.”
Jun spoke into a mic. The vehicles in front positioned themselves side-by-side, both vehicles coming to a gradual stop. Jun pulled up beside them. The second he and Jun had eyes on the disturbance ahead, orange blooms of rebel gunfire flashed sporadically, and a peppering of ammo struck the bulletproof vehicles. The security detail’s retaliation was akin to taking a Howitzer to a knife fight.
The turret-mounted fifty-caliber machine guns thundered, turning the wall of offending bodies into meat soup. The second the rebel’s friends started dropping, everyone scattered, the roaches scrambling out of the light.
They did not, nor could they, move fast enough.
Fleeing bodies were torn in half, the pieces of them falling, expelling organs, gore. Limbs dropped off—hands, feet, fingers, legs, arms. And the head shots were too grisly for Zheng to even contemplate looking away from.
He found the delight his heart had been missing for so long! Only then did he realize he was off his seat and gleefully squealing.
When the last mutilated body flopped down on the asphalt and the buzz of the weapons died off, he was almost embarrassed at the elation he felt in witnessing this production.
Hundreds of rounds from the vehicle-mounted guns around him neutralized the threat. It was over in less than two minutes. To him, it was a lifetime of entertainment packed into a few precious moments.
Sitting back in his seat, breathless, his heart clapping in his chest, he felt a stupid grin overtake his face. Da Xiao Zheng then said, “Do we have any champagne to celebrate our new foothold in America?”
“The ice bucket on the left, sir,” Jun replied, seemingly pleased that Da Xiao Zheng was content.
Zheng peeled away the Champaign bottle’s foil, working the cork loose. He smiled as the cork exploded out and bounced off the ceiling. The bubbly overflowed immediately. Zheng was no novice. He expertly caught the overflow in a thin flute, then quietly toasted Jun.
His driver expertly mirrored Zheng’s expression. “I’m happy you enjoyed the show, sir.”
“As am I, Jun.”
They drove through the remains of the massacre, the vehicles trampling over and flattening the dead bodies and body parts. The soft suspension took some of the initial shock out of the adventure, but certainly not all of it. This was the cherry on top of the cake. Still beaming, Zheng put his hand on the side of the vehicle to stabilize himself, careful not to spill his drink.
“I apologize for the discomfort, sir,” Jun said.
He dismissed the suggestion with a quick wave, then asked, “What is the estimated distance to Diablo Canyon?”
“Barring any unexpected circumstances, we should arrive within a couple of hours,” Jun replied. “In terms of actual distance, I believe we’re just under two hundred miles away.”
The first thing he needed to do was make sure the nuclear reactor was not in danger of suffering a core meltdown. The reactor itself needed to be stabilized so that the plant could be safely decommissioned and closed on schedule.
This was on his mind when something struck the side of the vehicle, snapping him back to the moment. They hadn’t even made it to the 101 when baseball-sized river rocks began pelting the sides and tops of the vehicles.
Startled by the lowbrow attack, but rising to the heights of joy once more, Zheng held his breath, desperately wishing for an encore of the security detail’s earlier performance.
A brief but ferocious buzzing of the turret-mounted fifties put whatever threat they faced to rest. He released the breath he’d been holding, took another, this one not so merry. He didn’t get to see anyone die, which left him feeling…unfulfilled.
When they finally reached the 101, they merged onto the interstate, finding nothing but clear roads ahead. These were Chicom controlled roads. The convoy accelerated to eighty-five miles an hour in no time flat. When the lead vehicle was far enough ahead, code name SCOUT, the security detail reached speeds in excess of one-hundred miles per hour.
Zheng sat back, relaxed and said, “We should do that to China, just kill half of them in a single offensive. Did you feel the way their ribcages gave way when we drove over them, Jun? It was sensational.”
“I did, sir,” Jun said.
“This is the weight and force of the Chicom boot on America’s body,” Zheng lamented with a raised fist, a victorious fist. “Don’t you agree?”
Jun’s eyes flicked up and found him in the rearview mirror. “I agree wholeheartedly,” the driver replied.
Zheng had heard something slightly less enthusiastic in the man’s tone. Was Jun offended or encouraged by his musings? The driver’s gaze returned somewhat hastily to the road ahead, as if the lingering and observant merriment in Zheng’s expression startled him. Zheng wondered, does this man feel differently?
Less than two hours later, they pulled into California’s only operational nuclear power plant. Their first visit was to the plant’s brand new, soon-to-be-installed sub-station generator. The head of engineering met Zheng at the site, offering him a full report.
The engineer explained that he and his team had everything they needed to install the new sub-station generator before the backup generator exhausted its backup fuel supply, thereby losing their ability to keep the core cool.
“How are the core temperatures?” Zheng asked.
The engineer seemed terrified to even be there, in front of him, let alone providing a full reporting of their efforts. He said, “The temperatures are not outside the safe levels, but they are pushing toward the edges, sir. This is to be expected when we’re working on a limited power supply.”
“You realize that if you fail, we all die,” Zheng said, his tone morose, the implication never more clear.
“Yes, I realize that, sir. We are all working under that premise,” he replied, resolute now, the look of determination fixing his features in the exact expression Zheng was looking for. “We will not fail you, this nation, or China, sir.”
“I have the utmost confidence in you,” Zheng said, even though he wasn’t sure it was merited. This was still so new, and the man had yet to prove his competence or his worth.
“I appreciate that,” the engineer said, visibly relaxing.
Inside, Zheng toured the plant, saw the operation underway and was heartened by the impressive amount of manpower at work. The recently installed plant manager walked beside him, telling Zheng they had the means necessary to bring the plant to its full working order.
“Once we safely stabilize the core,” the plant manager continued, “we will start the decommissioning process. Within five years, this will all have been a once worrisome memory.”
“Has everyone registered their housing with our plant housing authority?” Zheng asked, watching several people move past him with their eyes down. Be it born of either fear or respect, he appreciated the collective gesture.
To his question, the plant manager gave him a stiff, affirmative nod.
Zhang continued. “Good, make sure they do not go outside the restricted zone. Let them know this will be their deaths if they do so. These are not my words, they are President Hu’s words.”
“Is there something I need to know, sir?” he asked, suddenly nervous. He had a right to his concerns, for Zheng shared those same concerns. Why did Hu ask him to deliver that message? What was the President up to?
“If there is anything of concern,” Zheng said, perfectly composed, “you will be the first to know.”
“Thank you,” he said. “The men have already been alerted. But I will reinforce that order, and let them know this is instrumental to keeping their lives.”
“Is there anything else you’d like to report to me?” Zheng asked.
The man shook his head. “No, sir.”
“Very well then,” Zheng replied, stopping to look at the man for the first time. “I need an outside line and some privacy.”
“Follow me,” the plant manager said, escorting Zheng to his office. Zheng was shown the phone. “This will give you a secure, outside line.”
“Thank you,” Zheng said before the man left the medium-sized office and closed the door behind him.
When the room was clear of plant employees, Zheng turned to his guard and waved them out as well. He then sat down to a somewhat cluttered desk and dialed President Hu’s direct line. Zheng found a pencil, picked it up and began tapping it on the desk, never more concerned with President Hu’s disposition than now.
“Hello,” Hu answered, tired but expecting the call. “I trust you have good news?”
“Yes, President Hu, I do.”
Zheng updated him on the details of his visit, but then the president caught him by surprise. Out of the blue, he said, “Before I let you go, Da Xiao Zheng, I would like you to be on the phone with me when we call President Lorenzo Guerrero. His general, Sebastián Desoto, will be on the line with us as well.”
The current Mexican president and his top general picked up within two rings. President Guerrero offered his fraudulent pleasantries to both President Hu and to Zheng while General Desoto remained silent but for a brief, indifferent “hello.”
“I understand your forces are holding our convoy in Arizona,” President Hu began, the news of capture startling Zheng. He felt the blood steal into his cheeks, his face burning with the embarrassment of not knowing this had occurred.
“They are carrying some interesting cargo,” President Guerrero replied.
“It is lifesaving cargo,” President Hu replied. “If that generator does not arrive in Tonopah at the Palo Verde Power Plant, the core will overheat, and the reactor will emit enough radiation to turn Arizona and the surrounding states into a nuclear wasteland for generations to come.”
“I believe I understand your predicament,” President Guerrero said. “Luckily my armies and my people have both the means and the provisions to take our entire operation south, leaving you with such a wasteland, should something of this magnitude occur.”
“What do you want?” Hu asked, getting right to the point.
“California,” Guerrero said.