“Brilliant, if you ask me. Just think about it. We get these free samples in the mail and we assume they’re legit because they have packaging we recognize. Truth is, they could be from anyone and contain poison, for all we know,” Wicks said.
“But what about the psychic conditioning?” G asked. “The drink might’ve made her pliable, but who conditioned her subconscious to gun down all those people?”
“Good question. She never would’ve done that willingly,” Simon answered, running through it in his mind. “She did drink that stuff before every workout and then listened to music as she exercised. It’s possible whoever is behind this tainted her music with some type of subliminal messaging.”
“Sub-masking is what we call it in the tech world,” G said. “That type of indirect stimuli is pretty easy to do with the right voodoo. That’s how I would’ve done it.”
Simon nodded.
“Now that we know how it happened. we should focus on what to do next,” Wicks said, rubbing his shoulder with a gentle hand.
Simon knew she was right. “If a burst is coming, then we need to get prepared. We don’t know how much time we have, so we’d better rally all hands on deck.”
“I agree,” Wicks said.
Simon checked the walls of the room. “I take it your grandparents didn’t take steps to shield this room.”
Wicks shook her head.
“Why would they?” G asked. “They didn’t believe in modern electronics, let alone solar arrays and server farms. All that came after they, uh . . . passed.”
“Did I screw up, Simon, by bringing in all this technology?” Wicks asked him, her face covered in doubt.
He rubbed her shoulder, wanting to return the favor of comfort. “No, you’re just not finished yet. Don’t beat yourself up. Nobody could’ve predicted what’s happening outside. Nobody.”
His comments seemed to comfort her.
“What do you have in mind?” G asked in an agitated voice. “We’ve already brought in everything that’s not nailed down, like you asked.”
“Well, for starters, shielding this room to protect all the data you’ve gathered. Once the burst hits, the Internet and all the systems connected to it will probably be useless. All we’ll have left at that point is the equipment and data stored here,” he said, taking another half minute to think. “Then we’ll need to figure out how to protect your solar array so it can keep the batteries charged. If we’re right, the grid will fail, too. And last but not least—we need to shield the generator out back. Shielding and fuel will be a priority. There’s a lot to do, so we’d better get started.”
“For shielding, I’m assuming you mean build Faraday Cages?” the tech whiz asked.
“Yep. But we’re going to need a significant amount of conductive material to make that happen,” he said, turning to Wicks. “You don’t happen to have a shed full of copper wire somewhere, do you?”
“No, Simon. No copper,” she answered, letting her eyes drop to the ground. A few seconds later, her eyes returned to his. “But we do have a huge stack of old window screens around back. I replaced them all a few years ago. Would they work?”
“For some of it, yes. But protecting everything isn’t going to be easy. We’ll have to pick and choose, then build shielding as needed out of whatever we can scrounge.”
“Hey, wait a minute,” G said, scratching his head. “There’s an old phone company central office about two miles from here. You know, from back before landlines fell under the control of the NSA and basically went the way of the dinosaur. There’s got to be a ton of copper in there, right?”
“Possibly, assuming it hasn’t been looted by now,” Simon answered. “But it’s worth a look.”
“If not, there are still thousands of miles of phone cable hanging from poles across Lancaster County. If I remember right, it should be 22-gauge wire in 100-pair bundles. Probably only need to grab a section or two between poles. Then we’ll have to melt the casing off.”
“I like that idea better. Once we have the material, I can walk you through how to use it for what we need.”
“No offense, Red, but I think I can handle it,” G said, flashing more finger commands into his system. The display in front of him changed, showing the schematic for a coffin-sized Faraday Cage made out of hardware cloth, copper wire, and metal-infused duct tape. He pointed at the drawing. “Is this what you had in mind?”
“That’s it, exactly. Except larger.”
“Piece of cake. All I’ll need is a shitload of wire and I can build the rest.”
Simon turned his attention to Wicks. “Sounds like a job for the men of Pandora. They’ll need a chainsaw and a trailer. You do have those around here, right?”
“Oh yeah, and then some,” she said with vigor.
“Don’t forget the boneyard. There’s a ton of old junk in there. Lots of metal, too,” G told her.
“I’ll go let Slayer and Diesel know. Anything else on your shopping list?”
“I think it’s time I look over your weapons cache.”
“Weapons cache? Is he serious?” G asked Wicks.
Wicks held her tongue and didn’t respond, giving the teen wonder an intense stare. She looked at Simon.
Simon wasn’t sure what was going on with the two kids, so he ignored their interplay. “If what we think is going to happen happens, we need to address tactical and soon.”
“All Things Tactical and Practical,” Wicks said, showing a sly grin. “I should probably tell you Kat has a copy of your book and she wants you to sign it. But she’s way too shy to ask.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Simon said, giving her a wink. His failed book must have been what Kat was hiding under her arms when she was sitting at the table in the kitchen earlier. “You know, all she had to do was ask, and I would’ve signed it for her.”
“He obviously doesn’t know Kat,” G said with a smirk on his face, leaning in close to his monitor, twipping his fingers to show the next page of Faraday Cage instructions.
Simon turned to Wicks. It took a few seconds for the words to line up properly on his lips. “You might also want to go call your brother on the radio. Let him know he was right about the rain. Something major is about to happen and he should prepare. ASAP.”
She nodded, but didn’t look too happy about it. Not that he could blame her; admitting you were wrong to a family member wasn’t easy for anyone, and Wicks appeared to be no exception.
* * *
President Cooper took the last swig of Brain Flurry and tossed the empty can into the trashcan before stepping into the East Elevator of the White House. He moved to the rear of the car and waited for his three-man Secret Service detail to follow in behind him. They did, turning around to face the front with their customary comm units stuck in their ears.
One of them pushed the number four button on the control panel. The device lit up and chimed just before the world’s slowest elevator crawled into motion. Cooper’s body rocked from left to right, matching the shimmy of the lift.
A moment later, the overhead music started playing a new tune—one he hadn’t heard before. It was light and airy, sounding like a Christmas melody, which was odd since the calendar was a long way from the busy holiday season. He welcomed the chance to enjoy the upbeat tune as it entered his ears and found its way to his heart.
All it took was that single moment of tranquility to whisk away the mounting stress that had been brought on by millions of concerned voters demanding answers. The rain was still falling and so, too, was the nation’s economy—neither of which his administration was prepared to deal with. Not today, and not now.
His eyes focused on the smallest of the men around him: the new guy, Cliff Giovani from Carlsbad, CA, then his lips started moving on their own, deciding to strike up a chat with the wide-eyed agent.
“So tell me, Cliff. How’s that lovely wife of yours doing? She still hoping to make the Olympic team next year?”
“Yes sir, Mr. President,
” the handsome young Italian said, turning to Cooper to make eye contact. “Kristina’s doubled her cross-country workouts, trying the earn the last spot. She knows it’s a long shot, but she’s hopeful.”
Cooper could see Giovani’s sidearm hanging from a shoulder rig inside his suit coat.
“I wish her luck. That level of training can’t be easy on a relationship, especially with your extended duty shifts around here. It’s a wonder you two haven’t started wearing name tags at home, just in case you happen to bump into each other every now and then.”
Giovani smiled, then let it go. “It’s definitely a challenge, sir, but we’re making it work. Right now, our careers are front and center. I support her dreams one hundred percent, and she mine.”
“It’s important to have goals, especially when you’re first starting out. Oh, how I remember the early days . . . My first campaign was for city councilman in Boulder. It was a complete cluster fuck, but my wife had my back and convinced me to try again the next time around. We did and we won. So I’m a firm believer in doing whatever you need to do to succeed. Speaking of which, Kristina might want to try that new sports drink, Brain Flurry. It’s done wonders for my workouts every morning. I’m up to six miles a day and feeling like a new man.”
“Yes sir. I’ll be sure and mention it to her. Thank you, sir.”
“Just tell her to look for the green label with all the numbers on it. Can’t miss it,” he said, feeling damn good about himself.
He didn’t know why, but just then, before his next breath, his hand shot out and grabbed the man’s Colt 1911 from its holster.
All in one motion, Cooper released the safety, cocked the .45 caliber weapon and held it up at Giovani’s face before anyone else could react. He pulled the trigger without the slightest hesitation or remorse, sending a round at the man’s left eye. The bullet tore into the man’s skull, spraying the area with blood and brain matter.
Cooper turned the weapon on the other two agents and fired two more shots before they could whirl around and defend themselves. Each bullet found its mark, sending the men to the floor in a bloody heap. He could feel the run of tissue clinging to his cheeks and nose, so he wiped the residue off with his tie.
Then he bent down and found a second gun before stuffing his pockets with a host of magazines he found on the agents. He chambered the second gun ready as well, then waited for the elevator doors to open.
When they did, he stepped out with both pistols in a firing position, making his way across the carpeted, well-appointed hall to the fourth-floor conference room, where some of his staff and several members of Congress were waiting.
A second later, he charged through the doorway and opened fire with both guns.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Ray Austin was well on his way to Pandora to pass along Wyatt’s important message to Tally when he hit the brakes and jerked the steering wheel of Wyatt’s truck to the left, hoping to avoid a fallen tree coming up fast on the right. He did, just missing the deadfall. It had been obscured by the wet grass covering the path that cut through the backwoods of Pennsylvania.
His foot let go of the brake pedal and stomped on the gas, wanting to keep his speed up as his hands worked the wheel back to the right. However, his adjustment was too strong, causing him to overcompensate and send the vehicle into a full spin.
“Ohhhhh shittttt!” he said as the truck did two full revolutions, sliding across the slippery surface and bringing dizziness to his eyes. He fought for control of the Chevy and finally won, correcting the spin a few seconds later. He exhaled in relief, seeing that the truck was moving forward and still on the same country trail as before.
Austin figured he was only a handful of miles from Pandora and making damn good time—Wyatt would be pleased. But before his next heartbeat could finish its thump, the path curved to the right. He took the truck around the corner, where the wilderness brought a new surprise to his eyes—a steep downhill grade. Wait, check that—a steep cliff.
“Fuckkkk!” he screamed when the front tires found the downslope. The ground disappeared and the vehicle went airborne, sending his head and shoulders crashing into the top of the truck. His feet came off the floorboard, then slammed down a few seconds later, when gravity brought the terrain back under the tires.
A loud clank rang out from the truck’s undercarriage as his chest smashed into the top of the steering wheel, knocking the wind out of him. He gasped for breath, just as the front wheels hit something and spun hard to the left, locking into position.
The vehicle’s inertia kept it barreling straight down the hill, plowing through the thick brush with the front bumper and grille. Twigs, leaves, and branches bounced off the windshield in rapid fashion as the journey continued down the fading hillside.
Just when he thought it couldn’t get any worse, the front wheels caught traction on something while they were still cocked to the right, veering the truck hard to the side. The Chevy began to roll, sending him bouncing around the inside like a rag doll.
His back hit the roof, then the seat, then the roof again. Over and over he went, with glass breaking and metal crunching around him. Austin felt like a dryer sheet being tossed around on laundry day.
He figured it was only a matter of seconds before he’d break his neck or smash his head on something. However, before his lungs could draw another breath, he heard a loud swoosh, then the truck’s movement slowed and eventually stopped all together.
Austin exhaled and blinked, letting his mind catch up to his swirling vision. He found himself sitting upright in the front passenger’s seat with his hands on the dashboard and his feet planted on the floorboard. He quickly felt around his body, expecting to find blood or a broken bone or two sticking out, but everything felt normal. He was dazed and sore, but okay. He didn’t know how it happened, but it did. He’d survived a violent tumble off a cliff.
In front of him was the hood of the truck. It had been bent up like an accordion, but the windshield was still intact, including the windshield wipers, which were still running. His eyes and his mind couldn’t believe it.
The truck started swaying, making him think it was drifting to the left. Austin looked to his right and saw something rising up the side of the truck—water!
In an instant he realized what had happened. The Chevy had miraculously landed on its wheels in a flowing river at the bottom of hill. The water must have cradled the vehicle like a baby in its mother’s arms, giving it a soft landing.
It was all a little hard to believe, but the facts were undeniable. Somehow he’d survived with barely a scratch.
The rising water caught his attention and panic took over, making him go for the door handle out of instinct. But it wasn’t there.
“Frickin’ old trucks!”
Then his logic returned, and he realized the passenger side window had been blown out during the freefall. He pried himself up and crawled out of the sinking truck and began to swim.
The water was cold and moving briskly, but his arms and legs managed to paddle him to the shore safely.
* * *
Tally Wickie took a deep breath in her grandfather’s home office before grabbing the base station’s microphone to call her brother.
Wyatt had been right all along about the red rain and its imminent threat, but she didn’t want to admit it to her brother.
In the grand scheme of things, she normally didn’t have a problem admitting when she was wrong. However, when Wyatt was the person she needed to confess her failure to, it was a big deal. More so than she cared to admit. She didn’t know why he always seemed to put her on the defensive, but he did.
Probably a brother thing, she told herself, remembering one their rousing games of Capture the Flag. She usually won and it pissed off Wyatt to no end.
Once in a while, though, she’d throw the match, letting him win so he wouldn’t be an asshole the rest of the day.
“You have to let the peasants enjoy a victory now and then,” sh
e mumbled, giving her a moment of bliss. She smiled. “Otherwise, they quit and take their ball home.”
The ham radio was powered on and hissing quietly, waiting for her to act. She decided it was time and depressed the microphone’s transmit handle.
“WX6FR, WX6FR, WX6FR, this is ZS5BD, calling Zulu X-ray Six Foxtrot Romeo and standing by.”
The frequency cracked and hissed, but no one answered. Even after a full minute had ticked by.
“He always answers, eventually,” she muttered, thinking it through. She couldn’t remember a single time that a member of Jericho failed to answer her hail. Wyatt always left the radio on and kept it tuned to their designated channel: Green Mountain S1.
She tried again and again, but like before, only static was heard. She decided to listen and wait for a good minute, but there was still only static.
Wyatt wasn’t the only one not transmitting—nobody else was either. It was odd that others weren’t chatting away on the popular channel, too. It made her wonder if her radio was working correctly. If not, then Wyatt wasn’t receiving her transmission, or anyone else’s.
She continued her hails for another ten minutes before finally giving up and walking away. She made a mental note to have Diesel tear into the ham equipment to see if something needed to be fixed.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Director Nancy Wiggins put her head back against the headrest of the SUV hauling her to the White House for her scheduled briefing with President Cooper. The motorcade was making good time even though it was sloshing through the endless rain.
She closed her eyes, hoping to let the mounting stress from the weather insanity melt from her body. She was exhausted and her back was killing her—two problems she wrestled with daily.
The steady rain was falling like a perpetual red menace, causing havoc for everyone across the planet. Her recovery team had come up empty at Hansen’s Deep Water Research Facility and she was running out of ideas where to look for him.
Redfall: Freedom Fighters (American Prepper Series Book 2) Page 4