Salt of Gomorrah (Silvers Invasion Book 1)

by Alex Mersey

  She popped an aspirin, then stowed the bottle. “I grabbed anything I could think of.”

  Sean’s eyes slanted to the rope coiled beside her. “That you did.”

  “My husband’s a climber,” she said. “He’s working his way up to tackling Mount Everest. One day.” Another smile touched her lips, lingered slightly longer. “I considered grabbing the ice pick, but went for the rope instead.”

  Sean rocked back on his heels. “Do you know if he’s okay?”

  “Matt’s in Singapore on business, thank God.” She crossed her legs and put her arms out to lean back, watching him thoughtfully. “What about you?”

  “Friends. Business colleagues.” He glanced left, over the salt dunes of the Financial District. “I doubt they made it.”

  The reality was too horrific to sink in, to feel. Laughing faces, whispered confidences, coy smiles, raucous jokes after one too many, urgent glances across the boardroom table. It all bled across his mind and blurred.

  They hadn’t come across any survivors as they’d walked. Some crushed and broken bodies, yes, not nearly enough for the scale of disaster. Sean didn’t fool himself that the rest had fled in time. It was more likely that their cremated bones and flesh added to the dunes that reshaped the landscape.

  “My folks are out at sea, though,” he told her. “Halfway through a round-the-world cruise.”

  The last time he’d spoken to them, they’d been docked at Cape Town, but that had been days ago.

  “Do you think they know what’s happening?”

  “Probably.” He shrugged. He hoped they knew and stayed the hell away. He’d get word to them as soon as possible, but until then…? He wouldn’t put it past his father to turn the damn ship around himself and steer it right up the Hudson to come looking for his son. “The ship has satellite wi-fi.”

  “Anyone else?” Lynn was still looking at him with intense interest. “Anyone special?”

  Maybe she cared.

  A little.

  Sean suspected this probing was more about sussing him out, judging the caliber of the man who might be called on to protect her son.

  “No.” He stood, shoved a hand through his hair as his gaze swept wide. “I’m going to see what I can scavenge for supper.”

  “I have some food.” Lynn tapped the backpack. “Protein bars. High nutrition packs. Matt keeps them for his mountain hikes. There’s enough to share.”

  Sean cocked a brow.

  “Yeah, what I said earlier still stands, but I sure hope my son’s life is not dependent on a couple of protein bars.”

  “Okay, thanks,” Sean said. “I’m still going to see what I can find.”

  Johnnie’s ears pricked. “Can I come with you?”

  “Next time, kiddo,” Sean called back. “You won’t get far on that ankle.”

  “You can piggyback me.”

  “You’re staying with me,” Lynn said firmly.

  “But, mom…!”

  Sean left them to their family dynamics and strolled off.

  - 5 -

  Ground Force One

  The new shelter beneath the West Wing incorporated a conference room, an upgraded Situation Room and a residential suite for the president and his family. The secure Metro network that connected the White House to other significant bunkers had been extended to Mount Weather and Camp David and upgraded to Maglev trains.

  Designated the name Ground Force One, the operational center allowed the president, the government and the military to function in the middle of a nuclear holocaust.

  What would they call this in years to come?

  The alien holocaust?

  The Silver atrocity? That’s what they were calling the alien bastards. The Silvers. Less of a mouthful than Extraterrestrial Enemy.

  Assuming there was anyone left to call it anything, John Merrick thought dully.

  The Situation Room had been a cacophony of highly opinionated arguments, rapid-fire decisions and action since the Interstellar fleet had shown itself. The top brass of the USA Defense Force sat around the table, each able to communicate down their chain of command via a direct line and mechanical handset that could not be disrupted by an EMP.

  Now, a sudden lull, all eyes turned on the situation wall and the aftermath of the scene they’d just witnessed; Capitol Hill reduced to a dune of ash.

  Merrick leant back in his chair, arms folded, his heart and soul white-washed with terror, shock, defeat. Multiple air combats were in progress, squadrons scrambled to attack each of the warships they had a visual location on, including the one above their heads. But so far they’d racked up heavy losses without a single clear victory.

  The alien aircraft had no heat signature, which meant long range missiles and target-locking was not an option. The Base Ship above New York City had so far proven indestructible, protected by an energy shield that seemed to serve as a cloaking device and an explosive defense shield. But it had also shown no direct offense capability, other than the warships it carried.

  The screens on the wall relayed satellite footage from around the world, thirteen Base Ships that they had eyes on.

  Tokyo, New York, London, Sao Paulo, Beijing, Mumbai...

  The Base Ships hung in the sky like floating cities, a nerve hub for each of the thirteen Silver territorial command units established within the blink of an eye. Each Base Ship carried a fleet of at least three dozen warships, possibly more, capable of speeds that had taken them across the country and to the west coast within two hours.

  New York City was gone.

  Philadelphia.

  Washington D.C. was under attack.

  San Francisco was gone.

  Los Angeles.

  Dallas.

  Gone.

  Almost every city or large town between the East and West Coasts, between the Canadian and Mexican borders, gone.

  That was just America.

  The entire world had been caught with its pants down. Swathes of the earth’s most populous land razed to the ground within hours, sky riser cities reduced to mounds of salt and ash.

  Merrick had placed the National Guard and all emergency services on a heightened state of alert when the energy wave had rippled into the earth’s atmosphere in the early hours of the morning. Grounded all flights as a precaution. His advisors—civilian, military and expert—had assured him they were dealing with a natural phenomenon, possibly an intergalactic phenomenon with longer term repercussions.

  They’d prepared for the worst, but they hadn’t known shit.

  Merrick looked at the screen streaming satellite footage from over Washington D.C. Seconds later, two formations of Grey Eagles swooped from the north and west to converge on the warship.

  “Mr President, Sir, we have incoming,” Major General Hoppentate spoke up, his ear pressed to the phone. “We have confirmed launch from the Jin class nuclear submarine in the Atlantic.”

  Merrick’s blood ran cold. “Target?”

  “New York City, Sir.”

  The Base Ship above the city, to be exact.

  “Why don’t the bastards nuke their own ship?” demanded Major Jenkins.

  No one bothered to state the obvious. Why detonate a nuclear weapon over Beijing when you could use America as your guinea pig.

  “What are our intercept options?” demanded Merrick.

  “We have SDIs trained on the sub,” Hoppentate informed him in between conferring with the person on the other end of the phone. “Launch window is 320 seconds—five minutes and counting—to safely intercept before the warheads activate.”

  Merrick opened his mouth to give the order.

  “Mr President, you may want to reconsider,” General Summers said. He was a stout, white-whiskered man with a weathered face and air of condescension that spared no one, not even the President of the United States.

  The general was also the highest ranking official in the room and the only thing Merrick cared about right now was his wealth of experience and knowledge. He pre
ssed his palms to the table, bent toward the general. “I’m listening.”

  “Sometimes unconscionable decisions have to be made,” General Summers continued. “We have an opportunity here to determine if a nuclear missile can penetrate that shield, maybe even cripple the Base Ship.”

  “You’re suggesting I allow a Chinese nuke to detonate over American soil, General?”

  The general looked him in the eye without flinching. “Don’t let your ego stand in the way of saving the human race.”

  “This isn’t about my ego,” Merrick said quietly, his throat tight. “What is the fallout radius we’re looking at? A hundred and fifty miles? Polluted air, soil and water for the next century? This is about the American people. Our people.”

  “We’re being decimated,” General Summers said bluntly. “There won’t be many Americans left come tomorrow morning unless we stop this invasion.”

  Christ. Merrick straightened, rubbed a sweaty hand over his brow as he glanced at the screen, the battle overhead. The F-15s were taking heavy pulse fire, dipping, swerving and rolling through the sea of enemy drones and more were still streaming from the warship. Like damned spiderlings hatching from a mother’s belly.

  “Major Jenkins,” he clipped out. “Anything? Anywhere?”

  The man shook his head. “We’re doing damage, eroding their drone fighter defenses, but we haven’t managed to take any of the warships out of action.”

  “But we’re not out of options,” Merrick said. “Yet.”

  General Summers lowered his voice, his face masked in grim determination. “A word in private, Mr President.”

  Merrick sent Hoppentate a questioning look.

  “Three minutes, Sir.”

  “You can have one those,” Merrick told the general stiffly, leading the way into the adjoining conference room. “I understand your point of view, but there’s a reason our Constitution puts the authority to use nuclear weapons into the hands of civilians. You can win every battle, General, and still lose the war.”

  “I’m prepared to sacrifice one state, hell, a couple if I have to, to save America. What are you prepared to do?”

  Merrick gave a slow shake of his head. “Not this.”

  The older man’s heavy brow speared, his gaze hardened to shards of steel. “You lost your wife recently. Two weeks ago? After a prolonged illness. My condolences, Mr President. That must have been devastating on you and your family.”

  The abrupt reference to his wife’s fight with cancer and her death felt like a noose around Merrick’s neck. He took a step back, looked into the general’s eyes, saw straight through to how the bastard’s mind worked. “You need the Vice President to concur and a congress majority to declare me unfit for duty.”

  “Vice President Holden is unreachable and there’ll never be another session of congress unless we’re prepared to make the tough decisions right now, right here.”

  “You’re talking about genocide.”

  “Doing nothing is genocide, Mr President. Sitting back and watching while your country turns into pillars of salt is genocide.”

  Maybe the general was right.

  The clock is ticking.

  Merrick scrubbed his jaw. He needed one goddamn minute to think this through, but he was running out of those. He had to go with his gut, and his gut told him they could fight the alien invaders in the skies without sacrificing their people and poisoning their land. They had to try.

  “The American people need their president,” General Summers said grimly. “Don’t make me institute martial law.”

  “And place yourself at the head of this country?” Merrick said. “You do not have the authority.”

  “You can have me court martialed when this is over. Assuming anyone’s left to care.” He jabbed a finger at the door. “Those men swore an oath to their country, not to one man. We’ve been plunged into an apocalyptic war, Mr President. Battle rules apply. They may not like it, but they will follow my command.”

  Merrick spun from him and pushed through the door. His gaze swept over the uniformed men and women, top brass and essential personnel from the Pentagon. The only other civilians in the room were the two secret service men on his security detail. He had their loyalty, but they were two men up against a potential military coup.

  The general had been right about one thing.

  The American people needed their president to lead them, not a battle-hardened rogue general.

  All eyes were on him as he walked to the table, took his seat, and didn’t give the launch order to intersect the nuclear missile. This situation needed to be handled with finesse, and in order to do that, he’d just bought himself a little more time.

  General Summers joined them. “Let’s see what this Chinese puppy can do.”

  If anyone harbored doubt or shared Merrick’s trepidation, their faces didn’t betray them.

  Sober.

  Determined.

  Resolved.

  Major Jenkins put a hand up, a call for silence at a deadly silent table. “Confirm that,” he spoke into the phone, listened a moment, then his gaze found Merrick. “We have a confirmed success. A warship has been downed over Atlantic City. Two missiles made it through the return crossfire to land direct hits, tore the ship apart.”

  “Thank God,” Merrick breathed out, although a sour taste clung to the back of his throat, this major victory overshadowed by the ballistic missile in orbit.

  - 6 -

  Sean

  Wandering through the ruins of Manhattan was akin to a lost man stumbling around in the dessert. One dune of ash looked very much like the next one. There was nothing to scavenge. With the quietness settled around him, Sean pressed on, compelled to bear witness to all that had been lost, all whom been lost.

  The earlier conversation with Lynn turned his thoughts to Lara and how badly he’d messed that up. As it turned out, he’d done Lara a favor. His gaze scanned the wasteland, drifted up to the mothership that hung in the darkening sky. Last he’d heard, she had married a rancher and moved to Texas. She was about as far as one could get from this doomsday war.

  Beauty from ashes.

  His catch phrase when he took on a new client, when he gave them the motivational spiel about how he’d fix the company they’d driven into the ground through neglect, greed, poor judgement or lack of foresight.

  He’d just never thought it would ever apply to his life.

  Ashes.

  Now that he was running out on adrenaline, the enormity of everything that had happened washed over him like a cold blanket. He wrapped his arms around his midriff, walked a little faster to dispel the icy tremors.

  Usually he operated well under pressure, the bigger the crisis, the better he performed. But this was a mind-fuck.

  An alien species had travelled across the universe to declare war on them.

  How did one even begin to process that?

  Sean shook his head clear.

  He had to focus.

  Plan.

  Survive.

  Up ahead, the wreckage of a building stood apart from the grayish-white dunes. Collapsed and mostly crumbled, but the partial wall was more substantial than anything he’d seen for hours. Sean broke into a jog, caught up in the prospect of finding trapped survivors, any sign of evidence that Lynn and Johnnie weren’t the only souls alive in Manhattan besides himself.

  That hope dwindled as he drew closer and took in the mangle of steel beams, the concrete crush.

  “Hello!” he shouted as he clambered over the wreckage. Listened. “Hello? Can you hear me?”

  Debris clattered beneath his footfalls, that and his own voice the only sound for miles.

  He reached the partial wall and realized why it still stood. Reinforced with iron. Part of a vault?

  Around him, no trace of life. Or death. Where were all the bodies? Buried deep below? Cremated into pillars of salt?

  Gone.

  He clenched his fists at his sides, turned his face up to the ski
es, and that’s when he saw it. The missile arcing down from the stratosphere like a white bullet chased by a short vapor trail.

  “What the—?” His mouth hung open as the missile found its target.

  The sky above exploded, lighting up the world around him for a long moment before the flash pixelated into an electric blue web that entombed the mothership and the space around it. So bright it hurt his eyes, like looking into a burning blue sun. The air crackled and fizzed, raising the hairs on Sean’s skin.

  When he squeezed his eyes closed, wisps of electric blue remained imprinted inside his lids.

  Sean dug his heels into the rubble beneath his feet at a sudden gust of wind that seemed to want to suck the breath straight out his lungs. And there he stood, reeling against the tug, fighting to keep each breath, his thoughts mercifully quiet.

  - 7 -

  Ground Force One

  The screen lit up in electric blue shockwaves with white-hot intensity. Merrick blinked, had to look away. It felt like his damned eyeballs were seared. When he looked again, the shockwaves had settled into a crackling web of blue energy, slowly fading, slowly revealing the Base Ship in one big hulking, unscathed piece.

  The shield had consumed the nuclear blast, feasted on it.

  Merrick swallowed hard, pulled himself together. It was done. He couldn’t dwell on regrets. “What can we put out there to measure the radiation?”

  Vice Admiral Parkers reached for the phone. “Meteorological drones.”

  The talk around the table resumed. If the Base Ships couldn’t be nuked, the planet was lost.

  “Not necessarily,” General Summers said. “The shield absorbed the energy—”

  “We don’t know that,” Major Jenkins argued.

  “Absorbed, consumed, neutralized…” General Summers waved a dismissive hand. “I think it’s safe to assume there has to be a saturation point.”