Officer Of The Watch: Blackout Volume 1

by D W McAliley

  After the fourth car failed to start, they'd stopped trying. Joe kept his hands on his rifle at all times. He kept his finger near, but intentionally never quite resting on the trigger. Something tickled the pit of Joe's stomach and he recognized the familiar pinch of adrenaline. Somewhere deep down, past his conscious thoughts, past even his training, Joe knew that he was in danger.

  Tom and Corporal Alexis Henderson walked about four yards behind him, and Chris brought up the rear. All of the men felt the same thing. Henderson kept glancing back over his right shoulder as if he expected his CO to come around a corner and start yelling. Tom and Chris carried it better. They moved with the same heightened precision and focus that he'd seen before when something major was going on in the watch-room.

  Joe rounded a corner and stopped dead still. He dropped his hand by his side quickly, palm out and flat, and the men behind him stopped before the intersection.

  "Okay," Joe said, "whatever happens, you follow my lead. If I raise my weapon, we're rolling hot, so be ready for it. Henderson, you keep your mouth shut. No matter what anyone says, you keep it shut, got it?"

  All three men nodded, and Joe started walking.

  Ahead of him was the guard gate at the entrance to the base. On each side of the gate was a pair of HUMVEE's with manned fifty caliber belt-fed machine guns in the back. There were six men standing in front of the vehicles. One of them came striding confidently forward and stopped about twenty feet from the gate.

  Joe took a quick survey of the men facing him, marking out details quickly and cataloguing them for mental examination later. The men all had similar tactical gear on in some shade of urban blues and grays or field browns and greens. They all had high end rifles and side arms and they carried them with the practiced ease of men who were accustomed to using them.

  None of the men had any patch, badge, or insignia of any kind on their uniforms; not even a company logo.

  Joe walked directly up to the man who'd stepped out to meet them.

  "You in charge here?" Joe asked before the man could speak.

  "I'm the Operations Team Leader," the man said. "Name's Parker. And you are?"

  "Tillman," Joe said. "What are you guys doing out here? Where are the regular uniformed guards?"

  "They all got called back to the main building for some big thing," Parker replied. "We're a private contractor that augments the regular troops for base security operations and emergency response. Now, who are you with?"

  "We're leaving," Joe said simply, and nodded towards the gate. "You mind opening it up for us?"

  Parker smiled an easy smile. "Well, I don't know about that now. I was told to hold the gate no matter what. Nobody came and told me to expect visitors. Who are you guys with?"

  Joe unclipped his ID badge and handed it to Parker. "That says CC-O6," Joe said. "Civilian Contractor, Officer Level 6. That answer enough for you?"

  Parker looked at the badge and shrugged slightly. "Most days, yes sir, it would be. This isn't most days, so I'm going to need more than that."

  Joe sighed long and hard but didn't say anything for a moment. Finally, he shook his head slightly, and said, "Have you been to Joint Forces Command, or Joint Special Operations Command recently?"

  Parker grunted. "I've heard about both, but I've never been there. We get our orders through...other channels... JSOC's a little bit above my pay grade, I guess," Parker said rather smugly.

  Joe reached in his pocket and pulled out a metal coin that was slightly larger than an old Morgan silver dollar. The coin was heavy, and it had enameled crests on both sides. Parker took the coin and looked at it. His eyes widened immediately and he looked back at Joe with raised eyebrows.

  "You know what that means, I take it?" Joe asked, and Parker shrugged slightly, but seemed less than convinced.

  Joe held out his hand and Parker turned over the ID badge and the coin. Joe nodded towards the gate again, but still Parker hesitated.

  "Look," Parker said, "I can send someone to get clearance for you, but as it is I still don't think I should open the gates."

  Joe snorted loudly. "Fine, you send a runner. But you know where I work and you see how I'm dressed. Do you really want to try and stand in my way and tell me I can't go? You want to be the one to explain to my bosses when they ask me why I didn't carry out my orders? Hell, be my guest."

  Parker tightened his grip on his rifle, and for a moment, the two gunners in the HUMVEE's seemed much more alert and dangerous. Joe could see Parker wrestling with the decision and had to suppress a smile. If Parker had to wrestle with it this much and this hard, then Joe knew he'd already won.

  Finally, Parker turned and whistled a short, loud whistle and the gates began rolling back. Joe turned to the three men at his back and nodded towards the open road. As they passed him, Parker turned and gave a few short hand signals to his men. The contractors on the ground shifted slightly. It was subtle, but they were suddenly poised on the balls of their feet and every pair of eyes was locked on the four men as they approached the gate.

  The machine gunners relaxed slightly and allowed the muzzles of their guns to drop to a few feet in front of the vehicles. Still, they kept their hands on their weapons and their eyes on Joe.

  "Listen, if you come back this way," Parker said, "I can't guarantee I'll be able to open the gates for you. It'll be dark soon, and I mean darker than it's been in a long time. We've been hearing gunshots every now and then. There was a pretty good exchange an hour ago, but it died out eventually. Who knows what'll happen once the sun goes down."

  Joe shrugged slightly and replied, "I know. Orders are orders, though."

  Joe stayed on point as the small team made their way down the long road and to the main highway. He didn't start breathing easier until they'd put a few walls between themselves and the contractors. As they walked, Joe expected the tingling feeling of hyperawareness to fade out a bit, but he was wrong.

  As the team walked further and further from the naval base, a feeling like charged electricity began prickling across his skin. None of the men spoke, but they felt it just as strong. Their breathing became deep and fast, but not from fear. They were intense and feeding off the tension they could all taste on the back of their tongues every time they breathed in.

  The sun was still shining when they found the first body.

  Ch. 14

  Troubled Waters

  The wind whipped through the back of the truck and made it nearly impossible to talk. Eric scanned the countryside as they drove, paying attention to landmarks as they went. He made mental note of where the water towers were as well as tall trees, hills, and other standout features. His father had taught him to note features like that when he was young so if he ever got lost in the woods he would be able to find his way home.

  Bill drove out onto a four-lane bridge that had a few cars stalled here and there. He slowed down to navigate among the cars, and Claire tapped Eric's leg and then pointed out over the water. In several places the calm, mirror surface of Lake Wylie was broken by wings or tails of airplanes sticking up in the air at odd angles.

  Vultures were already perched on the nearest horizontal stabilizer.

  Eric turned his head, not wanting to see what the vultures were feasting on, and he found himself staring at a thick column of black smoke on the western horizon. This fire was different from the one they'd left behind on Crowder's mountain. He wasn't sure, but the location seemed about right for the Coalogix power plant that had burst into flames the night before and then exploded like a bomb.

  Eric didn't really want to think about that either, but it seemed wherever he looked there was a reminder of the death and destruction that was all around them. They'd been on the road for less than two hours, sticking to back roads and side streets as much as possible, and still they'd seen stalled cars, burnt out homes and neighborhoods, and several dead bodies lying in the street.

  Bill slowed the truck and pulled into a gas station on the North Carolina shore
of the lake. There were two cars at pumps and one parked in front of the store, but no people were visible. Eric and Mike climbed down and walked around the store, searching, but they found no one. The two approached the door, and Mike took out a 9mm handgun and held it out to Eric.

  “Know how to use this?" Mike asked.

  Eric nodded. "Yeah, I've been shooting since I was a kid."

  Eric took the handgun, checked the chamber, and clicked the safety off. He motioned to Mike, who pushed open the not-so-automatic doors. Mike stepped inside and swept to the right with his flashlight and pistol. Eric stepped in and did the same to the left, but the store was empty. Mike went to the switch panel for the pumps and started flipping the switches at random, but nothing happened. All of the lights were dark, even the ones in the cooler cabinets.

  "Nothing works," Mike said, slamming his heavy Maglite down on the switch panel.

  "Alright," Eric said, trying to change the subject. "Let's grab what we can. Get the beef jerky, water, anything we can carry that won't go bad in the next day or two."

  "Don't you think they'll have food and water at the shelter?" Mike asked.

  Eric grunted. "Never hurts to be prepared," he said noncommittally.

  Mike frowned and hesitated, but eventually he took a stack of bags and started collecting water and junk food. Eric took some bags and collected all of the batteries, OTC drugs, and bottles of alcohol and peroxide he could find. He bagged up ten bottles of motor oil and a couple of jugs of antifreeze as well. They carried the supplies outside and started loading them into the bed of the truck.

  Bill came around from the cab, a disheartened look on his face. "Fellas," he said, "we're damn near out of gas."

  "Better find a fill-up station, then," Mike said with an ironic chuckle.

  "Well, yeah," Bill said. "But how are we gonna get the gas out of the ground and into the truck? Pumps are shut down tight."

  Eric smiled. "I think I found something that might help," he said, digging around in one of his plastic bags. Finally, he pulled out a small hand-cranked siphon pump with a set of hoses.

  "I don't think that little thing will reach down in them big holdin tanks," Bill said, scratching his bald head.

  "Probably not," Eric agreed. "But it'll reach into the gas tanks of the cars here in the parking lot. There's a gas can back in the store, if you want to grab it, Bill."

  Mike followed Eric to the nearest of the cars. They disconnected the filling hose and Eric set up the pump. They were waiting for Bill to come back with the gas can when Mike nudged Eric's leg with his foot.

  "You don't think there's a FEMA shelter in the city, do you?" Mike asked.

  Eric shrugged. "I don't know, to tell you the truth," he said honestly. "But I doubt it. I mean, if FEMA was going to be anywhere, don't you think they'd be right here, dealing with all of these downed planes? I mean, think about it, Mike. This happened completely out of the blue. There wasn't any time to set anything up ahead of it, and there's no way to coordinate it now with all of the comm. lines and power lines across the country down."

  "Then why'd you agree to come to the city with us in the first place?" Mike asked.

  Eric opened his mouth to answer, but was cut off by three loud pops from inside the store. Eric froze and Mike's hand went instantly to his sidearm. They both stood, eyes locked on the door, as Bill came staggering out holding his left shoulder.

  Bill took three steps into the parking lot, coughed, and collapsed to the pavement.

  Ch. 15

  Knock Knock

  Joe, Chris, and Henderson formed a three point perimeter, their backs to Tom as he knelt in the massive parking lot of the stitching yard. The lacework of tracks and stalled trains was behind them, and they stood on the broad, flat black-top expanse that separated the railroad yard and the posh Lafayette Shores neighborhood.

  Tom breathed heavily through his nose. It was a hot afternoon, and they'd been on the move for the better part of an hour and a half. He had been more used to this kind of pace in his younger years. Still, he didn't run the way his wife, Jen did. She was damned near religious about her 0500 laps around the neighborhood.

  The running shoes sticking out from under the blue tarp in front of him weren't Jen's, but he did recognize them. Tom ground his teeth and lifted the tarp. Brown curls framed a middle-aged face that he recognized. He closed his eyes and let the tarp drop.

  For a moment, the world reeled, and Tom had to stick out an arm to catch his balance.

  Joe glanced at Tom briefly, then turned and scanned his section of perimeter. He caught movement over by one of the parked tractor trailers. Joe whistled and pointed, dropping to one knee. As if on cue, a young man stepped out from in between two trailers, both hands held high.

  "You guys Cops?" the young man called, walking cautiously forward.

  Joe stood and took two steps forward. "Hands!" he called. "Show me your hands, palms out, arms stretched."

  The man did as he was instructed, and he stopped. Joe approached him slowly. Chris and Henderson shifted their position slightly so that their backs were towards each other. Joe knew if he glanced over his shoulder Tom would be covering him from behind. When he got a couple of steps away from the young man, he stopped and lowered his rifle.

  "Look," Joe said, "you have two options. I can frisk you, clear you, and we can talk. Or you can turn around and walk back the way you came. Got it?"

  "Are you guys the cops?" the young man asked again.

  "Do I look like a cop to you, son?" Joe asked, and the young man shook his head. "Okay. So, which is going to be?"

  "Go ahead," the young man said. "I got nothing on me."

  Joe nodded and stepped forward again, slowly. He kept his right hand close to his sidearm as he carefully swiped his hands down the man's arms, torso, and legs. Satisfied, he took three steps back and held his rifle at the ready, but not quite raised to his shoulder.

  "Walk in front of me," Joe said, "and keep your hands where we can all see them. You leave when we say you can go, and you answer questions straight up. We'll do our best to do the same, got it?"

  The young man nodded and started walking, arms stretched out. After a few steps, he relaxed a little, and dropped his hands at least. Still, he was careful to keep them well away from his pockets, which was good. When they reached Tom, Chris and Henderson fell in close enough to hear the discussion, but they kept their focus outward.

  "Did you know her?" the young man asked.

  Tom's head popped up, and he growled, "Yes, did you?"

  The young man shook his head slowly. "I never saw her before...before today."

  "Were you here?" Tom asked. "Were you a part of this?"

  "No, sir," the young man said softly. "I saw it, though. I was up on top of one of the warehouses back there." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "And I saw these guys come from the weigh station. They were pushing and draggin her, and they were pretty rough about it. They got her down here, and there was some yelling. I couldn't hear it enough to understand it, but I could hear it. Then this guy, he just shot her."

  "What did that guy look like?" Joe asked before Tom could speak.

  "I don't know, really," the young man replied. "Short hair, dark sunglasses, and he was with a group of guys dressed pretty much like him; all dark grays and blues. They went and got into two Humvee's on Hampton Blvd. and drove off in them."

  "Wait," Tom said, and suddenly his eyes were intense. "The Humvee's worked? They drove off?"

  The young man nodded slowly. "Yeah. The noise of the engines was what drew me down here to begin with. I stay in a shitty little mill house back up Gleneagles with my grandma. I was on the porch and heard them rumble by when everything else was dead quiet...except for an occasional gun shot."

  The young man's eyes dropped for a moment on the tarp, and he suddenly turned his back.

  "I put the tarp over her," the young man said after a long moment of silence. "Didn't seem decent to just leave her like tha
t."

  "JT," Tom said suddenly, "we've got to roll, and you know it. These guys could decide to roll back through."

  Joe nodded and motioned for Chris and Henderson to follow him. Joe squeezed Tom's shoulder once and nodded to the young stranger. He led the men off a little way and they waited for Tom.

  Tom knelt and tucked the tarp around the young woman's body so the wind couldn't catch it. When he stood, his eyes were red. He looked at the young man and said, "Mollie. Her name was Mollie. Go home to your Grandma."

  Tom turned and walked away from the stranger. He reached the men and broke into a slow trot that would eat distance and preserve as much endurance as possible. Joe brought up the rear guard, and he lingered a moment. He watched as the young man made his way back towards the train tracks and the warehouses. A couple of times he looked back and waved before disappearing between some transfer trucks.

  Tom set a hard pace, and it was all the group could manage to stay together. Once they were past the fence that partitioned the port from the residential area, Tom began to gain more confidence with every turn. Finally, he made a left onto Sunrise Cove Court.

  There was a Tudor style cottage, an all brick carriage house, and a two story cape cod with a wraparound porch and a bright green tin roof. Tom slowed once they reached the cul-de-sac, and he stopped in front of the Cape Cod style cottage. Joe, Chris, and Henderson watched the houses around them and the street behind them as Joe ease his way up the porch steps. He stepped up to the green door and stood a little to the side of it.

  Tom thumped his hand twice on the door and then tapped the glass once with his wedding ring. He repeated the process and whispered, "We will, we will..."

  After a long pause, from the other side of the door came a soft, "Rock you."

  The double dead-bolt clicked and the door opened. A small blonde woman with large blue-green eyes stood in a nightgown with a twelve gauge shotgun in her hands. One hand went to her mouth, and tears immediately began streaming down her face.