Officer Of The Watch: Blackout Volume 1

by D W McAliley

  "Now that we have an understanding," Terry said calmly, "we can have a conversation, if you wish."

  After a brief moment, Jefferson nodded.

  "That will be all, Mr. Attledge," Terry said. "This is all classified and sealed, understand?" Marcus indicated that it was, and Terry continued, "Very well. You may go, and close the door on the way out."

  Marcus left as quickly as he could without actually seeming to rush. When the door had clicked closed, Terry turned his attention back to Jefferson.

  "Mr. Price," the bureaucrat said in a stiff voice, "we really do need that information to do our job. When can we expect to access it again?"

  "Once the maintenance is complete," Terry said simply and truthfully. "Until then, even I can't interrupt the process. The system is designed to lock everyone and everything out while it repairs itself."

  "I see," Mr. Jefferson said again, his frown deepening.

  "Put yourself in my shoes, for a moment," Terry said, leaning forward slightly. "You know the nation is under the most direct and devastating attack in our history, but you don't know who's doing it. However, all of the nation's data...it's deepest and darkest secretes... everyone's deepest and darkest secrets... are all conveniently stored in four databases thanks to an early tip that we just happened to get in time to make the backups. And then you discover a vulnerability in that system that threatens the whole thing. What would you do?"

  Mr. Jefferson’s expression was stony and dark. "Protect the system," he replied.

  Terry nodded. "Precisely," he said, "and that's what I'm doing. My duty to the people; protecting the system."

  Jefferson frowned thoughtfully, but after a moment he gave a slight shrug of his shoulders. He looked as if he believed the two men were speaking about completely different things while using the same words. Terry's replies were all too vague to be certain, though, and that hemmed Jefferson into a corner. He couldn’t be the first to tip his hand, of that he was sure.

  "Well, in any case," Jefferson said after the silence stretched uncomfortably, "as you said, when the maintenance is...complete...we will have access again."

  "As you say," Terry replied, standing. "Thank you for stopping by to check on us, Mr. Jefferson. But please, feel free to call next time so we can offer you a proper reception."

  The dismissal was clear, and there was no way that Jefferson could ignore it without it being obvious that he was doing so. After a brief hesitation, he stood and smiled in Terry’s direction. Neither man extended his hand, so Jefferson turned to go. When he reached the door and opened it, he paused and turned back, his smile back in place again.

  "Thank you, Mr. Price," Jefferson said, "for all of your hard work. Keep up the good results. I'm sure we'll be seeing much more of each other...soon."

  "I look forward to it," Terry replied.

  Jefferson's smile never wavered, but his eyes bore holes across the space between them. With a deep breath, though, the gaze softened, and the mask was complete again. Jefferson turned, and was gone without another word.

  Ch. 42

  The Things I Seen

  Joe stepped out onto the front porch. The sun was low on the western horizon, and the shadow of the farmhouse stretched long and thin across the entire yard in front of him. In the east, the sky was already turning the deep purple that is really the first sign of night creeping in on the last moments of the day.

  Beth stood against the railing, her back to him.

  "We're almost loaded," Joe said, "Look, I'm sorry, but—"

  Beth shook her head and stuck one hand up without turning towards him. "I don't want to hear it, Joe. Nothing you can say is going to make me understand, and I don't want to fight about it again."

  Joe took a deep breath but didn't say anything for a long moment. He wanted to go to her, yet experience had taught him better. When her shoulders were set that stiffly, he was safer beyond arm's reach.

  "Don't you want to at least say goodbye?" Joe asked finally.

  Beth swung around, her eyes narrow, and one finger leveled at him. Joe barely contained a groan.

  "No," Beth hissed. "I want to yell at you some more. I want to call you names. I want to say a whole lot of nasty things to you, to be honest, but I most certainly do not want to say goodbye."

  Joe stepped forward to wrap his arms around her. "I love you," he whispered softly, "and I'll see you when I get back."

  Beth sobbed into his shoulder, and squeezed hard. "I love you too," she said.

  When the two separated, Beth's eyes were heavy with unshed tears. She swallowed hard and stared into Joe's eyes for a moment. Just when Joe was getting ready to say something, Beth squeezed his shoulders once, and before he could get any words out, she was gone.

  Joe walked to the edge of the porch and gripped the cast iron railing hard. This was the part he always had a problem with, walking out the door. He knew it was part of the sacrifice that came with making certain commitments and putting on the uniform. But there is a huge difference between knowing something and enduring it.

  Joe was about to turn and go back into the house when Levy, Beth's father, stepped up to the railing. Levy didn't say anything; he simply stood and gazed out at the darkening eastern horizon and the first few stars that were just beginning to show. In all the years Joe had known him, he'd never known Levy to just come out and stare at the sky like that.

  "I never told you about The War," Levy said suddenly, still looking up at the stars, "but then again, you never asked. Most people do, you know. Ask, I mean. But not you."

  Joe blinked but didn't know quite how to respond, so he simply nodded.

  "I was nineteen when I signed the papers," Levy said. "Wanted to go out and see the world...and kill some Nazis. I reckon I got what I wanted, funny as that is to say. I killed Nazis. And boy, the things I seen."

  Levy turned to face him in silence. His brown Dickies were pressed with a sharp crease, and his blue and red flannel shirt was completely spotless and free of lint. He'd spent all morning working in the garden before the baby arrived with Chris and Meg. He’d spent almost all afternoon playing with Sam in the dirt, but you couldn't have guessed it by his appearance.

  "There was this fella," Levy said. "Big corn-fed boy from Nebraska. Nice fella. I met him when we were going through basic and he was in my unit all the way through. Shipped over with us to England and wound up in my landing craft headed for Omaha Beach."

  Levy shook his head, a far off look in his eyes. "When we hit the shallows, you could hear the sand on the bottom of the boat. That ramp went down, and all hell broke loose. The boys in the front took it the worst. Bullets flyin every way, and the floors all slick from guys getting sick on the way in, they just couldn't get away from it. Me and one of the Sergeants, we started pushin the other fellas over the side into the surf. Once we spread it out, it wasn't as bad, but it sure didn't get a whole lot better."

  Levy turned back toward the yard and gripped the railing. He was quiet for a moment, his face drawn into a dark frown. A whippoorwill called in the woods at the far edge of the field, and its song echoed softly in the darkening evening.

  "Water was near chest deep," Levy said softly. "Hard to get through at first. The sand sloped up quick, though, and fore we knew it, we was running up the beach in between obstacles, bullets flying all around us. That guy from Nebraska ended up in front of me. He stumbled in the sand, and fell, so I stopped to help him. They really zeroed in on me quick, then, and bullets were hitting in the sand all around us. So I stuck my arm through the straps on the guy's pack and swung him up on my back."

  Levy shook his head. "That boy was heavier than them bales of cotton and tobacco I used to carry out of the fields, but not by much. I ran all the rest of the way up to the sea wall with him like that. I set him down, and we grabbed cover right up against the wall. Poor boy was scared half to death, and he pissed his pants. Ran all the way down my jacket."

  Levy looked down at his shoes and actually laughed for a
moment.

  "And wouldn't you know it," he said after a moment. "Fool boy stuck his head up over the wall for a peak at the German line, and some sniper saw him. Shot the boy clean through the throat. He fell back and we had to sit there and watch him gasp and die, trying to talk. I went through the rest of the damned war with Jonathan Tarrelton's last piss on my back. If he'd a been alive he would've died from laughin."

  Levy clasped his hands behind his back and stood for a long time. Finally, he turned to Joe, and said simply, "I know why you have to go, son. I do. I still would have carried that boy up to the sea wall, piss and all, knowin he was gonna get shot. It was just the right thing to do. You going back to try and get people out of there, to save people, that's right too."

  Levy shook his head. "You seen some of it coming out of the city, I can tell. Well, I seen the other end of it going into the cities in Europe. When people get desperate, even good people, they can do some terrible things, Joe. Things like you wouldn't believe, just to keep breathing. You find yourself in a spot like that, you turn your tail around and you get out of it, you hear? We need you back here in one piece, buddy."

  Levy smiled, and squeezed Joe's hand. Before Joe's stunned mind could think up some reply, Levy had gone back in the house. Tom came around the side porch a few moments later and nodded. The half-rusted 1958 Chevy station wagon was loaded and ready.

  Joe took the keys from Tom and climbed into the driver's seat. He took a deep breath, said a quick silent prayer, and cranked up the engine. It didn't exactly roar to life, but the car started. The headlights didn't work, the air conditioner blew hot air, and the thing barely had brakes, but it would get them down the road. And hopefully no one would think it was anything worth stealing if they had to leave it stashed somewhere. Levy had driven the station wagon to town twice a week and to church every Sunday since he'd bought it, but the car had rarely been out of the county, much less out of the state. He swore it was in good running condition, but the farthest Joe had ever personally seen it driven was Surf City for a fishing trip on the North Carolina coast.

  The sun was long gone, and the eastern sky was turning a deep, velvety black when Joe pulled the '58 out onto the highway. He turned east, towards the rising quarter moon. Thunder clouds were beginning to rise along the western horizon, but it was so late in the day they would probably fizzle before any serious storms developed. The eastern sky, though, was clear, and the moon and stars lit the road ahead of them. Tom rode next to him, and Henderson was in the back. The men were all silent as they wrestled with things they'd seen, and the things they hadn't.

  Ch. 43

  The Whippoorwill’s Song

  Eric stood on the front porch and watched as the quarter moon climbed slowly through the sky. He only realized how high it had reached when he glanced down at the pine trees below. It must be getting late, he knew that, but he had no idea what time it was.

  The distant sound of the '58 had faded to silence a long time ago, when the moon was still low on the horizon. Now, the only sounds other than the occasional breeze through the tree tops were the whippoorwills and bob whites calling to each other. The insects and frogs that normally filled the night with a dim, but pervasive hum were strangely silent.

  Eric looked down from the moon, and nearly jumped. At the other end of the porch stood his grandfather, silently staring out at the dark woods around the house. Eric hadn't heard the front door close, and he'd thought he was alone. The rest of the house behind Eric was dark and silent, with everyone finally asleep, or so he'd thought.

  For a long time, neither of them spoke. The birds sang in the night, and the two men stood quietly as the moon continued its climb. Finally, Levy came down and placed a warm, weathered hand on his shoulder. He squeezed once, and then let his hand fall back to his side.

  "Better come in soon, son," Levy said softy. "There's a lot to do tomorrow, and we'll need your help."

  Levy stuck a hand in his pocket and handed something metal to him. Eric turned the object over in his hand and frowned. It looked like an abnormally thick piece of copper wire that had been hammered down into a semi-sharp square point on both ends. It shone copper in the moonlight, and it looked either polished or well-worn. It resembled an old iron Ferrier’s shoeing nail, but copper and with two sharp ends.

  Eric frowned, and looked up at his grandfather, "What's this for?"

  Levy simply smiled and patted his shoulder.

  "Keep it," he said. "You'll need it tomorrow. I'm going to teach you something, son."

  Eric opened his mouth again, but Levy smiled, and winked. He turned and stepped silently back into the house and let the door close slowly and softly behind him.

  Eric was alone again.

  He turned the small length of copper in his hand a few more times, trying to figure just what kind of tool it was. After a while, though, he gave in and stuck the thing in his pocket. Whatever it was, his grandfather would let him in on the secret when he was ready. Eric turned back and checked the moon's progress. It was now more than halfway to its highest point.

  He knew Granddaddy was right; he should get some sleep. He needed the rest, and there would be more work in the garden the next day. Still, he couldn't quite bring himself to turn his back on the night and go inside. So he stood listening to the last whippoorwill that was still calling loudly in the night, and he watched the moon climb slowly higher in the eastern sky.

  CH. 44

  The Wrong Skies

  The half-moon was nearly directly overhead, and Joe could see the road clearly enough to make out the dotted yellow line in the middle. Tall pines along the edges of the road cast deep, sharp shadows that were utterly impenetrable, and Joe watched each one for the slightest sign of movement that might mean an ambush. Tom did the same from the front passenger seat, and Henderson watched behind them.

  They had tried talking amongst themselves at the beginning of the trip, but slowly the atmosphere in the car had changed. As they drove farther away from the quiet security of the farm, their awareness had increased. All three men had seen action in combat zones in the Middle East, though in very different decades and under very different circumstances. Still, the habits of combat are hard to break, even twenty years later.

  The heightened awareness had quickly given way to vigilance, and now the men were laser focused on every possible threat source around them. So far they'd had the road to themselves, but there was something that just felt off about the night. Joe couldn't put a finger on exactly what he felt was wrong, but he knew the other men felt it too. Their shoulders were just a bit too rigid, jaws too tight as they watched the edges of the highway like hawks.

  Suddenly, Joe jammed on the brakes, and the back end of the station wagon slid slightly sideways. Tom and Henderson both had their pistols in their hands immediately, scanning the perimeter for the threat, but there was nothing to see. The woods on the left side of the road had fallen away to a large, open field, and on the right was a densely overgrown old timber cut.

  "What the hell, Joe?" Tom asked.

  Joe was frowning in concentration, and he pointed out his window to the horizon. "Tell me what you see," he said.

  Tom and Henderson both stared for a moment, but it was Henderson who saw it first.

  "There's a glow on the horizon, really low," He said hesitantly, "It looks almost like street lights, but the wrong color."

  Tom nodded. "Yeah, I can see it too now. It's way too early for the sun right?"

  "By at least five hours," Joe said, "judging by the moon. Besides, that's the wrong sky. That's north."

  The men were silent for a long moment. They were all thinking the same thing, but none of them wanted to say it first. Finally, Joe broke the silence and voiced the fear they all felt.

  "Fire," he whispered, "That's Raleigh burning. It's gotta be. I knew there was a reason I got off W64 when I did, I just couldn't put my finger on it. It was something that just felt wrong, and I think it was my brain trying to tell me
that I was driving toward that glow on the horizon, and it wasn't right."

  "Why would Raleigh be burning?" Henderson asked.

  "Three days since it hit," Joe said. "Think about that... three days where you turn on the tap and nothing happens. Whatever food was in peoples' refrigerators and freezers is starting to go bad now, and no way to cook what isn't bad yet except for fire. People are getting desperate."

  Tom took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "What's the contingency plan, here, Joe? If it's to that point already that Raleigh's burning, what do you think Norfolk's going to be like in another four or five hours when we get there?"

  "If it's too hot, we pull back," Joe said, reluctantly. "Priority one is getting back home in one piece. It sticks in my gut to say that, but we've got families to think about now. The truth of it is, I think before this is all over with, we're gonna need gun hands at the farm; as many as we can get."

  As they talked, the glow on the northern horizon grew slowly brighter as the fires feeding it grew unchecked. A sudden flash from below the tree line in the distance illuminated a low, hazy cloud of smoke as it rose over the city. There wasn't one large fire, but a whole host of them with thick pillars of smoke rising to a cloud that was growing dense enough to block out stars in that section of sky. They were a good fifteen miles south of the city, but if the winds shifted, they'd be able to smell the smoke on the wind.

  "We'll pick up 64 again on the other side of the Rocky Mount," Joe said. "We might have to detour again, but the highway's the fastest route."

  Tom rubbed the heels of his hands hard into his eyes. "If you need me to, I can drive next shift when we hit 64 again. I'm guessing your plan is to use the same route we took in?"

  Joe tried unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn. "That way if everything else falls out, at least we might be able to get Gilbert and his family to come with us. We could get them as far away from whatever's about to come out of that city as possible."