Under a Tell-Tale Sky: Disruption - Book 1

by R. E. McDermott

  Gleason continued. “When public outrage boils over at the incompetence at the state level, FEMA will supply the worst trouble spots with a few days’ supply of water and food. Package the whole affair as state and local government missteps corrected by the prompt FEMA intervention. Have our celebrity spokespersons on hand to report on FEMA saving the day via the Emergency Broadcast System. The narrative will be the feds were doing their best, but state and local governments screwed up. Then we refuse the state governments any access to the Emergency Broadcast System so they’ll have no means to counter our story.”

  “It makes sense,” Crawford said. “People always want a focus for their anger. If we can direct it elsewhere, we’re ahead of the game.”

  “This recovery effort’s going to take years,” Gleason said, “and if we have a hope in hell of getting continued cooperation, we have to spin the inevitable famine in such a way to legitimize the federal government in the minds of the survivors. And who knows? If the governors are convincing enough, they might even help keep things calmed down a bit for a few days so it will be easier to start getting the rest of the programs in place.”

  Gleason finished just as Doug Jergens stuck his head into the Oval Office.

  “Marine One is standing by on the helipad at your pleasure, Mr. President,” Jergens said.

  Gleason nodded and rose. “All right, Ollie. You’ve got your work cut out for you. See you at Camp David tomorrow morning.”

  Chapter Three

  5 April 2020

  RECIPIENTS’ EYES ONLY

  From: POTUS

  Distribution: All Cabinet Members

  Secondary Distribution: PROHIBITED

  Subject: Disruption of National Power Grid - The Way Back

  First let me say how relieved I was to learn most of your family members made it to Camp David or otherwise found shelter in secure government facilities. Gina and I are keeping those still unaccounted for in our hearts and prayers, in hopes all will reach safety soon.

  By this time, I know all of you have had time to absorb the assessment of our situation Secretary Crawford shared with us Friday and then discussed in more depth at yesterday morning’s cabinet meeting here at Camp David. I feel sure you found it as disturbing as I did. The situation seems bleak and the actions necessary are beyond frightening, and all things I would reject out of hand in most circumstances. That said, I can see no real alternatives if we are to survive as a nation, and after prayerful deliberation, I have concluded we have little choice but to implement the initiatives presented by Secretary Crawford. I have issued executive orders directing full implementation of all such measures. Also, given the overall role the Department of Homeland Security must play in our recovery efforts, I’m sure you all understand why I’ve delegated oversight and management of that effort to Secretary Crawford. Please consider any requests or directions from Secretary Crawford as carrying the full weight and approval of the Office of the President.

  On a slightly related subject, while I know a number of you disagree on constitutional grounds with some or all of the actions we’re taking, your full cooperation is expected and appreciated. For those of you who indicated an intention to resign as a matter of conscience, I respect that decision and harbor no ill will. I will ensure Presidential Transport places helicopters at your disposal to return you and your dependents to a location of your choosing.

  For those of you staying the course, you have my profound thanks, as the road ahead will be anything but smooth. As you all know, both the Speaker of the House and the President pro tempore of the Senate are currently sheltering with their families at FEMA Headquarters at Mount Weather, and I had a conference call with them this morning. As expected, both Congressman Tremble and Senator Leddy objected vociferously to our planned action, but neither offered viable alternatives. At the conclusion of the conversation I had little choice but to direct Secretary Crawford to have FEMA security personnel confine both Speaker Tremble and Senator Leddy to their quarters to be held incommunicado. My fervent hope is, in time, they’ll recognize the necessity for my actions.

  May God have mercy upon us all.

  Theodore Gleason

  President of the United States

  ***

  Presidential Quarters

  Camp David Complex

  Maryland

  Day 5

  5 April 2020

  “Are any of them giving you trouble?” Gleason asked.

  “Nothing I can’t deal with, Mr. President,” Crawford replied. “The three secretaries making noise about resigning had a change of heart. I’d say your memo did the trick.”

  “Well, watch them. If they aren’t contributing, we may have to replace them anyway, and if they do leave the facility, it goes without saying they know a bit too much. We’ll have to consider that,” Gleason said.

  “As cabinet members, they all signed National Security nondisclosure agreements—”

  Gleason snorted. “Seriously, Ollie? And you really think that’s sufficient under current conditions?”

  Crawford flushed. “No, sir, obviously not. But I want to be clear. You want me to …”

  “I want you to be aware of the potential problem and take care of it should it arise. I’ve placed you in charge, so take charge. And don’t bother me with the details. That isn’t the sort of thing I need to know. I’ve given you a great deal of power, Ollie, and power comes at a price. Clear enough?”

  “Yes, Mr. President. I’ll handle it.”

  Chapter Four

  Maximum Security Unit

  Federal Correctional Complex

  Beaumont, Texas

  Day 5

  Johnson looked up from his crossword and pulled cotton out of his right ear. “What’s a five-letter word for ‘occupied, as a table,’ beginning with s?”

  Broussard threw the paperback on the desk and pulled out one of his own earplugs.

  “What?” he asked.

  “I said, what’s a five-letter word for ‘occupied, as a table,’ beginning with s?”

  “How the hell should I know?” Broussard turned his head toward the cell block. “God, can’t those assholes shut up for even a minute? They’ve been howling twenty-four hours straight.”

  Johnson shrugged. “Animals being animals ain’t surprising. They been locked down five days straight and it must be a hundred plus in there. Whatever genius designed a building for south Texas with no natural ventilation and a crappy little backup generator too small to run air-conditioning was obviously some fat-ass politician’s not-too-bright nephew or something.”

  “Well, it’s not like it’s much better in here,” Broussard said, nodding at the cheap box fan laboring in the corner of the control room. “That damn thing’s just blowing around hot air; it’s probably ninety in here. And you could use a shower.”

  “You’re no damned petunia yourself,” Johnson responded. “Now go make a round.”

  “I went last time!”

  “And you’ll go next time if I say so. That’s why I got these here sergeant’s stripes on my sleeve,” Johnson said.

  “The toilets are starting to back up. It’s getting really nasty in there. On my last round one of the assholes threw shit at me. Son of a bitch almost hit me.”

  Johnson nodded. “After Hurricane Rita it was like this for a month.” He nodded toward the cell block. “I was new then, and they started doing the same stuff, hollering and moaning and throwing crap. But ole Sergeant Thompson, he just walked out calm as you please and told ‘em there’d be no food or water for anyone for two days. They calmed right down.” He paused. “Which reminds me, what did that food services guy say when he brought the food yesterday.”

  “He said they’re down to baloney sandwiches on stale heels, and not much of that,” Broussard said.

  “Well, whatever,” Johnson said, “when you only got baloney, you don’t want to lose it, so go over to food services and tell them not to bother for a couple of days, then see how those anima
ls in there like it.”

  Broussard hesitated. “Only one problem, Sarge. From the smell of the sandwiches yesterday, I doubt that baloney’s gonna last two days.”

  Chapter Five

  M/V Pecos Trader

  Buckeye Marine Terminal

  Wilmington, North Carolina

  Day 6

  Jordon Hughes contemplated the three senior officers clustered around the seating area of his day room, half-finished cups of coffee on the low table in front of them. The last days had taken their toll, and all looked worried and sleep deprived; Hughes knew he didn’t look any better. He directed the first question at Gowan.

  “How’re things looking down below, Chief?”

  Gowan shrugged. “We’re keeping the lights on. Other than the initial blackout, all the machinery seems to be okay, but I’m getting a few intermittent faults in the electronic controls. It could be totally unrelated to this whole solar-flare thing. I mean, we’ve had control problems before. However, this is WAY outside my experience, and under the circumstances, I’m concerned.”

  He shook his head. “I just don’t fully trust the automation yet. We’re running everything in manual mode and I’ve got us on the emergency generator for now.” He nodded toward Rich Martin, the first engineer. “Rich and I will be going through all the systems, but we’re stretched thin. The automation was designed to reduce manning, and if it’s not working reliably, we just don’t have the manpower to compensate. I’d rather find that out alongside the dock than in the middle of the ocean.”

  “We’re on the same page there,” Hughes said. “Do what you have to do.”

  He turned to the chief mate. “Any movement ashore, Georgia?”

  Georgia Howell shook her head. “No change. Not a soul in the terminal.”

  Hughes nodded. The dock foreman came aboard about four hours after the blackout to report almost none of the day shift had showed up for work, and those that did went home after confirming there was no power in the terminal. The man was obviously worried about his family and conflicted by a pressing need to get home and a reluctance to leave the terminal unmanned. Concern for his family prevailed. He’d assured Hughes he’d return and left, not to be seen again.

  “How’re the fires?” Hughes asked. Shortly after the blackout, smoke rose across the city, likely fires caused by massive electrical surges. They burned out of control as the sheer number of blazes overwhelmed the city’s firefighting resources. Intermittent rain over several days had dampened but not completely extinguished the fires, and based on the growing columns of smoke now billowing in the distance, they were raging once again.

  “Tex is keeping an eye on them. They’re not any closer and the wind has them traveling in the other direction for now, but—”

  She was interrupted by the sound of sustained gunfire in the distance.

  “Damn! That’s beginning to sound like World War Three,” Gowan said.

  “And it’s getting closer,” Rich Martin added as the others nodded agreement.

  “Which brings up my next point,” the chief mate said. “Bob and I walked up to the street this morning, and the main gate’s standing wide open. It’s on a drive chain, and the security guard probably couldn’t close it without power and just headed for the hills.”

  Hughes nodded. “Good point. When we finish here, take some guys and tools and manhandle it closed. Bust the drive linkage if you have to, but get it closed. And take some chain and a padlock too. We’re off the beaten track in an industrial area, and we can’t really be seen from the streets because of the terminal tanks, but better safe than sorry. I don’t like the sound of things and the radio traffic isn’t very encouraging either.”

  “What’s the latest?” Gowan asked.

  “Confused,” Hughes said. “There was the national alert about a solar storm on the NOAA Weather Radio frequencies, but it kept breaking up, and reception was crap until earlier today. I’m thinking since the Northern Lights didn’t start fading until last night there was still a lot of atmospheric interference, but communications are improving. I’ve been scanning all the frequencies and picking up bits and pieces. Best I can tell, what’s happening here in Wilmington is being repeated everywhere. Scumbags are seizing the opportunity to do whatever they want, and desperate people are just trying to make sure their families survive. The police are losing control, if they ever had it. There’s no cell service and not much on the marine frequencies, though it sounds like the Coasties at Oak Island Station are still in business. They answered my call but told me to get off the air unless I had an emergency. I tried the pilots too, but I couldn’t raise anyone.” Hughes shrugged. “Basically, I think we’re on our own.”

  “It’s all over the country?” Georgia Howell asked.

  Hughes shrugged. “I think it must be.”

  The group grew quiet until Rich Martin broke the silence. “I wish there was some way to contact our families.”

  “I’m sure we all do, First,” Hughes said, “but we just have to have faith they’ll be okay and figure out what to do next.”

  “Well, one thing’s for sure,” Gowan said, nodding towards shore. “We’re a hell of a lot better off than those poor bastards out there. We got power and hot showers and at least a few months of food and water.”

  “Yeah, and I’m thinking someone might figure that out,” Hughes said. “It’s only a matter of time. We can’t be seen from the street and the locked gate might discourage the curious, but we can be seen from the river, so starting immediately we’re going to set blackout discipline. I want all blackout curtains closed on all windows. We don’t show any lights at night. None. Is that clear?”

  “Absolutely. Good idea,” Gowan replied.

  “What about noise?” Rich asked. “With power down and no traffic, you can probably hear the emergency genny running a long way.”

  “We’re quite a ways from the gate,” Georgia said, “so I doubt the street’s a problem, but sound carries pretty far over water. I’ll set an extra security watch and tell them to keep a sharp eye on the river, especially upstream toward downtown Wilmington.” She sighed. “Then I guess we just have to hope none of the looters decide to become river pirates.”

  “And if they do,” Gowan asked, “just exactly how do we discourage them?”

  “They’d have difficulty from the river side, so they’d probably land at the dock and come up the gangway,” Hughes said. “Georgia, when you get back from locking the gate let’s take in the gangway. If they can’t get on board, they may just go away.”

  There were nods around the table. Captain Hughes rose. “Okay, folks, time to get back to work.”

  The others stood and moved towards the door, but Gowan held back a bit.

  “Uh, Cap?”

  “Yes, Chief?” Hughes asked.

  “I’m thinking the looters might be after easy pickings now, but sooner or later one of them is gonna be smart enough to think of all the fuel in these shore tanks, not to mention the thirty-five thousand tons of diesel and gasoline we’re hauling.” Gowan paused. “To say nothing of the problem of being tied up next to a terminal full of gasoline and diesel if those fires shift direction.”

  “That already occurred to me, Chief, but one way or another, I don’t plan on us being here much longer.”

  Levi Jenkins’ Fishing Camp

  Black River, North Carolina

  Day 6

  The ax bit into the wood with a satisfying thump and Levi Jenkins grinned to himself as the log separated cleanly, the pieces clattering down on either side of the chopping block. Moisture gleamed on the hard muscles of his ebony torso in the warmth of early spring, and he set down the ax to swat away a drop of sweat forming on the tip of his nose. It was liberating to lose himself in the mindless work and put aside the constant worry of the last few days.

  He looked at the wood scattered around the chopping block and judged he had enough. He nodded to Little Tony, his nine-year-old son, who leapt from where he was st
anding to one side and began gathering the wood to carry it to the neatly stacked woodpile beside the outdoor kitchen. Though ‘kitchen’ was a bit of a stretch, Levi thought.

  Basically it was an open-air structure with a rough wooden floor and a shingled roof supported by four stout corner posts. From the roof protruded the stovepipe for the enormous wood cookstove, and each of the four corner posts was fitted with tie-down points so sides of the structure could be either enclosed by roll-down tarps to block the wind or left open to take advantage of a cooling breeze. A sink with running water with counter space down two sides completed the layout, and a simple wooden worktable graced the center of the structure to provide more work area. It was rough, but functional, and during the warmer months avoided the necessity of heating up the main house while cooking. An additional wood stove in the ‘regular’ kitchen of the main house got a good workout in the colder months when it was too cold to cook outside, and when the heat was a welcome addition to the small home’s interior.

  Levi heard footsteps and turned to see his father-in-law approaching from the direction of the river. Anthony McCoy looked past Levi to his grandson and namesake stacking the wood, and beamed.

  “Well, looks like you got a hardworking helper there, Levi,” Anthony said. “That is one fine woodpile. Good job, Tony.”

  “Thanks, Grandpa. And guess what? Dad says when I finish all my chores, we can go fishing. Wanna come?”

  The old man looked upward, as if concentrating on something, and stroked his neatly trimmed goatee, its snow-white stubble a stark contrast to his face. “Well, let’s see, now that I think about it, I don’t believe I have any prior engagements, so yes, I believe I will go along.” He looked back at the boy and smiled. “And if you promise not to tell anyone, I’ll show you my very favorite place to dig night crawlers.”