by Mike Kraus
“What the fuck?” The man shouted. “Turn that off!”
“Stop right there!” Dianne fired a shot past the man into the dirt. The rifle’s crack echoed across the stillness of the night and the man stopped in place, expressions of anger and fear washing over him.
“What’re you doing, lady? I only wanted some food!”
“You’re the one who showed up the other day, right? And tried to break in the other night?”
The man lowered his arm briefly but immediately raised it again to shield his eyes. “Yes! Damn you, yes! Turn that shit off!”
“Why did you try and break in? I told you to get off our property. Why would you come back?”
“I had to! I had to get something for them!”
Dianne shook her head. “For who?”
For Rogers! For him! For all of them! I haven’t brought back anything in three days! They’ll kill me if I don’t bring something back tomorrow!”
For a brief, fleeting moment, Dianne felt bad for the man. He sounded scared, alone and desperate. He was clearly in some sort of bad situation and needed a way to get by. Dianne dropped her rifle slightly, illuminating the man’s chest instead of his face.
“I’m sorry.”
Dianne fired seven shots in rapid succession. Five of them found their mark on her target while two narrowly missed, going into the trees and ground. The man screamed in pain as he dropped to the ground, blood soaking through his clothes and forming a small puddle beneath him that rapidly increased in size. Dianne stood still for several seconds, her rifle aimed at the man as she took in quick shallow breaths. She started to feel dizzy and moved over next to the barn, leaning on the building for support as she tried to get her breathing under control.
A few minutes later, when she was breathing normally and her head was clear again, Dianne stood up straight and slowly approached the man’s body. She nudged at his outstretched arm with her foot, but he didn’t respond, remaining face-down on the ground. She glanced at the area around him, confirming what she already knew—the amount of blood on the ground clearly indicated that he was dead.
Dianne crouched down next to the man, put her head in her hand and sighed. “I’m sorry, whoever you are.” She reached out and brushed a hand over his back and shook her head. “You could have just stayed away. But you didn’t.”
Dianne stood slowly, her knees feeling weak, and plodded back to the house. Mark was waiting for her on the back porch, having watched the altercation from afar. “Mom? Are you okay?”
Dianne looked at him without stopping and nodded slowly. “Yeah. Go ahead back inside. I need to take care of some things. Keep an eye on the cameras and fire off a shot if you see anyone else around, okay?” She grabbed a shovel that was leaning against the back patio and turned around, heading back down towards the barns. Beyond them, in the woods, she stopped and detached the light from her rifle, leaning the gun up against a nearby tree. She balanced the light on a nearby log and got to work digging.
Two hours passed before Dianne was satisfied with the depth of the grave. It was only three feet down, but with the addition of a thick layer of rocks she was confident that the body would be well out of the reach of any local predators. Dragging the man’s body into the woods was easier than she thought it would be. He was thinner than he appeared and his pants slipped off as she pulled him by his wrists.
After pulling him into the hole Dianne piled earth atop his body and headed to the side of the closest barn. There, next to it, was a large pile of stones weighing twenty to thirty pounds each. They had been intended for making a decorative edge around a portion of the lake but their new purpose was much more utilitarian. The appropriateness of that fact given the state of the world didn’t escape Dianne’s notice and it somehow made her feel slightly better about what she was doing.
The soft glow of pre-dawn set the bare trees alight as Dianne finished putting the final stone atop the unknown man’s grave. Dianne gave the site a final look as she walked around it, checking her work, before she picked up her rifle, shovel and flashlight and headed back to the house. She was covered in sweat and dirt as she trudged up onto the back porch and flopped down into a chair to watch as the sun slowly rose above the horizon.
A moment later she heard the soft hiss of the back door sliding across its track and turned to find Mark coming out onto the porch with a glass of water in hand. He gave it to her wordlessly before sitting down next to her. They were both quiet for nearly twenty minutes as Dianne sipped on the water and rested before she finally spoke.
“I can’t believe I did that.”
“Why did you kill him, Mom?” Mark’s question came a few seconds later, quiet and reserved.
Dianne mulled the question over in her mind, probing it and picking it apart before answering. “I had no choice.”
“But he was unarmed.”
“Was he?” Dianne glanced at her son.
“I… I mean I watched him standing there and then you just… murdered him.”
“Self-defense isn’t murder, son.”
“But he wasn’t attacking you!” Mark’s voice grew louder.
“Mark.” The tone in Dianne’s voice made Mark shrink back into his chair. “He trespassed on our property. Tried to break into our house. Tried to break into the barns. He was desperate and wouldn’t leave us alone. I gave him more of a chance than I should have.”
“But—”
“And he wasn’t, in fact, unarmed.” Dianne reached down to the ground beside her chair and dropped a long rusty kitchen knife and a small two-shot Derringer on the table. “He had these in his back pocket, Mark. And he was talking about someone who he had to bring things to.” Dianne looked out over the lake and shook her head. “I don’t like what I did. Believe me. I hate that I had to do it. But he wasn’t some innocent person who was lost and needed help and wasn’t going to hurt us. Just because he didn’t hurt us doesn’t mean he wasn’t going to. And I’m not letting this family get hurt.”
Mark sat quietly in his seat, staring at the knife and gun his mother had tossed onto the table. He licked his lips and whispered a reply after a long moment. “I wish you hadn’t had to do it.”
Dianne stretched out her hand and Mark accepted it, holding onto her hand and arm. “Me too, kiddo.” She sighed as she watched the morning sun play across the slight ripples in the lake. The peacefulness was a stark contrast to the dark events of the night. The new day brought a glimmer of hope with it as well.
“Me too.”
Chapter 16
Two days after the Event
Deep in the Republic of Bashkortostan, Russia
In a conference room that is both lavish and Spartan, the senior members of the Russian government sit at a large round table. The Russian President listens intently as the last two days’ worth of compiled analyses are laid out before him. The situation is grim and the solution—if it can even be called that—is grimmer.
The country is in shambles, the cities burning and the countryside flooded with refugees seeking shelter and food they will not find. Modern and old computer systems alike are suffering at the hand of the mysterious virus that has torn across the globe. The twin spy satellites operated by Mezhgorye pass over the country, watching the migration and destruction of the population as the military fails to contain riots and uprisings.
People already half-starved from years of a downward spiraling economy have nothing left to lose and throw their lives away for the chance that their children might get a morsel of food. Vast curtains of smoke drift across the cities from the burning chemical fires, killing thousands and mortally injuring tens of thousands more.
There is no hope left. No way of countering the assault from every direction. The military has started to fracture, splintering into groups based on regional assignment and what resources are stockpiled in which regions. It will be another week at most before territorial wars break out and the country is consumed by infighting.
“You bel
ieve the command and control center is in NORAD?” The Russian president speaks softly, his narrowed eyes flicking around the table as he listens to the response.
“It is either there or in the capitol.”
“You understand the repercussions we will suffer from taking such an action, yes?”
“If we do not take some sort of action then the repercussions will be far more damaging.”
The Russian president rubs his eyes and wearily sighs. “What new analysis supports this type of an escalation?”
“The analysis we performed yesterday shows—”
“New. Analysis.” The President’s tone reflects a hint of the frustration he feels. “Not yesterday’s analysis. New analysis.”
The man who answered the President sits back in his chair, looking as though he wishes he could burrow straight through the chair and wall to escape. “It is difficult to perform new analysis, sir. Every system that we attempt to use to analyze the virus becomes, itself, infected and—”
“If we drop an ICBM on top of NORAD then they will retaliate and we will have nuclear winter on top of everything else. There cannot be any mistake in this. Perform more analysis. Find a way to contact the Americans. Do whatever it takes. We will not launch until the facts are on our side.”
“Yes sir.”
The Russian president stands up and leaves the room without another word. As the others in the room slowly leave whispered conversations are held between the leaders of small factions that have formed over the last forty-eight hours. The chief subject of the conversations is, naturally, the virus. The distinction is in how the factions wish to deal with it.
Some believe the Russian president is moving too slowly on the subject. Others believe the fact that an ICBM launch even being on the table is a dangerous sign. What every faction knows and agrees with, though, is that the President has ears in every faction and knows precisely what everyone is thinking at all times. They all tread carefully as they speak, each of them keenly aware that the person they speak to next may deliver a report to the President directly after the conversation concludes.
Chapter 17
The Waters’ Homestead
Outside Ellisville, VA
Two days after killing the stranger trying to break into their property, Dianne sat on the back patio and watched her three children playing by the edge of the lake. A brief burst of warm weather meant she was able to break out the shorts and t-shirts for what was possibly the last time of the season. She hadn’t spoken to Mark about the incident two days prior since their brief conversation on the patio, but she had noticed him avoiding talking to her at every possible opportunity. Dianne didn’t want to pressure him to discuss the subject since she didn’t know what he was trying to work out in his mind, so when he came walking up from the lake to sit down beside her she was surprised.
“Mom?”
“Hey kiddo. You guys done?”
“Nah. They want to keep playing. I’ll go back down there in a minute. I wanted to talk to you first.”
“What’s up?”
“You were right.”
Dianne raised an eyebrow, trying to tread cautiously. “Right about what?”
“About… the other night. With what you had to do. I didn’t understand it then but I think I do now.”
“Oh yeah? What do you understand?”
“We are incredibly blessed to have all of this stuff.” Mark gestured out at the property and barns behind the house. “I doubt there are many people who have all of this after what happened.”
“You’re probably right. We’re living halfway normal lives right now, for the most part.”
“Yeah.” Mark scratched his head and shifted in his seat. “I guess I just wanted to say that I understand. If we don’t defend what’s ours then somebody’s just going to take it away from us. There’s nobody out there to stop them.”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“Right. Well… I get it.” Mark nodded.
Dianne smiled wistfully at him and stood up to give him a hug. “Thanks, kiddo. Are you okay now? You’ve been kind of stand-offish the last couple days.”
“I think so, yeah.” Mark started heading off of the porch and back down towards the lake. “It’s kind of a lot to think about though, you know?”
“Try not to think about it. Just relax and enjoy yourself.”
Mark nodded and turned to jog back down to join his siblings. Dianne watched him go before sitting back down in her chair. The smile she had forced for Mark’s sake withered, turning her face into a mask of sorrow.
The Event had robbed her of her husband, of normalcy, of the everyday lives of her and her children. It had shattered her world and forced her to adopt a kill-or-be-killed mentality that was beginning to bleed over into her children. Jacob and Josie had remained mostly untainted by what was going on. Mark, though, was different. She was glad that he understood what she had done but his understanding was the source of her sadness. In his understanding came the loss of more of his innocence, stripped away from him before she was prepared for it to happen.
As Dianne sat and thought about what was happening to her family, another thought floated through her mind that she had picked at on and off for the last two days. The man she killed had mentioned that he was tasked by someone named “Rogers” to gather supplies and that there was more than just the one other person involved. If this “Rogers” person happened to wonder where his missing man had gotten to, he might send more people out in search of him. That, in turn, could lead to a very messy situation at the homestead.
Try as she might, though, Dianne couldn’t think of anything they could do to fortify their house and property more than they already had. The house was boarded up, the animals were kept indoors or under close guard when they were outside and the children were under strict instructions to keep their voices low whenever they were outside playing.
She had already been giving Jacob and Josie refresher instructions on how to use some of the smaller, more balanced pistols in the house in case worse came to worse. The idea of using a portion of the tunnel as a firing range to help Mark practice without worrying about attracting attention above ground had occurred to her, but only if she could figure out a way to ventilate the space. There was a lot still left to do and Dianne had no idea how much time was left to do it all before action would take the place of preparation.
One fact burned in the center of her mind above all others, though: there would be no quarter or surrender given to anyone who tried to invade. If more people arrived at the house looking to steal and kill, Dianne would do everything in her power to keep her family and property safe.
Chapter 18
Three days after the Event
Somewhere in the Wyoming wilderness
The flat plains, rolling hills and sheer mountain cliffs are covered in lush green vegetation in spite of the early winter season. Pine trees dot the landscape with swaths of dark green, carving out enormous sections of the rolling hills and mountains and filling them with an impenetrable cover of soft needles. Gentle waves lap at the shore of wide lakes fed by trickling creeks and rushing rivers. Upstream, in the mountains, still-melting snow adds to the volume of water rushing down the mountainsides.
The stillness of the late morning air is broken by three MV-22 Ospreys screaming through the air, their horizontally-aligned blades pulling them forward at three hundred miles per hour. They follow the features of the terrain below, cutting through tree-covered valleys and soaring above lakes and vast unbroken fields.
Flying only a few hundred feet above the ground, each Osprey has its rear door open. Half a dozen Marines stand near each open door, their harnesses the only things keeping them from tumbling to their doom. The Marines scan the ground behind them while the pilots scan the ground in front. Radio contact is constant between the three Ospreys as they update each other in real time.
Their search for the Boeing 747 designated as Air Force One has been going on fo
r sixteen hours and there is very little solid information to go on. A garbled radio transmission was received seventeen hours ago from the pilot and co-pilot of the aircraft, announcing that the plane was plummeting towards the earth. The reasons for the crash are not known to the Marines, but one of the Secret Service agents on board the lead Osprey has privileged information.
An inadvertent activation of the 747’s backup communications system opened the computer systems of the aircraft to communication with the outside world for eleven seconds. Damocles took ten seconds to discover the communication connection, exploit it and insert a copy of itself into various firmware on the plane before the backup communications system was switched off. Twenty minutes after infection the aircraft began to malfunction in the skies over Wyoming and started its swift descent to the ground.
With no solid information on where the aircraft went down, small groups of aircraft that were not infected by Damocles have converged on Wyoming. They scour the state in miles-long grids, searching for any clue of its whereabouts. The sight of smoke in a long, flat valley comes over the radio and the three Ospreys break off from their search pattern and head for the location. No external navigational data or communications over any system except locked-down and encrypted voice-only communications is allowed and the pilots rely on their training and paper maps to guide them.
It takes fifteen minutes before the Ospreys spot the smoke. The lead aircraft, carrying the Secret Service agents, slows down while the other two break off and increase their altitude to get a visual confirmation on the exact location of the crash. The lead Osprey’s rotors tilt into the vertical position as it nears the location, turning the aircraft from a plane into a massive, awkward helicopter. In a clearing a few hundred yards from the crash site the Osprey sets down into the soft grass.