America Offline | Books 1 & 2 | The Day After Darkness

by Weber, William H.

  Holly and the others laughed. Dillon remained straight-faced, not entirely certain what was going on.

  A sour dose of reality crept back in when they actually searched the locker and found a yellow airport jumpsuit and earmuffs.

  After studying the jumpsuit for a brief moment, Holly tossed it back. A quick glance on the floor around them as well as the hallway right outside was proof enough that clothes were not in short supply. It was food they were after. Anything edible, no matter if it was non-organic, loaded with sugar, MSG, saturated fats, dripping with gluten. Heck, Holly was sure anyone in their group would settle for a head of cabbage right about now.

  Eric repeated his little magic trick on the other two locks, both with the same result.

  After a careful search, Holly held up the only item of interest.

  “Looks like half a hoagie,” she said, gently spreading both halves of the sandwich, the odor of bread and meat tickling her nose. “We got pepperoni, veggies and some kind of vinaigrette. It’s probably been sitting here for a week, maybe more, but it smells okay to me.”

  The others were gathered around her, eyeing the hoagie like a starving fox eyeing a hen.

  On the third locker’s top shelf was a newspaper dated the day before the crash. On the wrinkled front page was a headline about rising tensions between the US and China. The following day would be the cyber-attack against the banks. Sometime in the middle of that night the power would be switched off, freezing any and maybe all future headlines.

  Holly yanked out the front page and laid it on a nearby table. She then took the chef’s knife and divided the sandwich into equal parts. She handed them out one by one. Each of them, including Dillon, wolfed down their share. Licking the juice dripping from her fingers, Holly was certain this was the best hoagie she’d ever eaten.

  After he was done, Dillon returned to that last locker and began poking around.

  “There’s nothing else, honey,” Holly told him, saddened that he wanted more. But the truth was, they all wanted more.

  He rose up on his tiptoes and then reached one hand toward the back of the locker. He came out with what looked like a large set of keys. She moved closer. “What’ve you got there?”

  Dillon cupped the mass of keys in his hand, weighing them. “I don’t know.”

  It was then that something occurred to her. She remembered that first door they’d passed on their way in. It had read ‘Lost and Found.’ Could one of the keys on this chain open that door? And if so, what were the chances they might find something useful inside?

  Without saying another word, Holly removed her phone, turned on the flashlight and headed back into the darkened corridor.

  “Hey,” Johnny said, his voice trailing after her. “Where you going?”

  She reached the door and went through the ring systematically. Moments later, the others were lined up behind her, looking very much like members of Mission Control watching a rover touch down on an alien world. Eric was holding his breath. Dillon was the only one emotionally detached from the significance of the moment.

  The fourteenth key slid inside the lock. Holly twisted her wrist and the locking mechanism gave way. The group let out a collective sigh. With both hands, Holly pushed open the door at precisely the same time they caught the muffled sound of raised voices emanating from Concourse B. They all paused, a tingle of alarm shivering up their spines.

  “What’s going on out there?” Johnny whispered. His eyes were wide and the sudden dryness of his mouth made his tongue click.

  “Why don’t you go find out?” Riley said, nudging him in that direction.

  “Uh, no, thank you. Why don’t you go?”

  Holly withdrew the key ring and slid it into her pocket. “Fine. Don’t head inside until I’m back.”

  Ten yards later she reached the double doors and nudged the left one open a crack. From here she could see people scurrying about. Others were standing up in their makeshift beds. To a person, the fear on their faces was undeniable. They also happened to all be looking in the same direction, toward the connecting link between Terminal One and Terminal Two. Holly pushed herself out a little further and noticed a group of ten to fifteen TSA agents pressed against the glass partition. On the other side was a rabid mob, pounding against the glass with fists, improvised weapons and anything else they could get their hands on.

  If Holly hadn’t known any better, she’d swear a deadly riot had broken out in Terminal Two and it was quickly heading this way.

  Chapter 6

  The sky was a crisp azure blue as Nate and Dakota came upon Uncle Roger’s log cabin. Nestled along a bend in the creek, now frozen over and buried by a meter of snow, the cabin was simple and rustic, likely a reflection of the man who’d built it. It featured a dormer-style roof with a generous porch out front and a stone chimney climbing the western wall. The glare from the sun made it impossible to see inside. The snow leading up to the cabin was slightly ruffled, as though someone had either come or gone several days ago. Otherwise, there was no sign of activity. Dakota glanced up at the chimney and, seeing it dormant, couldn’t hide the disappointment on her face.

  “If he isn’t here, I don’t have a clue where he would be,” she said, bracing herself against the letdown that was sure to come.

  Nate tugged on the horse’s reins, drawing Wayne to a stop, his thin, powerful legs swallowed by a meter of white powder. The animal made a sound and Nate patted his neck.

  “Is this where he keeps the hardcore bunker Five mentioned?” he asked, dismounting and removing the G36 assault rifle. Nate stumbled, favoring the low-level throbbing in his knee that was never far away.

  Dakota followed suit. “I can’t say for sure,” she admitted. “Uncle Roger never took me there. Never even told me where it was. He considered any mention of it a serious breach of security.”

  “He sounds like a real hoot at a party,” Nate observed, leading Wayne to a nearby tree and tying him there. As they approached, weapons drawn and in the low ready position, Nate wasn’t sure what worried him more: finding out that Roger was gone, or finding he was home and no longer alive. He wasn’t entirely sure Dakota could handle seeing her uncle in such a state.

  “Let me go in first,” she said, pushing past him.

  He reached for her. “Hold up, missy. We have no idea who or what is in there.”

  But the girl was no longer listening. She waded through fine, granular snow, reaching the front door a few seconds before Nate. Turning the knob, she pushed her way inside and let out a terrible gasp.

  Nate leapt forward. The figure of a man in dark winter clothing lay sprawled face down mere feet from the entrance. Dakota stumbled to one side, pressing her back up against a nearby wall. A single gloved hand covered her mouth. Nate’s gaze flit between the girl and the man on the ground.

  For the girl’s sake, please God, don’t let this be him.

  Nate bent and turned the dead man over. The body was stiff, whether from the cold or from rigor mortis, Nate couldn’t tell. The hole through both sides of his jacket made clear he had been shot by a large-caliber bullet. A strange object hugging the far wall caught Nate’s attention. It looked like some sort of booby trap.

  “Wait here,” he told her. “And don’t move.”

  Nate crept forward. To his left was a kitchen and dining area. To his right was a couch and a well-worn leather recliner both facing the fireplace. He cut a wide path around the object he’d spotted earlier. Drawing up next to it, he saw that his initial suspicion had been correct. It looked as though Uncle Roger had left a little surprise for anyone dumb enough to come snooping around. Was the man on the floor one of Five’s goons, dispatched here days ago to find Dakota’s uncle? The scene they’d discovered at his home in Rockford had made clear he was in the middle of being tortured when he’d managed to break free and kill his tormentors. Afterward, this guy had apparently been dispatched to finish the job and ended up with a .30-06 through the chest and a mouthful of stained
wood flooring.

  “You see anything?” Dakota called out.

  “Yeah, your uncle left a little surprise. I’m just glad that guy discovered it first.”

  They spent the next several minutes searching the main floor for any other booby traps. The cabin looked messy. Drawers and cupboards had been left open. The sink was filled with used MRE packages and empty cans of food. Ice-cold bottles of water were stacked on the counter. It was hard to tell if Roger had stayed here a few days before moving on, or whether this had been done by someone else.

  Nate was about to offer Dakota a few words of solace to mitigate the disappointment she was surely feeling when he caught the sound of someone upstairs.

  Nate pressed an index finger to his lips. “You hear that?” he whispered, raising his weapon and turning to face the staircase.

  The floor creaked like someone was walking around up there.

  “Watch the fort down here while I go check it out,” he told her, moving slowly, deliberately toward the staircase.

  “Let me come with you,” she whispered, her voice low, but straining to be heard.

  He motioned with one hand to the front door and nodded, hoping she’d understand what he was asking her to do. Dakota nodded, stomping in that direction, opening and then closing the door loudly.

  Meanwhile, Nate kept his G36 leveled as he reached and then began to climb the stairs. He took them slowly, one at a time, pivoting to keep his weapon trained on any threats from above. The idea was for whoever was in the cabin to think they’d left. It appeared to work because Nate heard more pronounced footsteps coming from the room at the end of the hall. The door was closed, a thin stream of sunlight visible from beneath the door sill, blinking as whoever was behind it walked back and forth.

  What were they doing? Was it Roger or someone else?

  Nate arrived and was reaching for the handle when the door swung open. Both men were startled, drawing in a gulp of stale, cool air.

  The man before him wore heavy boots and a black and white camo-patterned one-piece snow suit. Buckled over that was a leather gun belt housing a Ruger pistol.

  Nate kept the rifle trained on him. “That all you packing?”

  The man’s brown eyes dropped to the weapon on his hip and he nodded. His hair was dark, almost jet black, his skin pale to the point of being translucent. This guy looked like he’d spent a long time indoors… or underground.

  “Have you come to rob me?” Snowsuit asked. He had a calmness about him that Nate found disquieting.

  “Who are you?”

  Snowsuit snickered. “Who am I? You broke into my house. The real question is who the hell are you?” As he spoke, the knuckles of his right hand brushed against the grip of his pistol.

  Nate kept the rifle trained on him. “Easy, buddy. Take the weapon out with two fingers and set it on the floor until we get this sorted out.”

  The man did as he was told.

  “Now that that’s out of the way, you gonna tell me your name?”

  “My name’s Roger.”

  Nate’s eyes grew wide and then narrowed a second later. “Have you noticed you got a dead guy in your house?”

  Nate heard Dakota come back inside. He called down for her to come join them.

  Snowsuit—Roger or whoever he was—remained perfectly calm. “Thanks for the newsflash, bud. I just got back myself. Was hunting deer and got back to find him dead as a doornail. Serves him right for breaking in while I was away.”

  Dakota reached the top of the stairs and started down the hallway, her pace slowing as she drew nearer.

  Nate shifted to one side. “This guy says he’s your uncle Roger.”

  The expression on Dakota’s face ran through a kaleidoscope of emotions. “He’s lying. I’ve never seen him before in my life.”

  Both men locked eyes a nanosecond before the stranger swung his right hand in an arc, knocking the barrel of Nate’s rifle away. With Nate off balance, he thrust the heel of his boot into the soft part of Nate’s belly. Nate let out a deep moan as the wind was knocked from his lungs. He tried to bring the rifle back to bear, but not before Snowsuit grabbed hold of it too. Now they were staring eye to eye, each of them grasping the weapon, pushing and pulling. As they struggled over the gun, the rifle went off, firing repeatedly into the empty room beside them. Seconds later the G36 clicked empty. Ducking down, Dakota pulled her pistol, fighting for a clean shot.

  This was a fight to the death and both men knew the score. Grunting and swearing, Snowsuit threw another kick, this time aimed at Nate’s left knee. Nate checked it and then let himself fall backwards, digging his boots into Snowsuit’s midsection as they both dropped. At the last moment, Nate pumped his legs, flipping Snowsuit over him. The man landed flat on his back with a loud boom.

  Stunned from hitting the floor, Snowsuit still maintained his grip on the weapon. Both men scrambled to their feet. This time, Snowsuit was holding the now empty rifle. He pulled the trigger perhaps just to be sure the magazine was dry. That was when Nate punched him square in the face. Snowsuit reeled backwards, dropping the gun, but somehow managing to grab a fistful of Nate’s jacket as he stumbled over the top riser. For a brief moment, they teetered in that limbo that precedes all great falls. Snowsuit’s widening eyes signaled the shift from balance to instability as they both went tumbling down the narrow staircase, rolling over one another, holding on and punching the entire way down.

  Nate heard the sound of crunching as they went, uncertain whether it was their bones or the wood giving way. At the bottom, he clambered to his feet right as Snowsuit threw a haymaker. A connection would surely have knocked Nate out and sealed his fate. Instead, his years of aikido kicked in. He caught Snowsuit’s punch, twisted his wrist and then struck the back of the man’s elbow, breaking his arm. Snowsuit howled in pain, rolling from Nate’s grip and back onto his feet. They were both breathing deeply now. Snowsuit’s left arm hung limp by his side.

  “Stop it!” Dakota shouted, her pistol trained on his chest.

  Snowsuit glanced at her and then over to the body on the floor.

  “You’ve been waiting for us, haven’t you?” Nate said, out of breath, his arms still outstretched in a fighting stance.

  “Only her,” Snowsuit said. A trail of blood ran down from a deep gash on his forehead.

  “Where’s my uncle?” she demanded; her cheeks flushed with anger.

  “That’s what I’d like to know. I got a score to settle with him. He killed two of my buddies in Rockford. Not to mention poor Tommy who walked into that booby trap. It didn’t start as anything personal. We just needed the girl. But now things are different.”

  “That may be,” Nate said. “But there’s something you should know. Five and Jakes are dead.”

  The light in Snowsuit’s brown eyes suddenly dimmed. “Bull.” His voice rose into a shout, but even Nate could tell he knew it was true.

  What they hadn’t noticed was the table knife Snowsuit had secreted off the table next to him. He lunged. Nate’s eyes flashed; his body tensed. Snowsuit made it another step or two before Dakota shot him dead.

  They stood in silence for a moment, their ears still ringing. Before them lay Snowsuit, blood pooling beneath his prone form. If it hadn’t been earlier, it was clear to Nate now these guys wouldn’t stop until they got what they wanted—a path of death and destruction that led from Dakota to Roger.

  “So what now?” she asked, putting away her Glock 19. “Will you at least help me clear these guys away before you go?”

  “I promised I’d bring you to your uncle,” Nate said. “And I intend to keep my word.”

  Dakota smiled and nodded quietly. He would get no argument from her.

  Nate spent the next several minutes searching the dead for anything useful. First on the list was Snowsuit’s leather gunbelt. It fit his SIG and was a lot more comfortable than the concealed-carry holster he’d been using. Other useful items were .45 caliber rounds. Inside the top drawer of Roger’s
bedroom dresser, Nate discovered a box of 30-06 to go along with the Remington 700 hunting rifle rigged in the booby trap.

  Meanwhile, Dakota went through the cupboards, replenishing their food and water. They couldn’t afford to take everything since weight was an issue. Already Wayne—Godsend that he was—had begun showing signs of fatigue.

  Nate was going back over Snowsuit when he found a set of keys in the man’s inside pocket.

  “Wonder what these are for?” he asked, thinking out loud. He didn’t remember seeing a vehicle outside, although there was a shed next to the cabin.

  Dakota glanced over. “Huh?”

  “Oh, nothing,” Nate said before he realized there was something he wanted to show her. “You know how to use one of these?” He held up the Remington 700.

  She let out a sardonic little laugh. “Of course, who doesn’t?”

  “Dumb question, right?” he replied, shaking his head, the hint of a smirk on his lips. “I’m taking it. I hope your uncle Roger doesn’t mind.”

  She seemed to consider this for a moment. “Well, he was pretty picky about who he let use his guns. How about I look after it?”

  “Great idea,” Nate said. He set it back on the table and headed out to the shed. It was large enough to hold a car, but not a truck. Most of the snow in front of the blistered wooden door had already been cleared. Was this the vehicle Snowsuit and his friend had used to get here? He swung the door open and made an audible sound. The shed wasn’t hiding a truck, but a snowmobile. At least that explained their outfits. A large three-gallon gas can was seated at the back of the vehicle. With any luck, they might have just shaved a day or two off their journey.

  Chapter 7

  Chicago O’Hare International Airport

  “We gotta get out of here,” Holly said, her breath coming in short, choppy gasps. She told them what she had seen. Once the mob broke through the reinforced glass barrier, it was only a question of time before they attacked the people of Concourse C. They were like rats in a cage.