by P. A. Glaspy
Kevin put his window down slightly for a bit of fresh air, and they were immediately assaulted with the smell of smoke. "Something's burning, something big," he commented. The falling snow was so thick they couldn't see where it was coming from.
"Let's just hope it's not where we're headed," Hutch replied. "Or on the way there, for that matter. No fire trucks mean if it's burning, it's burning to the ground, along with starting fires in buildings around it. With this wind, it could burn down the whole island."
Darrell asked, "How does a fire get started in conditions like this?"
"This is perfect conditions for somebody setting their house on fire," Hutch said. "I used to be part of a volunteer fire department, and winters were really bad. People get cold, light space heaters, tip them over, there you go."
Confused, Darrell went on. "But there's no juice to run a space heater now. Besides, I thought they all had that sensor in them now that if they tipped over they shut off."
Peering through the windshield, Hutch shook his head. "Not the old ones, which there are still plenty of out there. But this fire here was probably started by someone with a fireplace or maybe a kerosene heater. People do stupid things when they're cold. They could have lit a fire in a metal trash can in their apartment thinking that would be safe enough, not realizing the bottom would get hot and burn the carpet, starting a fire. Do that in one of these old apartment buildings, with no way to put the fire out, and it's over, for that building and every one around it. With no wind, you might get lucky and it stay within a city block. It's more likely it will burn everything until it runs into water."
"So, you're saying this fire, wherever it is, could actually burn all of Manhattan? That's insane!" Kevin's voice was filled with awe.
"This whole thing is insane," Damon said. "If it was just the power grid, at least we'd still have cars and trucks, and communications. We have nothing now. There was a solar flare back in the eighteen hundreds that took out part of the telegraph system, set the lines on fire, fried the Morse keys, even shocked some of the operators. And that was the most sophisticated equipment we had then. Now, everything is dependent on electricity or electrical impulses of some kind. Computers run everything. We're vulnerable to so many things now. Plague, attack from damn near anybody, mass die off from disease, starvation, or war. And I'm not necessarily talking about war with another country. There will be war among the people, fighting for survival. It's going to be —"
"Look out!" Darrell yelled as he saw something flying toward the Humvee from behind a drift by the sidewalk on the driver's side. They couldn't miss it. It was on fire.
"What the hell?" Hutch stepped on the gas and swerved as the makeshift Molotov cocktail glanced off the rear bumper and rolled into the rut they had left in the snow.
"I think we found the trouble spot. Incoming!" Kevin hollered from the other side. Another flaming bottle was thrown from across the street. It hit the front quarter panel but wasn't enough to set the metal vehicle aflame.
"Ain't that some shit? One more block and we'd have been on Fifth," Hutch said as he continued on, approaching Sixth Avenue.
"Nice spot for an ambush. Buildings on both sides. No alleys, not really much of an escape route … unless, of course, you're driving a military vehicle." Damon made the comments as he leaned forward to make sure there was no fire on his side. When the bullet hit the window beside his head, he instinctively ducked, as did the rest of the occupants of the Humvee. There were multiple pings around the vehicle.
"Holy shit! Shots fired!" Kevin yelled out.
"No! Really? We'd never have known if you hadn't told us!" Hutch replied sarcastically. "See if you can find the shooters!"
Hutch continued toward Fifth Avenue as the other three guys scanned what they could see for their attackers.
"If we could put the windows down, we could see better, but if we do we lose the shield they provide. Maybe I should open the hatch, see what I can see from up there," Darrell said.
"Very carefully, Light," Hutch replied. "Don't give them an easy target."
"You've got it, Cap." Darrell reached for the latch and opened the overhead door as bullets continued to hit the Humvee. Snow started coming in immediately. He took a small inspection mirror attached to a telescoping handle out of his pack and stuck it up through the opening. He turned it around in a full circle. "I think I can make out at least four hostiles, two on each side of the street. I can't tell what kind of weapons they're using, but I don't see any rifles. Probably pistols, and most likely 9mm. We're past them now so we should be out of their range soon, but they won't be out of ours. Blake, you're up."
Kevin was already verifying he had a round chambered. "You want me to take them out or just scare the shit out of them, Cap?"
"Just make them piss their pants. Maybe they'll think twice before they shoot at the next car that comes down the road." Hutch was struggling to keep the Humvee going in a straight line through the deep snow on the street. It looked like no one had driven through there since the blizzard had started.
"That's a big ten-four." Kevin stood up through the opening just enough that he could rest his rifle on the top. He sighted in the two on his left, picked a spot between them and fired. The bullet split the two perfectly and hit the brick wall behind them. They dove in opposite directions and disappeared behind the snow drift.
"Two pissing themselves, two to go," he replied calmly as he turned to the other side of the street. That pair was trying to see over the high snow to their cohorts, in an apparent attempt to make out what had happened. They were standing very close to each other. Kevin placed the bullet above their heads this time. They dropped, almost as one, out of sight.
"All four now wearing pee-pee pants as requested, Sir," Kevin said as he dropped back inside the vehicle, pulling the overhead door closed. Hutch chuckled, Damon grinned, and Darrell held his hand up for a high five. Kevin obliged.
"Don't get too comfortable, gentlemen," Hutch said as he turned the wheel. "We're about to get on Fifth Avenue. I think that was just a dress rehearsal for the real trouble."
Fifth Avenue in New York City is famous for its history, attractions, and shopping. It is the street that is used to separate the cross streets as East or West. It is also a one-way street heading south. Damon and team were going north.
"What is it with you and navigating us the wrong way on one-way streets?" Hutch asked Damon once he had made the turn.
Damon shrugged. "It's not my fault this is the closest street to where we need to go. Plus, it's not like anyone really cares now. It may work to our advantage."
"How so?"
"People get conditioned to doing things a certain way. All the way here we've been driving on the right side of the road as much as we could. We didn't have to. We could have driven right down the middle or on the other side. But that's the way we do it, the way we have always done it. It's learned behavior. So, now, folks will be expecting anybody driving to be coming from the north. If they have ambushes set up, hopefully, it will be in that direction. This street is going to be fifty-fifty whether we run into any resistance or problems. It's almost all store fronts, which means no tenants; but store fronts mean goods or supplies, which equals looters. I don't really expect any organized attack like what we just came through, but there could be a lot of people, which can quickly become a mob."
"Why would they mob us, Damon?" Darrell asked.
Damon replied, "Have you seen or heard any other working vehicles since we've been on the road? Do you see any evidence on the street that any others have been through here?"
Darrell shook his head. "Nope. I get ya. In a quiet world, we're pretty damn loud."
"Exactly," Damon said, nodding. "We are going to get everybody's attention, and all of them are going to want this ride."
As if to prove his point, Hutch spied a man on the left side of the street staring at them. Then he started yelling and waving his arms as he ran toward them. Hutch called out, "Bogey, te
n o'clock!"
Darrell, seated behind him, replied, "Got it." He stuck his rifle barrel out a partially opened window. The man stopped in his tracks. As they drove past, they heard him scream at them through the open window.
"You can't just leave us here! We need help! People are dying!" They could hear the pleading tone in his voice and see the anguished pain on his face. Hutch kept going. The inside of the Humvee was quiet. Finally, Kevin spoke.
"Man, this sucks. We're the National Guard. Aren't we supposed to help our people?"
Damon turned slightly in his seat and looked at the men in the back. "Normally, yes. Once this mission is over, that may be exactly what we do. But for now, our orders — well, my orders anyway — are to get the president-elect back to D.C. That's what I have to do. But I understand if you don't want to come along. Once we have Mr. Tanner secured, you can stay if you think you can do some good here. I don't think one man can, but I could be wrong. It's up to you."
Kevin shook his head and looked out the window. "I said I'd help you get him there and I will, Major. I don't have to like what I see on the way."
"Fair enough." Damon turned back toward the front. "And, yes, it does suck. People see us as policemen and saviors. That conditioning I was talking about is relevant here. Uniforms mean protection and safety. When we don't provide those expected services, we become the enemy. And when everything goes to shit, we turn into the scapegoats. It's all our fault because we didn't do anything to stop it, even though there's nothing we could have done."
Darrell's window was still partially down, so he could bring his weapon to bear quickly. They could hear gunshots — not close, but not that far away either. Kevin and Damon both opened their windows a bit, and all three men stuck the end of their rifles out so that they could clearly be seen by the few people who had braved the storm and were outside, apparently looking for supplies. They received surprised looks, many of which turned to belligerent stares as they passed without stopping. More than one threw bottles or cans at them.
Though the distance they had to travel down Fifth Avenue was only about a mile and half, between dodging dead cars and trucks on the street and slogging through drifted snow, it felt like twice that long. They passed storefronts that no longer had windows. Saks Fifth Avenue, world renowned for its window displays, especially for the holidays, bore the evidence that nowhere was safe from vandalism and looters. Every window along Fifth was destroyed, along with every Christmas scene they had held. Jagged glass hung from the frames like stalactites in a cave. People were climbing in and out of the broken windows, arms laden with high-end clothing and accessories. Damon shook his head as they passed.
"What a waste of time and energy. They should be looting food, water, sleeping bags, candles … you know, survival stuff. Instead, they're going after Prada and Gucci. They don't get it. Not yet."
They passed St. Patrick's Cathedral where a large group of people were gathered. The doors to the church did not appear to be locked, as folks were entering or leaving regularly. Some of the ones exiting had what appeared to be soup in Styrofoam bowls. They could see steam coming off them.
"Looks like the church figured out how to cook," Kevin commented. "They probably have a gas stove in the rectory. That'll stop soon, too, though."
When they came up to the corner of East Fifty-second Street, there was a strangely large group of people gathered. Again, the storefront windows were demolished, as well as the awnings that had been over them.
"What's that place?" Damon asked.
Hutch glanced over. "Cartier. More useless looting. Although I'd think jewelry would have more trade value than shoes and purses. It's not like money's worth anything now."
"Say what?" Darrell exclaimed. "I've got like two grand in the bank. What do you mean it's not worth anything?"
Hutch looked at him in the rear-view mirror. "Aside from the fact that you can't get to it, who is going to take it and what will they sell you for it? In a situation like this, there might be a few people who would still take cash, but the ones with the valuable stuff won't be selling it. Food, guns, ammo — those things become the new currency."
"So, you're saying I'm broke?"
"I'm saying we're all broke unless we have supplies," Hutch replied. "We're just a couple of blocks away. Everybody stay sharp. If those gates are down this could go bad quick."
The Tanner Tower covered almost half a city block. The main entrance was on Fifth, but there was another on East Fifty-sixth. The entrance to the parking garage was on that side as well. Hutch took a right just before reaching the tower. He immediately slammed on the brakes and skidded sideways a bit before coming to a stop. A car was sitting sideways across the center lane. With cars parked on both sides of the street, it effectively stopped them in their tracks. That, and the two men behind the car with rifles pointed at them. All four men inside the Humvee stared at the two outside, who were quickly joined by two more who ran over from a similarly positioned car on the other side of the garage entrance. All of the men on the street were wearing winter clothing, none of which had any designation as to what organization, if any, they belonged to. The rest of the street was eerily bare of humans.
Without taking his eyes off the gunmen, Hutch said, "Okay, Sorley, you're up. Don't get us shot."
One of the men behind the barricade yelled, "Everybody in the Humvee stick your hands out through the window beside you!"
Damon leaned up to the window and yelled back, "I am Major Damon Sorley, U.S. Army, on a mission from General Charles Everley, Chief of Staff of the Army. I have papers and credentials."
The man who had spoken leaned over and said something to the man next to him. The man nodded and the first one yelled out, "Everybody in the Humvee stick your hands out the windows! Sorley, have that information in your hands."
Damon and his team did as they had been instructed. The speaker motioned with his head to the man he had spoken to, who went to the Humvee, rifle at the ready. The other three behind the blockade visibly tensed up and kept their rifles aimed at the Humvee. When the runner got to the Humvee, he looked inside, eyes darting from the front seat to the back, stopping on each man as if to commit his face to memory. He reached up and took Damon's paperwork. He started backing up slowly.
"Keep your hands where we can see them. I'll be back in a moment."
He went back to the speaker, who was apparently the team leader, and handed him Damon's credentials and letter from Everley. The leader looked them over, gave his man a nod, and handed them back to him. He took the papers back to Damon, visibly more relaxed. When he reached the Humvee, he handed them back to Damon.
"Major, can you identify your team members, and do they have identification?"
Damon replied, "Yes, I'll have them retrieve it if that's okay."
"Slowly, one hand, the other stays out the window."
Damon turned to Hutch. "You heard the man. IDs please." He looked into the back as well. All three men produced their military identifications and handed them to Damon, who passed them through the window to the runner. He looked them over there, then yelled back to his team leader.
"New Jersey National Guard, Jason. Everything seems to be in order."
The team leader, whom they now knew as Jason, called out, "Stand down. Major Sorley, you and your team may exit the vehicle and approach. Rifles slung, pistols holstered, please."
Hutch and Damon got out first, then Darrell and Kevin. The runner extended his hand to Damon. "Alex Chandler, Secret Service. Come on over and meet the rest of the guys. Can't wait to hear what this secret mission is all about."
After the introductions were over, they knew Jason Stephens, Brandon Duncan, and Craig Holcomb were all Secret Service. They were part of the detail that had been assigned to Tanner when he won the nomination.
"How many of you are here?" Damon asked.
"We have eight total Secret Service agents. Then there are six more from Mr. Tanner's personal security team. Four of them
are on the ground floor inside, the other two are in the penthouse with Mr. Tanner and the rest of our men."
Hutch scanned the empty street. "So, I guess you guys are the reason there's no one around."
Jason nodded. "We've had the occasional curious passerby, but honestly, the storm helped us out a lot. No offense, but you guys probably just brought a lot more attention to us with that Humvee. I'm guessing it came from hardened storage in D.C."
"Yes, and we need to get back there as fast as possible, with Tanner," Damon said. "I need to speak with him right away. I'll explain everything when we get to him."
"I can take you up," Jason replied. "Can you leave two men down here to help my guys hold the perimeter?"
Hutch spoke up. "Light, Blake, Agent Chandler will give you your orders until we get back."
They barked in unison, "Yes, sir!"
"I hope you boys ate your Wheaties this morning. There's lots of stairs between us and the top floor." Jason slung his own rifle across his back and started for the door.
"I don't think there's enough Wheaties out there to help me with this expedition," Damon muttered. Louder, he said, "Lead the way."
When Jason found out about Damon's leg on the landing of the fifth-floor stairwell, he slowed the pace. Damon had to take a break about every five to ten flights. It took them almost an hour to reach the top. Damon asked for a minute, opened his bag and popped some over-the-counter pain meds. He swallowed half a bottle of water, took a few deep breaths, then nodded that he was ready to continue. Jason knocked on the door and called out, "It's Stephens!"
The door opened slightly. Jason peered in and pulled the door open wider. "Hey, Dan. They're cleared." He stepped through the door and indicated to Damon and Hutch to follow. Dan watched them walk through, curiosity apparent on his face.
"Who …" he started to ask.
"I'll tell you all about it later. Secure that door behind us." Jason continued down the hall, Damon and Hutch in his wake. He turned a corner which ended at an elaborate double doorway where another man stood guard. "Felix, this is Major Damon Sorley and Captain Chris Hutchinson. They're here on orders from the Chief of the Army to see Mr. Tanner. Gentlemen, Felix Daugherty, the head of Mr. Tanner's private security team." They shook hands, then Felix unlocked the door and held it open for them.