Storm Tide Rising: Blackout Volume 2

by D W McAliley

  "There have been things happening around here," Alyssa said softly as they walked down the empty street. "A notice was left in all the mail boxes about violent gangs and criminals in the area. Said it was best to stay in our homes because the police weren't coming any time soon."

  Alyssa mumbled something else under her breath, then turned and looked Mike in the eye. "Everything was fine until that notice came out. It was like they were advertising it to the worst people. Suddenly, doors were being kicked in every night. You could hear the screams some times. On the second day, a Federal Security Services unit came through and arrested six people they said were involved in it, but then the FSS left."

  "Same thing happened in the southern part of the city," Mike said. He kept a sharp eye on the shadows between houses and the thin wood line behind them. It was a manicured kind of forest within the neighborhood, but the shadows it cast were just as dark as a natural forest's would have been.

  "Did you have the Relief Camps?" Alyssa asked.

  Mike froze as he felt a tingle run over his arms. "Relief Camps?" Mike said. "Run by FEMA?"

  Alyssa shook her head. "We had a local National Guard post. They set up the camp, and FSS came in and provided security. Guaranteed safe, or so they said. A lot of the neighborhood went for it. Drew said we shouldn't, though. He said we should stay put as long as we could."

  Mike had to swallow past a sudden bitter taste in the back of his mouth. "You made the right choice," he said after a moment. "I've seen those kinds of camps before, and one way or another, it always ends up badly for those who stay."

  Silence fell between them again, as it often had the night before. Mike followed Alyssa down the street as she turned right at the stop sign without hesitating. He watched the houses they passed with cautious, wary eyes, but he saw no movement. A few dogs barked faintly in the distance, but other than those quiet natural sounds, the neighborhood was unnaturally silent, and that silence sent shivers up his spine. Mike kept his finger near the safety on his M-4, just in case.

  As the pair walked, Mike turned to check their back trail from time to time. He couldn't quite place his finger on why, but he had the feeling a pair of eyes was constantly settled right between his shoulder blades. It didn't seem to matter which way he turned, the feeling was impossible to shake. Alyssa felt the pervading tension as well. She jumped at every stray rustle of wind, and her eyes darted to both sides of the broad blacktopped road. Eventually, she slowed her pace, and as Mike passed her, she said, "Take two lefts at the next stop signs," Alyssa said. "That will take us out to the main road."

  Mike nodded and chose not to make an issue out of taking the lead in unfamiliar territory. Alyssa's eyes were wide, her face pale. She was clearly frightened, and Mike couldn't blame her. He followed her directions and made two consecutive left turns. The road widened at the last intersection, and there was a single white line painted down the middle of it. Bradford pear trees lined both sides of the lane, thick green canopies casting deep shadows in the late August afternoon. The neighborhood was beautiful, and in another circumstance, Mike would have enjoyed the walk.

  As it was, his gut was twisted in knots and his shirt was soaked through with sweat. Combat training had been his least favorite part of the US Coast Guard's basic training course, and he'd been thankful when it was over. He had put on the uniform specifically to save people, not to fight them. Now, even recognizing the need, he still felt as uneasy as he had on the first day of tactical training.

  Suddenly, Alyssa was at Mike's side, pulling on his shirt sleeve insistently. "Something isn't right," she said, pointing toward the trees along the road. There were thin strands of concertina wire strung in broad loops between the trunks of the Bradford pears. If it hadn't been for the angle of the sunlight, he would have missed them altogether. Mike slowed a little, and as they rounded a curve in the road, they came face to face with a group of four men.

  "Stop right there," a voice called. "Let me see your hands, slowly, sir."

  Mike and Alyssa froze. Mike slowly released his rifle and let it hang in front of him. He kept his hands clear of his body and the rifle, but close enough to reach it if he needed to. Alyssa stopped beside him, her eyes wide, and her trembling hand gripped Mike's sleeve tightly. Two of the four men had pistols in their hands, though they weren't raised. The other two both carried accessorized M-4 rifles. One man with a rifle stepped smoothly in front of the others, his broad grin showing teeth much whiter than they should have been.

  "Afternoon, folks," the man said. "I'm the Operations Team Leader for this district. My name's Parker. How are you tonight?"

  Mike frowned at the man's extended hand but didn't shake it. Instead, he nodded toward the two Bradley fighting vehicles parked at the entrance gate to the neighborhood and the group of what looked like soldiers stretching more concertina wire across the broad street. "Are you all Federal Security Service?"

  Parker shook his head. "No, we're with another unit. Private contractors under orders from FEMA, but we work in concert with FSS. One big happy family."

  The man flashed his toothy grin again, and Mike decided he didn't like it.

  "Where's my husband?" Alyssa demanded suddenly. "His name is Drew. Drew McCarthy. He left three nights ago to get water, and he never came home."

  By the end of her outburst, Alyssa's whole body was trembling as she fought back tears. Parker frowned as he tapped the side of his tinted glasses, his eyes flickering back and forth. Finally, he nodded and focused again on Alyssa. "That make you the wife of Drew McCarthy, then?" Parker asked. "Alyssa McCarthy? 4228 Wandering Pine Lane?"

  Alyssa could only manage to nod, as her lower lip trembled with growing fear. The strength she'd mustered all night suddenly began to evaporate.

  "Everything is fine, ma'am," Parker said. "We'll be by later with an announcement for each home, so you'll want to be there to receive yours. Drew wouldn't want you to miss a letter from him."

  Unable to stop herself, Alyssa made a sound of pure anguish that rose from deep in her throat, and tears finally began trickling down her cheeks. She opened her mouth to say something, but Mike suddenly took her in his arms and held her as if to comfort her pain. "Don't speak," Mike whispered. "I think he knows more than he's saying."

  "Who are you?" Parker asked as Mike let go of Alyssa. "Do you live in this neighborhood, sir?"

  "I'm a friend of the family," Mike replied, careful to keep his hands in plain sight again. "Drew asked me to keep an eye on Alyssa while he was out looking for water. We got worried when he never came back, that's all. Is he okay? Do you know where he is?"

  "You'll have to take Ms. McCarthy back home, sir," Parker said, his voice suddenly very firm and official. "This area has been deemed unsafe for travel. The number of accidents and attacks has been up due to the absence of police authority."

  Mike nodded. "I understand. I'll take Alyssa back home, and we'll wait for the announcement there, okay?"

  The man tapped the side of his glasses again and nodded. "Do you know how to get her home? Two right turns and a left, okay?"

  The hair on the back of Mike's neck stood on end. Neither he nor Alyssa had mentioned how to get back to the house, but Parker had nailed it turn by turn. Mike looked again at the glasses Parker was wearing, and wondered if they were smart glasses. He nodded and carefully began backing away with Alyssa frowning at his side. "Yes, sir, I remember."

  Mike turned to go, but the man cleared his throat loudly. "And sir, make sure you leave the rifle at home next time. If you carry something like that around, you might get mistaken for a criminal up to no good." Parker paused for a long moment of tense silence. "And you wouldn't want that to happen."

  Mike swallowed hard and led Alyssa back down the street and out of the contractors' line of sight.

  "What the heck was that about?" Alyssa asked angrily. "He said he knew something about Drew!"

  Mike shook his head. "All he said was your name and address. He never actually said
anything about your husband other than mentioning some letter. If he knew about a letter, why not just tell us where your husband is? He stayed away from any real details like that on purpose. I think he was using smart glasses to look up information on you."

  Alyssa frowned suddenly, her anger temporarily stifled by confusion. "Why would he do that?" she asked.

  Mike gave a small shrug of his shoulders. "How should I know?" he replied. "All I know is I'm not planning on sticking around to find out."

  Ch. 3

  The Daily Brief

  Terry Price stepped into the room and immediately everyone stood, snapping to attention. Their response so caught him off guard that he nearly stumbled. None of the men were in uniform, but that hardly mattered. Some things become so deeply ingrained in a person's mind and actions over years of training that they become instinct rather than conscious thought. In the same way a doctor is always a doctor, these men had long since become military men in every sense of the word.

  Terry was immediately both humbled and embarrassed. "At ease, gentlemen," he said uncomfortably. "I'm sorry to be late."

  There was a rustle as the men all returned to their seats. Terry went to the desk at the center of the small theater-style briefing room. A screen descended from the ceiling behind him, and the lights dimmed to half strength. Terry picked up a remote control from the desk and pressed a button to activate the screen. The entire wall was a curved smart screen that took a moment to boot up. While the display program loaded, Terry turned to the room and held up a copy of the briefing file.

  "I'm sure you all read the file," he said. "I know I owe you more of an explanation, and I swear that I will give it to you when we have the time. Right now, though, there are a few more pressing matters. There were questions I didn't have the answers to when I wrote the paperwork you're now holding, and some of those answers I have found since."

  Terry turned to the screen as the last stages of the boot process finished. He tapped a few commands on the remote and opened the briefing presentation file. The first slide was a looping video that showed a NORAD tracking map. Four radar tracks rose above an outline of the continental US. At nearly the same instant, they detonated.

  "Almost five days ago," Terry said, "four nuclear-equipped missiles were fired from container ships just off our coast. The missiles climbed, attained an altitude of 250km, and detonated. Judging from satellite telemetry, none of these four warheads was more than a few dozen kilotons, and they were high enough up that there was no physical damage from their detonation. They did put out a large amount of gamma rays for devices of that size and were likely some form of super pulse weapon. The Electromagnetic Pulses created, however, radiated down through the atmosphere and caused an induced current overload that burned out the nation's power production and distribution grid."

  Terry paused and looked at the grave faces staring back at him. "Let me repeat that," he said. "The nation's power grid has taken a direct hit and has been brought down. Roughly two hours after the initial attack, the Russian President, during a live press conference, announced—North Korea as the aggressor." Terry clicked a button, and the screen changed to a view of Putin's press announcement. "During that live press event, the Russian President declared that Russia would lead the charge to avenge the United States. He then proceeded to launch missiles from mobile road platforms that targeted and destroyed nearly our entire satellite network."

  Terry clicked again, and the screen showed a satellite video image tracking a plume of white smoke that rose and then moved out of the frame of reference. A few seconds later, the image cut off in static. He left the stack playing behind him as he addressed the silent room.

  "Gentlemen, we are under attack," Terry said plainly. "And at the moment, we are losing."

  There was an uncomfortable murmur from the assembled men. They were all highly trained former special operations soldiers and sailors, and they were not accustomed to losing.

  “When this all happened,” Terry continued, “I expected to see Russian Tu-95’s coming over the pole at us. But that never happened. Yesterday morning, my staff succeeded in tapping into the European sat-net and we found out why.”

  Terry clicked his remote control and the screen split into two images. On the right side of the screen was an image of Eastern Europe with Scandinavia on the upper edge of the shot; the left side of the screen showed Western Europe from Portugal to Germany. Thick columns of cloud covered a good portion of the continent and obscured much of the ground from the satellite’s cameras. There were tiny dots of gray in the Mediterranean and North Seas that looked like ships. Terry used the laser pointer built into the hand remote to highlight two areas in the deep blue waters.

  “These are Russian fleets,” Terry said, “complete with aircraft carriers, heavy missile cruisers, and at least six submarines. The cloud cover you see is actually smoke rising from thirty seven cities across mainland Europe. Shortly after taking out our satellites, the Russians began an aggressive bombardment. Two large EMP’s were detonated above the continent, crippling their infrastructure in much the same way ours was brought down. With the lines of command and communication cut, the Russians seem to have met little resistance.”

  The screen shifted again to show a broad view of China and southeast Asia with Japan on the right edge of the picture. More columns of smoke rose from the areas of South Korea, Vietnam, and along the Japanese islands.

  “At the same time Russia was launching its European offensive,” Terry continued, “China launched a massive attack in southern Asia. They pushed through South Korea, attacked Vietnam, and hit Japan hard. The newly commissioned Chinese aircraft carriers are both holding anchor about two hundred miles off Japan’s coast launching attack sorties around the clock.”

  Terry clicked the remote again, and the screen shifted to show an image of the United States taken from high orbit at night. Along the east and west coasts, the image was peppered with bright cities where lights clustered together like dew sparkling on a spider web in the early morning sun. “This image was taken two weeks ago from an extremely classified monitoring satellite in high Earth orbit,” Terry said, and he clicked the remote again. The screen changed to the same perspective, but the entire image was so dark that it was difficult to make out that it was even land. “This image was taken last night.”

  Terry powered down the smart screen and looked up to face the grim expressions and steely gazes from the assembled veterans. “The world is at war, gentlemen, and the United States has been knocked completely out of the fight,” Terry said into the silence. “I’ve brought you all here because I mean to change that.”

  There was no eruption of applause or cheers. The men simply nodded. They had each seen combat more than once in their distinguished careers, often in the worst, most hopeless areas of the world. They’d seen man's raw brutality unleashed against humanity and the death and destruction that was the result. They knew the truth about war that only those who have seen and lived it can understand. This would not be a war for treasures, or territory, or resources, or even to spread the blessings of liberty and freedom to the oppressed.

  This war would be fought for survival.

  Ch. 4

  A Position Of Strength

  The man in Joe's grip tried to twist and turn, but Joe squeezed just a bit harder with the crook of his elbow, so the captive got the point and settled down. Joe surveyed the faces looking back at him, wide-eyed and blinking. Nearly all of the men in the crowd held a pistol or a shotgun, and more than one of the women did as well. The brief moment of shock was still hanging in the air, and the people hadn't quite decided what to do with the new comers yet. As long as Joe kept them off balance, he should be able to stay one step ahead of them.

  "Now, I know a few of you," Joe said, "and a few of you know me. But what I can't figure out is what the hell you're all doing here looking like you're getting ready to burn Benny MacPhail's pharmacy to the ground!"

  The crowd began
shouting answers at once, each person trying to be heard over the one next to him. Joe let the noise rise for a moment, then whistled loudly through his teeth. "Enough!" he yelled into the silence. "I'm gonna ask questions, and you're gonna answer. Got it?" Joe growled. The man in his grip nodded as much as he could. "Good. Now, why are you all here?"

  "We need medicine," the man answered. "Insulin, blood thinners, blood pressure meds. My little girl's got asthma. When it gets hot, she can't breathe well and coughs all night."

  Joe took a deep breath through his nose and lowered his Beretta slowly. "Look, if I let you go, are we going to have problems?" The man shook his head, so Joe loosened his grip and let the man step away from him, rubbing his throat. "I know things are bad, and you're all scared. But this isn’t the way to get things done."

  "We just came up to talk, to buy the medicine we needed," the man said, shaking his right wrist, and rubbing his arm. "MacPhail said no, and some people started yelling. I guess he got scared and ran inside."

  "Where's the police?" Joe asked. "The department is less than a half mile down the road. Why didn't you just go get help there and have the officers talk to MacPhail?"

  "We tried," the man said, "but no one was there."

  "The Chief's dead," a voice called from the crowd. "They found him face down at the front door of the department the first morning after, his keys still in his hand. None of the rest of the force has been back since."

  Joe bit back a curse as a few of the people in the crowd started shouting again. Chief Tyson was a prominent figure in and around Bennett, and he'd led the city police force for more than fifteen years. The man was over seventy years old, but the quiet town had been peaceful enough even for a man his age to handle.

  Joe had never stopped to think that the chief might have been old enough to have a pacemaker.