State of Emergency: Jack Emery 2

by Steve P Vincent

  A few seconds passed in awkward silence before Elena turned to him. “We’ve got a few stops to make along the way.”

  “Don’t trust me enough to tell me where?”

  She laughed. “You’ve got plenty of time to make the right decision.”

  CHAPTER 7

  FEMA has issued a cease and desist order to a number of media organizations around the country. These organizations have been complicit in reporting mistruths that aid terrorists and other agitators in making life and the administration of the country more difficult. These orders require the immediate removal of all censored material and carry with them significant financial and custodial penalties for any proprietor, editor or journalist in breach into the future.

  Federal Emergency Management Agency

  News Release

  Jack kept his eyes closed as his ears strained to confirm what he’d heard. He knew the sound of light machine-gun fire like he knew the bottom of a whisky glass. He looked at the alarm clock beside his bed. It was early and they’d arrived in Indianapolis late. Despite wanting nothing more than to go back to sleep, he lay awake for a few minutes, waiting for the sound, until he chuckled and decided he was crazy. Then, just as he was about to try to go back to sleep, he heard it again.

  He kicked off the covers, climbed out of the bed and pulled on his jeans and a T-shirt. He was staying with Elena in an apartment that apparently belonged to her mother, but Jack was skeptical. He didn’t know too many people who kept a fully furnished but otherwise vacant apartment just in case their visiting children needed it. He hadn’t argued though – they couldn’t stay in a hotel and it sure beat curling up in a Chevy.

  He rushed to the master bedroom and shook her firmly. “Elena. Wake up. We need to get moving.”

  She mumbled something that rhymed with duck.

  He shook her again and then turned on the lamp. “Come on, there’s fighting in the streets.”

  “I know.” She groaned loudly as she squinted against the light. “A bit early, but yeah. I know. It’ll be fine.”

  He stared at her, waiting for an explanation. None was forthcoming. His synapses were firing on all cylinders, sending a million thoughts rushing through his head. Every single one of them was telling him that he’d been played. He just wasn’t sure why. She’d brought him here deliberately and had known there would be conflict. He wasn’t sure what she was playing at.

  “Elena?” He sat on the edge of her bed. “I’ve come a long fucking way to be kept in the dark.”

  “It’s not dark. You made sure of that.” She snorted. “Spare me. If I hadn’t pulled you out of Chicago you’d be in prison right now, or worse.”

  Furious, he grabbed the covers and pulled as hard as he could. If he’d have thought about it before acting, he’d have considered the possibility of her not wearing very much under them. As it was, he saw plenty of her in her underwear. His cheeks flushed and his anger subsided nearly instantly. She ripped at the covers in his hands, pure rage burning in her eyes.

  “What the fuck? Why are you being an asshole?” Her voice was vicious. “No wonder you got a divorce.”

  He didn’t rise to her bait. “I know machine-gun fire. By my figuring, we should be leaving here right now, in the complete opposite direction.”

  “No can do.” She exhaled long and hard, apparently letting some of her fury subside with it. “I told you we were stopping a few places along the way.”

  “Why?”

  “We’ve got work to do, though it’s a few hours sooner than I’d expected. You should have caught some zees while you had the chance. Turn around.”

  He turned around and felt movement behind him as she got out of bed. She stood and moved past him, and he shifted his gaze away from her as she gathered up her clothes and started to dress. He’d had more than an eyeful of her, and despite the gravity of the situation and his anger, he felt it was polite to give her at least some privacy.

  “We’re here to cover the first strike of the resistance. The gunfire is a couple of brigades of the 38th Infantry Division. This is where we start to take the country back.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “Afraid not. It’s happening. There’ll be tanks in the streets soon. The underground media and a handful of southern militia aren’t really enough to overcome all of this, Jack. We need some big guns. This is the birth of the resistance. The 38th is taking back their city.” She paused and gave a long sigh. “Come on, you didn’t really think we were just going to New York to have a chat?”

  He turned around. She’d put on the same clothes as the day before. “Well, the thought did cross my mind. The State Guard in town—”

  “Will surrender.” She sat on the edge of the bed and started to slide on her shoes. “They’re weekend warriors.

  “And if they don’t?”

  “Why wouldn’t they? They’re all puffed up and tough in their black Humvees, but nothing against real army.”

  “You’re mad.”

  “Maybe, but it doesn’t matter. It’s happening, we’re just here to report it. If it works, and we can get the message out, the whole country will know. Come on.”

  Without waiting for him to follow, she grabbed her backpack and walked to the front door. He sighed, returned to his own room and grabbed his bag. Postings in a lot of dangerous places had taught him to be ready to go with all possessions of importance at a moment’s notice, but he’d never had to, not even in Afghanistan or Syria. He ran out the door and followed her down the hall.

  “Keep up!”

  “Where the fuck are we going, Elena? New York, I hope.”

  “Sure.” She bolted down the staircase, taking them two at a time. “Eventually.”

  They burst onto the street through the fire door. The alleyway seemed quiet enough and Jack decided it was time to steal back some of the initiative from her. He rushed to the end of the alleyway, stopping at the brick wall with Elena only a step behind. He held his breath and peered around the corner. His eyes widened. There was something large and squat and tan that made for a very bad day.

  “Um, we might want to go back.”

  “Why?” Elena grabbed his shoulder and started to edge around.

  “We both must have slept through the tank rolling into the park!”

  “Well, they’re ahead of schedule. This is perfect!”

  He shook his head, exasperated. As he watched, the tank’s turret rotated, but because of the darkness he couldn’t see what it was targeting. Less than a second after its cannon boomed, a fireball roared into the air off into the distance. He hid back behind the corner and was horrified to see Elena, phone in hand, filming the whole lot. He glared at her, not quite believing it.

  “What?” She spoke without turning around to look at him as she kept filming. “Don’t stare.”

  “What’re you doing?”

  “My job.”

  He took a few steps back into the alley. “Remind me again why I’m hiding in the middle of fucking nowhere while tanks roll through the streets?”

  She kept filming, but turned and flashed him a smile. “Because you’re turned on by adventure?”

  “I had plenty of that in Afghanistan…and China…and Syria. I never thought I’d get another dose in downtown Indianapolis!”

  When he’d left Syria, Jack had thought he’d seen the last of his time as a conflict reporter. The siege of Homs had been brutal and it had taken a great toll on him, to see both the Syrian government of Bashar Al-Assad and the rebels who opposed him fight with such blatant disregard for civilians. They’d ground whole cities to dust between them. He wondered if the same thing would happen here.

  The boom of the tank’s cannon drowned out Elena’s reply, but he saw her visibly tense.

  “What?” He heard a gun shot from nearby, then another.

  “The turret’s turning.”

  Jack pushed her deeper into the alley, then looked back around the corner. The tank’s cannon was pointed at the buildin
g they were hiding behind. From above them came small arms fire, which was being returned by infantry beyond the tank. They were in the middle of a warzone. He started walking away and then turned back to her. She was rooted to the spot.

  “Elena, we need to move—”

  “I was told we’d be safe here.”

  “Guess not.” Jack glanced back around the corner. The tank turret was now pointed at the base of the building. “Fuck! We have to move, now!”

  He grabbed her hand and broke into a run. He pulled her down the alleyway as fast as he could, but they hadn’t made it to the far end when the deafening roar from the Abrams’ cannon sounded. The building shook with the impact and he heard the front of the building start to collapse. In the aftermath, he heard the tank’s engine rev and the grinding sound of its treads as it moved.

  “Come on. This is getting nasty.” He increased the pace, away from the tank and deeper into the city.

  Elena jogged behind him. “Jack, I’m sorry. I was told—”

  “I get it. Apologize later, we need to focus on getting out of this alive.”

  ***

  The noise of the machines filled Callum’s ears. His mind was foggy as he tried to open his eyes. Achieving that one thing consumed him.

  Beep…Beep…

  He managed to flick them open briefly but, unprepared for the assault of the light, he closed them again.

  Beep…Beep…

  Eventually he managed to keep them open if he squinted. The ceiling was white with harsh fluorescents.

  Beep…Beep…

  He had no idea where he was. The only clues were the noises of the machine and the white lights.

  Beep…Beep…

  The last thing he could remember was being shot several times at the distribution center and hitting the ground. His friends had been shot, too.

  Beep…Beep…

  He lifted his right arm off the bed about an inch, though it felt like he was trying to powerlift 400 lbs. He shifted his head a little. IV drips were hooked to him.

  Beep…Beep…

  His mind slowly started to unfog. He could barely shuffle an inch to the right, but he did manage to turn his head sideways.

  Beep…Beep…

  He wasn’t sure there were plastic pink drink bottles in the afterlife. Suddenly, getting hold of the bottle from the side table was the only thing he wanted.

  Beep…Be―

  “Ah, you’re finally awake. Good. Good.” A nurse appeared in his vision then leaned in with a soft smile.

  He tried to speak but didn’t recognize his voice. He closed his eyes again and then felt something press against his lips, something moist. Water dribbled into his mouth. It was the best thing he’d ever tasted. He sucked at it fiercely and then coughed heavily as he tried to swallow too much. His eyes felt heavy. He tried to keep them open.

  When he woke, some time later, smiling down at him was another nurse with a kind smile. He tried to speak. “Where am—”

  “Mr Watkins, you’re okay. You’re at Mount Sinai Hospital. You’re safe and you’re going to be okay. The doctor will be around to see you soon.”

  Callum tried to speak again but she shushed him. She stayed with him for a few minutes, while the cloudy haze of the medication lifted, then left Callum to his thoughts. He began to slowly piece everything together, though it seemed harder than it should have been. He was alive. Somehow. He’d been wounded, but he’d woken up. His team had been shot to hell.

  Callum’s eyes flew open. Someone was touching his shoulder and shaking him slightly. He must have dozed off again. This time, he managed to keep his eyes open fully, though his head still felt heavy. A doctor in a white coat stared down at him, but lacked the same cheer the nurses had offered. He picked up Callum’s chart and studied it.

  “How’s it looking, doc?” Callum had one million questions, but started with the most obvious.

  “It’ll take a few more hours for the sedatives to clear your system entirely.” The doctor didn’t look up from the chart. “Your vitals are good. You’ll be fine. You’re lucky.”

  “What happened to me?”

  “That I don’t know.” The doctor paused and looked up. “You came in with three bullet wounds. We asked what happened and got told not to. We patched you up.”

  The answer was thoroughly unsatisfying, but it wasn’t the doctor’s fault. “Am I going to be alright?”

  The doctor shrugged. “You’ll be weak for a bit. You took one in the foot, one in the shoulder and a third in the chest, but it bounced off a rib. You'll have some rehab.”

  “How long until I’m out of here?”

  “It’ll take time.” The doctor looked back down at the chart. “A week, if we have our way, sooner if the gentleman outside has his. I’ll leave you to it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There are some journalists who want to speak to you.” The doctor smiled sympathetically. “I refused on your behalf, but you’ve got a friend out there who’s insisted.”

  “You can’t make him go away?”

  The doctor laughed. “Like the rest of us these days, I serve at the pleasure of FEMA. You’ll have to excuse me.”

  Callum tried to say more, to ask more questions, but the doctor didn’t respond and left the room. It was only a few seconds before the door slid open again, admitting an impeccably dressed man in a business suit. He wore glasses and had slightly longer hair than would have been allowed in the military. Bureaucrat, the sort Callum hated.

  “Glad you’re awake, Callum.” The man approached the bed with a slimy smile. “I’m Tim Dobbins.”

  “Can you tell me what happened at the distribution center?”

  “I sure can, but there’s more to—”

  “I’m not discussing anything until I know what happened to the rest of my unit.” Callum turned his head away from the bureaucrat.

  Dobbins sighed. “Fine. Everyone in Mobile Three was KIA. Same story for Mobile Four except for you and Todd Bowles, but—”

  “Wait a second, Todd is alive?”

  Dobbins shook his head slightly. “No, he didn’t make it. You very nearly joined him, but your injuries were less critical. You’re a lucky man, Sergeant.”

  “So people keep telling me.”

  “When our reinforcements arrived they secured the scene and aided the casualties. You were evacuated, but things got a bit hairy after that. The center was blown sky high. Timed explosives. It killed more and has disrupted our supply chain massively.”

  Callum didn’t care about toilet paper and razor blades. Or even about the other dead, if he was being honest. He turned his head away from Dobbins, to hide the tear that streaked down his face. Though he wasn’t so clichéd to say he’d rather be dead, he’d known Bowles and Pettine for a long time. He struggled to understand how he could be alive.

  Dobbins cleared his throat. “I’ve been sitting here a long while waiting for you to wake up, you know? You’ve got an interview to do. As soon as possible.”

  “Not interested. Thanks for letting me know about what happened, but I’d like to be alone now if you don’t mind.” Callum closed his eyes.

  “I don’t, but my superiors would. It’s not a request. You’re a uniformed serviceman. You don’t have an option here.”

  Callum sighed and opened his eyes. He’d been fed shit sandwiches by command before, but this one was a double whopper. He knew when he was beaten. The best way to get some peace was to give them a line or two that they could beam out nationally in support of the cause. Then they’d cast him as a hero and pin a medal on his chest.

  “Fine.” He scooted up the bed, managing to get himself slightly elevated. It felt a bit more dignified than lying on his back.

  “I’m glad you’ve seen the value in what we’re trying to do.” Dobbins smiled as he pulled out his cell phone and walked back to the door. “You’re going to be a star.”

  ***

  “Please, buddy.” Jack held out his hands, ple
ading for the other man to listen. “We just found out that my girlfriend is pregnant and our home is rubble.”

  The man had his hands gripped tightly around the bars of the security gate as if it were a life raft. His eyes narrowed. “What’s it worth to you?”

  Jack looked back over his shoulder, half expecting to see troops. He dug into his pocket and counted his cash. “Seventy bucks and my watch?”

  With a nod, the other man unlocked the security gate, opened it and held out his hand. Jack unclasped his Tissot and handed it over with the cash. Once he had the loot in hand, the man stepped aside and let them past. Jack led the way inside and Elena followed as they took the stairs two at a time, racing for the rooftop. He hoped the position was worth the price of admission, but figured the rooftop of the five-story low-rise was the best view they’d get.

  He still couldn’t believe he was back in the middle of a warzone. As soon as they’d escaped the tank at the apartment, he’d demanded answers. She hadn’t blanched and had explained how Major General Anthony Stern and the leadership of the 38th Infantry Division had chosen to liberate Indianapolis. Guerrilla Radio was to cover it all and Elena firmly believed that it was the birthing of the resistance. The conflict had been brutally brief as it rolled across the city and they’d filmed some of it.

  Jack reached the roof and ran toward the edge. It gave a commanding view of the streets surrounding Indianapolis State House. “This is perfect.”

  “Brilliant spot, Jack.” Elena’s breathing was heavy as she stopped beside him. “I reckon you might have done this before?”

  “Couple of times, yeah.” Jack smiled and looked back to the street. “This is my personal best, though.”

  The State House held the headquarters and administration hub for FEMA in the city. Elena had wanted to film the minute the last defenders surrendered, to put the final flourish on the footage they’d collected. Jack had agreed and they’d lucked across the guy at the entrance to the building. It was a good thing for two reasons: Jack preferred to be above the action to get better quality footage, and they were less likely to be shot at.