It took almost ten minutes for a response.
> DR: retrieve attached txt file AIR_RDEA 411.txt
Ethan acknowledged, downloaded the coded text file and ran his decryption routine on it. The data quickly came up, and though Ethan could only decipher parts of it, the picture it painted was bleak. Alaska, British Columbia, Washington and parts of Oregon were eighty percent occupied by North Korea, backed by the Chinese, but they had been halted at the mountain passes in both directions. That wouldn’t last long, however, as the defending units were running blind without Ethan’s broadcasts and could not respond effectively to an enemy with intact communications.
Additionally, Florida, Georgia, and the Gulf Coast out to New Orleans were similarly occupied by Cuban and Russian forces, but they were spread thin. They’d suffered terrible losses at the hands of a well-armed American populace, though the mortality rate among civilians was already running at twenty percent and climbing. The Gulf State civilians kept coming at the invaders, thinning their ranks, but at a terrible cost.
What Ethan cared about more personally at the moment was the invasion of New York City and beyond. That mostly Arabic and Persian force had occupied the area he had foreseen—a roughly square territory, the borders of which were Baltimore, Cleveland, Buffalo, and Boston. Civilian casualties in the region were upwards of thirty percent, mostly the old and the very young, almost all noncombatants. The ISIS-led coalition didn’t give a damn about human lives, at least not those among the invading forces.
The enemy unit locations around occupied America, which the file showed by coordinates and coded notations, were thick within those regions, and other than the Koreans in the Pacific Northwest there showed no signs of halting their drives. Everywhere, the invaders were suffering massive losses and delays due to unaffiliated local partisans, but they weren’t being stopped in their tracks. For that, America needed a coordinated military response, and the EMP had prevented that so far.
With a sigh, Ethan connected his laptop to the HAM radio on the Jeep and powered it up. With a few deft clicks on the laptop’s touchpad, he was broadcasting his coded signal once again, piggybacking on and embedded within a transmission that sounded like nothing more than static. He let the message cycle five times in twenty minutes, then packed up his gear. Hopefully, the new intel would help the remnants of the military and the official partisan groups who could receive it. But now it was past time to get the hell out of Dodge before the enemy noticed and located the transmission.
* * *
1700 HOURS - ZERO DAY +8
Cassy and the clan approached the crest of the hill. Her heart raced, fearing the worst. Out of nervousness, she said, to no one in particular, “I so love Lancaster. It’s so old that it has that old-world charm. And the people! Sure, they’re mostly conservative types, but they also believe in helping each other, and watching out for each other. My first winter it turned out I didn’t have enough firewood, and a neighbor’s cousin drove out from Lancaster and spent the day chopping wood for me. Wouldn’t take a dime for his work, either, though he did let me feed him a big meal and share a drink or two. Did I mention how beautiful the city is?”
They reached the crest of one of the several hills northwest of Lancaster, and looking down, they stared in horror at the scene below. Lancaster, that venerable city, had been a core part at the birth of the Abolitionist movement. For a day, it had been the capital of the U.S. during the Revolutionary War, and it was the city that gave birth to the Pennsylvania Rifle, one of the most important icons of the Frontier Era.
No longer. The Lancaster that lay below them was a burning wreck full of craters and rubbled buildings with no visible moving traffic. The brown haze of death—the noxious gas used by the invaders to destroy agricultural capabilities—lay thick over the city. Looking through the detached scope of a rifle, Cassy saw that nothing moved down there. The ant-like dots of what must be people lay scattered thickly through the streets of the city, but it seemed clear that their suffering was over.
With tears in her eyes, Cassy turned to Michael with a face ablaze in fury. “What can we do?” she asked him, her voice sounding taut and strained even to her own ears. Michael, however, only clenched his jaw and shook his head curtly. No, she realized, there was nothing they could do. Not now.
“Why Lancaster?” said Jed, and his voice broke as he said it. No tears, Cassy saw, but the man was overwrought. “There’s nothing in that ol’ town worth burning.”
Ethan, squatting to Cassy’s left, muttered an obscenity and answered, “Yes, there is something there. Or rather, Lancaster’s vital for something everyone needs. Food. Lancaster is a major agricultural hub for the whole region. The strategy is evil, and brilliant. By destroying Lancaster, the invaders don’t have to divert their forces to haze the hundreds of square miles of farms around the town. I doubt a soul remains alive down there, so there’s no way to gather, process and ship out any of that food. It’ll rot in the trains and on the ground it grew on.”
And, Cassy raged inside, millions would starve who might otherwise have at least survived the winter. It was genocide on U.S. soil. The invaders weren’t trying to conquer America, or if they were it was secondary. Their goal, the only goal that fit all this evidence, was to destroy America utterly. America the Beautiful. America, land of the free. America, the graveyard. “It’s a dark new world in more ways than one,” she muttered, and her tears rolled unhindered down her face.
- 15 -
1900 HOURS - ZERO DAY +8
THE SHORT ASIAN man, wearing a crisp North Korean uniform, sat on a simple folding chair in the main room of his tent. Behind him, flaps led to two additional rooms, one for sleeping and the other his office. Flanking him were his two interpreters. Kneeling in a semicircle in front of him, except in front of the entry flap, were six high-ranking members of the ISIS force responsible for The Plan in this part of the U.S. By the People’s Honor, he hated these sand-eaters, but they were a necessary evil if the Glorious Leader’s plan was to work. And, he mused, they were doing their best to screw it up by killing everyone they could, pissing off the Americans and their idiot allies, and funneling eager recruits right into the waiting hands of the Capitalist counterrevolutionaries, which they gave the romantic label “the Resistance.” Pathetic.
He lifted one finger off of the arm of his folding chair, and the two Comrade Soldiers at the door opened the flap. Two sand-eaters entered, dragging a bloody mess between them. The Arabs looked as bad as he imagined they smelled, covered in hair and dirt. At least their commanders usually had sense enough to wash themselves before coming into his presence.
The bloody mess, on the other hand, was a pale American with reddish-brown hair wearing that icon of Western decadence, blue jeans, and a tattered black tee shirt. Thankfully he was clean-shaven. Excessive facial hair was a sign of laziness, as far as Ri was concerned.
The soldiers unceremoniously dumped the American on a woven mat in front of Ri and took one step back. Ri stared at the American for several minutes, simply watching and examining him. The American, in turn, couldn’t meet his gaze. The Arabs had done a fine job of breaking his spirit. At least they could handle simple torture, even if they screwed everything else up with their foolish reliance on a god.
“Great Leader,” he muttered in Korean, “why have you tested me so? My honor is to serve, whatever my own wishes. I thank you for your trust in me for this glorious mission of the People.”
The American looked up, but Ri saw no sign of comprehension, any more than he would on the faces of the sand-eaters if he bothered to look at them. Then he said, as his English translator followed almost in unison, “American, why do you resist the will of the People? Do you cling so hard to your MTV and vapid cultural icons that you cannot see the glory of service to the People? Sadly, it seems you do. How are you feeling?”
The American looked up, surprised. “I, uh, I’ve been better, sir.”
Ri chuckled. At least Americans had spirit. Too bad it w
as so terribly misdirected. “I am Sangjwa Ri or Colonel Ree in your barbaric tongue. Do you wish for water?”
The American nodded, and a petite American woman wearing a dress shuffled to him with a cup, bowed, then backed away. Ri nodded in approval. Americans could be taught to behave, or at least some could. The bloody man drank greedily, then wiped his face with his sleeve. Ri suppressed a grimace, forcing himself to keep his face a mask of stone.
“We have learned you are more than just a misguided rebel. Do you deny this? And what is your name? I forget.”
The American kept his eyes averted. “I am Thomas Smith, sir. And I did deny it, for two days. But I wanted these ragheads to quit torturing me, so I said whatever they wanted.”
Ri said with apparent nonchalance, “You admitted that you were one of these so-called ‘20s,’ did you not?”
“I’ve no idea who or what that is, but yes, I did admit it. And would again, if those bastards tortured me again.” Thomas shuddered visibly.
Ri suppressed a grin. This one had spirit. No matter, that spirit would soon be crushed when Ri revealed the proof. There was no way the man could be lying, between what he’d said under torture and what his own decoders had found among his possessions.
Ri said, “Pain purifies a man’s thoughts and distills them to the essence of Truth. The Great Leader has himself said that the best cure for a disloyal citizen, that is, one who is lazy, is the application of purifying pain. Do you disagree?”
Thomas frowned. “Torture doesn’t get at the truth, Ree. Everyone knows that.”
One of the guards, on hearing Thomas call him by his simple name, stepped forward with rifle butt raised to strike the American, but Ri held up a hand, and the man stepped back.
“Do not be disrespectful. You lose my respect when you show such poor manners, and that is not good for you. But, you are wrong in what you say. An inexperienced interrogator may get only lies or only the truth he asks for. But the men who questioned you are well-trained by my people. They distill the salty water of your words into the clear waters of truth. And the truth is, you are one of these Twenties.”
It wasn’t a question, and the man glanced down before replying, “No, sir, I am just fighting for my home, my people.”
With a deft flick of his hand, the Colonel produced an SD card. He said nothing, and simply held it up for Thomas to see while he stared at the American to gauge his reaction.
Thomas surprised him by crying out, and his translator was too stunned to catch what he said. Thomas rose to his feet, arm stretched out toward the SD card but was slammed to the ground by a guard’s rifle stroke.
Ri allowed himself to grin and chose a good-natured and friendly smile. The arrogance of these Americans. How dare this degenerate Capitalist rise up against him, a Sangjwa of the People’s Republic of Korea! But he only allowed his smile to show.
Ri said, “You thought you had hidden this? I see. And so, you thought no harm would be done to your cause if you admitted your role in the Twenties. Interesting. And yet, we broke the ciphers on this in an hour, and already knew what you then admitted, although your questioners did not know until you told them.”
Thomas’s eyes flowed with tears of anger and fear, and then he slumped. Ri smiled as the man admitted his defeat.
“Yes, misguided Thomas. We have your intelligence. We know where you think our units are. We know where your counterrevolutionary criminal rebels are, and where they are going.”
Thomas sobbed. Without looking up, he simply begged, “Please, sir, don’t… My country…”
Ri interrupted him, saying, “…is dead. The carcass of Capitalism will feed the needs of the People, all the People. True authority rests with the People, not your swine leaders, who betray their own people for the fleeting pleasure of a G-5 airplane and personal gain. There is no personal gain! All gain belongs to all the People. And now? Now I know the truth of this material. You have betrayed your people by your lack of discipline, foolish American. With this information, all hope is lost, and Capitalism will die a much-deserved death.”
Thomas was dragged away, still sobbing, and Ri indulged in a genuine grin this time, before turning to the assembled Arab military leaders attending him. They had much to plan.
- 16 -
1900 HOURS - ZERO DAY +8
CASSY AND THE clan wasted little time staring at the dead city of Lancaster before moving on. Frank and Cassy had decided to take the group north as far as they could before night came fully upon them since it made no sense to stay and mourn a city they were powerless to help. At least trekking on north would get them away from the destruction, and moving, or doing anything productive, would be good for morale. It would also put them that much closer to Cassy’s homestead when they started the next day’s travel.
Frank had said he wanted to stop at about 2100 hours, and no one had argued. No one had the emotional energy left to argue. They would stop for the night at the east edge of the remote Lancaster Airport, where Cassy knew of a culvert-and-bridge that would be perfect to hide in for the night. Dimmer dusk light would also give them at least a bit of protection against being seen by anyone in the farmhouses scattered about the airport.
Onward they walked, spread out as usual with Michael in the lead, Cassy in the middle with the kids, and the others set up to either flank. There was no rear guard since Mary, still a little sick from snakebite, limped along with Cassy and the kids. It was slow going with the kids and weakened Mary, but no one complained. What choice did they have?
One mile became two, with only about two to go before they would stop for the night. Then an hour to go. Cassy couldn’t wait. Her feet hurt and her shoulder, though much improved, still throbbed when she walked. But no infection, she thought. Thank God for Ethan’s antibiotics and the first aid she’d received.
Mary interrupted her thoughts. “Cassy, I don’t see that brown haze here, but all the plants are that sticky goo. Whole crops, just dead in the fields. Why don’t we see the haze?”
That was a damn good question. Cassy didn’t have an answer but replied, “Well, if I had to guess, I’d say that it either breaks down into sludge over time, or it converts from gas to liquid at a pretty warm temperature. Say, forty-five degrees. Either would explain the goop that remains when the haze goes away.”
Mary looked worried and chewed her lip. Cassy waited as they trudged along. Finally, Mary said, “You told us once that you touched a bit of that goo, and it burned your skin until you got it off. If the haze turns to sludge instead of breaking down, how long will it stay there? And what happens when it rains—will it wash into the water supply?”
Cassy raised her eyebrows at Mary, surprised. “Wow, Mary. My mind has been on keeping us alive until we get home, but those are sharp questions. And the answers will be important before long. You should bring it up when we stop.”
Mary beamed with pride at the compliment, a broad smile on her face. Cassy recognized it as the pride people feel when someone in authority pays attention. When did she become someone in authority?
After thinking for a moment, Cassy continued, “In fact, I think you should tell your ideas to Ethan. He’s the geek among us, and I know he isn’t the most popular guy right now, but he’s important to our survival—and maybe to the survival of America, for all we know, with all that secret squirrel stuff. If any of us can figure out that brown haze and sludge work, he can. We should be stopping in an hour, maybe talk to him then.”
Mary nodded and kept walking as they refocused on the kids in their care.
* * *
Jaz stood inside the culvert with the rest of the clan, effectively hidden underneath the small, paved bridge across the drainage channel. Ethan said it was about 9:00 PM. It was good that Cassy knew the area so well, or they would have missed the small hiding place completely. The culvert provided a good place to camp for the night, so long as it didn’t rain. Frank even authorized a very small fire, though without much around that would burn well, th
e best they could manage was to keep a bed of coals going. But it was way better than nothing, Jaz mused, and the warmth raised her spirits a bit. Smiling, she drank the last of her water. Cassy said she was, like, totally sure they’d reach her farm tomorrow and Michael said there were streams and stuff between them and the farm if they had to stay outside another night. But Jaz knew if she was really thirsty, Jed would share his water with her. He was always doing little stuff like that for her, and it was totally cute. And awesome. All he wanted back was a smile, at least so far, and he treated her with respect. She never met someone like that on the streets. It was confusing sometimes, but she loved the feeling it gave her.
As the others sat around the small fire—still split into two sides, which was emo-sad—Jaz saw Jed get up and walk to the entrance of the tunnel thing they were in. He stood there leaning on the wall with one hand, the other hand in a pocket. He looked absolutely yummy there, a silhouette in the dim light of the rising moon. My cowboy and my gentleman, she mused, and her pulse rose a bit as she watched him.
After a few minutes, when no one went to Jed and the rest of the clan was deep into their conversations, Jaz quietly stood, and walked over to him. She stood a couple feet away. “Keeping up appearances for the Joneses,” Jed had called it when he asked her to be more discreet. She guessed that the Joneses must mean Amber and Ethan, but she hadn’t asked.
For several minutes, she simply stood there near him and was totally just enjoying his silent presence. It gave her a warm, fuzzy feeling in her tummy to be near the man, and her insides felt like they were bubbling like a shook up can of Coke, all jittery on the inside and calm on the outside. She smiled as she thought about releasing the pressure inside her when she finally slept with Jed. Would she explode like when you open a shook up can, or would the pressure bleed off a little at the time until she was empty inside, completely sated? She could barely stand the wait to find out.
Dark New World (Book 2): EMP Exodus Page 10