Trackers 3: The Storm (A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Thriller)

by Nicholas Sansbury Smith

  “I’ve got to return to Command,” she said. “Let’s get started.”

  Harris nodded and gestured to Washington, who had returned to another table. Throughout the space, officers, civilians, and foreign aid workers were sitting at their desks and stations. They would be at it through the night, fighting to keep the people here alive for another day.

  Charlize had toured much of the SC earlier, and had seen how the civilians lucky enough to make it inside were living. The concourses were set up as mass housing units, and the hangars were too, with heat coming from the generators brought up from southern Florida. Food and water was distributed twice a day, but supplies were running out, and new supplies were difficult to move. The more she thought about it, the more she was convinced that the railways were the way to jumpstart the recovery efforts. They were faster, safer, and more efficient.

  Seeing these people living like rats was heartbreaking, and now she was headed back to Constellation where food, water, and everyday comforts like a warm shower were still the norm. But at least she was heading back there with an idea to help these people.

  “Ma’am, is everything okay?” Albert asked. “Do you want me to put this mission on hold and return with you to Command?”

  She shook her head. “Absolutely not. After you find your sister, I’ll send a bird to get you both.”

  That got Harris’s attention. He glared at them, showing his disapproval. “I hope you’re not planning another daylight flyby,” Harris said.

  “I’ll have the bird packed full of medical supplies,” Charlize said. “Get me a list of what you need the most, and I’ll have it delivered for you. Under cover of night, of course.”

  Harris nodded, but he still didn’t seem mollified.

  “Do we have a problem?” she asked, one eyebrow raised.

  “Permission to speak freely, ma’am?”

  Charlize hesitated before granting it with a jerk of her chin.

  “I heard about Lieutenant Dupree and his men,” Harris began. “Word gets around, even now. I’m a father myself, so I understand why you sent those men to their deaths in the search for your son.”

  She opened her mouth to interrupt, to somehow justify Dupree’s sacrifice, but she couldn’t find the words. Harris was right, and the guilt continued to eat at her conscience.

  “I’m not happy about sending my boys into a warzone to find a single civilian,” Harris continued. “No disrespect meant, Officer Randall, but a lot of people have families out there. We’ve all lost people, and we’ll all lose more.”

  Albert looked down at his boots, his eyes gleaming with emotion. He’d finally given up wearing his charred and tattered Air Jordans. “Sir, I don’t‌—‌”

  “The trailer is ready to move,” Washington announced, interrupting at the perfect moment.

  Harris brought his fingers to his lips and let out an impressive whistle that got everyone’s attention. Fifty faces roved in his direction.

  “All right, everyone, the next few hours are going to be intense, and I want everyone on their A-game. I’m sending out the trailer and armed escorts. Food will be distributed quickly and fairly. I don’t want any civilians killed. Do I make myself clear?”

  Charlize knew that order would be difficult to follow, but fifty voices all echoed in sync. “Yes, sir!”

  “Get it done, people,” Harris said. He turned back to Charlize. “Once that trailer is on the move, you’ll be back in the air and Albert will sneak out with Van Dyke and Flint. My reservations have been noted, but I respect the chain of command.”

  “It takes balls to say what you just did. I have a feeling that’s why you’re so good at your job, Captain. I appreciate your support,” Charlize said. “I won’t forget what you’re doing for us.”

  “Like I said, I’m a father, I understand why you did what you did using your position.” He gestured back toward the open hangar doors.

  Charlize nodded and followed the teams. When they got outside, Albert halted. He clenched his jaw and flared his nostrils. “Thank you, ma’am, for helping me with this,” he said once his emotions were under control.

  She put a hand on his shoulder pad. “You just get back safely, or I’ll hunt you down myself.”

  That got a chuckle from Albert. “Will do, ma’am. Tell Ty I’ll be ready for my Star Wars monopoly rematch when I get back.”

  This time Charlize was the one to laugh. “You always let him win,” she said.

  “Time to move out, sir,” Flint said, jerking his chin.

  Albert nodded one more time at Charlize, and then reached out to shake her hand. She embraced him with a hug instead.

  “Be careful,” she whispered.

  “You too.”

  As soon as they pulled apart, Albert took off running to the south with Van Dyke and Flint. She watched them for a few minutes before Harris directed her to the east, where her chopper was waiting.

  “Thank you for the hospitality, Captain,” she said as they walked. “I’ll make sure you get all the support we can manage. Continue to hold the SC until then.”

  “I’ll give it my all, ma’am,” Harris said. “Good luck.”

  She caught a hint of anger in his voice, but she understood the source now and she didn’t blame him. Her trip hadn’t gone as planned, but it had taught her how terrible things were outside. She would return to Constellation with a new appreciation for the work they had ahead of them, and with some ideas on how to strengthen the other SCs across the country. They were going to rebuild their country the same way they built it in the first place‌—‌using the railways.

  A few minutes later, she was inside the Seahawk and climbing into the sky. The soldiers that had accompanied her from Constellation held their weapons at the ready, ready to give their lives for her own. Charlize rested her head on the bulkhead as they climbed.

  “There’s the transport,” one of the soldiers in the troop hold said.

  Charlize twisted to look out the window. A semi with a shipping container on the bed drove toward the gates on the west side of the airport. The majority of the crowd had clustered in front of those fences. Albert and his comrades were moving across the SC in the opposite direction.

  Flying dark, the pilots pulled away from the SC. Charlize lost sight of Albert. She looked for him again as they banked over the airport, but it was too dark. It didn’t feel right to leave him behind, not when he’d been by her side every step of the way since the night the bombs fell. She pressed a palm against the window and prayed he would find his sister soon.

  Albert Randall never would have said so out loud, but he felt relieved that Charlize was heading back to Constellation. He never balked at his duty, but protecting her had come at a high cost. Most of his family had perished in the nuclear explosion in D.C., but as much as he blamed himself for leaving them to protect Charlize, he knew that nothing he could have done would have saved them even if he had tried. He would have ended up dead along with them.

  Fate was a weird thing. Albert found himself thinking about it more and more as the pain of his loss cut deeper. Duty before self was something he’d learned a long time ago, but it was hard to stomach when your family was at risk.

  That’s why he was here in Charlotte, on a mission to find his twin sister. A woman he hadn’t spoken to in almost a year. Or was it longer than that? Before the North Korean attack, Albert had been consumed with work. When he’d been home, he had tried to be a good husband and father, but now he would never have the chance to make up for all those missed dinners and skipped recitals. It was just him and Jackie now.

  His relationship with Jacqueline had always been strained. Albert had chosen the high road: sports, academics, and duty to country and family. His sister, on the other hand…well, he hoped that the end of the world had finally put the fear of God into her, or the fear of something, at least. He didn’t really care what it was as long as she believed in something, especially herself.

  Albert was determined to save t
he only family he had left‌—‌whether she liked it or not.

  He shook his mind clear and followed Flint and Van Dyke to gate ten. The world had taken on an eerie green glow. The night vision optics had taken some time to get used to, but it was better than nothing. From the sounds of it, the goggles were hard to come by, most of them having been fried when the grid went down. The pair on his helmet were French, delivered in a shipment a few days earlier.

  Glancing up, he saw a carpet of clouds rolling across the sky, blocking out the moon and stars. That was good. As soon as they left the safety of the center, they would have targets on their backs. He focused on the barbed wire fences that separated the airport from the fields beyond. Where there had been thousands of people earlier that day, there was now only trash and a sea of empty tents. The sound of the civilians was distant, the masses drawn away by the promise of a food drop a mile to the west.

  So far, Charlize’s plan was working. Her Seahawk was already gone, the distant thump of the rotors hardly audible over the shouts of hundreds of thousands of civilians. Albert could feel them moving toward the food like a stampede of starving animals. Nothing good happened when starving humans armed with high-powered rifles were squeezed into a small area. Humans, in his mind, were good by nature, but even a good dog would bite when starved. And while he was glad Captain Harris had ordered his soldiers to only fire if absolutely necessary, he had his doubts the food drop was going to be peaceful.

  Heck, Albert wasn’t sure anything they could do at this point would ensure peace. People were desperate, resorting to actions they would never have dreamed of months before. That’s what life had come to in the cities‌—‌good people doing bad things to survive in extraordinarily difficult times. He could only pray his sister was still alive.

  I’m coming, Jackie. I’m going to find you and get you out of this mess.

  Albert paced as they waited in front of the gates. The snipers in the towers flanking the gate did a final scan of the area. From his vantage point, Albert didn’t see anything moving out there. He thought back to the map they’d memorized, and tried to orient himself with the terrain.

  The Carolinas Aviation Museum stood on the other side of the tarmac, and beyond that was a small forest they would have to cross before gaining access to a residential area. Whole blocks of houses were already burned to the ground, leaving behind charred buildings and rafters. Downtown was another two miles beyond that, approximately, and it was in even worse shape, apparently. There were thousands of threats standing between him and the apartment building his sister called home.

  “All clear,” Flint said in a gruff voice. “I’ll take point. Officer Randall, you stay behind me. Van Dyke, you got rear guard.”

  The chain-link fence creaked open on wheels that crunched over the concrete, revealing a second gate, this one made of pure metal. It towered fifteen feet and took five men to push open. The soldiers put their shoulders into the steel and pushed it open manually to reveal the dark terrain beyond.

  Van Dyke shouldered his carbine and tilted his helmet at Albert, a cue to start walking. Albert followed Flint through the open gate and across the tarmac separating them from the fields. Setting off on foot seemed like a terrible idea, but zipping out of here in a Humvee or helicopter would have been even worse. They wouldn’t have made it far before gunshots took them down. The three men bolted across the tarmac, moving quickly toward the grassy fields. Albert slowed when he saw the outline of a civilian lying in the grass, unmoving. He gestured toward the fallen man, but Flint shook his head and flashed a signal to the tree line.

  Van Dyke put a hand on Albert’s back and whispered, “Nothing we can do for that guy. Hopefully he’s just drunk.”

  Albert had moved another few steps and was close enough to see the guy wasn’t intoxicated. Someone had bashed the left side of his skull in, and the grass was matted red.

  They continued moving, and within minutes they had crossed the tarmac and were moving into the fields. Trash, feces, and discarded belongings littered the grass where the desperate civilians had camped out just hours earlier. Flint kept to the east side, cautious to stay out of sight. Anyone might be hiding here, and one wrong move could end with them all dead.

  These men were risking their lives to accompany Albert, and he didn’t even know their first names.

  A voice stopped Albert mid-stride. “Hey, who’s there?”

  Flint balled his hand and crouched down, Albert following suit. Van Dyke took a knee right behind him and pointed to a tent ahead. The noise of a zipper opening sounded, and a face peered out from the tent. The moon emerged overhead, spreading a faint glow over the encampment. Albert could see the ghostly shape of a thin man with curly hair. He didn’t appear to be armed, and Flint waved the small team onward.

  “Is someone out there?” The man coughed into a sleeve. “Gloria, is that you?”

  The man crawled through the opening into the grass, coughing louder. Flint stood and began to move before he could spot their position.

  “Hey, I can hear you!” he called out to them. “Wait up. I need help!”

  Albert ran after Flint, and Van Dyke kept pace behind. They raced around the edge of the encampment. They had almost cleared the final tent when a new voice called out.

  “Soldiers! There are soldiers coming!”

  Albert risked a glance over his shoulder as more tents were unzipped. Several figures appeared, and in the green hue of his optics, he saw one of them had a rifle.

  “Don’t let them get away!” yelled another man.

  Albert ran as fast as he could, but he wasn’t in nearly as good a shape as when he’d played college football. Flint and Van Dyke were much faster, and within a few moments Albert was starting to fall behind. Looking over his shoulder didn’t help. He nearly tripped over a bag abandoned in the grass. When he looked to the forested area ahead, both of the soldiers were already slipping into the safety of the trees.

  A shotgun blast boomed behind them, and the spray peppered the trees.

  “Move it, Randall!” Van Dyke yelled.

  The corporal knelt next to a tree and brought the scope of his carbine to his NVGs while Albert jumped over a fallen tree.

  Pop. Pop. Pop.

  The suppressed fire whizzed past him, away from the woods. A scream rang out, followed by the sound of a body hitting the dirt. A female voice began shouting profanities.

  “Hostile down,” Van Dyke said quietly. He brought up his rifle and stood, scanning the encampment one more time before following Albert into the forest.

  And just like that, the first blood of the night soaked into the soil. Shock gripped Albert, freezing him in place. They had only left the camp a few minutes ago, and a life had already been taken.

  “You bastards!” the woman screeched. “You’re supposed to help us!”

  The words stung Albert like a bee. She was right, and it was all beginning to sink in, right now, right here in the woods. He was a firm believer the government had a duty to protect its citizens, but the combination of the EMP and nuclear attack had crippled the United States beyond repair. People tended to forget he was there listening, despite his massive bulk, and they said things he wasn’t supposed to hear. He’d heard plenty while Charlize was being briefed. There was no coming back from this; there was only surviving by any means possible.

  “Let’s move, Randall,” Van Dyke said.

  Albert pushed onward through the underbrush, more determined than ever to find his sister. He’d drag Jacqueline kicking and screaming from this madness if he had to.

  He picked up his pace as he followed the two soldiers into the inky green darkness, doing his best not to make any noise. Through the fence of limbs and branches, he glimpsed the residential area. They were almost there.

  A shot rang out in the distance, but Albert couldn’t tell where it was coming from. Van Dyke and Flint halted at the edge of the forest, crouching down and waiting. He leaned against a tree when he got to them, c
hest heaving, sweat dripping down his forehead.

  The sporadic gunfire evened into a steady flurry of different calibers.

  “That’s coming from the other side of the camp,” Albert said, still trying to catch his breath.

  “Goddamn,” Flint said. He drew up and walked a step back into the forest as if a magnet were pulling him toward the airport.

  “The food shipment must have been hit,” Van Dyke said. “Maybe we should go back and help.”

  Albert hesitated. They were almost a quarter of the way to the city, and he needed these soldiers to help him get the rest of the way there. Flint and Van Dyke exchanged a few hushed words while Albert stood guard, his heart beating in sync with the gun battle.

  “Harris gave us orders,” Flint said.

  “Shit don’t work the same way it used to, Sarge,” Van Dyke replied.

  Flint moved over closer to Van Dyke and said something that Albert couldn’t make out. Van Dyke seemed to slouch at whatever Flint had said, the fight gone out of him.

  “Come on, let’s keep moving,” Flint said.

  Van Dyke glared up at Albert for a long second before squeezing past.

  “GOT ROOM FOR a third?” came a familiar voice.

  The words sent a chill up Colton’s spine. He shut the lift gate to the 1952 Chevy pickup truck and turned to see if it was really Raven.

  It was.

  Standing in the moonlight, a hand on his side, Raven flashed a wide pearly grin. Creek came trotting around the side of town hall, right behind his handler, ears and tail up.

  “Uh, aren’t you supposed to be in the hospital?” Lindsey asked. She dropped her backpack into the bed of the truck and joined Colton with her arms folded across her chest.

  “The guy I shot should be in the hospital‌—‌or six feet under‌—‌but he’s not, and I’m not lying around waiting for him to get caught,” Raven said.

  His wide smile didn’t deceive Colton‌—‌he was injured, and injured bad. A man didn’t take three bullets to a vest, have part of an ear blown off, and get knocked unconscious, and then expect to be walking less than half a day later.