Salt of Gomorrah

by Alex Mersey

  The general’s gaze narrowed on him. “As many as it takes, Mr President, and we’ll use Beijing as our test ground. The Chinese are hardly in a position to take offense.”

  “They won’t see it that way,” Hoppentate said grimly.

  General Summers grunted. “Sparking a nuclear world war is the least of our worries.”

  “I want that fallout reading before we make any decisions,” Merrick hedged, and not because of the general’s threat hanging over his head.

  They’d had a second success, the warship above their heads. But they’d lost two squadrons in the process and a large chunk of Pennsylvania in the meantime.

  Each victory came hard, far too slow.

  Merrick was beginning to feel himself sway toward the general’s counsel. Hell, if they could lock nuclear missiles on the moving warships, he might even be contemplating that right now.

  Vice Admiral Parkers came back with the all clear. “No abnormal readings over New York City.”

  “The shield absorbed all the radiation,” Jenkins concluded.

  Merrick scrubbed his jaw. Thank God for the little mercies. Of course, if they actually managed to blow the Base Ship up, there’d be no shield left to absorb the massive amounts of nuclear energy that would require.

  “Mr President, we need to act sooner rather than later,” General Summers said.

  “We are going to take a goddamn moment to think this through, General,” Merrick said.

  “And watch our country turn to dust while we twiddle our thumbs.”

  “We won’t be twiddling our thumbs.” Merrick stood, his eyes picking out each person around the table. “When I return, I want a full analysis of the possibility, and ability, of retaliation from China or any of their allies. Then we’ll make a decision.”

  He didn’t wait for their response, turned his back on the table and walked out the room. A narrow passage ran alongside the conference room, then a small kitchen, and dead-ended at the presidential shelter suite. He clicked the door closed behind him and followed the voice of an anchor woman to the master bedroom that hung off the left of the small hallway.

  Williams, the secret agent assigned to his son’s detail, side-stepped from the threshold so he could enter. “Sir.”

  Merrick gave a nod of acknowledgement before his gaze swept over Chris, sprawled on his stomach on the bed, eyes glued to the television. Hours-old footage of London—Westminster Abbey and Tower Bridge still stood beneath the shadow of the all-eclipsing Base Ship, a last bastion against the backdrop of ash and rubble dunes and total devastation.

  Chris rolled onto one elbow, saw him and scrambled into a cross-legged position. “What’s happening?”

  Complete and utter annihilation. Merrick ground his back teeth, his lips pressed into a firm line, fighting the deep-seated urge to protect his son from reality. But he hadn’t been able to protect Chris two weeks ago, and he couldn’t now. All Wi-Fi and cellular connectivity in the shelter was locked down and secured. The news crews were playing catch up with a severe handicap, roads and satellite links and stations destroyed as fast as cities were being flattened.

  Stuck down here and out of the loop, Chris and Williams didn’t know the half of it, and they needed to.

  “Complete and utter annihilation.” Merrick swiped the remote control off the bed to turn the television off. “You know about the Base Ships over New York and London, Beijing and Sydney. But there are more, thirteen positioned around the globe.”

  He turned to face the room, took a precious moment to imprint the image of his son. He wasn’t sure he’d ever set eyes on him again. He had his mother’s blonde hair, which he insisted of wearing much too long. Her blue eyes, still hollowed out with the grief Chris refused to show in any way he could help. At seventeen, he thought himself a man, thought he needed to stay strong, and Merrick, to his shame now, hadn’t pushed hard enough to break through that wall. He’d been too preoccupied with his own grief, with running the country.

  “Sir?” Williams was a tall man, carried by a solid frame of steel muscle and ebony skin and a demeanor that wouldn’t flinch as he jumped in front of a bullet, but this news was enough to shrink the largest, toughest man. His shoulders curved, his jaw suddenly less firm. “Thirteen Base Ships?”

  “That we know of,” Merrick said grimly. “They wasted no time launching their attack. Half the country’s turned to dust.” He tipped his head back, eyes turned up to the ceiling. “The White House, the Pentagon, D.C. is gone.” He brought his eyes down, looked at Chris. “I need you to understand the reality before you go out there.”

  Chris tumbled from the bed to his feet. “We’re leaving?”

  “I want Williams to get you to your grandfather.”

  “Mom’s dad?” Chris stared blankly. “In Colorado?”

  “Yes, but not the ranch,” Merrick said softly. “An exploration branch of your grandfather’s corporation is working on an alternative energy source…” He shook his head. “That’s not important. But he has a secure facility built into the mountains. The research station is fortified and sealed, due to the nature of their work. I received a message from him shortly after this all started, to say that’s where he’s gone.”

  Merrick reached inside his jacket for his phone as he crossed to the corner desk, searched for a sheet of paper and a pen to jot down the coordinates that his wife’s father had sent him.

  Williams cleared his throat. “Sir, I don’t mean to question your judgment, but would the research station be safer than here?”

  “Not the station itself, but its remote location will be.” Merrick scrubbed his jaw, thought hard about the information he was about to share. But his son’s safety came first. “We may be about to launch a nuclear war,” he said. Likely killing ourselves off faster than the Silvers can. “The shelter here can withstand that, but I want my son as far away from the alien invaders and the probable fallout zones as he can get.”

  That was not the full truth of why he needed Chris gone.

  General Summers had used his wife’s death to blackmail him and Merrick wouldn’t allow him access to his son, to his son’s life, to be used for any means whatsoever.

  A couple of hours ago, Merrick had been the most powerful man in the western world. Now he felt like a pawn crushed between the invading Silvers and his own generals.

  “You’re not coming with us,” Chris suddenly realized.

  “I wish I could, Chris.” More than you’ll ever know.

  There was no glory to be had here, not anymore. No pride to carry with him. No more good choices to be made, only desperate measures and last resorts. He didn’t want to be the man he’d be remembered for when all was said and done, but his country needed him to be that man.

  “But you know I can’t,” he said. “I have to be here and you have to go with Williams.”

  “That’s fucked up.”

  Merrick didn’t bother chastising his foul language. He handed the sheet of paper with the coordinates to Williams. “Take the Metro to Mount Weather and head out from there. So far, the Silvers have only targeted our main cities and largest towns, but to be safe, avoid any form of civilization.”

  “Yes, Sir.” Williams tucked the sheet inside his jacket pocket and cocked his jaw at Chris. “Ready?”

  “Whatever.”

  Williams led the way back into the hallway, down to the far end, to the paneled wall that hid access to the secret Metro tunnels. He pressed a palm to the correct spot and the panel slid open into an elevator.

  Chris stalked past Merrick, was halfway inside the cage when he turned back and threw his arms around his father in the kind of hug that had been missing from their relationship for years.

  “Take care.” Merrick hugged his son back, hard. “I’ll join you as soon as I can.”

  Chris said nothing, just stood there another moment before pulling away.

  A lump formed in Merrick’s throat as he watched the panel slide back into place, cutting him off from h
is son.

  He closed his eyes, pinched his brow, and prayed he’d done the right thing by sending Chris away. He prayed about the decision he’d just made, to give the launch order that might well be the beginning of the end, for the alien invaders and for the world left behind.

  Then he straightened his shoulders and shook his head clear. General Summers was right. If they didn’t drive the interstellar fleet off their planet, the human race could be extinct by morning.

  Still, he strolled through the suite and out into the passage, in no hurry to reach his destination and give the order.

  All eyes turned on him as he entered the Situation Room.

  General Summers pushed to his feet. “Mr President, we can’t stall any longer.”

  “Thank you, General, I’m well aware of the time constraints we’re under.” He walked up to the wall of screens, his gaze sweeping from the ruins of one city to the next.

  If he’d been hoping for some divine intervention or insight at the last minute, it didn’t come. He put his back to the wall and gave the nod. “Bring me the football.”

  The Vice Admiral reached beside him and stood, bringing the leather satchel up with him.

  Major Jenkins pointed at the screens. “What’s that?”

  Merrick turned to look.

  Translucent, blue-white beams radiated from each and every Base Ship that they had eyes on. Straight out, horizontal to the ground, closely packed, like a spray of lasers pulsing out from a central sphere.

  Moments later, the lights cut out, the screens went dark, casting the room into blackness.

  “Give it a second,” Major Jenkin’s voice sounded. “The generator will kick in.”

  Merrick’s blood ran colder and colder as they waited, as a second passed, then ten, then twenty seconds in total darkness.

  “Jesus...”

  “This is impossible.”

  “Does anyone have a damn light?”

  Shuffling noises, more curses and irritated exclamations, then someone produced a battery operated dome light to place on the table.

  Merrick made his way over to his seat in the dim glow. “What the hell happened?”

  Everyone scrambled for their handsets, put the calls through.

  “The lines are still operational.”

  “The grid must be down.”

  “But what about the generator?”

  Merrick leant back in his chair, his chest tight. What about the Metro? How far had Chris managed to get?

  “It’s not just Washington D.C.”

  “Mr President, the power is down throughout the country.”

  “The only comms we have are direct land lines that don’t go through the main electronic exchanges.”

  The reports kept coming in, worse and worse as the hour grew longer. All aircraft were out of action, those airborne had likely plummeted from the sky. Most of the military vehicles were non-functional. All high-tech weapons, everything with a microchip—everything with a semi-conductor—was fried.

  “Are we talking about an EMP?” Merrick demanded. “A country-wide EMP? That’s not supposed to be possible.”

  “This shelter is protected against electromagnetic pulses,” Major Jenkins said. “The generator should have kicked in. The circuits are all closed from outside connectivity.”

  And more reports came in.

  The Admiral put his handset down with a heavy hand. “All our protective measures have been penetrated. We’ve lost everything. Even the hardware stored in isolated chambers, disconnected and disassembled. We don’t even have a damn field radio that’s operational.”

  “This is something else,” General Summers said. “Alien technology that mimics an EMP, but a hundred times more invasive and efficient.”

  “So, our air force is grounded, our ships are floating barges and our military has been reset to the last century.” Merrick shoved a hand through his hair, kept it there as he blew out a shallow breath. “What are our options?”

  “We’re blind and crippled,” Major General Hoppentate said. “I think we should assume this is global, not just country-wide.”

  “That is not what I asked.” Merrick folded his arms, heartbeat slowed to mark the turning point. He was the President of the United States of America and he would not run scared, not from the Silvers, not from himself, and not from his generals.

  “We’re not giving up, that is not an option. The Silvers technology surpassed ours by light years to begin with, and we’ve suffered a major setback, but we still have the one advantage that is a game-changer. We need and want this planet more than they ever could.” His gaze moved on to each man at the table. “So give me something. Any goddamn thing.”

  “Star Protocol,” Jenkins said. “We should initiate that immediately.”

  Merrick nodded his agreement. With the recent amendments he’d fought for only recently, less than year ago, his mind was at ease giving the order. But that was a military strategy. What he needed was a miracle.

  He gaze moved around the table again, slow and challenging, and caught the glint in General Summer’s eye. The silvery old fox had something. “What is it, General?”

  “Eden,” General Summers drawled.

  “Eden?” Merrick pierced him with a searching look. He hadn’t been expecting an actual miracle. “As in the Garden of Eden?”

  “The biblical reference is purely intentional.” The man matched his stare without flinching. “The Eden Triumvirate was conceived in the event we ever needed to restart. A fresh reboot. Three self-contained facilities equipped and empowered with all the knowledge, people and raw materials, all the resources required to rebuild our modern, advanced society from scratch.”

  “Why have I never heard of this?”

  “The project was terminated almost two decades ago,” the general said. “Budget cuts and politics. Two of the cities were decommissioned because they couldn’t find a suitable buyer.”

  Merrick sat up straighter. “What part did you play in this Eden Triumvirate?”

  “None.” The general shrugged. “I only heard the whispers.”

  “Rumors.”

  “Whispers from the right people do not classify as rumor.”

  He wasn’t wrong, although the expressions around the table suggested everyone was as much in the dark as Merrick. And it appeared even General Summers had only lurked in the shadows.

  Merrick sharpened his thoughts, pulling together the whispered threads. “I presume the third Eden facility was sold to a private corporation with our best interests in mind?”

  “That would be my assumption.”

  “Do we know the location?”

  The general shook his head. “But the intel will be buried somewhere, and I guarantee we kept eyes on the facility after it was sold. I’ll get a task force on it, Mr President. If Eden is out there, we will find it.”

  - 8 -

  Sean

  Sean stumbled back into the makeshift camp, his heart still thudding, his mind still racing. He hadn’t opened his eyes until the electric blue fireworks had dimmed to black inside his lids. How long had it gone on for? Five minutes? Thirty? It was impossible to keep track of time when you shut the world out, anchored your feet to what was left of earth and waited for the end to come and get you.

  Except it hadn’t.

  He was still here.

  As was the mothership.

  The sky had deepened to a dark, dull gray. It would get dark soon. Pitch black without the city lights.

  Lynn was on her knees, Johnnie clamped to her breast.

  Her wild eyes found him. “What was that?”

  “Come on,” he issued, going for the coil of rope, slinging it over his shoulder. “We’re crossing the river now.”

  “Sean!” She released Johnnie and stood, beckoning him a short distance away, out of hearing of the kid. “What kind of bomb hit that ship?” she hissed. “What are you not telling me?”

  “I’m not ex-military, Lynn. I’m not some undercove
r government agent with a secret agenda.” He shoved a hand through his hair, wishing he had an easy answer. Not just for her and the kid, but for himself as well. “I saw what you saw. I know what you know.”

  That wild gleam in her eyes sharpened. “Oh my God, you think they nuked us.”

  “If they did,” he said, emphasis on the if although he had precious few doubts himself. Look around you. If the government wasn’t desperate, turning to last resorts and making bargains with the devil, well, they should be. “If they did, the shield absorbed most of it. But we don’t know what we’re being exposed to right now.”

  Lynn slapped a hand to her chest, gulping down unsteady breaths. She opened her mouth, shut it again without a word and spun about. “Johnnie! Come on.”

  While she went for her backpack, he dropped down in front of Johnnie. “Hop on.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” Lynn growled.

  “I know.” He tucked his arms beneath the kid’s legs and pushed up, looking out toward the Hudson and the darkening skies.

  Trying to cross in the dark was madness, but he was out of choices. Maybe that hadn’t been a nuclear warhead, maybe it was just a really big bomb.

  Yeah, keep telling yourself that.

  They jogged to what was once West Street. Now it was an obstacle course of churned up cement road and ash piles, and a short stretch of overturned cars that had escaped a direct strike. Although Sean used the term escaped loosely. There were no survivors, just bodies, broken, mangled, crushed, inside and around the smashed cars.

  “Johnnie, shut your eyes,” Lynn called out.

  “I’m not a baby,” his small voice quivered.

  Sean didn’t see the point, closing the barn door after the cows had already fled across the field. But he wasn’t a parent. He was no expert when it came to kids.

  “Listen to your mother,” he said distractedly, glimpsing movement.

  He veered in that direction, closer to a car that seemed to have driven up over another, or maybe it had landed there after being flung into the air.

  A paisley silk scarf fluttered in the breeze.