Tomorrow War

by J. L. Bourne

  “Why the hell didn’t you just go back there and wire it up yourself?” I asked.

  “Because I need the six digit fucking code you entered in Syria. I only have one of the codes; I need the other one to control the worm and tell it to die. The weapon, which is what this thing is, was designed so that no single person could let it out, Max.”

  Taking a deep breath, I nodded in acknowledgment.

  When I asked how we could reverse the grid collapse by attaching the hardware to a box inside a powerless grid, she revealed that we’d need to activate the box in an urban area that still had power to allow the kill switch to spread. As nearby communities brought their grids online, the command signal would spread, just as it had to bring down the grid before.

  After letting Maggie’s story sink in a bit, I came to the realization that I had no choice. Stay here and fight endless waves of Chinese invaders was an option, but not a logical one. Bringing down the virtual barrier that seemed to handicap all computer networks and controls seemed like a better goal than playing guerrilla warrior in the hills of Arkansas for the rest of my life. Both choices would probably lead to an early death, but at least I had a shot at turning the country’s course in a better direction than the one it was on now.

  I had to ask her: “Why didn’t you tell me at the cabin after I shot you?”

  “Because you wouldn’t have believed me then, and also, I needed you captured to save my . . . my daughter. I could have gotten the codes from you under the waterboard, maybe saved her and then used them to bring the grid back up.”

  She began to bawl; her words became barely discernible.

  “Seeing the way they killed her. The fear in her eyes. I couldn’t do that to you. To anyone, but those worthless demon bastards.”

  Looks like I’ll be working with Maggie again.

  —————

  Christmas Eve

  I entered the operations center enjoying the decorations that adorned the radios, chart table, and other areas of the room. A small plastic tree with battery powered LED lights sat in the center of the table, blinking. Last night, I’d revealed to Inky some of the details that Maggie told me about the device she’d cached in Alexandria and how we might be able to eventually reverse the weapon’s effect.

  It would have been too complicated to explain my involvement in this mess. Although the NAI followed a generally noble cause, I mostly trusted no one, and that’s kept me alive throughout all this.

  I approached the table and sat down next to Inky, grabbing a cookie from the tray in front of me. It didn’t taste too bad, as it was made from grain harvested locally and probably hand-milled.

  As I chewed on the ultimate all-natural certified non-GMO Christmas cookie, Inky scooted his chair in closer to the table and began to whisper. I could barely hear him under the chirping of the radios and the bustle of the operations center.

  “I have a plan, Max. Follow me . . . we can’t talk here. I can’t even trust my own people with this information.”

  We then went through the intricate passageways of what I’d recently been calling “Shire Base.” Eventually, we reached the entry control point and passed guards carrying 12-gauge shotguns to keep the riffraff out. As we exited into the bright sunlight, three runners with slung messenger bags ran past me from the tunnel. They mounted nearby horses and all went different directions to find their radiomen.

  “This way,” Inky said, picking up the pace.

  At the main stable, we got our horses. Molly snorted with happiness at the sight of me. I thought that was pretty cool, and I gave her nose a good rub to let her know I appreciated it.

  We saddled up and were gone within a few minutes. We rode two miles in a direction I’d never gone, not stopping until we reached a waterfall. Rocks smoothed by thousands of years of PR: water rushing over their surface was forming the water as it fell, abating the splash with Olympic diver efficiency. Inky dismounted, so I did the same and followed him up to the edge of the water. He began to scan our surroundings as if to check if anyone had followed us here. This made me nervous, as it was something I’d probably do right before I killed Inky.

  Uneasy, I put my palm over my sub gun, feeling its curves and mentally preparing to draw and shoot it with the stock still folded.

  Inky began to speak. “Okay. There will be a summit in just over a month in Washington, DC. In attendance will be the President, the entire cabinet, the director of the Department of Homeland Security, the attorney general, and creditor heads of state. We’ve received the intel on what they’re planning and it’s not good.”

  Inky reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a printout from one of the digital HAM radio images he’d received from resistance agents imbedded in DC. The image depicted a map of the United States broken up into several sectors. Within these sectors, other flags were represented. I could see dozens of Chinese and Indian flags spread out just off the coast in the oil-rich fields of the Gulf of Mexico.

  “They’re slicing us up and giving us away, Max.”

  We talked at great length. I questioned the vetting of his sources and contacts on the inside and he responded with what I needed to hear.

  He’d been receiving intel from his contacts in DC for some time now. Eventually the intelligence provided panned out and was verified. This intel would be no different. The meeting being held in DC next month was like the one held after World War II that decided the fate of Germany in that post-war era.

  After going over the summit guest list, dates, and times, I asked the obvious question.

  “So, what are we going to do about a summit being held a month from now over a thousand miles away?”

  Inky stood there and looked me in the eyes for a long while, deciding whether or not he should speak.

  “Max, the NAI wants you to execute a terrorist attack on the summit,” Inky said.

  “You want me to do what?!” I responded in disbelief.

  The NAI had cracked government communications methods. Inky wouldn’t tell me how or from whom the encryption keys were given, but did reveal a few details.

  “The source is someone you’ve heard of, seen on the news before all this, maybe,” he said.

  The plan would be to head east to a weapons cache location where some explosives and other nasties were stored, recover them, and continue to DC in time for fireworks at the summit.

  “So you want me to dig up some C4, take it a thousand miles to DC, and use it on the President and the cabinet?” I said, nearly floored at the prospect of this.

  Ever since last year, I’ve been deemed an enemy of the state, a domestic terrorist, but at my heart I still have some respect left for the office, for what it stands for, and for what it means to be elected by the people. I’ve shot a few unlucky men in the face since all this began, but most of them deserved it. What Inky was talking about here was pure guerrilla rebellion against elected civilian leadership. I wasn’t sure how I could start to reconcile an action of that magnitude.

  “The President ordered the shredding of the Constitution and suspension of habeas corpus. That’s high treason and flies in the face of liberty. Millions are dead, Max. A lot of them at the barrels of government guns. Everyone that will be at the summit is implicated, culpable. Listen, Max, you don’t have to do this . . . but if you want to really make a difference in the world, for future generations . . . now’s your chance.”

  I sat for a moment, listening to the water and the snorts of horses before answering. I could in no way really agree to this right now. Killing an elected sitting president went against everything I stood for. The accusations Inky laid out were compelling, but I needed time to make a decision like this. There was still a modicum of respect for the office remaining, at least to me.

  “I’ll go east,” I said, changing my future forever.

  Inky nodded, retrieved a telescoping fishing pole from his saddle, and started negotiating the uneven terrain that led up to the flowing water. Extending the fishing p
ole, he reached behind the waterfall, retrieving a rice bag. He quickly opened the bag and pulled out something wrapped in plastic. Placing the item in his back pocket, he returned the bag to its hiding spot behind the waterfall.

  Back down the hill, he took the item from his pocket and handed it to me.

  Glancing at the paper through the clear plastic bag, I could clearly make out coordinates.

  “What else is behind the waterfall?”

  “More cache locations. Many more,” he responded flatly. “Let’s go back and pick your team.”

  I stopped walking, prompting Inky to do the same. He looked at me quizzically.

  “I already have my partner picked out,” I said without hesitation.

  “Rich? Shit, he needs a month of food and water before I’d even take him a mile on horseback.”

  “I’m not talking about Rich, man. I’m talking about Maggie. The NAI doesn’t trust her hanging around, and I don’t either, but I know what she’s capable of and I can keep an eye on her. It’s a gamble but something tells me she’d be an asset more than a liability.”

  Inky shook his head. He could tell that my mind was made up, but he obviously didn’t agree with my decision. Going a thousand miles on horseback was going to be rough as it stood, but going with half a dozen people I’d never operated beside would be even worse. I’d love to take Rich, but Inky was right: he was too weak to go much of anywhere at the moment and we were on a timeline.

  One month until the summit. One month to decide.

  PART THREE

  * * *

  EASTWARD

  On Person:

  Helmet mounted NVD

  Electronic Ear pro w/ comms integration

  Soft body armor

  Plates

  Med kit (human & horse)

  Filtered drinking straw

  Encrypted HAVE QUICK radio

  .300BLK M4 select fire SBR w/ silencer, w/ torch, w/ 1-4x glass, w/ four mags

  Integrally silenced .22LR pistol w/ holosight, w/ five mags

  In/On Molly’s Saddlebags:

  500 rounds of sub and super .300BLK

  Two bricks of CCI standard velocity .22LR

  Four grenades

  Two small EFPs

  Stinger missile

  Food stores

  Water container w/ filter & pump

  Hygiene (human & horse)

  Sleeping bag w/ Goretex cover

  Concealment netting

  —————

  Christmas

  I enjoyed a meal of mostly canned goods complemented with venison and other local wildlife, washed down with one of the local microbrews some ex-frat boy conjured up for the rest of us; the beer was damn better than I thought it would be.

  The only gifts I saw given were from the adults to the children, and the gifts I saw would have been tossed over shoulders like new socks or underwear on Christmas morning a few years ago. Instead, stockings filled with fruit and candy brought huge smiles to young faces, ones even bigger than if they’d opened up a box containing the latest gaming system or VR headset. Our situation, our waking lives, were horrible and nearly unbearable, but there were moments like this. Moments of pure happiness and thankfulness that reminded me that we’re not all demons.

  Like me.

  As Christmas dinner came to a close, I thanked Inky for the Shire’s hospitality and said my good-byes to Savannah, who, in her typical fashion said only, “Don’t die out there.” Inky and Rich were standing nearby.

  I reached to shake Inky’s hand and was instead presented with a parting Christmas gift.

  “Portable shortwave radio with long wire, Morse key, contact and freq schedule, and codebook. Eat the first and the third sheet if you think you’re about to be compromised. They’re the ones with perforations, in case you’re in the dark when the time comes. Good luck and godspeed.”

  I thanked Inky for the trust and hospitality and told him that I’d be in touch when I was near the first objective.

  Saying good-bye to Rich sucked the most. I’d been to hell and back to save him and it was worth every chance it took to get him back. We’d been through a lot together, and it was like leaving a close uncle. Rich reassured me that he’d be just a Morse click away if need be. His parting instructions were explicit: Avoid transmitting shortwave more than one message per stop with minimum of twenty miles between transmissions. Shortwave was difficult to geolocate, but too many transmissions in the same area wasn’t a best practice for comsec, persec, or keeping your brain inside your skullsec. I laughed at the former NSA spook’s joke before giving him a man hug and saying my throat-lumped good-bye.

  “By the time I see you again, you’ll have gained a hundred pounds! Merry Christmas, Rich.” I said, trying to laugh back any water-based signs of sadness.

  Maggie saddled up Molly (it’s only a matter of time before I screw those names up) and was waiting for me at the edge of the Shire control point, which led down the road to a derelict-looking electronic gate that would be triggered open by a hidden overwatch sniper once we got close enough.

  Mounting Molly, I could hear the children singing Christmas songs, the sounds drifting from the tunnels and out into the winter night and cutting through the dense air like angel’s voices.

  Maggie’s horse, Elvis, snorted in short protest about his new master, thumping his front hooves on the ground. The sound of singing got louder as the carolers emerged from the tunnel entrance holding candles. The guards tried to quiet the children, but couldn’t. The music was a good send-off into the cold winter evening.

  Maggie didn’t say anything as the horses walked down the heavily rutted dirt drive to the fence. As we approached, I heard the creak of metal as the battery powered gate motor slowly cranked the exit open.

  The highway to hell was in front of us.

  I was the only one with the map to the explosives. Maggie knew that we’re stopping by an NAI cache and also about the summit, but not the exact date. As we moved farther and farther east, I would assess her loyalty and go from there. It was going to be a long trip.

  The final brief I’d received from Inky was tucked inside my saddlebags. It wasn’t too sensitive—just several pages of useful information like friends and foes strongholds, and who might be sympathetic to the NAI’s overall cause. There were a few militia organizations from here to the East Coast . . . not all of them redneck survivalists that cable TV used to demonize via creative editing to drive ratings before all of this. Some of the so-called militias were composed of police, military, farmers, and some other groups that unfortunately delved into the fanatic realm of racists of all colors and creeds.

  The most sobering aspect of the report was the estimated casualty rate. At this point, eighty-five percent of the population of the United States was either dead or dying. All due to the grid going down. I didn’t want to fathom what the rest of the world might look like.

  I had to really try not to think about that too long. How many millions of children had Maggie and I inadvertently (at least for me) killed? It took Jedi concentration not to let this get to the core of my mind and cause me to walk down a self-destructive path. The only thing that drove me forward in the saddle was the possibility of somehow, at least in some way, making things whole again. Maggie and I were a huge part of why things were the way they were. I’m not going to lie, or gloss over the fact that I’ve pondered suicide at the thought of what I’ve inadvertently caused.

  What would it solve? I’d be getting off too easy. The option in some dark way is still on the table in the back of my mind, but I want to try to reverse this, even if only in some small way.

  Recovery from losing millions of people to famine, civil war, disease, and other atrocities was going to take at least a century, and would forever be a horrific chapter in the history books, eclipsing the Dark Ages and the genocide of World War II many times over.

  With the population being down to mid 1800s levels, we’d potentially travel days without seeing a l
iving soul if we stuck to the areas outside federal control. The feds simply didn’t have the resources to even get close to controlling the rural dark zones that spanned the hundreds of miles between the urban centers. I knew which cities were provisional government strongholds and fully intended to avoid all of them until I reached Alexandria, where the surveillance grid remained alive and well, the hearts of the worm we had unleashed last year still digitally beating, restricting thousands of once-automated processes.

  The worm had strange effects. The feds had to be careful where and how they brought digital cellular networks back online. If the newly established network brushed even briefly with a mistakenly powered infected node, the new network would have to be wiped and the infected node quarantined before the network could be reimaged and brought online.

  Some of the intelligence I’d read outlined examples of the worm jumping networks via infrared ports into devices that were not RF wireless capable. Devices once thought to be “dumb” would start showing the effects of the worm. Generator control panels, smart meters, vehicles, and other devices that the government was utilizing in the urban centers were getting infected and shut down. The only technology that could be utilized had to be truly dumb, with no programmable interface or anything that could come into contact with the worm. The NSA really engineered some lethal zeros and ones.

  After initially reading this, I found myself mentally going over my equipment list, looking for anything that might be vulnerable to the digital hunter-killer that buzzed invisibly around every powered infected device in the world. Even the watch I wore on my wrist had the capability to receive RF time updates from transmitting sites, which hopefully remained down or somehow uninfected. Disturbing beyond belief.

  —————