Silent Interruption (Book 1): Silent Interruption

by Russell, Trent

  Carl turned around and marched up to Preston. “Well, this is just the opening act. Believe me, you’re going to wish you had it this good before long.”

  “You can’t mean that. Surely the army’s coming in to clean up this mess? You must know what they have planned for a catastrophe like this. They briefed you, right?”

  “This is probably an electromagnetic pulse event. That’s one of the worst things, short of cities getting nuked. Assuming the army’s vehicles haven’t been knocked out by the blast, we’re looking at large-scale anarchy.”

  “But how is that possible?” Preston asked.

  “A denotation high enough in the atmosphere—”

  “Yes, I’ve heard all of that!” Preston blurted out. “But the government should have seen this coming, prepared for it!”

  Carl nearly mentioned that Preston had been campaigning fiercely against expanded homeland security and military projects, but he kept that little fact to himself. There was no sense in going after people for their beliefs now, when mere survival would be an open question. Besides, he couldn’t help but look at the man with pity. If he was the man the most prepared to handle this crisis, then Preston was one of the least.

  A loud crash turned Carl and Preston’s attention to the street. A mob of six young men had turned over a small car, the windows shattering onto the concrete.

  “What are they doing?” Preston looked at Carl with utter bewilderment. “Now they’re destroying property? What’s the point? If the power’s out, why not just go home or at least try to find a shelter?”

  Carl looked down the sidewalk to the parking lot not far beyond. “Forget about them. We need to get to my car.”

  He began jogging down the sidewalk. Preston followed, asking, “Why? It’s not going to start.”

  “No, but I kept an emergency supplies bag inside it just in case something like this happened,” Carl replied.

  Preston laughed. “Wait, you actually prepared for this? I mean, you have supplies in your car?”

  “What, you think that’s funny now? Just look around!” Carl retorted.

  “No, no, it’s great. I just thought guys like that were all kooks and weirdos.”

  “Well, thank you. I appreciate that.”

  Preston groaned. “Shit. No, no, I’m not taking a shot at you. I just can’t believe all this actually is happening.”

  As the park’s rear lot finally came into view, Carl suddenly slowed his pace. A mob of people had filed in from the other side of the lot and were taking out their anger on the parked vehicles. Carl knew he had parked somewhere in the middle of the lot, which meant he’d have to close the gap between himself and the angry masses to make it to his car. That meant he’d almost surely be spotted.

  “Preston, find a place to hide. I’ll be right back,” Carl said.

  “Find a place to hide? Where?” Preston looked around. The lot was exposed. The nearest trees were a good couple of meters away.

  “Take cover behind a car, a big truck, or better yet, hide underneath one. When you see me running back this way, join me. Then we’ll haul ass.”

  Then Carl quickly dashed behind a spate of vehicles while crouching, not giving Preston a chance to object further.

  With each step he took, the reality around him seemed to warp. His feet didn’t feel as though they were in his running shoes. When he looked down, he thought he was sporting his military-grade boots. His hands felt as if they were clutching his rifle. The weight of his helmet pressed down on his cranium. The shouts, the sounds of shattered glass, the bangs of metal against metal, that hadn’t changed, except Carl thought he was listening to Mesopotamian Arabic instead of English.

  Soon Carl even heard the orders coming through his earpiece. Orders that warned him the Martyr’s Army was fanning out alongside several storefronts and to fall back to an adjacent street. Orders to prepare positions along a long line of parked vehicles. Orders to allow the roof snipers to spot out Martyr’s Army shooters.

  I got eyes on target. Black hood and clothing, automatic rifle. Moving in along the bakery, two meters from the street.

  As Carl peeked through a gap between cars to assess the state of the mob, the words of a Marine sniper rang in his ears. He was starting to wonder if he really was back in the States. Perhaps he still was in Mosul. Maybe, just maybe, the EMP pulse was due to a terrorist strike, a makeshift nuclear weapon procured from Iran by a militant Shiite faction.

  Second target. Black hooded male. Armed with automatic rifle.

  As Carl ran past a blue car, he fingered the nonexistent rifle in his hands. The Martyr’s Army slowly was emerging. They’re looking to take Carl and his men by surprise, if they can find them. Or perhaps they’re gambling that the American forces won’t open fire and reveal themselves. More than twenty men, including a high-value target, had retreated into town. This was weeks before the big showdown in Mosul, but Carl barely even remembered that. For him, this was the present now, and at the moment, Carl’s unit wasn’t about to take the chance of opening fire to take out a few lackeys while losing one of the Martyr’s Army leaders.

  I see someone. Third-story hotel window on Abdullah Street. I see a rifle. Repeat, I see a rifle.

  Take the shot.

  Carl flipped from behind a pickup truck into the open lot, expecting the Martyr’s Army to pour out of their holes or suddenly assault his position from hidden areas. But he had no rifle in his hands. He looked down and finally noticed he wasn’t wearing his combat gear. Instead, he had exposed himself to a small group of four young men. One of them clutched an iron bar in his hands and just had finished smashing in the windows on a small car.

  He stood up. Damn! What was wrong with him? How did he get sucked into that daydream that he forgot for a moment where he was?

  “Hey. What’s your problem?” A tall man with a shirt ripped down the middle started approaching him.

  Carl straightened up. “I-I forgot where I parked.” Lame, but he was short on good retorts.

  The man laughed. “Fat lot of good these pieces of shit will do. Not a damn one of them works!”

  A second, shorter man pointed at him. “Hey, I know that guy! He’s the army guy at the rally!”

  “Marine, actually,” Carl corrected.

  “Army, Marine, who gives a shit?” The first man now was nearly in Carl’s face. “You want to tell us what the hell is going on here, because this is seriously pissing me off.”

  “I don’t know exactly what happened, but I think we’ve been hit with an Electro-Magnetic Pulse. That means power isn’t coming back today, tomorrow, and probably not next year. You want to do something, then get out of here, find food and water, and prepare for a rough few years,” Carl said.

  “Bullshit!” A third young man shook his fist. “You did all this! You military guys are spinning some kind of operation on us. We knew it!”

  Carl felt the blood rising to his cheeks. Did he really have to keep dealing with this crap? Would these people continue fishing for something to rail against, something far easier than acknowledging the brutal truth of their situation?

  “Look, I don’t have time for this!” Carl turned to his right. He had to have parked his vehicle around there, but the two large pickups nearby did a good job of obscuring the vehicles on the other side. He also had no idea if more protestors lurked on the other side.

  He had to take the chance. He broke from the four men and ran toward the center of the lot.

  But as soon as he rounded the edge of the truck, he discovered a large mob of people that completely cut him off from the vehicles in the center of the lot. Worse, a pungent burning smell seized his nostrils. Smoke started rising from behind them. Were they starting to burn vehicles now?

  Some in the mob turned to gaze at Carl, but most of them still were arguing back and forth, and a few fistfights waged in other parts of the lot. One man had seized another and was slamming him against the hood of a vehicle.

  The whole spectacle si
ckened Carl to his core. Yet, he couldn’t be surprised by any of it.

  Before he could contemplate the depth of this situation any further, a man charged up to him with crazed, wide eyes. This man had given himself over to the madness. Carl quickly raised his fists, and with three well-placed punches, laid the guy out onto the parking lot concrete.

  Unfortunately, that little display drew more attention. A few young men started screaming profanities at him, with one or two calling out his name. More protestors from the Rally for Rights crowd, no doubt, and they were ready to affix blame on him and take their anger out on Carl, even if it meant killing him.

  Sticking around here would be certain death. Instead, Carl turned and slid over the hood of the nearest car, emerging in a lane between cars where few protestors stood. Then he ran as fast as he could, hoping the crowd wouldn’t expend the energy to chase him down.

  He was right, mostly. Two men who were close by, however, decided that Carl would make a good punching bag, and rushed him. Carl dodged the first attacker’s punch, then grabbed him and slammed him into the nearest vehicle. The second attacker wielded a pocket knife, which made things much worse. Carl knew that a bladed weapon of almost any size made a man ten times more dangerous.

  So, instead of trying to fight this guy head on, Carl retreated, giving himself a lot of space. The man charged with the knife, but now Carl had a good read on the guy’s movements. He was a bit portly, so he did not run or thrust quickly.

  Watch the knife…

  The man swung.

  Carl was far enough away to be out of the blade’s direct line, so he easily was able to dodge it, then grab and twist the attacker’s knife arm and thrust the weapon out of his hand. Now that he had disoriented the man, he was able to punch the attacker hard in the neck. The man let out a loud, sickening gurgle, plus a gob of spit, and then fell hard against the driver’s side window of a nearby car.

  With the knifed attacker out of commission, Carl was free to continue his flight from the lot. Some of the protestors spotted him and shouted, but Carl nearly had reached the edge of the lot.

  As he crossed the last line of cars, Preston crawled out of hiding. The young man had taken refuge under a red SUV. “Hey!” he called as he got up. “You got it? You got the bag, right?”

  Carl shook his head. “No. Forget it. I couldn’t get to my car. It’s probably torched by now. C’mon, we need to make tracks before they tear us to pieces.”

  Preston turned quickly to the lot and got a full view of the rising and growing pillars of smoke, the multitude of fights, and the general carnage. “Yeah,” he said as Carl began jogging back to the sidewalk. “No kidding.” Then he quickly followed the former Marine.

  Chapter Seven

  “Shit!” Preston cried out. “Why don’t these guys get a clue and leave us alone?”

  Carl wished Preston could pour on the speed, but sadly, a rich college kid was no match for the speed of a trained man. He slowed his pace so Preston could keep up with him.

  Unfortunately, slowing down meant little chance they could outpace the small gang that had been pursuing them since they had left the park. While many of the protestors near the park had been content to vent their rage on each other or nearby property, Preston and Carl still attracted their share of pursuers who wanted to slam their skulls into the asphalt.

  “C’mon, let’s duck inside one of these stores!” Preston started turning toward the small line of mom and pop shops on the side of the street.

  “No!” Carl seized Preston by the arm just enough to jerk him back. “Don’t let them corner us!”

  Preston started panting. There was no way he could keep this up. Carl had to find a way to take shelter or at least lose this bunch. Fortunately, they weren’t in much better shape than Preston. If he could shake them briefly, they might just give up.

  A street intersection loomed closer and closer. The right turnoff led to a small side street. Large trees hung their branches over the street. This might do the trick. “Turn, now!” Carl shouted.

  Preston followed Carl down the turnoff. Once they were hidden by the trees’ canopy, Carl grabbed Preston and then thrust himself and his companion right between two trees and into the grass behind them.

  “Ow!” Preston swore loudly.

  “Shut up!” Carl planted Preston’s head down into a bed of leaves.

  Then he turned to gaze through the gap in the trees. It would take about twenty seconds for their pursuers to show up if they kept following. Carl couldn’t even risk moving Preston for fear of making a sound. The only thing he could do was to grab a nearby branch and pull it over their bodies.

  He held the branch firm and waited. Preston didn’t make a sound. Carl did his best to slow his breathing.

  A minute passed. Nobody appeared in the tree gap. Carl listened as intensely as he could, but he didn’t hear so much as the sound of leaves being blown down the street. All had fallen silent.

  Finally, Carl released the bush. “Raise your head. I think they gave up and went off to find easier prey.”

  Preston picked up his face. A dirt smear ran across his cheek. “Damn, did you have to be so rough?”

  “Well, I’m sorry. I guess next time when we’re being chased by a blood-crazed mob, I’ll be sure to throw a pillow down first.”

  Preston wiped his face with the back of his hand. “Fine. Sorry. I’m not used to this…well, this!” He flung the mud off his hand. “Running for my life from what I thought were rational and sane human beings!” He sat up. “But that was just the rallies. Those people were spoiling for a fight. That’s not going to be that way for everyone. I’m sure when people understand what’s going on, they’ll band together to find ways to survive.”

  Carl sat up against a nearby tree trunk. “For once, I wish you were right.”

  “C’mon, Carl!” Preston scooted up against another tree, almost directly facing him. “We’re not animals. We’re higher intelligence, thinking creatures. It’s not rational to tear into each other or burn down buildings or cars when you have to work together to survive.”

  Carl sighed. “Look man, if you had a population that understood the basics of how to live without power lines feeding electricity into their homes or delivery trucks bringing food to their grocery stores, yeah, I might agree with you. But our modern society is so dependent on electronics that when you just unplug everything all at once, you also rip out everyone’s means of survival.” Then he leaned forward. “What would you do if I threw you in a time machine and sent you back to the Middle Ages? You know, King Arthur’s time? How would you live? How would you buy food? How would you find a home or a shelter?”

  Preston bristled. “I’m not sure. I suppose someone would have to take pity on me and let me stay with them as a servant.”

  “Yeah, and you’d have to know how to work for your master. The point is you don’t have the skills you’d need for a world that doesn’t have running water or refrigerated food. If you don’t know how to plant a crop or dig a well, you’re dead.” Carl pointed to the road beyond the trees. “Well, billions of people just got a one-way ticket back to the Middle Ages. Think about how’d you do, and just multiply that many times.”

  Preston swallowed. “Damn.”

  “Yeah. By some estimates, ninety percent of all Americans are going to die in the first year. Losing medical devices, food services, and all that will kill millions of seniors, sick people, disabled, even a lot of children. Cities are going to melt down in food riots. The dead are going to pile up everywhere. If you’re lucky enough to survive, the pestilence from all the dead bodies and the loss of garbage collection is going to kill you. That’ll be enough to get you.”

  Preston chuckled. “Great. Wonderful.” Then he let out a slight moan. “So, what now? We just sit around and wait to die?”

  “Look, I got no intention of waiting to die. If I can reconnect with the military, perhaps they got something in mind. Yeah, it’s going to be hell on Earth for
a few years, maybe many years. But there’s still a chance we can rebuild. If I can be a part of that, then it’s worth it to try carrying on.”

  “You sound like an optimistic progressive,” Preston said with a wry smile.

  Carl laughed. “I don’t think political labels matter anymore. We probably should have listened to George Washington when he talked about the dangers of political division. All that political party stuff hasn’t helped us very much.”

  Preston shook his head. “Okay. What now? I don’t know if I can go back to my hotel. God knows what it’s like now.”

  “Forget that. Our best bet is finding a way out of the city. If we can’t, then we’ll find a place to hole up. Hopefully, we might run across shelters, refugee camps, places where people gather. If it looks safe, I probably can drop you off there.”

  “Wait a minute. Don’t you have your own place?” Preston asked. “How about we try there? You must have guns, weapons, uh, bazookas, whatever.”

  Carl tried not to smile at the thought of having bazookas stored away at his apartment. “It’s on the north side of the city. We’d have to travel straight through some dense neighborhoods to get there. I’ve thought about it, but it’s probably a dead letter. If it was just me, maybe, but I’d have to travel too far with you beside me. I won’t risk it.”

  Preston bit his lip. “I wonder if my parents are okay. They went to Helena for a big fundraiser.”

  “Montana?” Carl asked.

  “Yeah. They touched down yesterday. Dad texted me this morning. It was all just business, letting me know my bills were paid.” Preston sighed. “I guess if all the planes don’t fly anymore, there’s no way they can get back home.”

  Carl rubbed his fingers together. He never had heard Preston sound so vulnerable before. “Well, if they are trapped up in Montana, I actually think that’s a pretty good place for them to be. It’s the densely packed cities I’m worried about. Maybe we can count your folks as the lucky ones.”

  Preston grimaced. “Yeah, but Mom hates snow. Hates it.”