Collapse (New America)

by Richard Stephenson

  President Sterling continued to look out the window, and the room was filled with silence. A minute passed and Chairman Moody spoke. "Mr. President, what are your orders?"

  Simon Sterling looked at his reflection in the window and straightened his tie. He fussed over his hair, making certain not a single strand was out of place. "Chairman Moody, I'll tell you exactly what we’re going to do. We are going to withdraw all our forces from the Iranian Theater and secure our borders. Once that’s done, our troops will join the Unified National Guard and begin occupying every city, every street, every house if that’s what it takes. If anyone left in Washington wants to voice their opposition, they will not be imprisoned. No, that would be a waste of time. We will not waste a single soldier dealing with dissidents. Anyone who protests will be executed."

  Stacy Reid knew she was listening to a madman who was going to allow the Great Empire of Iran to end the world as they knew it. She also knew without question that the men in this room killed President Malcolm Powers.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  The Silent Warriors of The Great Empire of Iran were engaging in sabotage all over the areas blacked out by the electromagnetic pulse. The good citizens of the United States were doing a fine job of helping the Silent Warriors with the battle. Without the rule of law watching over them, rioting and looting reached an all-time high. However, the Silent Warriors had bigger plans than just cleaning out liquor stores and Best Buys.

  Under the cover of darkness, agents of the Empire unleashed the simplest and most effective means of destruction. Without the aid of emergency services or even simple lines of communication, raging infernos spread from city to city. Before The Pulse, the Silent Warriors considered arson to be a waste of time since local fire departments were able to quickly put out fires. Fires also meant arson investigations, and the risk outweighed the gains. The Pulse changed everything. Subdivisions, shopping malls, churches, schools, libraries, hospitals, and even fire stations burned to the ground. Millions of acres of forestland went up in flames. The wildfires in California that freed Richard Dupree from the Highland Valley State Prison paled in comparison. The only thing that prevented half of the United States from going up in flames was divine intervention. Several weather systems dumped torrential rains across the country and extinguished most of the flames in a couple weeks.

  The Silent Warriors then moved on to their next target - one of the most critical and unguarded elements of the infrastructure of the United States of America. The Dwight D. Eisenhower National System of Interstate and Defense Highways, better known as the Interstate Highway System, consisted of 47,447 miles of roads, keeping the United States alive like the blood vessels in the human body. While President Eisenhower was the Supreme Commander of the Allied Forces during World War II, he knew his home country needed a system of highways connecting every part of the country to each other. He championed the Federal Aid Highway Act of 1956, not for reasons of commerce or prosperity, but rather for defense. Eisenhower knew that if a war was ever fought on his home soil, moving troops and supplies over vast distances would be the key to success.

  One might have looked at the attacks as being coordinated and carefully planned, as if the Silent Warriors had held a convention at the local Holiday Inn to pass out orders. No such meeting took place. It was not necessary for them to coordinate anything. The Great Empire of Iran had trained the Silent Warriors to be the perfect saboteurs. Bringing down any structure, no matter the size, only required one thing - destroy its supporting frame. Every structure, from a house to a skyscraper to a bridge, was held together by a frame. Destroy the frame and the structure comes crashing down. What held the United States together as a country was not its economy, its government, or even the Internet. What held the United States together in one piece, what connected each state to the other, was the Interstate Highway System. The interstates funneled food, water and critical supplies to the masses. They brought fuel and building materials from one city to another and one state to another.

  Across the darkness of The Pulse Zone, the Silent Warriors destroyed bridge after bridge using explosives they’d been saving for the Day of Judgment. The most valuable targets were the bridges that spanned rivers and lakes.

  It would be some time before the American people felt the full weight of what The Silent Warriors had done because The Pulse had managed to disable every vehicle in its radius. Corporations frantically had replacement parts shipped from the unaffected west coast to repair disabled vehicles. Shipping companies diverted every spare eighteen-wheeler from to West Coast to The Pulse Zone, trying to keep their businesses from going bankrupt. Traffic and trade would soon come to a standstill.

  In less than a week, the eastern half of the United States was crippled. Everyday citizens were not immediately affected since few traveled far from their homes, and practically no one had a working vehicle anymore. The Second Great Depression was very cruel to every market touched by transportation. With gasoline hovering around fifteen dollars a gallon, it rose sharply to twice that amount when fuel tankers from the West Coast ended up stranded on the interstates with nowhere to go. A few truckers were able to exit onto other highways and back roads but were quickly hijacked by bandits looking to score a resource now worth more than its weight in gold. Gas stations soon heard of the hijackings and stranded trucks and began to raise their prices. The storeowners knew they might not be able to sell gas for a long time and wanted to make what little money they could before it was too late. They also held onto a decent amount of gas for themselves.

  From the Appalachian Mountains to the Mississippi River Valley, state lines began to fade away, as state governments lost control. With power and control in the hands of the people, cities began to barricade themselves like medieval castles. With the interstates disabled in the most populated sections of the country and millions of acres on fire, The Silent Warriors prided themselves on a job well done.

  The electromagnetic pulse that turned off the lights and sent the East Coast back in time to the pre-industrial age was devastating enough in itself. Now, the Silent Warriors ensured that recovery would be next to impossible.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Escaped convicts Richard Dupree and Billy Bratchett were heading up Interstate 70 in a stolen Honda Accord. They could see the city of Denver on the horizon. They’d made it to Las Vegas without issue and once they got to Sin City, they couldn't believe the state it was in. Law and order were a thing of the past; gangs of thugs wandered the streets doing whatever they pleased. Most businesses were closed and boarded up, only to be broken into by desperate people looking for food and water. Residential areas were in chaos, frightened citizens barricaded in their houses. Many front lawns had dead bodies strewn about, clearly the result of armed citizens defending their homes. On the drive into Vegas, Richard had rehearsed several plans for acquiring new clothes and a vehicle without having to harm anyone. As it turned out, no real plan was actually necessary. The first gas station they came across had already been abandoned. The parking lot had two cars in it. They chose a Honda Accord, and Tank hot-wired it in under a minute. They broke into the gas station and filled their stomachs with food and water. Donning fresh t-shirts, hats and sunglasses, they loaded up the trunk of their new car with supplies. They turned on the pumps and filled the tank, along with several gas cans. In all, they had about thirty extra gallons of gas.

  Richard did his best to avoid as much of Las Vegas as possible. He stuck to the outskirts of town and made his way to Interstate 15, heading north to Interstate 70. Tank had the passenger seat reclined as far back as it would go. His eye was still healing from the incision Richard had made to drain the infection. Tank had no problem moving around and could take care of himself; however, he was still suffering from splitting headaches. The Honda was the most comfortable quarters he’d had since they left Highland Valley State Prison and he was content to get as much sleep as possible. Richard, on the other hand, had been trained
as a SEAL to operate on long missions with very little sleep. Getting only a few hours of sleep in three or four days was nothing out of the ordinary for him; he’d done it more times than he could remember. None of those missions came close to being as important as this one. He was determined to find his children, and he wouldn’t stop until he was reunited with them.

  Richard had been surfing around the radio constantly since they left the gas station. He desperately needed intel on what was going on in the world. He kept up with the news when he was at Highland Valley and was painfully aware of how quickly the country was falling apart. Along with most of the nation, he watched the news reports of the little girl dying in an ambulance at a National Guard checkpoint in Denver and the resulting riots that exploded all over the country. If Las Vegas was any indication, most of the major cities would be in complete anarchy. Richard managed to find one radio station out of Vegas that was still broadcasting. Most of what was being said didn't make a lot of sense. Something about a big attack to the east. Richard didn't know what that meant exactly. Terrorist attacks were becoming commonplace, so "an attack" could mean anything. The DJ seemed to be throwing out all kinds of insane theories, and Richard could tell he wasn’t speaking about facts. He still listened to everything on the off chance that this wacko might make sense. It got more interesting when the DJ starting taking phone calls.

  "Iranians are here! They’re marching into D.C.!"

  "They blew up Washington! That's why they aren't telling us anything!"

  "My sister lives in Boston, and I haven't been able to call her! I hope they didn't take out Boston!"

  "The Iranians have some secret weapon! They took out the power grid!"

  "I got a friend that works for the government. He said an EMP took out the east coast! Leveled everything!"

  The last two callers grabbed Richard's attention. The last one obviously had no clue what an EMP was since it has no destructive power outside of destroying electronics. It couldn't "level" anything. If some big attack had happened back east, it could very well have been an EMP. It would explain the lack of information. If a nuke took out D.C., or any city for that matter, news agencies would still be able to report it. The total communications blackout could be the result of an EMP. Richard filed away the idea in the back of his head and decided not to entertain it again until he had solid facts.

  Once Richard reached the outskirts of Denver, he took the first exit he could find and headed north around the city. His ex-wife lived in Northglenn, a suburb just off Interstate 25. His lawyer kept tabs on her and kept Richard updated on her movements. Richard had memorized the directions to her house. He could see people running in the streets causing as much damage as they could - smashing store windows and destroying parked cars. One street corner looked like a battlefield. Nearly a hundred men and women were fighting each other with baseball bats and crowbars. Richard sped up and raced around them doing eighty-five miles an hour. He knew that a working automobile was a prized possession people would kill for. He would not stop or slow down for anyone. If he had to run over someone to get to his kids, he would gladly do so.

  His evasion of the street battle stirred Tank from his slumber. "What the fuck? Where are we?"

  "Denver."

  "Are you shitting me? I slept that long?"

  "Yeah."

  "What the hell’s going on? Broncos lose the Super Bowl?"

  "Haven't had a Super Bowl in years."

  "No shit, smartass, it was a joke."

  "I don't know what's going on. Apparently most of the country is like this. Heard some rumors on the radio about a big attack to the east."

  "Another terrorist attack?"

  "Bigger, like Iran big."

  "Fuck."

  "All I can tell you is it’s making it very easy for us to move around. Haven't seen a single cop. All this craziness makes it hard for anyone to care about escaped cons on the loose."

  "Fucking outstanding. I could get used to this. What are we doing?"

  "Going to my ex-wife's house to get my kids."

  "What if she's not there and took the kids someplace else?"

  "Then we'll figure something out."

  Richard exited the interstate and remembered that he had to drive two miles before he turned again. Moving down the interstate wasn't too difficult, but getting into the heart of a suburb full of unruly people was going to be a challenge. A block from the interstate, an intersection was completely gridlocked with abandoned cars. A three car accident in the middle of the intersection had shut down traffic. Richard came to a stop behind the pileup and pondered his next move. He could easily jump the curb to his right into the parking lot of a strip mall, or he could turn into the gas station on his left and go around. He decided against the gas station because it had too many blind spots, and he had no desire to be caught in an ambush with no way to escape. Jumping the curb into the strip mall wasn't without risks. He would have to maneuver his way around what looked to be a tailgate party, complete with a group of surly looking revelers.

  "What do you wanna do, Richard?" asked Tank.

  "We're gonna ask these fine gentlemen for directions."

  "Thought you knew where you were going?"

  "I know where we're going." Richard winked at Tank.

  "It's like that? You wanna kill them? Didn't think you were the type to start a fight."

  "I'm not gonna start a fight. I'm just gonna ask them for directions and maybe about the weather. If they wanna start a fight, they can start a fight. You stay in the car until I signal for you. Well, until I signal for you or they jump me."

  "I could use some exercise."

  "Thought you might say that, Billy."

  Richard jumped the curb and eased forward into the parking lot. As the tailgaters kept a watchful eye, Richard pulled closer and stopped. No weapons had been drawn. Richard opened his door and slowly got out. He smiled and put on the appearance of being a clueless, lost traveler.

  "Evening, fellas. My friend and I are lost. We're trying to get back to the interstate and got turned around." Richard waited to see who the men would look to for instructions, either vocally or by body language. If that didn't happen, the first one to speak up would be in charge. He needed to single out the alpha of the pack.

  A man in a black sweatshirt spoke. "Are you trying to be funny, asshole, or are you just stupid?"

  Richard pretended to be frightened and let his voice quake. "Huh?"

  "You heard me. Answer the question."

  The rest of the group laughed at Richard like they were on the schoolyard. Richard took a few steps back and said in a soft voice, "I'm sorry to bother you; we'll figure it out. Have a good night."

  The alpha male shot a wicked grin at Richard. "Hey buddy, take it easy. I'm just fuckin' with you. Turn around."

  Richard stepped up his fake nervousness and just stared back at them.

  "Relax, man, we're not gonna hurt you. The interstate is right there behind you, about a block away."

  Richard let out a panicked laugh. "Oh, I guess I am stupid! Yeah, right there. Thanks. You guys hear about some big attack to the east?"

  The alpha male dropped his grin. "I look like I work for fucking CNN?"

  Richard feigned a look of terror.

  "This is what's gonna happen," said the leader. “You and your friend are gonna leave us your car and start walking back to the interstate. If you're lucky, you might be able to hitch a ride for a blowjob."

  The entire tailgate party erupted in laughter. Richard used the distraction to leap forward and grab the alpha male's right wrist with both hands. Richard spun around three hundred and sixty degrees and brought the alpha along for the ride. When Richard completed the circle, he cracked the man's arm like a whip, broke his wrist and flung him into two of his goons. Richard planted his foot under the next guy's chin, clamping shut his jaw and causing him to bite off the tip of his tongue. Tank was already sprinting from the c
ar and ran full speed into another man who was standing completely still in shock. The impact threw the man into the bed of one of the pickups. Tank punched the fifth man in the face, who spat out several teeth on his way to the ground. The sixth and final member of the tailgate party was down on his knees with his hands in the air, crying. Richard kicked him in the ass like a football. He fell to the ground and curled up in a ball. The alpha and the two men he’d knocked over like bowling pins were not willing to give up so easily. They charged Richard, roaring like Vikings, clearly trying to bring back the frightened man they’d been teasing a few seconds ago. The first two men went down hard. The alpha male, however, managed to grab a shovel from the bed of the pickup and was running toward Richard. He swung the shovel like a baseball bat, as Richard easily ducked out of the way, gladly accepting the gift of the alpha's exposed torso. Richard punched him in the ribs as hard as he could. With the wind knocked out of him, the alpha male fell to the ground.

  Richard squatted down over the alpha male and spoke in his ear. "You should be kinder to your fellow man. When someone is lost, you offer them help and give them directions. That blowjob you were talking about? You're lucky I don't let my friend here loose on you. He'd do more than just make you blow him. That's the difference between you and me. I'm willing to show mercy to someone when they’re down on their luck. Remember that. Words to live by." Richard patted him on the head a few times and stood up.