Against All Odds (Book 2): As We Break

by Hunt, Jack

  “I have my reasons.”

  “Well let’s hope those reasons don’t cause you to lose the only family you have left.”

  Richard looked over at him and downed some more wine. He just needed something to take the edge off before the meeting that night.

  “So, do you still want me to kill him?”

  “No. Leave it. Perhaps I’ll do it myself, perhaps I won’t need to. Maybe someone else will.”

  Chapter 12

  Lieutenant Hart breathed a sigh of relief when the backup batteries below the floor kicked in and the lights and instruments on her console flickered to life. The only change was it was deathly quiet. The constant low drone of the air system was no longer in operation. She’d already been trained in what to do in the event of a nuclear attack, the commercial power was disrupted and the emergency power generators were damaged. It meant the launch facility would operate for another eight hours using the batteries built into the system, and they would have to use a device known as a stripper to create spare air. It was a hand-cranked device, which separated oxygen from potassium superoxide and depending on the number of cranks they gave it, determined how long they could last in the capsule.

  There was meant to be a week’s worth of air but that was based on the air intake working. Lieutenant Douglas was already flipping through the heavy, black-faced ring binder for the graph, which told them how many cranks it would take to keep them alive. The only problem was it relied on the intake ducts being clear and according to those above, it was now blocked.

  Panic started to set in. They were now dealing in unknowns, completely uncharted territory. They weren’t trained for this. While they figured the six-man security team had been compromised, she knew that as long as the air was working and they were behind the two blast doors they would be safe. There was supposed to be a week’s worth of water and food under the flooring but that was only useful if they could breathe.

  “Douglas, we need to get out of here.”

  “We can’t leave this post.”

  “I’m not dying here.”

  “Get a grip, Hart,” he said continuing to flip through the binder. He was composed, and she was far from it. Although she wasn’t claustrophobic, she knew the odds of them surviving inside longer than eight hours were slim.

  “Let’s just head out the escape hatch.”

  “They already know about it.”

  Mia sighed. “So can they get in through it?”

  “If they can find it, though the odds are low of that happening. You see, when they deactivated the other 103 ICBM silos and eliminated them, they found that the ground had frozen and crushed the soil, essentially preventing anyone from being able to get out.”

  She stared back at him with a look of astonishment. “You’re telling me we are trapped in here?”

  “Not trapped. We could open the blast doors but that’s not happening.”

  Mia slumped into her chair, her hands began shaking. She started breathing heavily and hyperventilating.

  “Hey, whoa, whoa, slow down your breathing. We don’t have much oxygen in here, we need to make it last.”

  “Last? You heard them. They are staying outside for the next eight hours.”

  “Yeah, they’re trapped down here with us.”

  “But they’re not trapped in a steel coffin. There is air coming down the elevator shaft. They can survive. We can’t.”

  She buried her head in her hands.

  “Hart. Don’t you go losing it on me.”

  “You might not care if you live or die but I have a family. A kid. And they sure as hell don’t pay me enough to put up with this bullshit.”

  “You signed up for this.”

  “I was assigned this.”

  “I meant you signed on to join the Air Force. You knew the risks.”

  “Of dying in battle, yeah. Not willingly allowing myself to die when I can open the door and walk out.”

  He snorted. “You think they’re going to let you walk? The moment we open those doors we are as good as dead. They’ve already executed the security.”

  “You don’t know that!” she replied.

  “Of course I do. What, you think they’re up there having a beer with them? Don’t be so naïve.”

  Mia stood up and got close to him, and spoke through gritted teeth. “I’m not dying in here.”

  “I’m afraid we don’t have any choice.” Douglas turned and began cranking the stripper to purify the air, and essentially bring in new air.

  “You’re wasting your time,” she said.

  He turned the handle like a bike pedal, over and over again. “What they say they’ve done and what they’ve really done are two different things. I’m not going to sit by and do nothing.”

  Twenty minutes passed.

  While Douglas continued to crank, she sat down, and was about to resign to her fate when the power kicked in, and the capsule flooded with air. She shot Douglas a glance and a smile flickered on her lips. They couldn’t distinguish the sound of an elevator lifting, but they were sure they had retreated to topside as they felt the rumble of machinery kicking in. What did this mean? Had they given up? No. It was too soon. Something wasn’t right. Why would they shut off the generator only to turn it back on again?

  The answer came within minutes.

  Mia reached for the phone as it began ringing.

  “Hello?”

  “Lieutenant. I’m going to go out on a limb here and assume you’re the smart one. Am I right?”

  Mia glanced over at Douglas who was wondering what he was saying to her.

  “What do you want?” she asked.

  “You married. Got kids?”

  “What do you want?”

  “That’s the big question, isn’t it? What do the people who have brought the country’s grid down want? It’s simple really. Payback. Revenge. What other reason has there ever been for starting a war?”

  She shot back. “The blast doors won’t be opened.”

  “Is that what he’s telling you? You see, we can get in through the escape hatch if we wanted to.”

  “Then why don’t you?” she asked.

  There was silence on the other end, and then Mia clued in.

  “You don’t want to damage anything that could protect you.” She paused. “You want to protect yourself after you launch the missiles, don’t you?”

  “I knew you were the smart one.” He chuckled. “Now it’s simply a case of whether you wish to live or die. So will it be your colleague’s life or both of yours? Well, lieutenant, what’s it going to be?”

  Chapter 13

  Sam wasn’t looking forward to this.

  On the way over to the town hall auditorium they’d driven by multiple homes that had been consumed by fire. The fire service was out in full force and trying their best to put out the fires but not having much luck. Those with operational vehicles were diverted away from the chaos that had erupted in one of the neighborhoods. It was difficult to know what had caused it but multiple police officers were out in riot gear trying to control the situation.

  Upon arrival they looked upon a knot of protesters jabbing signs in the air. NO MORE LIES. WE WON’T GIVE UP OUR FIREARMS. RESISTANCE IS BEAUTIFUL. One man held a red and white megaphone and loudly spewed hate for the city council. An angry crowd pushed forward trying to get into the building, ready to voice their complaints. According to a neighbor who was in attendance at the previous meeting, they were expecting the turnout to be as twice as many, and even more volatile.

  Still furious at her grandfather, Anna chose to stay at home with Chase.

  The car idled. They stared out into the darkness, a light rain was falling but the crowd didn’t seem fazed by it. They were hyped up by one another.

  “Well this looks like it’s going to be a hoot,” Mason said. “I think we should have brought our rifles.”

  Sam chuckled. “Was it like this in Oneida?”

  Amanda leaned between the seats. “There
were no town hall meetings. Things got out of control real quick. I’m actually surprised at how things have unfolded here. I figured it would be the same.”

  “Not everyone is a nutcase,” Mason said. “Though I imagine Boston is a nightmare right now. Crime was already high but take away the power and communication, shroud a city in darkness and all the rats come out to play.” He turned to the others. “Well, shall we?”

  They exited the vehicle and entered the ever-increasing swell of people. There had to be over a thousand in attendance, far more than the police department could handle. They’d already seen roughly ten of the twenty-five officers four blocks away trying to deal with a neighborhood riot, that didn’t leave many to protect the town and oversee the evening’s meeting.

  “Stay close,” Sam said gripping Amanda’s hand and leading her through the crowd. It was a noisy scene with people shouting about a lack of food down at the shelter, and damage done to their properties. Others were complaining about sewage backing up, and an increase in looting. To someone looking on, it might have seemed premature, even unbelievable, and had this been the only town in the United States that had been affected, none of this would have been happening. However, with every town in the nation in a state of crisis there was one no one who could bring in additional resources, the Red Cross couldn’t step in and alleviate the needs, and law enforcement couldn’t receive backup from surrounding towns. They were on their own and quickly losing control.

  The community was beyond pissed. They were outraged.

  Sam and the others managed to squeeze into the building and find a place near the back; more officers inside turned others away. Sam had been counting the heads of officers and by his estimation most were here, which meant neighborhoods throughout the town were left unprotected.

  “Man, this is wild,” Mason said eyeing desperate faces.

  “It might get worse,” Sam said noticing a group of four guys force their way past officers trying to hold back the rest. One of their jackets pulled back and Sam spotted a handgun. Colorado allowed a person to open carry a firearm but they certainly shouldn’t have shown up packing heat at a town hall meeting.

  Chief Sanchez stood at the front of the auditorium, gavel in hand, smacking the podium. “Attention. Please. Settle down. Order!”

  It wasn’t working.

  That’s when someone blasted a loud air horn.

  Sam peered over heads and saw Richard Underwood appear in a doorway; in one hand he had the air horn, in the other a megaphone. “Enough!” he bellowed. The crowd quieted down to a murmur. “We are not savages,” he said as he took to the podium and Sanchez stepped off to one side. “I understand you have complaints, questions and concerns and we are here tonight to answer them but let’s make something crystal clear. We will not tolerate lawlessness. If you are here to argue, fight or incite a riot, leave now before you are arrested. Do I make myself clear?”

  A few people cursed at him.

  Richard blasted the air horn in their direction.

  “You don’t like it. Get out!”

  He motioned to two officers to escort the unruly from the room. A task only made more difficult by those who felt they had a right to speak their mind. Seeing that he had the attention of the rest of the room, Richard adjusted his tie. He was still sporting the gnarly gash on his forehead and bruised lip but beyond that he presented himself well in a nice dark grey suit, with a red tie. Sam didn’t expect anything less. The world could be falling down around him and he would still show up to work with his shoes polished and flashing pearly whites. He cared more about what people thought of him than those closest to him. Sam always believed that was the issue between them. It was never about him marrying Helen, or their disagreements over the way government was running the country. Sam just never fit into his ideals. He’d envisioned Helen marrying someone like Eric. Sam’s gaze swept over faces until he spotted him near the door. He knew he would be there, a faithful follower of Richard, a man who worshipped at the altar of bullshit. He came across as a caring, all-round good guy but Sam had his doubts.

  “Okay, first order of business. We are well aware that supplies are dwindling at the shelter. Please understand that what is being offered there has come from the good folks in town who wanted to support the community. The Red Cross, or the military does not supply them. We have very limited supplies. What remains is now being rationed out. You are all aware that wild game still exists so by all means feel free to hunt for what you need but know that in the coming weeks we may have to start monitoring how many deer, elk and bear one family can have.”

  “Weeks?” someone shouted out. A man from the group of four pushed his way forward. He wore a hunting cap and camouflage fatigues. “Are you telling me you expect this to go on longer?”

  “Sir, we don’t know how long this will last but we have to prepare for the worst.”

  He snorted. “And you expect us to allow you to monitor what we kill?” Several of his buddies started laughing.

  “We are a community and we will help one another. This is not about helping yourself while others starve.”

  “If people don’t hunt, they don’t eat. That’s not my problem.”

  “Where is your humanity?” a woman cried out.

  “Oh sit down. Why should we have to go through all the trouble of hunting game to bring it back and share it with those who offer nothing in return?”

  Richard was quick to jump on that. “No one expects you to receive nothing in return. We will continue to trade and offer items or services.”

  The guy turned and looked at the woman. “Hear that, darling? You might want to put some lipstick on and make yourself pretty. I’m sure we can find some way to trade.”

  The woman flipped him the bird and took a seat.

  “That’s enough!” Richard bellowed. “There will be rules.”

  “Rules. Best of luck imposing your rules on us. You’ve already tried to take our guns and that’s not happening.”

  “Sir. What is your name?”

  “Keith Boone.”

  Richard narrowed his gaze. “Howard’s brother?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Where is Howard tonight?”

  “Am I my brother’s keeper?”

  Richard shook his head in dismay. “Moving on! As I have said, you are free to hunt for food, though I would recommend you be mindful of others and help out as and where you can. Regarding water, there are the streams. Be sure to boil everything. Oh, and for those of you who are cooking outside, please take proper precautions with fire pits. The last thing we need is to have more homes on fire.”

  “Those house fires weren’t started by fire pits,” a woman yelled. “Someone lit them.”

  “And you know this because?” Richard said.

  She looked nervously around as if searching for a face among the crowd. “I just know. That’s all I’m saying.”

  Richard eyed her and then as he looked across the crowd his eyes narrowed as they fell upon Sam. Sam remained stoic and composed.

  “Those of you who know about the fires, I would urge you to come and see Chief Sanchez or one of the officers at the end of the meeting. The protection of life in this community is our highest priority.”

  “I doubt it,” a man said. “We got turned away from the hospital.”

  “I’m sure there was a very good reason. See me after.”

  “Fuck you,” the guy said turning and squeezing through the crowd to leave.

  “Pleasant,” Richard said.

  “I want to know why the power came back on and went off?” one of the four men yelled. “Rumor has it that we are the only town that doesn’t have power.”

  “Sir, I can reassure you that is not true.”

  “Prove it.”

  “You can prove it yourself by traveling to any town in the surrounding area.”

  “Then how did it come back on?”

  “Our government is working on solving the issue. I’m sure this
is just one step they are taking among many.”

  “No it’s not,” a male voice cut through the crowd and everyone turned trying to pinpoint it. A tall, lean man in his early fifties pushed through. His face looked like it had seen better days; it was bruised and battered.

  “Sir, I won’t have you disrupt this meeting,” Richard said.

  The stranger continued. “You want answers?”

  “We already have answers. Russia is behind it.”

  “No they’re not.”

  Everyone was staring, and the crowd parted as the man made his way through. The front of him was covered in blood. He was wearing a blue shirt, black jeans and a thick brown leather jacket.

  “And how would you know?”

  Once the stranger made it to the front of the auditorium, he made a gesture for the microphone. He muttered something to Richard and he handed it over.

  “Because I was the one who brought it down.”

  People looked at each other, a mask of confusion spreading quickly. Richard stepped forward and took the mic. “Okay, I think that’s enough. Go take a seat.”

  The man wrestled with the microphone, not giving it back. “It was hackers and I was one of them.”

  In the crowd a young guy yelled, “Hey, I know him. That’s Blake Dawson.”

  “Who?” several people asked, squinting at him.

  The young guy, in his twenties, stepped forward. “Blake Dawson. He was thrown in prison back in the ’80s for hacking.”

  Eyes turned to him and Richard stopped wrestling with the microphone. For the first time since the event had kicked off, there was a sense that perhaps they would get answers, even if everyone was skeptical that this man knew anything.

  “Is that right? Richard asked.

  He nodded. “I’m here to tell you that the power going down was just the beginning. They are about to start World War Three.”

  Several people started to laugh thinking he was joking. In all truth it was hard to buy into his spiel when he looked like he lived on the streets. First, his clothes were torn, he was covered in dried blood, and he looked as if he’d taken one hell of a beating. Second, who in their right mind would show up at an angry town hall meeting and admit to being behind the biggest attack on America? He had to have a death wish.