America Offline (Book 2): America Offline [System Failure]

by Weber, William H.

  A sound just outside the barn startled them. The H&K G36 assault rifle was leaning against the wall next to Nate. He grabbed it, aiming the barrel at the barn’s entrance. Dakota drew her pistol, holding it out with both hands.

  A second later a head pushed its way into the narrow opening, widening it with a flick of its muscular neck before stepping inside. It stopped and stared back at them.

  “Shadow!” Dakota shouted, elated and maybe even a little relieved.

  “You nearly got your head blown off, buddy.”

  The wolf shook a coating of snow from his fur and headed straight for Dakota, nuzzling her. She laughed, running her hands over his head and back. “Eww, you’re all wet.”

  Nate smiled and was surprised when the wolf came over to him, the end of his black, glistening nose sampling the air between them.

  Nate held out a hand. Shadow shuffled away, staring back from the corner of his eye. A moment later, the wolf returned and licked his fingers.

  “You’re hungry, aren’t you, buddy?” Nate asked him. Then to Dakota: “Any more of those ravioli left?”

  She produced a can and opened it. Nate held it in place while Shadow went to town. “Looks like we got ourselves another Chef Boyardee fan.”

  Dakota giggled and for the briefest of moments, both of them forgot about the cold and the death and the suffering around them.

  Chapter 5

  Day 7

  Chicago O’Hare International Airport

  The following morning, Holly, Dillon and a handful of others made their way down the long, darkened corridor that connected Concourses B and C of Terminal One. To their right was the moving sidewalk, or at least one that had once been moving.

  They made their way via the light from Sandra Pierson’s cellphone. She was a young sales executive from a siding company. She had just been hired as the regional sales manager. Still dressed in a grey skirt and white blouse, she might have looked like the typical corporate creature were it not for the dark stains on her shirt and the ratty state of her hair.

  After a week fending for themselves, awaiting rescue from the outside world, each of them looked like they’d been through the wringer. All except for Johnny Tang, that was, who still looked fresh. He was an Asian-American banking executive on his way to Hong Kong for an important meeting. Over six feet tall with a muscular build and a set of impossibly white teeth, Johnny still wore a Westmancott suit that looked about as pressed as the man’s slicked-back hair.

  Others had joined them as well, including a family of four from California―the Johnsons―on their way to New York City.

  The group’s mission this morning was to find something to eat. The empty, churning sensation in their bellies had become a constant reminder of their predicament.

  Over the past few days, the issue of acquiring drinking water had been a rather easy one to solve. Step one: grab a cup from one of the gift shops. There were several to choose from, a task made easier by the fact that the glass sealing the shops off had been shattered long ago. In Holly’s case, she’d grabbed a pair of large travel mugs, the ones with closable lids. Step two: open any emergency exit―you didn’t need to worry about any blaring alarms going off, not anymore―and fill whatever you brought with you. It was cold in the airport, especially in this corridor. Still, it was warm enough that the ice would eventually melt. Holly had learned long ago to avoid putting the ice in your mouth to let it melt. While tempting, doing so actually drew energy from her body she was sorely lacking. The best bet was to let it melt on its own. Holly had quickly realized filling up a coffee thermos or two before bed was the most efficient way, since much of it would melt overnight.

  She glanced over at Dillon in the dim light and noticed the bruise ringing his left eye. The sight of it broke her heart and had fueled her hunt for a more formidable weapon. O’Brien’s Restaurant and Bar kitchen had provided her with a big step up from the house keys she’d been using. She had grabbed two stainless-steel chef’s knives from the restaurant. But they hadn’t been on the cooking line. No, any weapons from there had likely been coveted long ago. These she’d found in the chef’s office hidden in a case under his desk. They’d both been signed by Gordon Ramsay and Holly was happy she could put them to good use.

  An added bonus was the small fridge on the opposite wall, where she had discovered three chocolate éclairs. One she’d eaten on the spot, the second she’d given to Dillon and the third she was saving for Doug, a humble thank you she would gladly give the man if she ever saw him again.

  Nearby, Dillon tripped over his feet and fell to the hard floor with a smack.

  “Hold up,” she called to the others as she bent down and tried to help him up. He resisted her, wrenching his hand away.

  The group stopped. Concourse B was barely visible at the end of the long corridor. “We really shouldn’t be hanging around in here,” Johnny called out, his voice laced with a tinge of fear. “It isn’t safe.”

  “Nowhere is safe,” Holly barked at the self-centered banker before turning back to Dillon. Her son had been acting a little strange since yesterday and she suspected it wasn’t merely the stress of the situation. That would be enough to take a toll on any of them, Asperger’s or not. However, she was beginning to suspect the attack had rattled something loose inside the very private world in which he lived.

  In an effort to conserve his medication, she’d cut his daily dose of Zoloft in half not long after the lights had gone out. She was by no means a fan of giving antidepressants to children. But the difference between Dillon on Zoloft and Dillon off Zoloft was undeniable. It offered him the ability to function and to have something akin to a normal life. Without it, her son sank into bouts of depression, became snappy and exhibited difficulty focusing on even the simplest of tasks.

  Holly reached into the inner pocket of her jacket and removed the last tablet, snapped it in two and gave him half. He washed it down with a swig from the thermos.

  “Are we ready to go?” Johnny whined, his Saint Laurent ostrich-skin shoes tapping against the chilled floor.

  Sandra threw the banker a dirty look and bent down to help lift Dillon to his feet. “Feeling better?” she asked him.

  Dillon craned his head to one side where it did a little dance. For him that was about as close to a nod as anyone could expect.

  Once again, they were off, pushing through the darkened corridor on their way to Concourse B.

  “So, how sure are you this guy wasn’t just giving you a line to get into your pants?” Johnny asked, likely projecting his own lack of morality on those around him.

  “I’m sure,” Holly replied evenly. “Doug isn’t like that. He’s had plenty of opportunity to try something if that was his goal.”

  In the bag of muffins he had brought them, Doug had slipped her a paper with a map of Terminal One. On it were a series of X’s wherever he thought they had a chance of finding food. The restaurants, cafés and snack shops had been emptied long ago. The locations Doug indicated on the map were small, out-of-the-way spots others might not think to look—broom closets, employee break rooms, areas largely off the beaten path. With food running so low, she had gathered a few of the folks she’d come to know and set off to check each spot one by one.

  Johnny was a friend of Sandra’s and so had joined them by default. The family from California—Eric Johnson, his wife Ann and their sixteen-year-old daughter Riley—had been camped right next to Holly and Dillon, sharing some of the burden of going on water runs. They were sweet and friendly people and if there was a stash of food out there, she wanted them to share in the spoils.

  Johnny’s snide remark about Doug was still not sitting well with Holly. Two days earlier, Doug had offered her the tantalizing prospect of escaping this growing hellhole only to leave her in the lurch. That wasn’t to say he had gone and left her behind, but in an airport filled with stranded travelers, what was to say he hadn’t simply found someone else to take her spot? Perhaps someone willing to give him
what he really wanted. Holly squeezed her eyes shut against the darkness, angry she’d even let a thought like that in. But she was more upset she’d allowed Johnny to plant it in the first place. Surely she was entitled to a few moments of doubt after everything she’d been through.

  Just then, her stomach seized into a sudden and painful knot of hunger. She considered the éclair in her pocket, the one she’d put aside for Doug, and fought the undeniable urge to break her commitment. Women were often much stronger than they were given credit for. Childbirth tended to make up the bulk of the argument, but Holly thought menstrual cramps made a far more compelling case. Labor usually lasted a matter of hours and then it was done. Period cramps, on the other hand, could last for days and they returned, sometimes with a vengeance, once every month up until menopause. So, like many other women, Holly was no stranger to pain. Knew the terrible feeling of white-hot needles stabbing at your insides. The cramps from hunger were agonizing, yes. But they were also nothing new.

  Soon, the group emerged from the incredibly long corridor and into the brightness of Concourse B. They paused, surveying this new area stretching before them in both directions. A handful of people, weak and despondent, shuffled by. They didn’t seem to be going anywhere meaningful, but merely trying to keep themselves occupied until help arrived. Shapes under layers of clothing lined the far wall, making it hard to tell if these were bodies or people who were still sleeping. One person had pillaged broom handles and busted-up restaurant chairs and tied them together with shoelaces in order to create a frame he laid over his bed. He had then draped clothing over the frame, which offered him a modicum of privacy. All in all, Concourse B looked a lot like Concourse C, a pattern Holly was willing to guess repeated itself throughout the airport. Over the last week, it had gone from desperate people lying on benches and along stretches of carpeted floor to a full-blown homeless camp. If someone had told her she was in the slums of L.A., she might have believed them.

  “What’s the map say?” Sandra asked.

  Johnny was beside her, his head swiveling around nervously. Familiar as it looked, they were strangers to the people of Concourse B and that meant they could be in danger.

  Holly opened the map. Doug had provided her with an actual printout of the airport often handed out at information booths. Leaning over her shoulder, Eric pointed to an X by Gate B-16. That was to the left, which also led to the last gate in Concourse B, Gate 22.

  “22’s a dead end,” Eric said.

  In the opposite direction lay Gates 1 to 8 as well as access to Terminals Two through Five.

  “We’ve checked every point on Doug’s map and haven’t found a thing,” Ann said with noticeable despair.

  Eric rubbed his wife’s back. “Have faith, honey. I just know whatever it was Doug marked by Gate 16 will have something for us.”

  They turned left, Eric’s words about faith echoing through her head. The ghostly figures surrounding them stared back through listless, hollow eyes. Gradually over the last few days, anger and frustration had given way to sadness and now something new: resignation. The folks in Concourse B seemed to be giving up, convinced no one, neither God nor man, was coming to save them. Holly wondered if the same level of despondency was playing out in all the other concourses and terminals.

  At some point, they passed a high-end clothing store. Inside, the shelves were completely bare. Five-hundred-dollar sweaters and dresses were now being used as blankets and bedding. The ski shop they saw next was a different story. Skis and snowboards were all that remained on the shelves. Everything else was gone, especially the snow gear, which was easily spotted on people around them.

  “Here it is,” Riley called out, pointing. She was trying to be helpful.

  “Keep your voice down.” Johnny scolded her. “You might as well make an announcement over the intercom.”

  Riley’s face filled with sadness.

  “There’s no need to be mean,” Ann shot back.

  “I’m not gonna get killed because someone can’t keep their mouth shut,” Johnny snapped back. He leaned in. “What do you think’s gonna happen if these people find out there might be a stash of food nearby, huh?” His eyebrows rose, flashing the whites of his eyes.

  “He’s got a point,” Holly admitted, reluctantly. “Maybe we should maintain some radio silence until we find what we’re looking for.” She glanced over at Dillon, who was pretending to adjust an imaginary mic and headset.

  “It’s safer when you don’t talk,” he said. That also happened to be a philosophy he lived by.

  At last they came to a pair of double doors. Overhead was a sign that read ‘Airport Employees Only.’ Holly was the first to push through. She had expected them to be locked, but they gave easily. They were back in darkness, so Sandra moved ahead with the flashlight from her phone. Riley and Eric followed suit. Suddenly the narrow corridor came into full view. It was empty save for a handful of open suitcases, their contents spilled out onto the floor. Had these bags been stolen and ransacked here in private? Holly couldn’t tell, but so far this wasn’t a good sign. They passed a door on their right which read ‘Lost and Found.’

  Johnny tried the handle and found it locked. “Why am I not surprised?”

  Twenty feet later was another door, this time on their left. It bore another ‘Employees Only’ warning. Holly tried the knob. It turned in her hand. Would they find a pantry or food storage area on the other side of this door? She gripped one of the chef’s knives and made her way inside. Sandra, Riley and Eric swiveled their flashlights around to reveal an employee changing room. A wooden bench sat before a row of fifteen lockers. Clothing and other personal items littered the ground. In one corner were two more suitcases, both of which had been pillaged. This was what purse snatchers did, Holly thought, remembering a show she’d seen not long ago. After the theft, they tended to return to a secluded spot to take what was valuable and dump the rest.

  Holly’s heart sank when she saw that all but three of the lockers had already been opened.

  Eric went over and pulled at the first lock.

  “There any way to pry this?” Holly asked, trying not to get her hopes up.

  Eric took a moment to inspect each of the three locks. “These aren’t top grade,” he said finally. “Fact, they’re pretty cheap-looking.” He glanced down at Johnny’s feet. “Give me your shoe,” he said.

  Johnny’s face became a mask of disbelief. “Bro, are you insane? These are ostrich skin. Do you have any idea how much they cost?”

  Shaking her head, Holly replied for Eric. “No, but I can tell you what they’re worth now. Zero.”

  “I’ll give it right back,” Eric promised.

  His eyes welling with tears, Johnny removed his dress shoe and held it between them. “Not a scratch,” he insisted.

  “Scout’s honor,” Eric replied, raising three fingers before he took the shoe.

  A loud boom filled the small room as the heel of Johnny’s overpriced shoe impacted the body of the lock. Johnny squealed in agony, but his emotional turmoil quickly morphed into elation when the lock fell away. “Wow, I didn’t think that had a hope in hell of working.”

  Eric smirked. “Let’s just say that as a teenager, I wasn’t the most law-abiding citizen around.”

  Ann’s eyes went wide, flicking between her husband and their daughter. “That’s news to me.”

  Holly and the others laughed. Dillon remained straight-faced, not entirely certain what was going on.

  A sour dose of reality crept back in when they actually searched the locker and found a yellow airport jumpsuit and earmuffs.

  After studying the jumpsuit for a brief moment, Holly tossed it back. A quick glance on the floor around them as well as the hallway right outside was proof enough that clothes were not in short supply. It was food they were after. Anything edible, no matter if it was non-organic, loaded with sugar, MSG, saturated fats, dripping with gluten. Heck, Holly was sure anyone in their group would settle for a head
of cabbage right about now.

  Eric repeated his little magic trick on the other two locks, both with the same result.

  After a careful search, Holly held up the only item of interest.

  “Looks like half a hoagie,” she said, gently spreading both halves of the sandwich, the odor of bread and meat tickling her nose. “We got pepperoni, veggies and some kind of vinaigrette. It’s probably been sitting here for a week, maybe more, but it smells okay to me.”

  The others were gathered around her, eyeing the hoagie like a starving fox eyeing a hen.

  On the third locker’s top shelf was a newspaper dated the day before the crash. On the wrinkled front page was a headline about rising tensions between the US and China. The following day would be the cyber-attack against the banks. Sometime in the middle of that night the power would be switched off, freezing any and maybe all future headlines.

  Holly yanked out the front page and laid it on a nearby table. She then took the chef’s knife and divided the sandwich into equal parts. She handed them out one by one. Each of them, including Dillon, wolfed down their share. Licking the juice dripping from her fingers, Holly was certain this was the best hoagie she’d ever eaten.

  After he was done, Dillon returned to that last locker and began poking around.

  “There’s nothing else, honey,” Holly told him, saddened that he wanted more. But the truth was, they all wanted more.

  He rose up on his tiptoes and then reached one hand toward the back of the locker. He came out with what looked like a large set of keys. She moved closer. “What’ve you got there?”

  Dillon cupped the mass of keys in his hand, weighing them. “I don’t know.”

  It was then that something occurred to her. She remembered that first door they’d passed on their way in. It had read ‘Lost and Found.’ Could one of the keys on this chain open that door? And if so, what were the chances they might find something useful inside?