Meechum had set up a firing range on the flight deck of the aircraft carrier. There were no flights going in or out, because most, if not all, the pilots had been killed yesterday. The wide-open space was now a gigantic, empty parking lot.
They were out of port and away from shore, but a thin, hazy line of land hugged the horizon to the west.
“Where do you think we are?” she asked.
The Marine frowned. “Don’t worry about that. Worry about your M9.” She gestured to the pistol.
Kyla took a moment to feel the weight and appreciate what it was, then she did as instructed. She positioned herself in front of the box-like target, lined up the front and rear sights, exhaled, then squeezed the trigger.
Her ear protection blocked out most of the pistol’s report, but it was still loud.
“Nice!” Meechum yelled. “You almost killed a bad guy.”
Kyla stood about twenty feet from the target. A black hole had appeared on the rectangular piece of paper, about six inches above the head of the man’s outline.
“Again!” the Marine shouted.
Kyla repeated her routine, doing her best to squeeze the trigger without moving the gun off target.
“Yes! You hit the guy!”
Meechum slapped her on the shoulder. “Now empty the mag. Fire at will.”
She brought the pistol back up. Kyla held it steady with both hands, then pulled the trigger a couple of times. Once she had the hang of it, she fired off however many bullets were in the ammo box. The magazine, as Meechum called it.
Finally, the pistol wouldn’t fire.
“Great job, dudette! You hit the man one more time, right in the center of his chest.”
She pulled back her headphones. “I missed the rest? How do you hit anything with this gun?”
The blonde-haired woman flashed a knowing grin. “Weapon. We always call these weapons, not guns. I had you fire them all to show you how each shot takes you a little further off target. You have to continually adjust every couple, or you might as well be firing at the sky. You’ll see less of that when we train you up on the M27 rifle, later.”
They both looked up into the hazy morning air. The white smudge of a contrail caught her attention. “Are planes still up there?”
Meechum looked at the same place. “You’re asking the wrong girl. I don’t know jack about what’s going on outside this ship, but by the looks of it, there is something flying.”
While they were looking up, the sound of a propeller caught her attention.
“What the hell is that?” she asked. Meechum heard it, too.
A warning claxon activated a second later, suggesting the arrival wasn’t friendly.
They both watched as a car-sized airplane came up over the front of the carrier’s deck. It was light gray, with long, thin wings. Its cockpit was an oval-shaped bulb, but there were no windows. A propeller drove it from the rear.
“Get down!” the Marine ordered.
She fell to the deck but craned her neck to keep watch.
It flew slow, like it wasn’t afraid to be seen. It came across the number 79 painted at the front, then it soared about thirty feet off the deck and toward the back. As it went over the two of them, Kyla noted the plane was shaped a lot like a plus sign, with a thin fuselage to go along with the narrow wings. A black ball hung out the bottom, right in the center of the plus.
It banked to the left once it motored by.
“Run,” Meechum insisted. “Over there!” She motioned for Kyla to head for the carrier’s island. A hatch waited for her on the other side of the arrestor cables. The Marine got to her feet, and Kyla scrambled to catch her.
While they sprinted to safety, Kyla observed the drone still making a wide left turn, as if intending to swoop in for a second pass from the front.
Before they reached the hatch, another Marine came out with his rifle at the ready. “Get in there. Stay!” Meechum ordered her.
Carthager emerged a short time later and seemed to instantly absorb the situation. “The Marine who shoots it down gets double pay this month!”
Kyla stayed inside the door as more Marines came to the deck, apparently excited at the prospect of using their rifles. She leaned outside to see the plane begin its second pass, but she flinched when the rifles started cracking.
The drone made it about halfway down the deck before it veered to its right. The Marines continued firing until the little aircraft went off the far side of the deck, and closer to the water, as if deftly avoiding the bullets.
“Go! Go!” Carthager yelled.
The Marines took off for the other side of the deck. Kyla didn’t know why, so she followed at a safe distance. The drone appeared in the distance, not far above the water. It was making an escape attempt.
Once they had it in their sights, the Marines fell to the deck or took knees to steady their aim and line up shots. For several seconds, the air was filled with thunderclaps of gunfire. Someone must have hit it, because the drone seemed to dip a wing for a few seconds. It didn’t go into the water, however.
Kyla watched it head for shore, her ears buzzing.
She’d forgotten to put on her ear protection; the headphones hung around her neck.
“I’ve got to get better at this war stuff,” she told herself.
Carthager gave her a disapproving scowl as he ran by.
“We’ve got to talk to the captain,” the Marine leader yelled. “That should not have made it within a hundred miles of this boat.”
Fairfax, Virginia
“This is where you live?” Emily asked as soon as she got inside his apartment.
“I didn’t expect the VP of the United States would be dropping by today.” Ted kept his apartment clean because he was a freak for organization, so her complaint couldn’t have anything to do with his cleanliness. Before he took the flight to Europe, he’d made sure everything was buttoned up and prepped for his return.
“It’s so small!” she gasped.
“Ah, every man’s nightmare.”
She looked shocked. “No, of course I didn’t mean it as an insult. Your office is the sky. I had it in my head you lived in an airy apartment with lots of windows.”
“Maybe if you ordered the president to pay me more money?” He laughed because that would never happen. Ted wasn’t in it only for the money; the office in the sky part was what kept him going.
“I might be able to change that,” she said, playing off the legitimate chance she might already be President Williams.
He’d brought her to his apartment so he could get some of his supplies. On the way, it occurred to him that every store in the city was open for the taking, but he wanted to avoid looting unless he had no other choice. Plus, it would take more time to find the stores he needed than to go to the one place where he already had everything organized and ready.
“Maybe you can reimburse me for these, too.” He flipped a hidden lever on the underside of his wooden coffee table, which released the lid. His tools of the trade were inside.
“You keep guns in your living room?” Emily said as if he’d lit his hair on fire.
He laughed heartily. “I think what you mean, ma’am, is you keep guns in your living room, thank God.”
“I didn’t expect it, is all. I’m glad you have weapons we can use. I’ll feel better knowing you’ve got my back.” He’d been watching over her since the assassination attempt.
“Like before, you’ve got your own back.” He handed her a tricked-out AR-15 with all the fancy furniture. “And you’ll keep on doing it with one of these bad boys.” It had a synthetic collapsible buttstock, honeycomb aluminum hand guard, lightweight pistol grip, and a long, black scope.
She held it with awe, then glanced down into the hiding place. “How many of these do you have?”
“Ma’am, I’m afraid you’re going to need a warrant to ask that question.”
They laughed together, but she stopped on a dime. “Must you keep calling me ma’a
m? I get enough of that from the generals and political types.”
He stiffened. “It’s an old habit from years in the Air Force. I’ll try to ease up on it, but I can’t guarantee anything.”
“Do your best,” she smiled. “Call me Emily. Now, are you going to tell me how many of these things you’ve got?” Emily pointed at his stash.
“I can’t tell you,” he deadpanned. “Seriously. I’ve lost count. I keep the rest of them in a storage locker in town. These four are my babies, though. These will be fine for us.”
She playfully scowled at him for a moment, then gingerly set the rifle on the sofa cushions.
He went on. “I also have food, water, a bugout bag, radios, and a pallet of ammo. We’ll grab what we can and get the hell out of here.”
Emily sat next to her gun. “Where should we go? Washington’s empty. I wonder if anyone made it to the new Government Relocation Facility.”
“The what?” he asked as he pulled another rifle out of the case.
“It’s top secret, but I’m bumping you up as of right now.” She chuckled, but only barely. “The government put a nuclear bunker below a Best Buy up in Leesburg. The idea was the entire US government, Congress and Justices included, would retreat there when the threat of nuclear war was imminent.”
“The president didn’t make it there.”
“No,” she replied. “He didn’t even make it down to the shelter below the White House, if we believe your man Ramirez.”
“You think Tanager could still be alive? Ramirez would have no reason to lie about that, would he?”
“No, I don’t think he’s alive. I only wish he was.”
They sat there in silence for a short time, but Ted didn’t want to risk them getting into a funk. “I’ve been thinking on where we should go …”
“Where’s that?” she asked.
He thought of her teasing yesterday after the crash. “Help me stack these guns by the door and I’ll tell you.”
San Francisco, CA
Dwight Inverness woke up in the dark. He opened his eyes and saw almost nothing, save a lone EXIT sign several stories above him. It cast a lonely light through the metal staircase, down to his cardboard bed.
He breathed in the fumes of life: his rotgut vodka, cat urine from all the strays nearby, and a little bit of vomit, courtesy of another good night of panhandling.
From outside, he barely heard his bird talking away.
“Are you there, Poppy?”
It didn’t reply, but she was probably missing him, so he thought it was time to get up and get the evening shift started.
It took Dwight at least ten minutes to pull himself to a sitting position, get on his feet, then walk up the stairs. As a professional homeless man, he’d found this refuge after months of living in less favorable places in downtown San Francisco. One day, while looking through trash in the alley, he noticed the security door of the skyscraper was propped open, so he went inside.
For shelter, it was perfect. He could hide downstairs in the mechanical room and never be bothered again. For weeks, he went in and out with no issues at all. He’d brought in his bed and stash of personal effects. He had even scored a small solar-powered flashlight, which often gave him enough light to help him down the stairs and fall into his spot.
Without the light, he might have tripped over all the feral cats living down there with him. That’s because his main hobby, job, and reason for getting out of bed, was drinking. He figured he’d achieved a master’s degree in the bottle-tipping industry.
“My ladies, I’ll be back before breakfast,” he said to all the cats as he reached the propped-open door. Dwight opened it but didn’t go outside. The light was funny, like it was morning. That would only be possible if he’d slept for a whole day. He was sure the last time he went out it was also morning.
He looked around for Poppy, hoping she could help him, but she wasn’t in the alley. That made him even more anxious.
His life was a mixture of drunken stupors and periods of recovery, often in the city shelters near the wharf. Lately, he’d been going downhill, both figuratively and literally, since he lived in the sub-basement of a skyscraper.
“I did sleep all day,” he said, curling his hand to block the bright sunshine sneaking into the alleyway from the east.
He wasn’t greeted by honking taxis, which was a blessing.
Dwight scooted through the entryway, careful to ensure his door-propping brick stayed in place. If he had to get official help opening it back up, he’d have to pay the guy dearly.
It turned out he wasn’t the only one using the side entrance. One of the security guards peddled drugs to some of his fellow panhandlers, though he was careful to avoid interacting with the guy, lest he try to hold his bed hostage, like last time.
“Let’s see what suckers we can find today,” he said to no one. San Francisco was a treasure trove of bleeding-heart residents and even more charitable tourists. He’d never gone hungry since he’d arrived from Seattle. The weather was better, too.
He came out of the alley, expecting to find the bustle of downtown San Francisco. What he found instead was silence.
There was absolutely nothing moving on the street. It was filled with cars, but they were parked at weird angles, like the drivers decided to get out and walk home. Except that wasn’t it, either. The doors were all closed.
Nobody was out and about, not even his fellow travelers of the street. It was prime time morning rush hour. The streets should have been crawling with men and women holding their hand-drawn signs.
He looked down at his.
Lost job. Lost home. Won’t lose faith. God bles.
He misspelled bless on a tip from a talkative tramp he’d met a long time ago.
They’ll feel sorry for you if you misspell simple words. Works like a harm.
That got Dwight to respond, “You mean works like a charm?”
See! You interacted with me.
The man had been right. People did react well to his sign.
But today, there was no one to hassle.
Down the street, about six blocks away, a high-rise burned with thick orange flames engulfing the top ten stories. Below it, where there should be fire engines lined up for a mile, there was nothing going on.
“What did I miss?” he said dryly.
CHAPTER 3
Fairfax, VA
Ted and Emily loaded the guns into the rear compartment of his four-door Jeep Wrangler. The blacked-out truck was his precious baby these days and he was proud to admit it. That was why he’d left it in the parking garage under his apartment, while he’d taken his beater pickup truck to Andrews when he flew out on Air Force Two.
“Okay, before we go, tell me what I’m forgetting,” he requested of Emily. “We have guns, enough ammo to outfit a full platoon, water, a water purifier, a dozen ham sandwiches for on the road, and a backpack full of survival gear.”
He didn’t itemize for her, but he’d brought gear to help them if they needed to go camping, such as a tarp, fire starters, paracord, and the like. He’d also thrown in a bunch of cans of soup and vegetables, in case they needed real food.
Ted had also spent a few minutes changing his clothes. He’d put on jeans and a loose-fitting polo-shirt. He’d feel conspicuous walking around with two pistols holstered on his hip; the shirt helped cover them. He also picked up one of his little Ruger LCP pocket pistols and stuffed it in his front pocket. Just to be sure.
“It all looks good to me,” she agreed with a shrug, obviously out of her element.
“Right,” he said, looking her up and down in a wholly professional manner. “We need to find you some replacement clothes, ma’am. You aren’t going to last long dressed like that.”
Emily held out her arms as if she’d been dressed in rags. “What’s wrong with my outfit?”
He smiled. “Nothing. You look very pretty. What I meant is that we need to both wear more practical and less conspicuous clothes.”
She shook her head. “You can’t tell the vice president she looks pretty. That’s sexist.”
“Are you serious?” he said with disbelief.
Emily smirked.
“Damn!” he added. “You got me again.”
“It’s too easy. And I accept your offer to change. Will you help me get into a neighbor’s apartment to get some clothes?”
His unease showed.
“I authorize you, in my presumptive role as your commander-in-chief, to break and enter so that we may requisition clothing for our journey. I’ll even leave a note telling them they can get reimbursed, just like you.”
Once given permission, it made it a lot easier. He knew of a single woman who lived a few doors down who had a figure similar to Emily’s. He used a crowbar to defeat the deadbolt and push inside.
“Dang, you really are prepared,” Emily said as she followed him in.
He stopped in his tracks when he entered the living room. The television was on, though it only had a welcome screen for the television manufacturer. A large white towel sat on the leather couch, along with a hairbrush, a makeup bag, and a smartphone.
Ted walked over and picked up the phone, morbidly curious to see what it showed. “Oh, god,” he exclaimed. The picture displayed the woman exactly as he remembered her. She smiled in a picture taken with a man who must have been her boyfriend.
He looked at the towel, assuming she’d gotten out of the shower to get ready for work. She probably liked to get herself ready in front of the morning news.
Emily had gone right to the woman’s wardrobe, apparently without any of the second-guessing Ted suffered. About five minutes later, she came out wearing a loose pair of jeans and a low-cut black tank top. However, when she got into the room, she pulled on an airy long sleeve, button-down shirt. She also wore a pair of hiking boots. “Her clothes are a size too big, but they’ll do. Good job.”
“Yeah, glad to help,” he replied from a mile away.
“Ted, you have to snap out of it. They’re all gone.”
He didn’t think of himself as particularly deep or emotional, but he hadn’t been right in the head since he saw those little soccer uniforms yesterday. As a military man, he had no conceptual trouble with the idea of dying for his country, but he could not square the mindset required to destroy children, and innocent women like his neighbor.
Minus America Box Set | Books 1-5 Page 24