Jack Archer (Book 3): Year Zero

by Taylor, Keith

  “I…” The pilot slowly turned in his seat. “I think the tail rotor’s caught on something.” Slowly, carefully he unclipped his harness, and with glacial speed he climbed out of his seat and gently cracked open his door. “Nobody move,” he muttered, poking his head out for a moment. When he returned his face was drained of its color.

  “OK,” he mumbled, eyes wide. “OK… You, big guy,” he said, pointing to Ramos. “I need you to slowly move forward to the cockpit. No sudden movements, OK?”

  Ramos shook his head. “Get the girl out first. I’m not leaving her behind.”

  The pilot took a deep breath, forcing himself to remain calm. “Sir, I need you to listen carefully. I don’t want you to panic, but the only thing keeping us from falling back right now is the edge of the tail rotor resting on a tree.” He pointed above his head. “Right now the main rotor is still spinning, spreading our weight evenly from back to front, but as soon as it comes to rest it could tip the balance towards the back, and then we’ll be screwed. You’re the heaviest guy in the chopper, sir. I need you up here to help tip the balance, you understand?”

  Ramos reluctantly nodded, unclipping his seatbelt. Emily began to cry as he slowly rose from the seat, reaching out for him.

  “Pumpkin, no!” Karen warned, her voice harsher than she’d intended. Emily froze, shocked by her tone, and Karen had to fight the unbearable urge to rush to her and wrap her in a hug. “Let the doctor go, OK? We’ll join him in just a second, I promise.”

  “It’s OK, honey,” Ramos assured her. “You and your mom will come soon. Just wait there, OK?” With a deep breath he took a faltering step towards the front, his back hunched beneath the low ceiling. Another step, and this time there came an ominous creak.

  “Stop!”

  Ramos froze, and a moment later another creak sounded. Above them the whir of the freewheeling rotor was beginning to slow, and beneath her feet Karen could feel the fuselage tremble. Something was going to give.

  “OK, forward slowly,” the pilot ordered, failing to keep the panic from his voice as Ramos reached the cockpit and stepped between the seats. “Now you.” He pointed to Valerie. “A little quicker, OK?”

  Valerie didn’t need to be told twice. Her belt was already unbuckled, and she covered the distance across the cabin in three steps. She joined Ramos and Krasinski beside the crowded passenger seat, each of them ready to dive for the door at a moment’s notice.

  The rotor was noticeably slower now. Through the window Karen could now pick out individual blades as it slowed from a blur.

  “Now pass me the girl,” the pilot ordered, holding out his arms.

  Karen reached back to unbuckle Emily from her seat. “It’s OK, pumpkin,” she whispered soothingly. “We’ll be outside in just a minute. We just have to…”

  Her voice trailed off as another deep, tortured groan sounded, this time from the back of the chopper. Above her the rotor slowed to a lazy spin, one full turn every few seconds, and Karen could feel what was happening through her shoes. The chopper was tilting back. The movement was too slight to see, just a fraction of a degree, but her inner ear couldn’t be fooled. She knew it, and from the look in his eyes the pilot knew it too. He froze.

  “The door,” he said, shifting his eyes to point at the door beside her. “You have to jump for it.”

  Karen shook her head. “I… I can’t.”

  The pilot nodded. “You can. There’s no choice. We only have a few seconds. See the door handle by your left hand?”

  Karen didn’t dare move her head. She held her breath as she turned her eyes to the handle. “Uh huh.”

  “Pull that straight back towards you, and when you hear the click you have to push it away from you. The door will swing right out. The road is right outside the door, OK? All you have to do is jump.”

  Another long creak. Now the rotor was almost still. Karen felt tears run down her cheeks and panic grip at her throat. Her legs felt frozen in place. “I can’t jump,” she cried, her voice barely a whisper.

  “If you don’t jump Emily will die.”

  That was Valerie. She spoke matter-of-factually. No emotion. No panic. No yelling. Just a simple, undeniable promise of what would happen to her daughter if Karen failed to act. If she couldn’t overcome her fear she’d be killing Emily. It was as coldly simple as that.

  The tough love worked. As the rotor spun to a stop above her Karen found herself able to move again. She reached out and took the handle. “OK. OK, I can do it.”

  The pilot nodded. “On three, everyone jumps. Guys, you ready?” A murmur from behind him assured him that the others were on board. “OK, one… two… three!”

  Karen pushed open the door, and as it swung back on its hinges she felt the floor shift beneath her. The Huey was tipping backwards as gravity finally noticed it had unfinished business. With one arm she scooped Emily from her seat by the door, and she held the other protectively ahead of her as she stumbled gracelessly out onto the asphalt six feet below her. She fell into a clumsy roll, scrambling away from the stricken chopper as it fell backwards. With a squeal of terror she turned and looked back, and her heart froze as she saw what was happening.

  They weren’t moving quickly enough. Krasinski jumped down first, followed closely by Ramos, but on the other side of the chopper it looked like Valerie was struggling to reach the door. She was thrown off balance as the chopper tilted back, hurling her back into the pilot’s seat.

  “Go!” Behind her the pilot yelled, climbing between the seats and back into the cockpit. It all happened in just a few seconds, but Karen watched as the pilot looked at the wide open door the others had jumped through. He could easily make it. Just a couple of steps and he’d be free. He’d be safe.

  But then he turned away and grabbed Valerie. With the strength lent to him by fear and panic he took her by the collar and lifted her from the seat, and with an almighty shove he tossed her out the door, pushing himself back into the chopper in the process. Valerie hit the asphalt on her hands and knees, dazed and confused.

  The fuselage tipped beyond the point of no return. As it tilted the pilot fell away from the cockpit, vanishing into the back. The rotor scythed through the treetops as it fell, and the nose vanished over the edge of the highway and plunged to the forest floor a hundred feet below.

  There was no explosion. No spectacular fireworks. There was only an almighty crash as the fuselage crumpled on impact, and as Karen stumbled to the edge and peered over she caught the first flicker of flames catching at the oil that coated the inside of the craft. It only took a few seconds to catch, and before long it was a roaring inferno. There was no hint of movement from within.

  The pilot was gone.

  ΅

  CHAPTER TEN

  WHY DIAL THEM DOWN?

  ALL WAS SILENT in the Humvee as it chewed through the miles of winding mountain road.

  Nobody felt like talking, not while the mushroom cloud still loomed over them through the dust-shrouded rear window, and Jack more than most was happy to just sit quietly. He was in no mood to chat while Karen and Emily’s fate hung in the air, a question mark that dwarfed even the cloud.

  Things had moved quickly after the flash had faded. Colonel MacAuliffe hadn’t allowed himself much time to mourn the loss of his captain. As soon as the swiftly weakening shock wave passed them by and the distant rumble began to die away he’d picked himself up and paced back and forth for a few seconds, swearing under his breath even as the mushroom cloud billowed far above them, but then he’d found a degree of self control Jack could only admire. One deep breath was all it took before the emotion vanished from his face, and he once again became the commander his men needed him to be.

  There were three men in the colonel’s squad. Jack had already seen the driver and the young private, but a third had emerged from the back of the Humvee and, on the colonel's orders, plucked Jack’s keys from his hand. In just a few minutes he and the private had transferred the pharmacy supplies
they’d been gathering into the trunk of the cruiser, and with a curt salute they’d climbed in and departed for the north to continue their scavenging duties. It hadn’t occurred to Jack to complain, to argue that it was his car. He got the impression the colonel wasn’t in the mood to listen.

  Now Jack sat crowded in the back of the Humvee with Cathy, Garside and Boomer, nervously gnawing at a thumbnail as he stared out the windshield, scanning the road ahead for signs for the Air Force base. His foot subconsciously pressed into the floor as if he were stepping on the gas pedal, urging the Humvee to move faster.

  At least part of him wanted to move faster.

  He didn’t want to give voice to his fears, but part of him was terrified about arriving at Beale. He tried to force the thoughts from his mind, but they easily slipped past his defenses. What if he reached the base and learned the girls hadn’t made it? What if – he felt his heart thump in his chest – what if he got there and found only Karen, or just Emily? What if one of them had been caught in the blast? What if they’d been separated, and Emily was stranded back in the fallout zone? What if they’d been evacuated in the wrong direction, and they were now headed for Reno on the wrong side of the irradiated landscape? What if, what if, what if—

  “Stop it!”

  Jack jumped at the sound of his own voice. It took him a moment to realize it even was his voice.

  “You OK, Jack?” Cathy asked, squeezing his shoulder.

  He shrugged her away, not unkindly but a little roughly. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just…” He pushed himself from his seat and shuffled forward, bent double until he reached the front seats. “Colonel, how long before we get to the base?”

  MacAuliffe looked up from a stack of papers in his lap. “Hmm?” He glanced at his watch. “Oh, about a half hour, provided the roads stay clear.” He turned his attention back to his papers, muttering under his breath, and within moments he seemed to forget that Jack was there. “Just doesn’t make any God damn sense,” he whispered to himself, tapping his pen on the topmost sheet.

  Jack couldn’t resist sneaking a look. He peered over the colonel’s shoulder and saw that it was a list, the handwritten scrawl almost impossible to read. Jack could only make out that the top of the list read 9 x W80, and beside the list in red ink were four words.

  Why dial them down?

  “I’m sorry, can I help you with something?”

  Jack looked up to find the colonel glaring over his shoulder at him.

  “I…” he babbled, feeling his face flush pink, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

  “These are classified documents, son,” MacAuliffe scolded, turning the papers over to prevent Jack from reading them. “You shouldn’t be prying.”

  “I’m sorry, I was just curious,” he said, settling in the seat behind the driver. The colonel scowled and returned to the papers, and for a moment Jack remained silent before he came to a decision. Oh, what the hell. It’s not like the colonel would arrest him for asking a question.

  “Are they the nukes?” he asked, nodding to the list and bracing himself for a dressing down.

  “Jack,” MacAuliffe turned back to him impatiently, “do you not understand the meaning of the word classified?”

  “I know, I know, it’s just… well, I heard the captain on the radio say something about a W80, and I see the same code on that list. He said it was one of the items on the itinerary, right?” He paused for a moment, hoping he wasn’t overstepping the mark by too much. “I guess I’m just wondering how you have a list of the different types of bombs. Did… did you guys know these things were out there before the attacks?”

  MacAuliffe stared at him in silence for a beat too long for comfort, so long that Jack felt like a bug under a magnifying glass, just waiting for it to shift and focus a beam of sunlight on him. He felt sweat prickle at his collar, and just as he was about to give up and retreat to the safety of Cathy and Garside the colonel seemed to reach a decision.

  “Oh, what the hell,” he sighed, his shoulders slumped. He passed the sheet back towards Jack. “It’s not like we’ll be able to keep any of this a secret much longer. Yeah, these are the nukes.”

  “Sir?” The driver glanced sidelong at the colonel, speaking in a tone as firm as he dared use with a superior officer. “I have to remind you that these documents are code word protected, and I don’t have the clearance to know their contents. Are you sure it’s a good idea to—”

  MacAuliffe raised a hand to silence him. “Your objection is noted, Lieutenant, but I need fresh eyes on this. I won’t hold it against you if you feel the need to report the breach, and if you don’t want to be involved you can feel free to pull over and step outside for a minute. Sounds fair?”

  “Understood, sir,” the driver reluctantly nodded. “I’ll stay. I just want my protest on record.”

  The colonel gave him an amused half smile. “I’ll be sure to note it down when this is all over, Lieutenant.” He turned back to Jack, who was peering at the list in an attempt to understand the chicken scratch. Eight of the lines had red pen notations beside them, each the name of a city.

  9 x W80

  Nakharov – 20-30kt – San Diego intended target?

  Jian Sing – 5kt – Los Angeles

  Al-Shuyoukh – 5kt - Bakersfield

  Madain Saleh – 5kt – Fresno

  Novoyepalatinsk – 5kt – Sacramento

  Qingdao III – 5kt – San Francisco

  Faisal Raj – 150kt – Portland

  10kt – Truckee

  W80 – ?

  “So what am I looking at, exactly? I don’t know all that much about nukes. Am I looking at nine bombs here?”

  MacAuliffe nodded. “Altogether, yeah. Nine W80 tactical warheads. Our satellite intel tells us that they were mounted on modified MGM-140 surface to surface missiles. Those were the bombs that hit the cities. I’m guessing the eighth was detonated using the warhead alone, and as for the final bomb… well, it’s still in the wind.” He pointed at the first field in each entry. “These are the names of the ships used to deliver the missiles, followed by the explosive yield of each device, followed by the target.”

  Jack frowned, scanning down the list. “Hang on a second. What about the bomb that hit Seattle?”

  “Seattle?” MacAuliffe shook his head. “What are you talking about? Seattle didn’t get hit.”

  Jack’s mouth fell slack as he stared at the colonel. “Are you serious?”

  “Of course I’m serious. They didn’t have any ships that far north, and the missiles didn’t have nearly enough range to reach Seattle.”

  “Jesus. All this time I…” Jack’s voice trailed off. He couldn’t believe it. All this time he thought he’d had a narrow escape from the city. He'd thought he was only alive because Warren had taken pity on him and flown him out moments before the city had been obliterated, and now… now he knew he’d have been just fine if he’d stayed in the city. He’d spent the last day and a half running toward nuclear explosions, and away from a city that stood intact. Hell, he could have returned to the restaurant, collected the briefcase he’d left beneath the table and finished his bottle of wine.

  He brushed the thought aside. It wouldn’t have mattered at the end of the day. Of course he couldn’t have done that. Even if he’d known Seattle would be perfectly safe he knew he couldn’t have stayed, not while Karen and Emily were in danger. Maybe somewhere in the endless multiverse there was a version of Jack Archer who would have stayed behind and cowered in safety, but if Jack ever met that version of himself he’d gladly kick his ass. His path had been set from the moment he picked up the phone and heard Cesar Ramos on the end of the line. As soon as he’d heard that Karen was hurt.

  He turned back to the page. “Now this one I recognize,” he said, pointing to the Portland entry. “I was in the air when it went off.”

  “Portland?” MacAuliffe nodded. “Yeah, they screwed that one up something fierce. Lucky bastards. Oregon’s state flower must be
the four leaf clover.”

  “They screwed it up? What do you mean?”

  “What do you mean, what do I mean?” he asked. “They missed the damned city!”

  “You mean they were actually aiming for Portland? Seriously? I thought it went off somewhere around Eugene. That’s… what, about a hundred miles south?”

  MacAuliffe nodded. “Sure, but you have to bear in mind that we’re talking about a missile that travels at Mach 3. It can cover a hundred miles in about two and a half minutes, so a near miss is anything that lands in the same state.”

  “Still, though, that’s a pretty distant near miss.”

  “I guess so,” the colonel shrugged. “Anyway, they fouled it up. As far as we can tell it wasn’t supposed to be a high altitude detonation at all. It was supposed to be a standard surface impact just like the others, but something must have gone wrong. It flew straight as an arrow toward the city until it hit the coast.” MacAuliffe pulled a new cigar from his pocket, rolling it between his fingers. “I guess someone on the ship screwed up, because at the last second it turned on a dime and shot off south west toward Willamette Forest.”

  “That’s where we were,” said Jack. “We’d just flown over Willamette when we saw the blast. Damn thing knocked out our engine.”

  MacAuliffe nodded. “Yeah? Well, I guess your loss was Portland’s gain. Christ knows why, but when they gave up on hitting the target they took it up to forty thousand feet, dialed it in for maximum yield and tried to knock out every circuit on the west coast. Almost worked, too. If the missile had the fuel to reach eighty thousand feet the boys at Beale tell me they might have triggered an EMP hundreds of miles across. Lucky for us they only managed to trigger a local event.”

  Jack shivered at the thought. It had taken him hours to reach the edge of the blackout zone, and the effort had damn near killed him. The idea of the entire coast being plunged into darkness, every car immobilized, every light blown… it didn’t bear thinking about.