“I’m sure he is, too,” he said with a voice full of positivity. “Let’s check the news,” he added to change the subject.
They’d been trying his phone for the past hour, but the snowstorm apparently caused a total blackout of mobile phone service. His phone wouldn’t connect with anything, even his voicemail. Connie’s job so far had been to call both of their sons and try to establish contact. She’d come up empty on both.
Since the phones didn’t work, they tried to get news and information on the radio, but they only found static from one end of the dial to the other. Even the AM band was white noise.
“It’s like a total technology blackout,” she suggested.
“I can’t believe the storm is blocking cell phone signals or the GPS. It must have something to do with the time stuff. How could Fred connect to satellites of seventeen years ago?”
“It doesn’t seem possible,” she wondered.
“Now, anything is possible.”
The storm had grown behind his Peterbilt as they drove north on Highway 395, but it had also closed in from the mountains in the west. At least ten inches of snow covered the grass and rocks next to the road, with a lesser amount on the pavement. It was a risk to continue, but he was going to press on as far as his wheels would turn because he had to stay in front of the storm or he might lose a week or more. He needed to get home.
“At least the bikers won’t be driving through that,” Buck offered. “That’s the biggest damn moat I’ve ever seen around a castle. Castle Mac, isn’t that right, boy?”
The dog heard his name and stuck his face between the seats so Buck and Connie could both give him head and neck scratches.
Buck picked up the CB mic because he wanted to make sure it still worked. “Sparky, you got your ears on?”
His trucker friend replied instantly. “I’m still back here. It sure is quiet, huh?”
“Your radio out, too?” Buck asked.
“Yep. Whatever is in this snow, it ain’t natural. I’ve never seen anything take out the AM dial.”
“We’re with you,” Buck replied. “I’m ready to get on I-80 and get the hell out of here. Maybe things are better in other states?”
“I’ve been talking to two other bubbas up ahead. They’re going to join us at a Reno park n’ ride so we can convoy up. I think we’ll have a few more by the time we get there. You think we’ll need more?”
Buck wanted to ask if Sparky was armed since that would determine how many drivers could contribute to the convoy, but he wouldn’t do that over an open frequency. That was a conversation best conducted in person.
After a moment of consideration, Buck keyed the mic. “Yes, Sparky, I think we’re going to need all the trucks we can get.” A line of massive tractor-trailers could cut through snow and keep the ball moving toward the goal line. Anything was better than stopping.
A convoy also played an important role in their personal safety.
He glanced at Connie. “Funny that he’s worried about gathering more drivers. There’s no such thing as a convoy being too big. I’d rather have a hundred trucks behind us than have to worry about the next big-balled bikers who feel the need to fuck around with good, honest people.”
“I just hope a hundred is enough,” she replied with an uncertain chuckle.
Twenty
Bagram Air Base, Afghanistan
Lieutenant Colonel Stanwick pulled the trigger on his M9 Beretta as air brushed the top of his left ear. He hit the enemy fighter center mass, then unloaded six more when he realized the whistling sound was a bullet passing an inch from his melon.
“Fuck!” he screamed.
The crack-bangs near his ears muted the sounds of war from the rest of the airfield, but he retained enough sense to realize there must have been a hundred different calibers of guns going off. That upped the scale of what his men faced and pushed him to move.
Blood pumped through his veins at a million miles an hour while he slid on the rocks over to the other man. He ignored his scrape with death and focused on taking the terrorist’s rifle. It was less effective in close quarters, but it was better than running through all fifteen rounds of his pistol and having nothing left to defend himself. He’d already spent seven.
Must get to the command post.
The peacetime lights of the base had been shut off and the aerial flares were dying out, so it was hard to determine if the scurrying shapes in the night were his men or the enemy. It seemed reasonable to assume there was more than one enemy infiltrator.
He got up and ran toward hard cover.
The dark battlefield was a case study in munitions. He recognized SCAR rifles and Mark-48 machine guns as his own, and the distinctive pop of AK-47s was everywhere. However, he did not recognize about half the others, which was a little frightening. He’d been in third-world deployments for most of his adult life, so he had learned to identify makes and models of dozens of small arms because it helped him survive.
This battle was different. He zigzagged the last of the way before ducking behind the sandbags protecting the entryway.
When he ran inside the aircraft bunker that served as his command post, he wanted answers from the officers on duty. Specialist Matt Carbon was closest.
“Carbon, who the fuck is shooting out there?”
“We don’t know for sure,” Specialist Carbon yelled over the background din. “We have reports of tanks, technicals, and fucking camels. They’re throwing everything at us, sir.”
“The Taliban may be a determined enemy,” he replied, “but they don’t gear up and attack en masse like this. You have to give me something better. Can this be more of those Soviet tanks we found?”
As the unit responsible for bringing in the old tanks, he figured it made sense they’d be targeted. Were the Taliban now working with the Russians? The tanks had been cleared of the operators, but perhaps they represented Trojan horses or rallying points inside the wire.
Carbon held up a finger. “I’m getting call signs that sound Russian. Fuck, sir, I need a translator.”
His supply chief walked over and threw on a pair of headphones.
A repetitive thump echoed inside the walls, and different booms replied from far away. The closer ones were easily identified as Abrams tanks on his side, but in much of the battle, he wasn’t sure who fired back. He wasn’t even sure which American unit had the Abrams. Certainly not his Rangers.
“I need answers!” he commanded.
The supply chief finally came up for air. “Sir! It is Russian. I can’t believe they’re broadcasting in the clear, but it doesn’t sound like they’re attacking us. They’re duking it out with entrenched Afghan Army units.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Lieutenant Colonel Stanwick replied. “There isn’t any such unit, not here.”
The radioman pushed back his headgear. “Sir, Outpost Charlie Seven reports capturing a small unit of men with ancient rifles. They say they are here to conquer Kabul, but they speak with British accents and are dressed like Redcoats.” He paused for a moment. “This has to be a joke, sir.”
“Except for the live rounds,” he replied, “I was thinking the same thing.”
Phil studied the ten soldiers in his headquarters. “We have a lot of questions and no answers. Ideas, people. I need your best out-of-the-box thinking.”
Reno, NV
Buck and Connie made it to the Reno commuter lot in late morning. He didn’t want to stop before Salt Lake City, but the cause was a worthy one. They waited there with Sparky and two other tractor-trailers as more drivers expressed interest in joining their convoy.
Despite the early hour, he was spent. What should have been an easy hundred miles from Mono Lake to Reno had turned into a whole morning. Their escape from the bikers and the endless whiteout road conditions had zapped his driving energy. The only good news was that he was about to head east, toward Garth.
“I’d say we have about five hours of driving to get across Nevada. T
hat might be all we can do today since we lost so much time due to the snow.” Buck balanced the atlas on the middle part of the dash so Connie could see it. Big Mac sat on the floor between them and also seemed to study the book.
“If we don’t run into trouble,” she said evenly. “Or more snow.”
“Right. If everything goes as planned and the weather gets back to the proper season, we might make it across while there is still daylight.”
The snow was hit or miss. It had been heavy outside Bridgeport and lighter at some points on the drive, but now it was heavy and thick. Only a few cars dared head east on the interstate, but the highway wasn’t officially closed, so he wanted to push on.
“Fewer cars means fewer assholes on the road. And the best part is,” he said with flair, “there is almost nothing along the highway when we go through Nevada. A couple of small towns, but that’s it. Very few people.”
“Hopefully very few biker bars, too,” she added.
“The snow and ice will take care of them. No biker is going to survive long on these slick roads unless they have a death wish.”
She laughed while brushing her long fingernails down Mac’s neck. “Just you, me, and your dog. No assholes. I think that sounds like a pleasant drive. Maybe this disaster isn’t going to be so bad. How long should we wait here for more trucks to show up?”
He pulled out the lucky centennial quarter he had found when the blue light went by.
“Heads we go now, tails we’re already gone.”
Search for Nuclear, Astrophysical, and Kronometric Extremes (SNAKE). Red Mesa, Colorado
“I need some answers before I meet with the general.” Faith looked at her core team. She’d taken a seat at the head of the conference table, far from the etching of her name. Bob sat on her right side with a digital tablet. Sun sat on her left with a stapled report neatly placed in front of her.
Sun spoke first, in her usual hard-to-hear manner. “My team and I have analyzed what we could, but we need more time to review the data. The CERN beam is not in a convenient spot to do a proper investigation, and we don’t have the right equipment on hand to go crawling around in that tunnel. The other three containers are in similar conditions.”
“CERN beam? Is that what we’re calling it? Maybe it’s a SNAKE beam?”
Sun’s smile was miniscule. “I don’t honestly know, but SNAKE has its own beam running along the collider ring. The two are interacting.”
Faith hid her disappointment. “Don’t you know anything else?”
“We don’t know the energy source, the wavelength, or the direction. We detect no radiation with our handheld equipment, but I’m convinced there has to be some. It’s like no energy source I’ve ever seen.”
“Is it coming from CERN or going there?”
“As I stated, we don’t know the direction,” Sun replied.
“You can’t even guess?”
“I don’t guess. The experiment with the lead shield might have illustrated whether it is unidirectional or bidirectional, but they didn’t have the proper controls in place. They might have done better to stick their face in the beam to feel which way it’s going.”
Faith spoke with confidence. “Well, the good news is that I’ve put a stop to those one-offs. We do this by the book and with the best equipment we have. The NORAD scientists are nominally under my control.”
“If you believe the general,” Sun chided.
“I have to, Sun. He’s in charge.”
“Of course,” the quiet Indian scientist replied.
Faith turned to Bob, who continued to tap and swipe on his tablet. “Bob? Anything to add?”
He looked up like he’d forgotten he was in an important meeting.
“What? Sorry. I’m trying to get my department organized to help analyze Sun’s data, but it is harder than shit when I can’t call the contacts in my cell phone. Not everyone is at a desk, either, so the office land-line directory is useless. The wi-fi is working, for now, so I can text them, but that only barely makes it possible to manage people.”
“I’m going to talk to the general after this meeting. I think I can get some of this communication stuff fixed, but I wanted to come to him with something helpful. You know, show him my all-stars can run rings around his scrubs.”
Bob looked sideways at her and smiled for a fraction of a second before facing his screen again.
She deliberately placed her palms on the table in front of her. “He’s going to order us to shut it down.”
Sun and Bob both turned to her.
She continued. “The experiment with the lead bar served as the catalyst. He knows SNAKE is responsible for the unusual activity out there, and he lost his satellites when the lead bar hit the beam from CERN. The only logical conclusion he can formulate is that he has to kill the beam to save humanity.”
“I don’t think you should allow that, Dr. Sinclair.” Bob spoke with uncomfortable formality. “Whatever these four links with CERN are doing, they obviously played a part in the tail end of the experiment yesterday. If we assume the experiment is still running, as the general believes, then perhaps we can argue that the four beams are keeping things from collapsing even further. Think of them as life vests on a sinking ship.”
“The analogy only works if there is a rescue vessel coming,” Faith replied. “As far as we know, CERN is gone. There is no help at the end of the ropes.”
“You both indulge in fruitless speculation,” Sun lamented.
“I deal in the impossible, doctor,” Bob said to Sun, “although I think it’s obvious that I don’t have a computer model whipped up for this scenario. I’m using logic. If the beams are coming from CERN or going there and CERN blew up, then why didn’t the beams turn off?”
Sun leaned forward in her chair. “They originate here.”
“That’s one option,” he agreed. “But think of this: What if the beam is coming from the other end? What if CERN is wrecked but there are four boxes in the rubble still broadcasting?”
Faith’s brow furrowed as she studied Bob’s eyes. “Are you suggesting CERN is still there?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe part of it is. The news says there was an accident, but what if they were wrong? We haven’t heard from our people. The ropes are still attached to the debris, if you like. I believe if the general tries to cut them, things will get worse, not better.”
If only I could fly to CERN and look in the hole.
She needed to go to the general with a recommendation. It seemed like she had one.
“Are we in agreement we should not try to turn off the CERN beams at this time?”
Sun gave a curt nod. “Not until we’ve had time to run analysis on the paltry data we already have.”
Faith turned to Bob. “And you?”
“I absolutely think we should give it a little more time. Someone should dial up the Geneva police and ask them if there are any survivors over there. That would go a long way toward finding out the status of the CERN supercollider. I’m sure the whole ring didn’t disappear…” His voice faded as if he suddenly wasn’t so certain.
“I’m sure it didn’t,” Faith encouraged him. “I’m going to get our phones back. When I do, the first call I’m making is to Geneva. I’ll call the mayor if I have to, but we need to know exactly what happened to the supercollider on the other end. Was it running at the same time as ours? Is it still there? If we knew someone on the international team was still alive, we could ask them to take readings on their ring equipment. We might be able to establish whether they are showing the same low-level energy we’re seeing here.”
“Yeah, turning things off without knowing what it will do is always a bad scientific option,” Bob said matter-of-factly.
She stood up.
“Okay, I’m off to see the general. Keep doing what you’re doing, and find me if you learn anything new. Thank you both for working around the clock on this.”
Sun walked out, but Bob kept typing on h
is tablet. When Sun was gone, he leaned over to her.
“Whatever you do, don’t let the general shut things down, okay?”
His words rubbed her raw. “That’s what I just said I was going to tell him.”
“Yeah, but I know you. If the general pushes to shut it off, you’ll do it. This is for real.” He tapped his screen. “I’m sure it would be a mistake to interfere with the beams. Don’t go weak on me.”
She felt their old antagonism rise to the surface, but she stomped on it before it drove her to answer in kind.
“I’ll be sure to tell him Dr. Stafford expressly forbids a shutdown,” she said sarcastically.
He remained serious. “That would be wise.”
Twenty-One
I-80, Nevada
Buck’s convoy of five trucks left Reno in a driving snowstorm. Normally, he might have waited around until the conditions were better, but he had reached the highway destined to take him all the way home, and it was a powerful draw. Fortunately, the other truck drivers in his group were equally anxious to get some miles behind them. They all reported spending hours in traffic getting out of California, and they didn’t want to sit in more of it all the way across Nevada.
His black Peterbilt was the first in line and first down the entrance ramp to I-80.
“I’ll take it slow,” he called to his new friends.
Sparky went next.
He was an older gentleman with greasy hair and a short salt-and-pepper beard. He piloted a Blue Mack with a box trailer. Buck had peeked inside his cabin; he was a little jealous of his interior because it seemed a lot larger than his sleeper cab. However, Clarence only had himself. Buck’s rig now had three occupants to fill the space.
Sparky checked in when he was on the interstate at Buck’s back door. “Sparky here, radio check.”
“You’re good, radio check,” Buck replied with a laugh. The man knew his radio was working.
“Monsignor is in line. Lord, bless us all.”
End Days Series Box Set [Books 1-4] Page 40