Apparent Power: DiaZem Trilogy Book One

by Dacia M Arnold

  The video ended. Valerie had no words or tears. She nodded and collected her son. Valerie spent the rest of the afternoon with Caleb in her suite in the west wing of the hotel. She picked through her salvaged belongings to make the living quarters a little more colorful and familiar. She fixed up a room for Caleb in her suite with a few of his toys and pictures of him and his father.

  Hyka and Duke arranged a meeting with facility managers and her trusted circle of friends, which had become her family. August would also attend to discuss matters of the facility and the people in their charge. Soon enough, Hyka let herself into Valerie’s suite to escort them to the meeting.

  Valerie sat at the head of the long table across from August. Caleb, Hyka, and Jack sat to her left; Major sat to her right with two empty seats between him and August. Last to arrive, Mike and Kevin walked through the quiet conference room and took the empty seats. Valerie watched in silence. Kevin did not look at her but kept his head down. Her father nodded as he took a sip of water. Others she did not recognize sat in chairs lining the wall, away from the main table.

  August cleared his voice, “Major, can you bring Valerie up to speed on the state of the city?”

  “August has extended power to the region. Even rural areas have adequate electricity to continue life as usual, as much as they can. There are some downed lines due to the initial outages, plane crashes and the like, which are still a problem. The idea is the facility acts as a power plant. Giving the conductors the ability to use the power when they want to turn lights on and off in their home, et cetera. We can provide continuous power by proximity, as your power footprint reaches as far as Chicago, but that would power everything, all the time, which is not practical or comfortable for anyone. So, our first obstacle to rebuilding the city is to reconnect the damaged power lines.

  “Second, we need to handle the aftermath of Phase Two. As the weather gets warmer, bodies will decompose. The task is not going to be pretty or comfortable. We’re looking at two million fatalities. I have a few ideas on how to tackle this, but nothing as sensitive to the matter as it should be.”

  Valerie shook her head processing the information. Hyka kept her head down, taking notes.

  Duke entered the conference room, breaking her concentration on the news.

  “Sorry to interrupt. The Council is demanding a conference right now. They are waiting for you both.”

  “We don’t have to do this now, Valerie,” August said.

  “We do. My son and I are safe. I need to keep it that way. Are we able to do a video conference in here?”

  “We should take the call in another room and come back to this meeting later.”

  “Dammit, if one more person tells me what to do. . .! These people need to be here. This region is relying on us to keep them safe. Millions of other lives are at stake. They deserve to see the Council for what they are, and they need to know we won’t stand for their disgusting practices. No one else should die. I cannot spend another second running from this.”

  “Well, then let’s give them the news,” August agreed.

  The walls lit up with images of the Council members. Her caption had been edited to read: Valerie Russell, Queen DiaZem, Central United States.

  “An improvement, I guess. Do I have to be a queen? Seems a bit extreme,” she tried to joke her nerves away, but her hands shook with anxiety and adrenaline.

  “Whatever your title, it is most definitely under question,” the male DiaZem of Austria stated.

  The screen changed to display a recording of Valerie’s speech on the platform.

  “He threatened to hurt my son if I did not go along with the Council. I have been fighting against their plan to kill every regular human being on the planet. He lied to you and turned you against me, to keep me from leading a rebellion against the World Council. Genocide is just a small glimpse of what they are capable of doing. As long as I can stand before you, I will not let that happen here.”

  Then the screen changed back to the Council. She noticed there were fewer members present. She looked for August’s betrothed, but could not find her.

  “Mrs. Russell, or whatever your name is today, is it your intent to start a war with the Council?” The Queen DiaZem of England posed the question.

  “Your Majesty, it is not my intention to start a war, but we do not wish to be a part of the Council and are ready to deal with those consequences. Let me also add that you of all people should know the history of our countries. The United States is ‘The Land of the Free.’ I promise if you try to take it from these people, you will lose . . . again. There can be peace between our nations, but not if you continue to murder innocent people. This will end.” Valerie’s nervousness had transitioned to anger.

  August and Duke whispered back and forth while she waited for a response from the Council. A few more council members’ screens went blank before anyone spoke.

  “Dr. August Wilkes, is this your stance as well?” the Venezuelan male DiaZem questioned.

  “It is.”

  “Then I hereby, with the authority of the New World Order and its Council, exile you from the Order and Council. Your crimes of treason include the murder of your King DiaZem, and rebellion against the New Order, both of which hold the penalty of death. You will await official notice of penalty and reprimand.”

  With those words, the screens went black with a green blinking cursor. Valerie recognized the cursor from the written messages she and August sent in secret:

  San Francisco stands with you, Valerie Russell. -Jacqueline Taylor

  New Zealand stands with the United States. -Sophia Wilson

  Let’s give them hell. -John and Sylvia Hampton of Dallas

  The screens filled with line after line of allegiance. They all watched in silence waiting for them to stop.

  “Don’t trust every olive branch stretched to you,” her father warned, breaking the silence.

  Valerie stood up and pointed a finger across the table. She opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off.

  “I have coached you your entire life to do and be everything you are right now. Valerie, you must understand, I did not want anyone to die. I did not want them to find Caleb, but I did want you to have the strength to stand up against the evil and corrupt in the world. I am so proud of you, Valerie.”

  “You’re proud of yourself. You and Kevin will leave. Today. Because I don’t trust every olive branch stretched out to me. If you are true to our cause, you will handle the deceased of the city with the utmost respect and sensitivity. I will provide all the tools you need to complete the task, but you will not return until every person is named. If you want to take credit for something, you can take credit for those lives.”

  She shook with anger. Mike and Kevin stood and left the room. Duke helped himself to Mike’s former place at the table.

  “Pizza! Mac and cheese. Chicken fries,” Caleb said, poking Valerie’s arm until she smiled down at him.

  “The rest can wait until after dinner. There is an entire wedding feast prepared. Shall we?” August smiled at her from across the table. She nodded, and the meeting adjourned.

  Don’t miss the best-selling companion novella to Apparent Power

  Reactance: Day 0

  My name is Sasha Bowman. I am starting this journal because today something terrible happened in the world. I need to get these thoughts out of my head, and maybe I can make sense of everything. So many people died today. I am sure millions of people all over the world died in a matter of minutes. I witnessed some of the destruction myself. If I had gone to school, I would be dead too. All my friends are gone. My teachers, everyone. I guess I should start from the beginning or else I will never sort this out.

  I am eighteen years old. A senior with a few more weeks before I am supposed to graduate. I was accepted to the University of Colorado Boulder next year, but I have a sinking feeling school is canceled indefinitely.

  This morning I woke up feeling dizzy. When I went to my car
, I tripped in the garage. I was trying to catch myself from falling, and I cut my palm deep on my dad’s hedge trimmers hanging from the wall. I went back inside the house and woke my mom up. She was in a self-medicated sleep. Took me thirty minutes, and five different explanations to wake her up and get her ready to go with me to the hospital. I did not want to drive by myself in case they gave me pain medication, and then I’d be stranded there until she sobered up enough to get me.

  So, I drove us to the ER and mom drank her coffee, trying to remember where she was. I needed college. I needed a way out of here, so I could be a typical teenager instead of my mother’s mother. Occasionally I can go a whole day without making sure my mother eats and drinks enough water to sustain life, but in her depression, she can hardly take care of herself, much less me.

  The emergency room at the hospital was not busy. I had wrapped my hand in a bath towel and waited about forty-five minutes for them to call me back, numb me up, and give me twenty stitches. They wrote me a prescription which my mom seemed very concerned with so, the pain medication must have been the kind she likes. Otherwise, she would have had me drop her off at home before I went to pick them up, but she insisted on tagging along.

  I was standing in line at the grocery store pharmacy window, and I felt another wave of dizziness. I sat on the floor, so I would not fall again. My mom knelt beside me to make sure I was okay, which was the most motherly thing she had done all day. Then, everything went wrong. We both passed out. I woke up with my mom lying on my legs. People were screaming; a few others were lying on the ground, too. There was some glass around us, and most of the lights in the store had broken. I could smell burning plastic, like when my hair dryer shorted out last year.

  “Let’s get home. Something’s not right,” Mom kept repeating over and over. I am guessing she was in shock, but so was I. So, I did not argue with her. My hand was still numb, and we had Tylenol at home. The narcotics could wait.

  When we reached the front of the store, planes started falling. Every flight in motion at that very moment fell from the sky. Just outside the glass doors someone had forced open, I saw the last three planes float to the ground, like the kind you make of paper that never catch in the wind. They were silent, no whining of engines or evidence of power at all. These must have been the highest in the area because fire and smoke rose in pillars at other obvious crash sites already. I did not stay to count, but there must have been about fifteen to twenty scattered in all directions. One landed on my school. I found out about my friends when my neighbor got home earlier to tell us. I am having a hard time believing anything right now. After a few hours, the numbing shots are wearing off and my hand is starting to hurt. Though, the pain makes me realize this is all real and not a dream.

  Back to the grocery store, Mom and I ran to the car after the planes fell so we could get home and make sure Dad was okay. He owns his own window washing business and today is his office day at home. But when we got to my car, the engine would not start. Power locks did not even work, like the battery had died. We live exactly one mile from the store, so we walked. Mom was dehydrated and struggled, but I have run cross country track since freshman year, so the uphill trek was nothing to me.

  Dad was fine. Scared for us, but fine. The power in our house was acting weird. Like, the coffee pot would turn off every time I reached for the brew button. Dad had the magic touch because he could turn the machine back on. I could not. Mom escaped into her bedroom and shut the door. She is in there popping her pills to sleep off the world as long as she can. Dad had the TV turned on to the news. I could not watch because, like the coffee pot, the screen would go black every time I walked by and it was pissing Dad off. He is pretty laid back most days, but under the circumstances, both of us are on edge.

  Nolan Hillard, the neighbor guy, came over. He worked the night shift at a factory in the industrial part of downtown and was on his way home. He saw the plane hit the school. He came to tell my dad and was relieved to see I had not gone today. He stayed over and helped cook dinner. They talked about combining their “fall-out” supplies, and there was a brief discussion about escaping to the mountains because martial law was in effect and looting would start soon.

  All the scenarios they discussed freaked me out, so I came up here to write all of this down. If this is the beginning of the end for us, someone needs to give an account of what happened for surviving generations. One thing I learned in my history class, if no one writes stuff down it’s like nothing ever happened.

  Dad came upstairs and knocked on my door. I let him in, and he sat on my bed.

  “Um, there’s a condition you have,” was how he started. “The world was covered with electricity.”

  “What?!?” He is a smart man but not always the most articulate.

  “Umm, a wave covered the world with electricity, knocking the power out of the airplanes. Some people were affected, too. Like you and your mom.”

  “Okay, wait. You’re trying to say, like, an electromagnetic pulse knocked every plane out of the sky and also hit mom and me?”

  “Yes.”

  “So, what does that mean?”

  “They are taking people for treatment to make sure they’re okay. I called and let them know what happened to you at the store. They said you could pack a small bag to take with you. No cell phones or electronics, because they won’t work.”

  “What? Does Mom know? Are you coming with us? Who is taking us where?”

  “The CDC is making sure everyone is okay. Only you and your mom are going. They said if there is room, I can come and see you. We want to make sure you two are okay.”

  He just left my room to tell my mom. I have thrown some random things into a bag, like clothes, underwear, socks. I did not count anything or make sure I had a whole outfit. I am having a hard time figuring out where we are going and why. But I do know I am taking my cell phone. I do not care who these people are.

  I have been waiting for an hour or so since Mr. Hillard left, and Dad called the CDC. I keep grabbing my phone to text my friends, but my cell does not work either. Maybe one of them was sick this morning too and stayed home. I know this is not likely. All my friends are dead. My best friend, Sierra; Jonathan, who has always been kind to me; Mrs. Lancaster. All gone.

  I heard a truck pull up. Out my window, four blue-uniformed people got out of the vehicle and walked toward my house. One pointed at me through the window. So, now I am hiding in my bathroom with my pen and paper, terrified those security guard looking people will take my journal away. Scared I will end up sick and dying in a plastic-coated room from some weird disease.

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  Dacia M Arnold is an award-winning American novelist, freelance writer, mother, medical professional and a ten-year Army Veteran. In addition to Apparent Power, she has also written short fiction in the international anthology COLP: The Passage of Time. As a freelance writer, Dacia contributes monthly to the Rocky Mountain Fiction Writer's blog where she shares her relatively short experience in the literary world. Her novella Reactance, a companion to Apparent Power, is a #1 Amazon Bestseller. She lives in Denver with her husband, two kids, and beagles named Watson and Molly.

  Dacia would like to thank the many, many people who made this possible:

  Shaula, Stephanie, Ashley, Kyria, My Mommy, Rachel, Kat and Nancy, Tim Pike of ChapterBuzz.com, Liberty, and Tiana. For your friendships and feedback throughout the process.

  Torrie, Jasmine and Kayla for wrangling my kids while I worked.

  Corinne O’Flynn, Jon Messenger, Becky LeJeune, Liz Durano, Mike Hance, Mark Stevens, Heather Houston, Haley Cavanagh, Brian Keene and Ma
ry Sangiovanni for all your advice and for believing I was worth your wisdom.

  To Holli Anderson, my former Acquisitions Editor, and Immortal Works Press for initially taking a chance on me.

  To My AMAZING Patrons: Jack W. F., Stephanie V., Laci S. and Jennifer T.

  To my ever-patient husband who drives me crazy and keeps me sane. Thank you for sharing this life with me.

  To everyone who has touched my life in anyway. THANK YOU!