by Stone, Kyla
Hannah and the others were quiet for a minute, letting that sink in.
Yamini waved her hand toward the nuclear plant. “It’s also a matter of scale. The U.S. grid consists of over seven hundred electric power facilities, over seven hundred thousand miles of high-voltage transmission lines, fifty-six thousand substations, and over six and a half million miles of local lines.
“Now imagine the damage the EMP did to every element within that incredibly complex and convoluted network. Without factories and refineries, we can’t manufacture the billions of parts and pieces required to get an entire country back online.”
Hannah nodded, unable to comprehend the enormous, daunting task facing America. It seemed impossible.
Liam’s expression hardened. “So it’s true. We’re talking years.”
Yamini nodded.
“God help us.” Bishop shook his head. “I had no idea. To be honest, I barely knew what an EMP was before the Collapse. I certainly didn’t understand the extent of the destruction. To think, something most people can’t even comprehend brought America to her knees.”
“Not enough officials took the threat of an EMP seriously,” Yamini added. “Some looked at Hiroshima and Nagasaki—both of which experienced electromagnetic pulses because of the nukes—and decided an advanced industrialized country of three hundred and twenty-eight million people could recover as swiftly as two cities in the 1940s.
“The problem is, technology has exploded in leaps and bounds since then. Electricity is crucial to every aspect of our lives—at work, at home, in our cars, computers, and phones. As the use of microelectronics with ever-increasing sensitivity to EMPs became ubiquitous, our vulnerability increased.”
Several crows clustered on a branch, black against the gray sky and brown trees. A few sparrows flitted here and there. A squirrel perched on a mound of snow, chattering to itself.
Hannah shivered and wrapped her arms around her ribcage. What would this country look like when the lights finally came back on? Would anyone even recognize it?
“And now here we are,” Hannah said.
“And now here we are.” Yamini glanced at her watch. “If you’ll excuse me, I have some things to attend to, but I believe the captain of our guard unit wishes to speak to you as well. I’ll give you a tour soon. At any rate, I hope I was helpful.”
She looked up, meeting each of their gazes, her smile genuine. “Thanks again for checking in. It’s been a difficult and lonely time, but it’s good to know that life is continuing beyond these gates. It gives us hope.”
Bishop shook her hand. “Hope is something we’re all sorely in need of.”
43
Hannah
Day Ninety-Nine
“Is that the ugly mug I think it is?” someone shouted.
A uniformed man broke apart from a group of National Guardsmen patrolling the perimeter fence and jogged toward them.
Liam frowned as he approached. “Maybe so. But you’re older and uglier than I remember.”
The man threw his head back and gave a hearty laugh. He was in his forties, dressed in fatigues, with gray threaded through his short black hair. Built like a fire hydrant, he was short but brawny, with a large nose, thick brows, and a wide generous smile.
Liam’s eyes brightened, his rugged face pleasantly startled.
Hannah glanced between them. “I take it you know each other.”
“Unfortunately,” Liam said wryly.
“We knew each other when we were young and handsome,” the soldier said.
“Pretty sure you were never handsome.”
The soldier laughed again, warm and gregarious. Hannah liked him. He had an appealing face—tough and weathered, but open and friendly, too.
Liam hooked his thumb at him. “This is Captain Charlie Hamilton with the prestigious Army Rangers. Worked a few missions in-country with him in Syria and Iran. Spent some time training together at Fort Benning.” He eyed the captain up and down, eyes narrowing but without an ounce of malice. “Those Beach Boys had it made.”
“Thought I escaped,” Hamilton said merrily, “but I got pulled back into service after the Collapse to mind these youngsters. Hardly more than boys, if you ask me.” He sighed and wiped a hand across his face. “But we’re managing, considering.”
“How’s the family?” Liam asked.
A shadow crossed his face. “The wife died of cancer two years ago. My son married a French lawyer and lives overseas in Britain, thank God. Though it’s turning into a dumpster fire everywhere, at least they have electricity. And your brother? How’s the look-a-like?”
Liam’s mouth thinned. He gave a single shake of his head.
“A hell of a time,” Hamilton said in a sober voice. Then his expression cleared, and he was grinning again. “Damn, it’s good to see a familiar face—even an ugly one. Hell, even a Delta. You should’ve been a Ranger, you know.”
They chatted and joked for several minutes, asking about various mutual friends in the service, catching up and jawing and insulting each other.
“What are your mission parameters?” Liam asked finally. “How long are you stationed here?”
“Until we hear orders otherwise. We’re here to protect the plant and the engineers, period. We’ve got explicit orders from brass not to engage in local turf wars.”
“Turf wars,” Hannah said, incredulous. “Is that what they’re calling what’s happening here?”
“Does the government have a clue what’s going on?” Bishop asked.
“They do. We do. Civilians are being slaughtered in gang violence, raids by marauders, and starving neighbors are turning on each other. Fields being destroyed, businesses burned to the ground. But we can’t engage.”
He shot Liam a remorseful look. “I hate it, but if something happens to our plant, it won’t matter when we get the transformers. Cook alone provided power to one and a half million people. We’ve got to be ready to rebuild as soon as we can. And our presence is necessary. We’ve already had a few attempted break-ins, people trying to steal our tankers. A few days ago, a gang tried to set fire to one of the buildings.”
“Why would anyone want to damage a power plant?” Bishop asked. “Power is what we need.”
Hamilton shrugged. “People are crazy. I hear there are a few groups going all cultish, drinking the Kool-Aid and claiming electricity and tech destroyed our country in the first place, so they’re going around making a royal mess of things.”
“We’ll get to the bottom of it,” Bishop said.
“With Coleman, you’ve got a shot. You’re damn lucky to have a Spec Ops soldier on your side.”
“We know it,” Bishop said quietly. “God’s watching out for us.”
“Next time you chat with Him, put in a good word for me, would you?”
Bishop nodded. “Of course.”
Hamilton shielded his face with his hand and checked on his men, something pensive in his eyes. “Any chance I can steal you, brother? I could use a man with your elite skill set. The state of Michigan sure could.”
Liam shook his head.
“I figured. You should know the government is calling all retired and former military to join back up to quell unrest at home. They’re desperate for the Corps of Engineers to work on the infrastructure, getting transformers up and running, restoring power to the refineries…there’s plenty to do.”
Liam said, “I belong where I am.”
Hannah bit her lip, her cheeks going hot. She felt Bishop’s eyes on her and studiously avoided his gaze, turning her attention to the civilians huddled in the parking lot.
There had to be over fifty families, with men, women, and children of all ages. A dozen kids dashed here and there playing tag, their clothes ratty, faces thin and smudged with dirt.
“They look hungry,” Bishop said, echoing her thoughts.
Captain Hamilton gave a grim nod. “The last few weeks have been rough. We’ve got fuel, but that’s about it. FEMA was supposed to resupp
ly us last week, but they never showed. We keep getting the runaround. Frankly, I think they’ve run out, but they don’t want to admit that we’re on our own.”
“What are you going to do?” Hannah asked.
“We don’t know,” Hamilton said. “They implied we had the right to take what we needed from the local populace.” He shot them another guilty look—they were the local populace. “But everyone is starving. I couldn’t justify taking a morsel from the mouth of a hungry kid. Yamini’s done a great job with the civilians, keeping them on task, working together, giving them a purpose. We’ve been rationing and making do.”
Bishop gave Hannah a pointed glance; she nodded.
These people were doing good in the world, the engineers and soldiers both. Because of them, power to Southwest Michigan would someday be restored. The power plant hadn’t melted down.
Fall Creek likely owed these people their lives.
“I think we can help you,” Hannah said.
“Oh?”
Liam flashed her a look—we don’t have enough for ourselves.
She gave him a confident smile, maybe more confident than she felt. We’ll make it work.
Hannah pointed back to where they’d parked the Orange Julius. “We’ve got some supplies in the truck bed. If you don’t mind, we’ll feed the kids today and come back tomorrow with more.”
“That—that’d be fine,” Hamilton said.
“It’s not much, mostly rice and beans.”
Hamilton looked like he’d died and gone to heaven. “A meal fit for a prince. Wait until I tell the civilians. They’ll be thrilled.”
Bishop grinned from ear to ear. “Good to hear.”
“Consider this delivery a gift,” Hannah said. “In the future, maybe we could trade for ammo, medicine, or other supplies, if you have them.”
“Absolutely, yes. We’re open to that.” The captain shook his head, his eyes shiny. “Not enough kindness in the world these days. We can’t do much to thank you, but we can top off your truck before you go. FEMA may forget to feed us, but they do make sure we’ve got the fuel to cool the reactors.” He flashed a wry smile. “At least, so far.”
Bishop shook Hamilton’s hand. “Thanks, brother. Nothing we can do about what’s going on out there, but there’s something we can do here. God is in control. We do what we can; that’s all that can be asked of us.”
Captain Hamilton nodded. “Stay frosty.”
“Always,” Liam said.
As they headed back through the gate toward the Orange Julius, Liam scanned the buildings as they walked, taking in the windows, the rooftops, the shadowed doorways, his eyes roving over the clusters of people. She could tell he was checking for weapons, furtive movements, anything out of the ordinary.
The man never relaxed. He was always on guard, always protecting her and everyone else.
Liam slowed his stride to match Hannah’s, allowing Bishop to get ahead of them. “I saw what you did there.”
She gave him her best innocent look. “Whatever do you mean?”
“That wasn’t just altruism back there.”
“It’s good to make friends, Liam. In case you haven’t noticed, it’s like feudal states at the best of times, the wild west at the worst. The more allies we can make, the better. I don’t expect anything from them anytime soon. Maybe never. But they’re doing something good. They’re working to help all of us. A little help in return is the least we could do.”
“Even though it costs us.”
“Yes, even then. Especially then.”
He nodded slowly, his lips curling at the corners.
She turned away to hide the heat in her cheeks and cleared her throat. “Sometimes, the stars align, and the right thing to do is also the smart thing to do.”
For a minute, they didn’t speak. Birds twittered in the trees. Children’s shouts echoed from the parking lot, the charcoal smell of campfires drifting on the breeze.
“Did you know about Hamilton?” Liam asked.
“I had no idea that you knew someone here. That was a happy surprise.”
He flashed her a smile. A real, genuine smile. “Yeah. Yeah, it was.”
44
The General
Day Ninety-Nine
The General turned over a glass tumbler and grabbed a bottle of single-malt scotch from his sideboard. Scotch was getting scarce these days.
A ready supply was yet another perk of the job, and one of the myriad reasons to make sure he held onto it at any cost.
The General poured in three fingers’ worth, and then added a handful of ice from the generator-powered beverage fridge he’d placed in his office the first week.
Once, he’d been an alcoholic. It had been a major cause—though not the only one—of his messy divorce, the forced early retirement from the Army, and the loss of his prestige in highbrow circles in Washington.
He still allowed himself the occasional indulgence, but his will was iron, his ambition immense—though lately he’d accepted a second drink, then a third.
Ever since his enlightening conversation with Mattias Sutter.
Ever since he’d discovered that his only child was dead.
He pushed that awareness down into some dark, cobwebbed corner of his mind. The time would come to acknowledge it; that time was not now.
“A drink, Henry?” The General tipped his glass toward the governor, who’d been wearing a restless line in the carpet in the General’s office for the last forty-five minutes. “It helps with nerves.”
The man shook his head and rubbed at his reddened eyes. He looked as if he hadn’t slept in a week, his suit and tie wrinkled, his aged skin etched with worry and stress. “I don’t know, I just don’t know.”
Fortunately, it was only the two of them this evening. The noxious Secretary of State was missing. The woman was an incessant pest, undermining him, questioning his motives, whispering in the governor’s ear.
The sooner he got rid of her, the better.
“We’ve received reports that the glorified mob kingpin Alexander Poe has overrun at least four FEMA camps,” Governor Duffield said. “The accounts from escaped citizens are horrific. Murder and rape. Human slavery and trafficking. We have to do something.”
The General sneered. “To rescue Illinois? To send our remaining troops out of state, leaving ourselves naked and vulnerable?”
“We have to do something! He’ll overrun the entire country if we don’t.”
The General took another drink. “Let’s not get hysterical just yet.”
Governor Duffield paced in front of the office windows, wringing his hands. “We have orders from the White House to immediately send everything we have to support Illinois. The Illinois governor is begging for aid while his state goes up in flames. Poe has Chicago. He has Rockford, Peoria, and Springfield.
“The only reason he isn’t controlling all of Illinois is because he’s pushing east. East toward the Indiana line. According to our latest intelligence, he’s amassing north of Chicago Heights and headed toward Gary, Indiana.”
“There will come a time, but it is not now.”
Governor Duffield paused mid-step and stared at him like a deer caught in headlights. “Not now? Then when? What are you saying?”
“Michigan must worry about herself. You’ve already skirted the federal government’s preposterous demands to send our National Guard all over creation, fighting for other states and not our own.”
He gestured with the tumbler. “How long do you think the federal government is going to last? With the breakdown of communication, they can barely reach their governors, let alone lead a country. You see what’s happening, don’t you?”
Governor Duffield stared at him blankly, the fear making him a blind fool.
“The Accord signed by California, Oregon, and Washington State,” the General said with incredible patience he didn’t feel. “They’re protecting each other, they’re consolidating power. Do you think they’ll be eager to g
ive it back? They won’t. When the dust settles, the country that emerges will look nothing like she once did. I doubt the federal government will even exist. And if it does, it will be emasculated. The power will begin and end with the states that have survived.”
Swirling the cubes in the glass, he brought the drink to his lips and took a long pull. He closed his eyes and set the drink down, savoring the taste, swirling the liquid on his tongue.
After a prolonged moment, he opened his eyes and exhaled, relishing the satisfaction. Governor Duffield watched him with quiet panic.
The General set down his glass. “Few, if any, of the power players before the EMP will be the ones holding the reins when it comes back online. The question is, will you continue to be beholden to the feds, a desperate and terrified group of old, doddering, obsolete men grasping for a past that’s long gone? Or do you want to be the one rising from the ashes?”
The governor licked his lips, gave a nervous shudder, and gazed out the window. He rubbed his hands together, warming himself. “I don’t know…”
To conserve energy, the generators were switched off for the evening. Dusk blanketed Lansing, shadows invading the corners of the General’s office.
“Keep your soldiers here. Let Illinois burn. When the time is right, offer your aid. For a price.”
“What about when the chaos in Illinois spills into Michigan? Chicago is right around the corner. All they have to do is—”
“They won’t.”
“How do you know?”
“We will protect Michigan. And when the time is right—and only then, the entire Midwest. But not until we are the ones in a position of power.”
His aim was to keep the mayhem across the border at a controlled boil—a boil that stayed within the pot. An Illinois in turmoil could only benefit Michigan.