by Stone, Kyla
The female reporter tapped her earpiece. “Communication is down in the area, but we’ve received information that a fireball at least a half mile wide has been sighted over Capitol Hill. It appears this is—this is an attack, Gerard. An attack on American soil…”
The first reporter’s face drained of color. “It appears to be a bomb. A nuclear bomb.”
The shot cut to the reporter on the street in Chicago. “We also have an unconfirmed report that the Michigan Avenue bomb is likely an improvised nuclear device, Gerard.”
The newsdesk reporters didn’t speak for a moment, the shock and horror on their faces genuine. So often, the media seemed to feed on manufactured outrage or barely disguised gleeful delight in the “next big thing.”
This, though, was beyond imaginable.
Dakota’s own pulse thudded in her throat. Her chest tightened like some invisible hand was squeezing her heart.
“Ah,” Gerard stammered, “so I’m hearing that we have multiple bombs. Multiple nuclear bombs—at least two. One has detonated in D.C. already. We’ve heard nothing definitive yet from official sources.
“Social media is blowing up with reports of a terrible explosion, though all locations are at least a few miles from the blast. We’ve had zero communication from anyone at the White House or Capitol Hill…Massive casualties must be expected…”
The patrons in the bar—five at the bar itself, three more in the booths—sat staring at the screens, frozen, their mouths agape.
Dread coiled in Dakota’s gut. Slowly, she raised the phone to her ear. “Mrs. Simpson, are you watching the news? Check your phone.”
“Really, Ms. Sloane,” Mrs. Simpson huffed, “I don’t have time for your games today. Some of us have actual work to do—”
“Another bomb!” the female reporter gasped. “We’ve just lost contact with large portions of New York. Hundreds—thousands of reports coming in on Twitter and social media. People reporting a massive mushroom cloud seen from miles away, buildings collapsing, massive fires…” Her voice trailed off in disbelief.
The second reporter gestured at someone offscreen before turning back to the cameras, visibly shaken. “We have a video feed. Please brace yourselves. This is live—”
The aerial shot revealed an enormous pillar of smoke larger than Dakota had ever seen, dwarfing the skyscrapers. She could barely see the skyline through all the smoke and fire.
Dakota took a step back, and then another, until her butt pressed against the lip of the bar table.
Three bombs. Not just bombs. Nukes.
Three targeted cities. New York. Washington D.C. Chicago.
Were there only three? Or were there more?
She thought of Ezra. He’d warned her of something like this.
What was it he always said? That smart terrorists would engage in a coordinated and multi-pronged attack. They would simultaneously attack the infrastructure—the electric grid, import hubs, or several cities—all intended to eviscerate American morale.
Just like this.
Dakota was a pessimist by nature. Experience had taught her that. Life always kicked you when you were already down.
Worst case scenario, more bombs were just waiting to be detonated. Miami wasn’t the largest city in the U.S., but the metropolitan area was home to more than five million people. Seventh largest, her boss had said just last week.
Miami International Airport and the Port of Miami were also major hubs of commerce.
If there were more bombs, Miami was just as likely a target as any other.
An image bubbled up from somewhere deep inside her—a glimpse of a memory she’d shoved down deep. Something darkly, horribly familiar about all of this…
That feeling was in her, a cold dread creeping up her spine, tightening her chest, clawing at her throat. The hairs on her arms stood on end.
She’d learned to recognize it for what it was: a warning.
Dakota had to get out of the city. Right now.
Order the box set and keep reading HERE!