by E S Richards
As the two men loaded them onto the speedboat Len let out a sigh of relief as he noticed there simply wouldn’t be enough room on the boat for any more. He wouldn’t have to make the trip back to the water taxi again. Freddie climbed aboard and kissed Jen on her forehead, smiling tenderly upon seeing his fiancée still safe and sound. Len took the baby from her arms and mirrored the action, planting a soft kiss on his mostly bald head.
“Other side of the river then?” Freddie asked as he started the engine, the ropes securing the speedboat already unfastened and the tank generously refilled.
Len nodded and steeled himself in his seat for the boat to take off, spray stirring up and splashing him in the face. The journey across the river passed by in minutes and soon Freddie was slowing the engine, allowing them to drift toward a mooring station on the other riverbank. As they drew to a halt, Len looked from Freddie to Jen and finally down to the baby in his arms.
“Do you—”
“Can I keep him?”
Jen’s words cut Len off before he had completed his offer. He couldn’t deny he cared for the little boy in his arms, but he knew it was irrational to think he could complete the journey to South Haven while having to take care of a little boy. He hadn’t spent very long with Freddie and Jen at all, but they seemed like good people, just trying to survive, much like him. Jen had clearly taken a liking to the little boy and Len could see how much she truly would care for him. Since becoming a father himself, Len had learned how to recognize the qualities of parents in others.
“I can’t think of anyone more suited to the job,” Len smiled eventually, nodding his head in answer to Jen’s question. He bent his neck down and planted another kiss on the baby’s head, squeezing his tiny body against his chest once more before passing him over to Jen. Something twinkled in her eyes upon receiving the little boy and a true, honest smile broke out across her face.
“Good luck out there,” Freddie spoke from the helm of the speedboat. “I hope you find your family.”
“And to you,” Len smiled as he climbed out of the boat onto dry land. “I hope you make it home.”
With his final words Len stood on the tiny jetty and watched the speedboat disappear further up the river. The boy would be safe with them, he assured himself, he had made the right decision.
When the boat finally disappeared from view Len swallowed and turned around. He had just saved one family, now he needed to save his own.
Chapter 13
Wilson stared at President Bruce, waiting for his words to sink in. It was his role as the president’s chief of staff to ensure that Henry Bruce was immediately escorted to safety and then the correct emergency protocols followed. His years working in government had supposedly prepared him for such an event.
There was procedure in place, of course, but despite the hundreds of drills he had ran during his time Wilson had never faced a true disaster on this scale. Terrorist attacks had been plentiful, but they presented him with a firm and deliberate enemy. This was an event out of his and anyone else’s control.
The emergency lighting flickered above his head, a telling sign of how extreme the situation was. They had backup generators designed to deal with this sort of thing, but even they appeared to be struggling. With the air conditioning cut off the temperature inside the building had started to rapidly increase as well, the finely pressed suit and tie Wilson wore causing a sheer layer of sweat to form on the back of his neck.
“Sir,” Wilson turned to President Bruce, the man he had served to protect for nearly two years. “We need to activate emergency procedures; what do you suggest?”
President Bruce paused for a second, his mind reeling over what was happening. The binder Wilson had carried earlier was now in his own hand, the information of the early satellite reports, the coronal mass ejection and subsequent power failures sinking into his decision making process.
“Action red,” President Bruce mumbled, looking down at the torn piece of paper in his hand. “Initiate CONGON 1. Have General Shepherd and the MO coordinate activities on the ground and see that protocol is being followed in the press office. We need to find out exactly what the public have been told about this. How they react could greatly affect the MO.”
“Of course sir,” Wilson replied, “but we have to get you to the bunker first. I’ll find an escort for you.”
Wilson yanked open the doors of the Presidential Suite. He knew there was work that needed to be done in a state of emergency like this, but his main priority was President Bruce’s safety. Poking his head out into the corridor Wilson caught sight of Dixon jogging just out of sight.
“Dixon!” He called after the soldier, relief flooding his veins as the young man turned and started jogging back toward where Wilson waited.
“I need you to escort the president to the emergency bunker,” Wilson spoke seriously once Dixon was within earshot. “We’re activating CONGON 1, immediate effect. I don’t need to remind you what that means.”
Dixon sprang into action, his hand flying to his forehead in a salute. “Yes sir,” he spoke, his voice mixed with fear and duty, trained over the years to follow orders no matter what situation he was presented with. “Please follow me, Mr. President.”
The president strode forward. He was confident his chief of staff would relay everything he’d just said and make sure everything ran as smooth as possible both within the White House itself and outside. He relied on Wilson a great deal; both he and General Shepherd close allies of his during his time in office.
Wilson watched as the two men moved down the corridor, slower than he would have liked but still in the direction of the bunker. Now he had to find out what the hell was going on and try to help save his country. Everyone, specifically General Shepherd, needed to be informed that CONGON 1 was in effect. Staffing levels would have to disperse and every military personnel in the building—including those like Dixon—would be called up to action.
Striding down the corridor with purpose, Wilson headed in the opposite direction to the president. He needed to get to the press control room to find out what the public had been told and somehow get a runner to liaise with General Shepherd for him.
General Shepherd was the deputy director of the White House Military Office and Wilson knew that like him, Shepherd’s main role was to aid and ensure the protection of the president. Between them they could control the military and public relations during President Bruce’s absence. CONGON 1 officially meant they were trusted to make decisions without referring up the line of command.
Part of him wondered what they could even do, though. In the event of such a catastrophic natural disaster, the United States had no failsafe. They couldn’t fire missiles out into space and they couldn’t negotiate a surrender or a cease fire. All Wilson could do was help his country prepare for the worst and somehow find a way to protect the ones he loved.
Entering the press control room, Wilson was met with chaos. This was not how the staff had been taught to behave, but with the severity of the situation he stopped himself from his usual love for the rules. The secretary noticed his presence first and walked over to him with a stack of papers clutched firmly in her hands.
“The evacuation has begun, sir,” her voice was calm and collected, something Wilson respected in the woman. “The public were briefly informed of what was to come, but satellites went down before the broadcast could be completed. We’re pretty blind out there now and there’s no communication with anyone outside of the building.”
“Keep sending runners between here and the bunker,” Wilson replied with a nod. “We need to make sure that everyone is accounted for down there and the correct security is all in place.”
“Yes sir.”
“And try to get a hold of General Shepherd somehow, I want to know what his plan is on the ground and what he’s preparing for if we ever do manage to get back online. We need to be ready for everything and we need to ensure the public are as prepared to handle this as possi
ble.”
“Yes sir,” the secretary nodded again and moved back toward her desk, stopping to speak to another man in uniform on the way.
Wilson took a second to breathe; that was all he could give himself. With no way of knowing what was going on outside, the government was effectively fighting the battle with their eyes closed and their hands tied behind their backs. It wasn’t how Wilson liked to run things and the uncertainty of everything made him feel very on edge.
Melissa and Mary were at the forefront of his mind as well. Where would his wife and daughter be right now? Were they even aware of what was happening? He loved his job and he spent every minute of his life trying to be as involved as possible in everything, but he knew that had frayed his family relationship. At a time like this Wilson wished he could at least say for certain that his girls were safe.
“Sir,” a solider approached, his uniform perfectly starched and ironed to create creases in all the right places. “I have a copy of the final broadcast, before the power went down.”
Wilson took the piece of paper from the solider, who remained by his side as he read, waiting for the inevitable order that would follow. As his eyes tore down the page Wilson ticked off everything that should have been said. From the very beginning he realized the public had been misinformed.
NASA is predicting the impact of this mass ejection to occur within roughly 24 hours.
Wilson shook his head; the satellites had been failing at a much faster rate. Cell signals cutting out and minor power cuts had been happening more and more frequently throughout the summer, clearly the climax of all these problems had been mistaken for another inconvenient blip, then finally recognized for what it truly was only when it was already too late.
There was no way people would have been prepared. He kept reading, satisfied that the words of federal officials and FEMA had at least been relayed to the public. Perhaps that would have made them realize how serious the ejection was.
They are encouraging everyone to stock up on food, water and medical supplies, to remain calm and stay indoors.
Wilson almost let out a small laugh. These were words that were thrown around like child’s play. He knew better than most that telling people to remain calm would only create more of a panic. They were words often used carelessly and had little to no effect.
Brownouts and blackouts… Emergency services will be strained… Roadways need to be clear… We aren’t quite sure what long-term effects may occur…
The words meant nothing to Wilson and he knew they’d have meant little to the public as well. Even without any knowledge of what was happening outside Wilson knew a full-scale panic would be in effect, even before any of the physical problems from the mass ejection occurred.
“Find me General Shepherd,” Wilson spoke sternly as he handed the piece of paper back to the solider, “and get me the early satellite reports. I don’t understand how we could have missed this.” He needed to speak to General Shepherd urgently now; he needed to know how things were being handled on the ground.
Checking his watch, Wilson smiled at the knowledge that President Bruce would have reached the emergency bunker by now. That was one positive he could take from all the chaos. He knew wherever they were, Melissa and Mary would be following correct protocol as well, all of those he had sworn to protect out of his reach but properly protected somewhere.
Wilson now had to focus solely on his duty. He swept his gaze around the press control room and ran his fingers through his closely trimmed hair. He needed to find the general and so he turned on his heel and started taking matters into his own hands.
***
Dixon led the president silently down toward the bunker. He knew where it was, although he had never been inside. The halls of the government building seemed different now, there was an air of panic amongst the people as they either made their own way toward the bunker or back to whatever jobs they had to do in this scenario.
Normally as a military liaison Dixon reported to Wilson, which was why he had followed orders to escort the president down to the bunker. However, he was fully aware that his true place during such a disaster was on the ground. General Shepherd would be putting together troops to go out into the city and assess the damages. He should be among them. He wanted to be among them.
Dixon quite liked his job within the government. He had served two tours with the army beneath General Shepherd, traveling overseas and seeing battle like he could have never imagined it when he signed up. As a result he and the general had a good working relationship, both of them transferring to roles within the White House at a similar time. For two very different reasons however.
While General Shepherd had merely retired from active duty and gained a promotion to deputy director of the WHMO, Dixon had received a bullet to the kneecap, ruling him out of a third tour due to medical grounds. It was thanks to General Shepherd however that Dixon had been able to continue his duty to some extent; the general finding him a position in the White House and assigning him to the president’s chief of staff.
Dixon still knew the rules though, in an action red state of emergency, even those soldiers cleared from active duty would be called upon to keep the peace. He was a man of duty, of order and a strict regime. He couldn’t help but want to fulfill his role.
President Bruce remained quiet as they traveled down through the building, slowly getting deeper and deeper underground. He was required to press his thumbprint against several identification sensors as Dixon escorted him through numerous bulletproof doors, fortified with countless inches of steel.
Something about the way the man moved made Dixon aware that he was nervous. He found it odd that the person elected to lead their country could carry such a sense of panic with him. Dixon had met the president a couple of times before, although never in an informal sense. He was bound by duty to the man, but found it a little hard to respect him as he cowered at every flickering light.
“Almost there, sir,” Dixon spoke as the president once again confirmed his thumbprint identity. “You’ll be inside soon.”
He didn’t get a reply or even a look. It was clear the president’s mind was elsewhere, probably thinking of how the protocol was being carried out upstairs. President Bruce was in his third year of office, but had always been the type of president to rely heavily on his advisors. He had a strong working relationship with both Wilson and General Shepherd and trusted both men to do what was best for the country in his absence. Beyond giving them orders, his position didn’t allow President Bruce much freedom and so ultimately Dixon figured he knew he was better off underground in the bunker.
Two more reinforced doors later and the pair finally drew to a halt outside the emergency bunker.
“Dixon Daniels reporting,” the young solider spoke into an intercom on the wall, remarkably still working despite everything else. “I have the president.”
The intercom crackled, the words from the other side distorted and indecipherable. Dixon knew what would have been said however and nodded to the president to proceed with the retinal scanner. After a moment three beeps sounded and the final door slid open, revealing the interior of the emergency bunker.
The president couldn’t hide his relief, rushing forward into the shelter without sparing a look back to his escort. Dixon wasn’t bothered; his gaze was already sweeping the room for someone else.
He knew it was unlikely Mary would be in the bunker, very rarely coming to the building since Wilson had caught on to the relationship she and Dixon shared over a year ago—although they were both certain he wasn’t aware of the full extent of it. Still he couldn’t help but look for her, eventually Wilson would end up in the bunker and it made sense that he would want his family nearby.
When Dixon had first started working in the White House, Mary had often come to visit her father. She was three years younger than Dixon and always wore such a look of innocence and calm on her face that Dixon couldn’t help but slowly fall for the girl.
When Wilson caught the two of them behind a curtain at a public event over a year ago, Dixon had thought that would be it for his relationship with Mary. And for his job in the White House. Somehow she managed to work her magic with her father though and both Dixon’s job and their bond remained stronger than ever. What Dixon would’ve given in that moment to see her safely tucked away in the emergency bunker.