Authors: Robison Wells
Blackout (26 page)
JACK SMELLED IT ALMOST IMMEDIATELY.
A strong—a very strong—whiff of Flowerbomb.
“I’ve got to go,” Jack said, turning away from the rocks that overlooked the Coronado Naval Base.
“Do you have a count yet?” Laura asked, peering into the darkness.
“Why are we doing this? I thought we were going for supplies.”
“We’re doing this first.” She had hold of his wrist.
“I can smell the perfume,” Jack said. “They need us back there. Didn’t you hear that big crash a couple minutes ago?”
“What big crash?”
“We need to check on them,” Jack said, pleading.
He’d listened to the whole conversation, ever since he heard Aubrey get out of the car. He didn’t want to take any chances, especially leaving Aubrey with Dan.
“How many boats?” Laura said, squeezing his arm.
“I don’t know—a hundred. A hundred and fifty.”
“Count them,” she said.
“I can count them five minutes from now.”
Laura got in his face. “You can hear everything going on over there. You tell me why we need to get back.”
“Because Dan freaked out and someone called the police,” Jack said.
Laura paused. “Why would he freak out?”
“Something about Chicago.”
“Oh, hell.”
She shoved Jack back onto the rocky outcrop and he landed with a rough thud. His head wound screamed with pain. With all the strength he could muster, he rolled onto his side and moved to his knees. He could hear Laura running, pushing through trees and smashing through a fence that they’d carefully climbed over only minutes earlier.
He followed, staggering to his feet and pressing one hand to his head as he chased after her.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Dan shouted.
Aubrey was there. She was breathing hard.
“Because it was too late.”
“Too late for what?”
“Too late to save her.”
“I’m only in this for her.”
There was a massive thud, and the sound of cracking wood. Aubrey gasped.
Jack pushed through the broken fence and saw them in the front yard of a badly damaged house. A man in his underwear was standing in the street. Aubrey was standing away from the fight, and her eyes connected with his. “We have to get out of here. I’m coming to you.”
She faded from view.
Laura pointed a finger at Dan. “Alec only followed through on what he’d always promised. You help us or your mother gets it.”
“Gets it?” Dan said, with an incredulous laugh. The entire lawn, sidewalk, and trees all lifted a foot into the air and collapsed back in a crash. Jack fell on his face, and saw the trees surrounding the house tipping at dangerous angles.
A siren sounded in the distance. No, it was three.
Where was Aubrey?
“My mother ‘gets it’?” Dan said again, walking toward where Laura had fallen. “How dare you? What did she ever—”
Laura leapt forward, smashing into Dan’s chest, and Jack heard the distinct sound of bones breaking.
“You’ve never been committed to anything,” Laura spat at his groaning body. “You know how worthless a team is when you have to blackmail your muscle? What did you think would happen when you tried to kill Alec in an avalanche?”
The ground swelled again, knocking Laura off her feet, and a tree came crashing down, missing her by inches.
She jumped to her feet.
“I didn’t try to kill him,” Dan wheezed. “You were supposed to save him. It was your fault.”
She kicked him, and he screamed as his knee shattered.
A massive clod of dirt flew from behind her and exploded around her, but she managed to keep her feet.
“We could have taken it out,” Laura said, pointing toward the bay. “And you had to cry about your mommy.”
The sirens were getting closer, and were being followed by something louder—something bigger.
Jack felt himself lifting up, and he turned to see Aubrey reappearing. She had a cut on her cheek.
“Let’s get out of here,” she said.
“Yeah.”
They backed away from the fight.
Three police cars arrived, sirens blazing, and behind them was an armored personnel carrier. It came to a stop and soldiers began pouring out.
A loudspeaker blared. “Cease and desist. We will use deadly force.”
Dan was in a crumpled heap, and Laura couldn’t keep her footing with the constant minor earthquakes.
She threw a punch and it was deflected by a flying paving stone.
“You want an avalanche?” Dan said.
And then the earth folded over both of them, like enormous waves, and the entire lot—house and trees and fence and all—sank away down the side of the mountain. Jack jumped back, pulling Aubrey with him, and they watched as the tornado of dirt and wood and stone tumbled to the road below.
Finally it was over, in a monstrous cloud of dust.
Aubrey took Jack by the hand, and they stumbled through the remaining yard next to the sinkhole. They reached the street, and the stunned police officers just stared at them.
“We’d like to turn ourselves in,” Aubrey said.
ALEC SAT IN A MOTEL
room across Sinclair Inlet from the Kitsap Naval Base in Washington, an hour from Seattle. From here, he could see the devastation and the navy’s scrambling efforts to get ships out of the narrow inlet and off to sea.
His team was gone. A suicide mission. It was necessary—and it had been worth it.
Kitsap had the largest fuel depot of any naval base in the country, a series of fifty-three underground storage tanks spread across the facility. Alec’s team couldn’t hit them all, but he could wreak havoc. Now the base was on fire—huge plumes of black smoke curling up into the early morning air. He didn’t know how long it would go. They’d opened valves—destroyed some—and much of the fuel would have to burn off on its own.
Alec was no use to them on this mission. He’d planned it, of course, and he’d even assigned a job to himself—a job that he didn’t bother doing. It was nonessential, and it helped them feel a sense of solidarity to make this one final suicide mission. They were all in this together. They’d all taken their deep breaths, they’d all praised their purpose, and they’d all drunk a small toast in honor of this, their final battle.
They knew what they were getting into. That Alec didn’t die alongside them would never be known to the rest. He was needed for other, bigger things. He didn’t know what yet—he never knew what the ultimate plan was going to be—but he knew the timetable.
And so he watched Kitsap burn. He expected that soon the entire inlet would be evacuated—it amazed him that a military base of such importance could be surrounded by civilian neighborhoods. But he would wait until he was forced to leave, and he would keep a running mental tally of the ships that he saw leaving their docks. Two aircraft carriers. Four submarines. A missile cruiser. Two destroyers. A handful of other ships that he couldn’t identify. Alec would memorize these ships—memorize the numbers emblazoned across their superstructure—and he would report.
He’d meet up with whoever he could contact. He still had a few numbers, even though cell service got worse every day. And he had anonymous email addresses, contacts on the deepnet. He’d tell them what he’d seen, give an accounting of what he’d done, and await orders.
It had all gone amazingly well. Sixty groups of three. One hundred and eighty teenagers. And they’d brought the world’s grandest superpower to its knees in just over a month.
Alec took a drink, pouring himself a glass from the same bottle his comrades had used for their final toast.
He would be a hero.
“SIX DAYS, JACK,” AUBREY SAID
to the wall. “I hope you don’t mind that I’m still talking to you. It helps me stay sane. It’s nice that they don’t drug the water here. At least, I don’t think they do. I feel like I can still turn invisible, if there was a reason to.”
She played with the food on her plate. It was chicken and rice, but didn’t look appetizing.
“Do you think they just put the food from the MRE pouches on a plate? Or does no one in the army know how to cook? Or the navy, or wherever this is. I think it’s the navy.”
They’d been taken in the back of the armored personnel carrier, with new detonators coded for their ankle bombs. Where they’d gone from there was anyone’s guess. It hadn’t been a very long drive, but the vehicle had been in a warehouse when it opened to let them out. They hadn’t gotten any sunlight.
That had been the last time they’d held hands.
“You know what I wish, Jack?” she said, leaning back on her bed and staring at the plain white ceiling. “I wish that I’d said yes. When you asked me to the dance last year. I wish we’d gone, and I wish you’d worn jeans and I’d worn that awful flower-print dress I always wear to church. I should have said yes. I’m sorry.”
She put the cover back on her food so she wouldn’t have to smell it.
“I wouldn’t mind having worn some of that Flowerbomb stuff, though. It’s really grown on me.”
The deadbolt unlocked, and she shot upright. No one had been in the room for six days, not since she’d explained everything that happened—every detail in Seattle and San Francisco and Point Loma. No more lies. Let the chips fall where they may.
With a squeal, the heavy metal door opened, and a soldier stood looking at her.
“Aubrey Parsons?”
“Yeah?”
“Your presence has been requested in the briefing room.”
She followed the soldier down a long corridor. Two others walked behind them.
The soldier turned the corner and pushed a door open for her to go through.
Jack was in there, his head sporting a newer, smaller bandage. He smiled at her and waved from his desk.
“Hey,” she said as she came up and sat next to him. “I hope you got my messages.”
“I didn’t want to eavesdrop,” he said with a grin, “but I would totally go to prom with you.”
She reached across the gap between their desks and took his hand. His skin was cold and dry and comfortable.
Aubrey didn’t know what was going to happen anymore. She didn’t know if they were going to be kicked out of the army, or court-martialed, or put in lockdown back at Dugway. But at least they were together for now.
The door opened again, and a bald man in full dress uniform entered. He sat on the edge of the table at the head of the room, and set down a small stack of folders.
“Let’s cut to the chase,” he said. “Your information has proven very useful. While we have yet to apprehend Alec Moore, we have managed to shut down the website he’s been using to communicate to the various terrorist cells.
“It has also been determined you should be exonerated for the tragic events that took place in Seattle. While we do not have a solid confirmation, we actually believe that the order to terminate you came from a . . . compromised individual.”
Jack raised his hand. “What does that mean? A gun to his head?”
“In a sense. Alec Moore, we’ve gathered, has some form of mind control. We don’t know the details. He’s used this many times to get past guards, to convince people he’s on their side, or even that he’s their superior. Ms. Parsons, I believe he convinced you that you were in school together.”
She nodded, embarrassed that she’d fallen for it.
“We believe that it was either him on the radio giving the order, or it was someone he had influenced. Either way, he is conclusively linked to the terror cell that destroyed the Space Needle.”
Aubrey spoke, her voice quiet. “Does that mean that we’re free to go?”
The colonel sighed. “I wish I could say that the answer was yes. The terror cells are now disorganized and making mistakes, and our boys are ferreting them out—with the continued help of Lambdas like yourselves. This phase of the war is coming to a close.”
Aubrey looked at Jack. He spoke first. “This phase.”
“I’m afraid to report that this has all been a prelude. The terrorists stretched our forces thin, destroyed our infrastructure and our ability and will to fight. And, as of this morning, Russia has invaded Alaska.”
AS ALWAYS, THIS BOOK WAS
written due to the long suffering and patience of my wife and best friend, Erin. She’s stood by my side through every hardship and been the anchor I hold on to when things are tough. And she’s believed in me and my dream of writing perhaps even more than I have—always pushing me to keep going, keep working, keep writing.
I also owe a huge debt of gratitude to my writing group: Sarah Eden, Michele Holmes, Annette Lyon, Heather Moore, J. Scott Savage, and Lu Ann Staheli. They read versions of this book when it was middle grade, when it was YA, when it was first person, when it was third person, and when it was generally terrible. I think they read at least five different Chapter Ones for this thing before I got it right.
I need to thank Gary Hansen for his book
Wet Desert
, which I used as a reference when I was blowing up the Glen Canyon Dam. I also want to thank Larry Correia and Sergeant First Class Ethan Skarstedt of BSC 1/19th SFG(A), who both gave me invaluable advice about the military aspects of the book. If there are any errors (as there likely will be), I take full responsibility. And many huge thanks to Katherine Applegarth and the people of Mount Pleasant, Utah, who helped so much in setting the groundwork for my characters.
I have a troop of amazing beta readers who gave incredible advice: Krista Jensen; Stephanie, Amy, and Shauna Black; Ally Condie; Patty Wells; Jenny Moore; Nancy Allen; and Josi Kilpack.
And I would be nowhere without the ridiculously talented people at Harper. I probably only know a tenth of the names of the fantastic professionals who made this book what it is, but major props to Christina, Tyler, Casey, Patty, and of course Erica Sussman, my editor. And a big special thanks to Erin Fitzsimmons, who designed this awesome cover. You guys rock!
And none of this would exist if it weren’t for the world’s greatest agent, Sara Crowe. Without her, I’d be back in my old real-world job, sitting in conference rooms and using the word “webinar” all the time.