Extinction Level Event (39 page)

McCarthy was at his desk, working the late night
shift checking in on inventory coming from Ohio. Ohio, being an
important source of wheat, corn, and other grain crops, was not a
producer of tropical fruits or vegetable crops. Despite checks
several months ago, and many consultations and advice from
nutritionists, the diet in the rations was heavily skewed in
carbohydrates and grains, with almost no vegetables to match.
Unfortunately, this scheme was based on the availability of the
food material more than on the food pyramid recommended by the
USDA. It was ironic that the agency had managed to fail to follow
its own recommendations, but that was the nature of the situation.
Now, McCarthy was trying to work on deals trying to get farms in
Florida to provide more oranges, bananas, mango, and papaya. The
problem, of course, lay not only in the availability of what was a
quasi-cash crop but also in refrigeration for the fruit as it
travelled from one end of the continent to the other. Quality
transportation was in high demand and low supply.

So far, McCarthy was able pioneer a program adding
dried fruits to the new West Coast diet. This eliminated the need
for having to used refrigerated rail cars to transport the food,
and made the food much lighter and tighter- making it easier to
pack, allowing a more substantial quantity to fit in the space
provided by one boxcar.

In addition to the slow moving rail lines, air
freight had become one of the most important links from the
Midwestern states to the West since the epizootic's outbreak.
Carriers such as DHL and FedEx, as well as a large military fleet
of C-5 Galaxies and Globemasters, were using LAX and SFO as huge
staging areas for delivering supplies. So far, millions of tons of
critical food supplies had been delivered via aircraft. The
additional air traffic led to lengthened delays at all the major
airports and may complaints from airlines and passengers, most of
which were left ignored. There was little anyone could do about it
short of building additional runways.

McCarthy catches a glimpse of a C-17 Globemaster
taking off from LAX as he prints out an inventory. He watches the
blinking red and green lights on the aircraft for a few moments
before resuming work.

Ah, what the heck.
McCarthy gets up from his
chair and stretches, pulling at all the muscles that haven't moved
for the past six hours. Excel documents and pdf. files do get
boring after a while.
Maybe I need more coffee.
McCarthy
walks over the coffee machine on the edge counter and helps himself
to his fourth cup that day.
Ughh.
Leaning himself against
the wall, he stares vacantly at the nighttime blackness dimmed by
the urban glare.

Unexpectedly a huge flash explodes on the horizon. A
Massive orange-yellow ball of light appears in the vicinity of the
airport, dominating over all the other dimmer, steady lights on the
horizon. What looks like a fiery fireball mushroom up into the
night sky, creating a micro sun on the dark horizon.
What the
shit?
McCarthy nearly spills the coffee all over himself.
Is
that an explosion? Oh, God, yes it is. What the hell would explode
like that? Now?
McCarthy slams the coffee cup onto the table,
sending a brown wave flying all over the countertop and floor.
Rushing over to the nearest phone, he dials Ramirez's office
number. The line is already busy. He dials the city central fire
department. "Hello? This is Michael McCarthy of the USDA, Deputy
Relief Coordinator. I've just witnessed a huge explosion near the
airport. I saw a large fireball, it still seems to be burning as
far as I can tell." "We have already been alerted, Mr. McCarthy. We
are sending units as we speak." "Alright. Good." McCarthy hangs up.
The object that exploded had now begun to burn in earnest,
producing a strong orange-yellow glow. McCarthy calls the
Commissioner again, and after getting a busy line again decides to
head down to the police command center himself. McCarthy
practically flies down the several flights of stairs, wondering to
himself how this new incident will play out.

Entering the futuristic war room, McCarthy is
confronted by a scene of seemingly organized chaos. The city Mayor,
red eyed, is standing looking at one of the two main screens, which
show what seems to be a huge oil well ablaze.
What?! Isn't
that?. . .
McCarthy blinks his eyes, connecting the dots as he
figures out he is staring at a picture of one of the airports'
kerosene fuel farms, used to store Jet A kerosene fuel. Ablaze. The
tank is only partially recognizable as a tank, as a gaping hole has
been blown threw the side and top of the structure. The fire,
burning uncontrollably, is recorded from a camera of a police
helicopter circling around the blaze. As he watches, a firefighting
helicopter approaches but slow down, hesitant to approach the
massive inferno. Clearly not interested in getting caught in the
wind tunnel that the blaze is creating, the helicopter sweeps off
to the side and dumps its water load over an adjacent tank also
ablaze, though less severely. McCarthy hears a captain roar to one
of his subordinates some complaint about the helicopter direction
and coverage, wary and suspicious of the possibility that this
incident may also have been started by saboteurs or unknown
malicious elements. The subordinate lieutenant rapid fires the
Captain's instructions over the radio.

Ramirez quickly appears at the Captain's side.
McCarthy hears a few exchanges about "danger" and "wind swirls"
between the two men, and as he watches the screen two fire-trucks
come racing along an adjacent avenue. Like ants, firefighters sweep
out of the vehicles and set up the hoses and waters cannons against
the blaze, now pouring into the night sky reminiscent of a locust
swarm on the plains. Jets of foaming water soon hurl themselves
against the wall of flames now fighting its way towards the
firefighters.

McCarthy hears one Sergeant mutter "this does not
look good" to himself. His co-worker gives him a quick admonishing
glare at the remark. Another line of firetrucks and police cruisers
appear on screen at the site, swarming the area with officers and
firemen.

"Sir, we have something else.", calls out a
lieutenant from the left corner of the command center. The Captain
and Commissioner head over to the corner stations, where the
Detective puts up an camera image from a squad car showing a crowd
of rambunctious people tearing around garbage cans and throwing
what seems to be a homemade grenade at the squad car. The camera
backs away as the car retreats. Ramirez inquires with a one word
questions- "Where?" "Garden Grove Plaza, sir. They are tearing up
the place. A shower of rocks, bottles, and beer cans suddenly comes
towards the camera. The cops on scene, turn the car around quickly
and head in the other direction.

"Get me a street view on CCTV." "Nearest CCTV
coverage is at street junction Lampson Ave and Brookhurst. We won't
be able to monitor from those cameras, sir, unless the crowd moves
that way." "I want a battalion up there at once. Full gear." "Yes,
sir.", answers the Captain. With no visual assessment of the
situation in the city's southern district, the Captain takes over,
directing the deployed riot control squads over the radio.
Incessant radio chatter ensues, McCarthy barely making sense of it
all. Ramirez walks over to McCarthy quietly, asking, "McCarthy.
Aren't you supposed to be going over our logistics?" "Yes. I came
here to warn you about the fuel explosion when I saw it and the
line was busy. Do you want me to leave?" "No. Just stay out of the
way. And, since you're one of the big fishes still around here that
aren't force officers, could you do me a favor and entertain any
media pukes who show up and explain to them that everything is
under control." "I'll do my best." "Good." Ramirez turns back
towards his staff sergeant, just in time to receive another
startling report.

"We have a another situation in La Habra. Two gangs
from the area seem to have picked this time to start a fight. We
have reports of shootings." "Perfect. Just perfect", is the
sarcastic reply. "Sir?" "The district units? What's their
situation?" "Trying to keep clear, sir." "Make sure they do; and
back them up with the 15th and 17th battalions." "On it, sir."

The Sergeant turns to the communications officer,
relaying the Chief's orders. The Officer changes two of the half
dozen screens at his console to project the images from the squad
cars in the field. In addition to several squad cars, two armored
buses full of heavily-armed SWAT are sent over as well.

Meanwhile, the crowd at Garden Grove broke into
several shops, looting valuables and breaking furniture and
merchandise. A police car gets hit by a two molotovs
simultaneously, shattering the windshield and torching the interior
of the cars. The officers jump out in an instant, rolling on the
ground. A wave of uncontrollable and wildness sweeps the assembled
crowd, as they jump around like fleas from one parked car to
another, breaking windows, stealing GPS systems, and causing
general mayhem. It was quickly clear that the situation had turned
from an unruly gathering to an urban riot.

After another ten minutes, the main battalions begin
arriving several blocks from the rioters and dismounting from the
buses. Preparing riot shields and batons, the officers assemble
into a line in preparation to push the chaotic crowds away from the
shops and businesses. Chief Ramirez, observing the various footage
coming in multiple car and personel cameras and video recording
equipment, silently wonders what to make of it all. This unrest was
entirely uncalled for; even though hunger and even malnutrition
were creeping up amongst the city's population, so far the USDA's
efforts at managing the city had not left such a huge percentage of
the people in desperate need. However, it seems that that
assessment must be mistaken, considering the number of people
causing anarchy on the streets.

The Commissioner ponders if this could all be another
ploy by some of the criminal leaders to devote his forces across
the city. With his forces currently dealing with three incidents
simultaneously, perhaps they think that they could strike at
another major target while security forces were unavailable. The
first conceivable target would, of course, be the make-shift
granaries at the airports and rail stations.

Immediately upon suspecting this to be the criminals'
plan, Ramirez quickly orders a flight of helicopters and armored
SWAT cars be prepared for dispatch to those exact locations. "Get
me the National Guard. I want troops protecting granaries and all
key transport hubs-especially LAX and Union Station!" Ramirez is
handed a phone by an aide. "Get me General McSteele on the line. .
. . . Yes, we have two civil disturbances underway right now. We
are dealing with them, but I recommend your troops at our depots be
on high alert; I suspect that the rioters are a diversion. . . Yes,
of course. We are making sure that doesn't happen as we speak. Will
do." The Commissioner puts down the phone, turning back to the
screen.

Out on the street, James Watson, Lieutenant in the
LAPD, knew that this was going to be a long night. Joining the
force in the aftermath of the 1992 riots, the department was more
than happy to accept African-Americans onto the team to increase
its standing within the community. However, those riots were
entirely different from the ones occurring now. The city had often
been associated with crime and unruly elements, both historically
and through negatively based media attention. That image had slowly
been turned around over the years as social problems were slowly
solved and issues settled. The people had been given what they
wanted, be it justice, fairness, or equality. Ahead of him, his
squad had formed a line twenty-four strong and were preparing to
push back the tumultuous waves of ruffians who had seemingly sprung
out of nowhere to wreck havoc on the streets of Los Angeles.

Now, though, a new kind of situation had sprung its
ugly head. When people are deprived of their most basic needs, the
behavior changes all the more for the unpredictable. You never
could know or predict how a deprived person would react, but you
could rest assured that it wasn't going to be pretty. The last
couple of months had brought strange new happenings to the city, as
many people felt left alone and without adequate support by the
government- even though the FEMA authorities were making sure that
every individual was supplied with enough calories for a living.
Criminals had changed trafficking from drugs and weapons to food,
the kind of trafficking that would be found in a third-world
country-but not here in the US.

Watson didn't make much of it all. He simply knew he
had to do his job in order to help maintain what remained of a
semblance to civil order in the metropolis. And that included
dispersing people who were behaving as if the world was ending
tomorrow. . . .

"All right men, you know the drill!" he roars over
the din of burning buildings and mob yelling. "No deadly force!"
The officers start moving forward, riot shields immediately taking
in a barrage of rocks, caps, and a molotov cocktail. The cocktail
fizzles, and then burns, splattering burning gasoline across the
asphalt. Ignoring the hazy smoke, the officers continue, slowly
treading their way over broken glass ,wood, and bits of concrete.
Ash and particulate matter fills the air. Suddenly a group of
twenty odd rioters turns towards the line, charging in fury. Armed
with baseball bats, rocks, liquor bottles, and a shovel the mob
comes swinging the oddball weaponry at the officer line. The two
groups clash. An officer swings with his riot shield, hitting a
rioter across the chess and face. The man falls, dropping a knife.
Another takes a swing with a bat at an officer, impacting the
uniformed man's helmet. The Officer staggers. The officer's
colleague swings back with his baton. Chaos erupts as all-out
fighting erupts. Punches are thrown, kicks, jabs, plastic and glass
shoved into men's faces, abdomens, and other body parts. After a
series of bloody punches, bruises, and full knockouts from wooden
sticks and plexi-glass shields, what is left of the mob crowd
breaks and runs. Another dozen quick-footed backup officers give
chase, roughing down several more rioters to the ground and
hand-cuffing them. The riot line advances, leaving behind three
officers wounded on the road and over two dozen rioters bloodied
and bruised on the pavement. The remainder flee into the night.