State of Emergency: Jack Emery 2 (4 page)

Jack hefted the duffel bag over his shoulder, confused by Mo’s words, and crossed the sidewalk to the hotel entrance. Once inside he slowed and then stopped entirely. A uniformed Illinois State Guardsman stood in the foyer sporting a bored expression. He didn’t even look at Jack when he entered. Jack swallowed hard and approached the reception desk, behind which sat a cute brunette he knew well.

“How’s it going, Maggie?” Jack rummaged around in his pocket. He pulled out a cigarette lighter and placed it on the counter. “I got you that lighter.”

“Oh, thanks! I didn’t think you’d remember.” Her eyes lit up. “Did you have a good time in Vegas?”

“It was great until the Hoover Dam got attacked.” Jack pulled out his wallet and extracted his credit card.

“Yeah, isn’t it terrible? Those poor people.” Her expression darkened. “I’ve organized your normal room, but I’m going to need to register you.”

Jack frowned. “What do you mean?”

She jerked her head toward the guardsman and then lifted a piece of paper. “New rules. Everyone on this list has to go through enhanced check-in. You’re on the list. I’m sorry.”

Jack looked at the list. It contained names, occupations and contact details. He laughed at the simplicity of it all. On the back of the huge data trawl that the National Security Agency had been conducting over the past few decades, FEMA had clearly been able to produce a list of people it was interested in keeping track of. As a prominent journalist, he was a prime target for such treatment, though he did wonder how far the list extended.

“Okay, let’s get on with it.” He gave her a small smile. It wasn’t her fault. “What do I need to do to be able to park my head on the pillow?”

Maggie smiled. “Oh, just the usual. But we’ve also been instructed to take copies of your license and all of your credit cards.”

It took about ten minutes for Jack to fill in the paperwork and hand over every piece of ID he possessed. He shook his head as he took the elevator up – he had a bad feeling about where this was all heading. When society started to muzzle and track journalists, bad things tended to follow. He’d seen it in conflict zones overseas, but he’d never expected to see it in the United States.

Once he reached his room, he tossed the duffel bag onto the bed and pulled out his cell phone. He searched through his contacts until he found the name he was after: Celeste. He stared at it for a few long seconds, not sure that he wanted to make the call, and then pressed the green button. He put the phone to his ear and waited for what seemed like an eternity for her to answer.

“Hi Jack.” Her voice was cold. “I think I hear from my dead grandmother more than you.”

“I deserve that, but it’s good to hear your voice.” During the time he’d spent dealing with Erin’s funeral, setting up the website and working in Syria, they’d barely spoken. He’d hoped she’d understand his need for distance, but clearly she’d taken it personally. He couldn’t blame her. They’d gone through hell together, and as much as he’d needed space, it wasn’t hard to imagine her needing something different. And he’d left her out in the cold.

Her sigh was drawn out. “What do you want, Jack?”

“I’ve just checked into my hotel and it seems there’s a whole lot of shit that comes attached to being a journalist now. I wanted to make sure you’re okay and let you know.”

“It’s happening here too, Jack.” There was a pause. “There’s New York State Guard troops on the streets. They’re at Penn Station, Central Park, Yankee Stadium – you name it.”

So it was happening all over America. It was amazing how quickly the executive orders were being implemented. The announcement had only been made four hours ago but already the troops were in the streets, the monitoring was in place and the tendrils of FEMA were expanding to embrace all of society.

“I reckon they’ve had this drawn up for a while.” He sat on the edge of the bed with a sigh. “It’s low key for the moment – dudes with rifles – but I wonder what comes next.”

“It gets worse, Jack. The
Standard
offices got a visit from some FEMA employees an hour or so ago, explaining our place in the new world order.”

“Oh?” He lay back on the bed, closed his eyes and did his best to imagine that she was in the room with him. He didn’t dare say that though.

“Yeah. They basically told us to continue working, but that all stories must be submitted for approval prior to publication.”

Jack was appalled. “Did Peter go for it?”

“Don’t know. We haven’t got a response from the company yet, but it’s hard to see them resisting.”

Jack couldn’t picture it either – the company was likely to toe the line even with Peter Weston in charge. EMCorp had been through too much in the past few years to put up much of a fight. The company was traumatized and the shareholders were jumpy. Any journalists that strayed from the strict conditions were probably on their own.

“Just keep your head down, Celeste. This is a dangerous situation. Stay out of it.”

“Oh, I plan to.” She laughed softly. “I’ve had my turn at the hero game.”

Jack felt the same way, deep down. A year ago he’d have been outraged by all of this, but he’d rocked the system enough and had the scars to prove it. The trauma both Celeste and Jack had suffered during the war with China and at the hands of Michelle Dominique would be a long time healing. It probably also gave them a free pass to sit out of this battle.

“How are you doing, Celeste?”

“Alright. Busy. You should be here, Jack.”

“I can’t.” He ended the call.

***

Mariposa felt strange, seated on a plastic chair on the grass of a high school football field while, in the bleachers, a few thousand people were gathered for a FEMA briefing about the executive orders. The same briefing was taking place in thousands of locations across the country. They were also being broadcast on television, radio and the internet. She wondered if the other briefings had the same feeling of tension as this one. She could feel the silent fury emanating from the mass of people as a Chicago Police Department lieutenant finished his briefing on the changes to law and order in the city. As he sat, there was silence from the crowd.

Mariposa tapped her lapel microphone to make sure it was on, then stood up and walked around the table. She wanted to project an air of calm and impress on these people that FEMA wasn’t the enemy, talking from behind a desk. Following the police officer who’d laid down the law about curfew and potential punishments was a tough gig, but she needed to show them that FEMA were the guarantors of security, prosperity and order during this extraordinary time. As she moved toward the crowd, the State Guard troops and Chicago PD officers providing security tensed up, apparently uncomfortable with her proximity to the crowd.

She raised her hands, palms up. “Our final briefing concerns the impact on business. In short, we need to balance the maintenance of private enterprise with protecting essential services, social order and consumers. For the vast majority of you this will mean no change. You’ll be able to run your businesses and make a profit.”

She felt like a liar. The changes that had been announced and the restrictions to movement and activity would affect everyone. For most the changes were minimal, except for enhanced security and some restriction on accessing goods and services. But for business, the impact was enormous. Though there was no sense in causing panic before the measures were fully implemented, she was sure there’d be plenty of that anyway.

“However, for the minority of you involved in the production, distribution and retailing of certain goods and for those of you delivering essential services, there will be some changes. For starters, there will be price controls to protect consumers and prevent profiteering, along with random audits to ensure good conduct.”

Her last few words were drowned out entirely as the stands exploded with outrage. She waited patiently, her hands clasped in front of her. The security detail inched forward slightly but kept their cool for the time being, though she noticed a few hands on weapons. The noise from the crowd started to subside after a minute or so, until a grossly obese man in the front of the bleachers got to his feet. His face was flushed red.

She knew what was coming and tried to cut him off. “There’ll be time for questions at the end of the sessions, sir. We’d ask that—”

“Just who the fuck do you think you are, lady?” The man’s voice was like rolling thunder. “This is America. I’ll run my business however I like.”

Mariposa did her best to keep calm, but she was scared. The security detail didn’t reassure her. “I’m here to explain the changes, sir, and—”

He interrupted again. “Explain them, huh? You’re going to cripple my business for no reason. Chicago hasn’t even been attacked!”

Mariposa narrowed her eyes. She’d been briefed on the executive orders along with the rest of FEMA, but hadn’t expected the changes to be so drastic. The outrage in the community was understandable. She felt some of the same reservations as the people in the crowd were expressing, but she trusted Richard Hall to get it right. “Let me be clear—”

Another man stood and interrupted her. “Oh, shove your bureaucratic bullshit, lady.”

Mariposa needed to act. She couldn’t allow this anger to overflow. She turned and looked at the police lieutenant, who gave a slight nod. Without warning, the State Guard troopers and local police stepped forward and raised their weapons. The men who’d been protesting stammered and then stopped speaking entirely. A stunned silence fell over the crowd. Peace at the end of a barrel. It had come to that.

“Let me be clear. These changes have been enacted across America until the attacks stop and order can be restored.” She stepped forward and stopped a few feet away from the bleachers. “You don’t have the ability to opt out. You’ll comply or the police will shutter your business. Resist further and you’ll be locked up.”

She waited. The resistance was still there, but the appearance of guns had pushed it beneath the surface, hidden behind muttered comments and shaking heads. She couldn’t shift the feeling that FEMA was trying to achieve something that was nearly impossible – bringing Americans to heel. But even though she didn’t like it, she knew that it was the only way to stop the attacks.

She took a few steps back and walked toward the table as the roving microphones found the first person wishing to ask a question. An elderly woman stood and started to speak. Mariposa was worried she’d miss the question, given how much her hands were shaking under the table, but she caught the gist of it. As she started to answer, she hoped again that this was all worth it.

She hoped that Richard Hall knew what he was doing.

Callum lifted his canteen to his mouth and drank deeply.

It had been a hell of a couple of days since American life had been turned on its head. For Callum it had been even worse. He’d had to drop his day job for full-time State Guard deployment and had spent the last few days as a glorified security guard as FEMA put the changes in place. Callum had been deployed with a handful of guardsmen to Bartlett, Illinois – a postage stamp–sized town of about 40 000 people.

This took the cake though. He was standing with Mark Pettine and Todd Bowles by their Humvee, carbines at the ready, as the local liquor store opened for the day. A small queue had already formed in front of the store. People must be stocking up, given liquor stores could only open twice per week. But as the queue formed he could feel a strange buzz from the crowd. Tension. Anger.

“This blows, Cal.” Bowles ran a hand through his hair. “Where the fuck else in the world would you need guys with carbines covering a liquor store?”

“Russia?” Callum shrugged. “It’s because they had some trouble here last time they opened. The locals just need to get used to their booze being rationed.”

“At least we didn’t draw duty patrolling the old folks’ home.” Pettine laughed as he leaned against the Humvee.

Callum groaned. Since the FEMA controls had been enacted, it was the medium and small towns of America that had experienced the most trouble. The cities had enough guardsmen and police to keep the peace, but in towns like this there was usually only the cops and, if they were lucky, a small State Guard contingent to keep an eye on everything. It had boiled over on a couple of occasions already.

“Show time.” Pettine stood at his full height, one hand on the barrel of his carbine. “Let’s see how this goes.”

Callum nodded grimly as the door opened and the owner stepped out. They watched in silence as the man explained that, under orders of FEMA, purchase of beer was being restricted to one six-pack and purchase of cigarettes to one packet. Callum winced when he heard that the sale of spirits was being restricted entirely on the weekend. That sure was one way to win hearts and minds.

The collective mood of the crowd seemed to change in seconds. Callum estimated that there were forty people in the line, ready to pounce on the booze for the hour that the shop was open. But as the owner finished speaking the crowd started to get vocal, jeering at the owner and shuffling forward. Callum sighed, walked to the back of the Humvee and opened the trunk. He dug around in the back, found the megaphone and turned it on.  

He winced as the megaphone gave a squeal, then raised it to his mouth. “This is the Illinois State Guard. Stand down immediately.”

His order seemed to have no impact. The crowd surged forward, pelting the shopfront with whatever they had at hand. Then, as if in slow motion, a member of the crowd reached into his jacket and pulled out a small pistol. Callum didn’t have time to raise his own weapon before the gunman fired two shots. He glanced sideways at Bowles and Pettine, who had their carbines up.

“Firearm!” Bowles fired his carbine as the shopkeeper fell. “Put him down!”

The gunman was felled by the rubber rounds fired by his friends. Callum knew that rubber rounds had an equal chance of dispersing the crowd or enraging them further – he’d seen both reactions in Fallujah. As Bowles and Pettine moved forward slowly, Callum reached up to his vest for his radio.

“Command, this is Watkins. We’ve got a riot at our post. Shots fired. Requesting support.”

The response was nearly instant. “Watkins, this is Command. There’s no support nearby.”

Callum couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The command post had oversight of all FEMA operations for miles around and that was the best they could do? He found it nearly as hard to believe as rioting over restricted consumption of beer and smokes. But he had a job to do. He joined Bowles and Pettine and started to move forward, raising his carbine and firing into the crowd.

As he’d feared, the rubber rounds did little to dim the outrage of the crowd. Some people scattered and ran, but others surged towards the liquor store and trampled the body of the owner. The majority of the crowd was now inside the store, taking what they pleased from the shelves and making a mess in the process. But a few had forgotten about the booze and turned on Callum’s squad with firearms visible.

“Stand down!” He hoped the crowd could hear him over the noise. They didn’t stop. “Stand down! Now!”

It didn’t work. This was going to hell quickly and would get worse if his team came under fire. As one member of the crowd raised his weapon, Callum crouched to one knee, aimed at the center of the man’s chest and squeezed the trigger. The man staggered, but he didn’t drop his weapon. Until Callum hit him with two more.

The crowd surged closer, and Callum could feel cold sweat on his back. He fired at another target, a man leaning down to pick up a bottle. Then another, a woman who snarled at them like some sort of horrible dog as she pelted a rock at them. He aimed at her and fired, but his weapon clicked. His carbine was empty.

“I’m out!” Callum looked left to Pettine.

Pettine nodded. “Me too.”

He glanced back to the woman, who was leaning down to pick up the gun the other man had dropped. Callum made his decision. He was out of rubber rounds, and there was only one other way to end the riot. He ejected the magazine and loaded the real thing. As his finger caressed the trigger, he shouted for the woman to stop.

Then Pettine’s carbine barked from right next to him, and the woman dropped to the ground, a small mist of blood escaping her head. The few left in the crowd slackened, as if they couldn’t believe what they’d seen. More shots rang out. Once the rioters realised what was happening, the attack was reversed. They screamed and ran as one.

The others inside the store took a second or two longer to figure it out, but once they did they scrambled to follow the pack, running from the store. Given the blood now flowing onto the road, Callum didn’t much care that a bunch of the looters had cases of beer and bottles of booze tucked under their arms. 

Callum and his team immediately ceased fire, though they held their positions. After a minute, there was nobody in the parking lot except the dead and the wounded, who writhed on the ground in agony. From what he could tell, there were two dead – the shopkeeper and the woman – and six wounded.

It was an enormous toll for a riot at a suburban liquor store. He turned to his team. “Keep the live rounds loaded in case they come back.”

“I think that’s the least of our problems.” Bowles shook his head. “CO is going to freak.”

Callum didn’t want to think about that, though he didn't see any alternative to what they'd done. “We’ll need some cops and ambulances.”

Pettine nodded and then looked down at the corpse of the shop owner. “Poor bastard.”

Bowles glanced inside the shop. “I’ll drink to that.”

***

Mariposa hated the chime, and whoever had designed it. As she stood and stretched her muscles, she questioned the need to have it ring again and again to call staff to a meeting. She thought an email would do the trick just as well, but the hourly five-minute standup staff meetings had become routine since the commencement of the executive orders.

“Come on, Murray.” Mariposa leaned over the cubicle partition, where her colleague was still typing away. “Let’s get this over with.”

He sighed as he stood. “Yeah, my doctor usually says the same about my prostate exam.”

She smiled but didn’t speak as they gathered with about a hundred other staff in the meeting space. Nothing better illustrated the growth in staff numbers at the FEMA Area V Clark Street offices since the attacks and the declaration of the state of emergency. They’d grown from 160 staff to nearly 500, and their office was barely large enough for everyone.

Alan Benning, the new director, held up his hand. “Okay, thanks everyone. I want to keep this one short. You guys know the drill.”

Under the standing agenda, Mariposa was first to report. She cleared her throat. “The city is quiet. There’s only been a few minor reports in the last twenty minutes.”

A few of the others gave small nods or smiles of encouragement. Mariposa and her team had been handed the toughest job of all: coordinating the control orders in the city of Chicago. It had gone fairly smoothly and the systems they’d long had prepared had held up to the real-life test. Chicago was probably safer than ever, given the number of cops and State Guard troops deployed throughout the city. There had been a few scuffles and arrests, but things had settled down.

Once she was finished her report, she listened as the other team managers reported in. There were no major issues. The medium-sized cities and larger towns were less secure but not too bad. Public utilities and transportation were secure and operating. Though the media was fidgety and a few organizations had rebelled, examples had been made of a few high-profile holdouts and most were toeing the line. All in all, the entirety of FEMA Area V was looking okay.

Benning looked toward Murray. “How’s our distribution network looking?”

Murray smiled. “No trouble. The only angst has been around the vice rations.”

Mariposa winced. Lost in the fine detail of the FEMA crackdown had been a strict reduction in the amount of booze and cigarettes people were allowed to buy. She didn’t really see the sense in it. Given people were restricted from going out after midnight, she saw no harm in letting people cool off at home with a bottle. As it was, there were a lot of bored people unable to go out and without much to help them loosen up at home. It was a bad recipe.

“Okay, great.” Benning knocked his hand on the table. “See you all next hour. Until then, let me know if anything comes up.”

Mariposa started to walk away when a junior staffer ran into the middle of the gathering. “Hey! There’s been a shooting in Bartlett. It’s the State Guard.”

Noise erupted in the room. Mariposa looked over at Murray, who gave a shrug and stood in silence. She watched as Benning held his hands up and did his best to be heard. A shooting was a dramatic escalation on their patch of turf and she found herself shaking at the thought. There could just as easily have been a similar incident at one of the community briefings she’d led.

“Everyone calm down.” Benning finally managed to be heard above the noise. “What happened?”

“Some State Guard put down a riot at a liquor store. There’s a few people dead.” The junior looked like he was about to cry. “It’s all over the media, despite the bans.”

Mariposa’s eyes widened. While the media had been told in no uncertain terms what was acceptable to report, the restrictions clearly hadn’t sunk in fully. While other FEMA areas had experienced more trouble than Area V had, as far as she knew this was the first incident anywhere in America in which the authorities had had to put down dissent with lethal force. Mariposa felt a lump rise in her throat. The game had just changed.

“Okay, we’ll need to handle this. You all know the drill.” Benning looked at the manager responsible for media relations. “Get your dogs under control, Jim.”

The team dispersed but Mariposa waited behind, a million thoughts running through her head. Though things had been relatively calm to date, she had no doubt that people were being suppressed, rather than carried along with the changes until the attacks were dealt with. If people were pushed so hard that they resisted and started to die, things had gone too far. She was about to move back to her desk, but found her feet anchored to the floor.

She swallowed and then approached the director. “Alan, do you have a second?”

“Sure.” He gave a weary smile. “What can I do for you?”

She leaned on the edge of the giant table. “I’ve got some concerns, Alan. I think some of the changes we’re trying to force are unnecessary, attacks or not.”

“Come on.” Benning reached up to massage his temples. “I’ve – we’ve got enough going on here without an attack of the morals, don’t we?”

Mariposa wavered. She was not usually the one to speak out, but she felt she had an obligation to voice her concerns. “I don’t agree. If we keep squeezing, there’s going to be more issues that bubble up. I think we need to let things settle, not agitate them even more.”

He sighed. “Things have been going fine here, Mariposa. But don’t assume that’s the case across the whole country. The south is ablaze. Let’s keep our patch quiet.”

“But—”

“No, Mariposa.” Benning’s eyes locked onto hers. “This is above your pay grade. Do your job and leave the rest to me. If you still want it, that is.”

She wanted to fight, but Benning’s threat was clear. She thought of Juan, at home with the sitter she could barely afford despite all the overtime. If nothing else, she had to make sure he was looked after. Others, more important than her, had put the country on this path. Who was she to argue? She sagged. “Okay, Alan.”

He exhaled loudly and his posture softened. “I don’t like running roughshod like this, but we’ve all got jobs to do. Go do yours.”

She nodded and walked toward her desk with her head downcast, all fight gone from inside of her. She was still worried about the direction things were heading in, but felt that she’d pushed her luck about as far as she could with her boss. She sat down in front of her computer and reviewed her emails, which never seemed to cease. After a few emails she glanced at her phone, picked it up and dialed. It rang for a moment before being answered.

She mustered all the authority she could. “I want extra caution by city security forces. I only want live rounds in the hands of the rapid response squads.”