State of Emergency: Jack Emery 2 (6 page)

They were all in good spirits considering the lack of sleep they’d all had. The order had come through that afternoon to redeploy from Bartlett, where Callum had spent three uneventful months since the liquor store shooting. Their new assignment was to guard one of the large FEMA distribution centers. They were nearly there, but it was almost midnight. Callum knew he’d be paying for the lack of a full night’s sleep for days.

The car started to slow. Pettine turned his head. “Hey, Cal, there’s something wrong.”

Callum sat higher, leaned to his left and looked through the windshield. Up ahead the Humvee’s headlights brightened the gatehouse of the distribution facility. It should have been flooded with light, even at this hour, and there should have been a pair of State Guard troops looking to share a joke before they were relieved. Instead, all they saw was a closed chain-link gate and an empty hut with blood sprayed all over the glass.

“Heads up guys, I’m going to call it in.” Callum held his carbine in one hand and reached for the radio with the other. “Command this is Mobile Four.”

There was a brief pause before the radio squawked back. “Go, Four.”

“We’ve reached Distribution Center Echo. The lights are out, nobody’s around and there’s blood. No visible bodies but they can’t be far away. Any info for me?”

“Standby.”

Callum placed the radio handset on the seat beside him and checked his weapon. The carbine was cradled between his legs, barrel facing the floor. Callum ejected then reloaded the magazine and checked the safety. Around him, Bowles and Harrington had their weapons ready, while Pettine had one hand on the wheel and the other on his sidearm. Callum hoped that the troops in the other Humvee were ready as well.

The radio crackled. “Mobile Four, we’ve no reports of power outages at that facility and the guards haven’t reported any problems.”

Callum tensed. “Well, I’m staring at a problem. They haven’t reported anything because they’re most likely all dead.”

“Move in with Mobile Three to investigate. We’re routing Mobile Seven, Mobile Twelve and Air One to you.” The voice on the other end was dispassionate.

“ETA?”

“Unknown. Will advise. The facility is critical. Repeat order: Move in with Mobile Three to investigate.”

Callum nearly managed to mask his fury. Nearly. “We’ll ride into the darkness. See if you can do anything about the power situation?”

“Affirmative, Mobile Four. Command out.”

Callum looked around the vehicle. In the dim interior light he could see enough on the faces of his squad – his friends – to know what they were thinking. None of them had signed on for hot combat or for driving into an ambush, but both seemed on the cards in the next few minutes if whoever had attacked the compound was still around. FEMA taking over had changed everything: they’d gone from being glorified militia to soldiers again, eight men driving into the unknown.

The radio sounded again. “Mobile Four? What’s the play?”

Callum picked up the radio again. “Mobile Three, we've been told to check it out.”

“Affirmative, Four. We’ll follow you in. Stay frosty.”

Callum didn’t bother replying. He returned the radio to its position. “Hit the gas.”

Pettine nodded and the vehicle edged forward, headlights showing the way. Callum turned his head and saw the second Humvee start to move forward as well. Though they provided some protection from small arms fire, he felt very vulnerable. He had two Humvees and eight men to secure an enormous facility against god knew what. He didn’t like the odds.

The chain-link gate buckled then gave way under the pressure of the Humvee’s bullbar. Callum winced at the high-pitched squeal the gate gave as it shifted off its railings, then the loud crash as it crumpled in a useless heap on the ground. If the bad guys didn’t know they were at the base before, they certainly did now. Pettine hit the gas and the Humvee moved inside.

They drove in, overlooked by shipping containers and enveloped by shadows. Callum leaned forward, peering desperately out of the windshield for any sign of activity. A hundred yards inside, they rounded a shallow corner and found themselves in a large, open area used to house trucks. In the middle of the yard lay two State Guard troops in duty fatigues, unmoving on the ground.

“Fucking hell!” Bowles pounded his armrest as the vehicle ground to a halt. “They’re dead, Callum.”

Callum summed up the scene. It wasn’t good. There was no sign of the attackers, even if they were still here, and limitless cover for a concealed foe. He had no tactical advantage and found it hard to believe that command had ordered them in, given the situation, but an order was an order and they had a job to do. He resisted the urge to tell Pettine to turn the Humvee around and get the hell out.

“Callum, we’ve got to pull back.” Pettine’s hands gripped the wheel. “We should wait for some light and some help.”

Callum ignored Harrington’s silent nod. “Our orders are to investigate. More than likely whoever made this mess is long gone. Probably just wanted some alcohol.”

“And managed to take down ten armed guards and the entire base power grid to do so?” Pettine scoffed. “Come on, Cal.”

“I don’t want to hear it.” Callum gripped the door handle of the Humvee. “We need to get out of these tin cans. Let’s go.”

Callum opened the door and climbed out of the vehicle. After a moment all eight Guardsmen stood outside the vehicles, scanning the surroundings. Then he heard a scream, followed by the impact of rounds hitting metal. Though Callum could see muzzle flashes from four different locations, he couldn’t hear the shots being fired. It was as if he and his team were surrounded by phantoms.

He shouted at his team to find cover as he reviewed the situation: his foe had suppressed weapons, good visibility – probably aided by night vision – and excellent firing positions overlooking vulnerable and lightly protected targets. It all added up to a hopeless situation. Callum ducked low and started to move around to the back of the first Humvee, which seemed safe for now.

As he moved, more rounds knocked angry welts into the door he’d been in front of just a moment ago. A few of his men raised their weapons and returned fire in the general direction of the muzzle flashes. As he slid down against the rear of the Humvee, in the dim light provided Callum could see Harrington writhing in pain, Bowles sprawled on the ground and members of Mobile Three similarly placed. Pettine was crawling toward him.

All this carnage, and he hadn’t fired a shot. Callum screamed out for the last man from Mobile Three to hustle, then rose from his haunches and fired his weapon to cover him. It was no good. The man took a round to the head and dropped. Callum cursed, ducked his head around the corner of the Humvee and fired into the darkness. He may as well be firing spitballs at a tank, though, because each round was met with a withering response.

He inched behind the vehicle again. The only consolation was that they didn’t seem to have the vehicle completely surrounded. It might let him hold out for long enough for reinforcements to arrive. But that would just mean another eight dead. He ejected his magazine and replaced it with his only spare. He slammed it home as Pettine slid down alongside him. His face was covered in blood, probably from one of their colleagues.

“You got any spare magazines, Cal?” Pettine’s expression was grim. 

“Nope. Last one.”

Pettine cursed, threw down his carbine and drew his pistol. “Seen Bowles?”

“He’s dead, Mark. We could try to make a run for it?”

Pettine wiped his brow. “You’re kidding. We’re done, my friend. Been nice know—”

Callum ducked down instinctively as rounds pounded the back of the Humvee. The attackers had shifted position. As Pettine gripped his throat, Callum raised his weapon and fired blindly into the night, without even the headlights of the Humvee to guide him. He emptied his magazine then started to draw his pistol, but didn’t get the chance. He screamed in pain as a round hit him in the foot, then another in the chest. He fell backward.

Despite the pain, he could feel the cold concrete against his skin. He tried to move but couldn’t seem to coordinate his limbs. The blackness of the night had left the stars shining brightly. He wondered if he’d follow Pettine, Bowles and the other members of his team toward one of them.

Jack turned his head to check for cars, thinking that if there was something to be said for an authoritarian crackdown, it was improved traffic. He crossed the street, getting ever further away from his hotel room. He’d spent the days since his meeting with Ortiz frustrated. He’d struggled to resist the allure of the information he’d been given – intelligence reports about a few units in the south going rogue, along with some reports about gun-nut militias. Resistance to FEMA control was a good story.

An hour ago, he’d tossed the folder onto the bed and gone for a walk. He’d made several attempts to circumvent the censorship and anonymously post details of the files he’d been given online, but all had failed spectacularly. He didn’t know enough about navigating the darker shadows of the internet to get it out that way, meaning his only choices were to find someone who did or to put his name to the story and submit it for approval.

Jack stopped dead in the middle of the road. There he was again, the man in the green shirt, for the third time in the past half-hour, alongside a less conspicuous and better-dressed female companion. Jack started walking again. Unless the pair was walking as listlessly as he was, there was no explanation that would satisfy him that they weren’t on his tail. Though he hadn’t broadcast the information yet, maybe the authorities had noticed his attempts and put a tail on him.

He began to snake his way through the city randomly: he turned down a street, entered a shop, did a lap then walked out again. No matter what he tried, they followed. He reached up and wiped the sweat that was starting to bead on his forehead, then turned sharply and stared at his pursuers. The man in the green shirt looked away, but Jack locked eyes with the woman. He knew in a second that they were after him. He needed to get somewhere well populated and try to lose them. He turned and made his way to Navy Pier. It was the best he could come up with under pressure.

Jack entered the building, weaving past dawdling children and families. He looked over his shoulder and couldn’t immediately see his pursuers. He tried to lose himself in the food court. Though it was after lunch, there were still enough people milling about to give him a chance. He left the cavernous building next to the
Spirit of Chicago
, a white cruise ship with several rows of windows, then cut left and walked further along the pier. It seemed counterintuitive to corner yourself at the end of a pier when being pursued, but he was counting on that assumption. He smiled with relief.

He walked, slower now, past another pair of cruise ships. He was just starting to think he might have evaded the pair when he looked behind him and saw that horrible green shirt. Jack turned, his anger building up like a tempest. Though the shirt was terrible, the man inside it was a good size. Jack could see no sign of a weapon, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t one. Even if he was unarmed, Jack doubted he could take the guy. His only chance was escape.

Jack looked around frantically and eyed a tour boat about to depart. He started to walk toward it when the woman stepped into his path. She wore a serious look and had a hand inside her purse. He guessed she had a weapon, but hadn’t produced it because there were kids about.

Jack sighed and held up both hands. “I don’t want any trouble and I don’t want to scare the children. Let’s take it easy.”

The pair looked at each other, then the man in the green shirt smiled slightly as he spoke. “I don’t know what you think is happening here, Jack, but that’s not it.”

“Well, if it’s all the same to you guys, I’m going to get out of here. I’ve had quite enough of spy versus spy.” He started to walk away but the man reached out and grabbed him by the wrist. Jack didn’t hesitate. He caught the man’s hand and stepped into the hold, twisting behind him and yanking the man’s arm up. 

Jack was about to ease off, his warning heeded, when the woman had stepped forward and held a flick knife at his throat. “Let go of him.”

Jack’s eyes widened and he eased off on the pressure slightly. “Get that away or I’m going to break his arm.”

“That’s worth a slit throat.” Her voice was deadpan and her emerald eyes flashed naked fury. “Let go of him.”

“If you think you intimidate me, you’re sorely mistaken.” Jack twisted a little harder, causing lime green to inhale sharply. “Tell me why I shouldn’t break his arm.”

She took a deep breath, but the knife didn’t move an inch. “I can’t tell you who we are, not yet, but you need to trust us.”

“No, I really don’t.” Jack applied slightly more pressure.

The man gave a yelp and spoke through gritted teeth. “We’re from Guerrilla Radio.”

Jack laughed, but he did relax the pressure slightly. Amateurs. “From where?”

“Guerrilla Radio. We’re part of the resistance that’s forming. We’re trying to get the word out, report the truth and support others opposed to FEMA control.”

“Using
actual
radios?” Jack released the man’s arm. “What sort of name is Guerrilla Radio, anyway? Been listening to a bit too much Rage Against The Machine, guys?”

“We can’t tell you much just yet.” The woman glared as she lowered her knife. “But it’s just a name. We’re—”

“Forget it.” Jack held up his hands. “I don’t care. I shouldn’t have asked. Just leave me alone.”

The man rubbed his arm. “We saw your report from the Hoover Dam. It must have raised questions.”

“We need help.” The woman had a hint of desperation in her voice. Jack couldn’t figure out her angle. “We need
you
, Jack.”

He ignored them, turning away. The last thing he wanted was to be involved in trying to topple the authorities. Battling Michelle Dominique and the Foundation for a New America had nearly cost him his life –
had
cost the lives of some dear to him. He was uneasy about the control being exercised by FEMA, but he was still a far cry from getting involved in a two-bit resistance movement.

“We’ve got your friend Simon Hickens helping us.” The woman’s voice called from behind him, tempting. “He said you’re not the sort to walk away.”

Jack stopped dead and closed his eyes. First Ortiz now Simon Hickens. She might be lying, but if he was involved it changed things. “Why me?”

Lime green spoke this time. “We admire your work. You need an outlet, we need another reporter. We don’t know everything but we know some, and it’s critical we find out more. People have started to die. The attacks are just the start. FEMA has started to flex its muscles and enjoys the President’s unqualified support.”

The woman gave a cheeky smile. “You’re too much of a newsman to walk away. I’m Elena Winston. This is Matt Barker. Let’s get a beer and you can hear us out.”

Jack stood for a long few moments. Every ounce of good sense told him to walk away, but his feet remained rooted in place. Barker had a genuine smile on his face, despite his terrible taste in shirts. Winston intrigued him more. She had a fierceness about her and her name was familiar for some reason, though he couldn’t place it.

He turned to her. “I know your name. Where are you from?”

“I was a White House Press Corps reporter for the
Tribune
, but I quit the moment the paper agreed that all stories would go through the FEMA censor.”

Jack nodded. At least she was a journalist. “Fine. A beer. And you’re paying. And you’re also going to use your networks to distribute some info I’m sitting on.”

***

Mariposa nursed her coffee mug with both hands, glad for its warmth and the fact that, with her hands occupied, she was less likely to fidget. Across the table from her sat Alan Benning, eyes glued to his tablet as he swiped and zigged and zagged with his finger, his work never done. They were in one of the few enclosed meeting rooms that had been retained in the cubicle jungle that was the Clark Street home of FEMA Area V Command.

“He’s late.” Benning didn’t look up from his tablet. “His prerogative, I suppose, but hardly the best use of our time, is it?”

Mariposa muttered something to the affirmative. She wasn’t in the business of gossiping about her superiors, especially Richard Hall. He was in town and his assistant had organized a meeting with Benning and herself. Now he was late and Benning was irritated. For her own part, she winced at the thought of how much work was building up while she waited here. It just meant more hours in the office and fewer at home with Juan.

Before she could say anything else, Administrator Hall strode into the meeting room. He was an old and foppish-looking man, but his reputation and the power he now held was undeniable. She stood a moment faster than Benning, who’d been distracted by his tablet. Hall gave them a curt nod and stared for just a moment too long at Benning. As she sat back down, Hall took the vacant seat at the head of the table.

He looked up. “Thanks for meeting with me, both of you.”

“No problem at all, Administrator. Mariposa and I were just discussing how much of a pleasure it is to be able to show you the great work we—”

Hall held up a hand. “This isn’t the time. We’ve got seventeen dead on your watch. I want to know what happened.”

Mariposa was shocked by his bluntness. She looked to Benning, who reached up and stuck a finger between the collar of his shirt and his neck. He pulled, loosening it a bit. It was an obvious gesture, but a mistake. It showed both the administrator and her that he was nervous. Already unimpressed, Hall’s eyes narrowed at the delay, as if he was making an assessment of Benning. If Mariposa was a betting woman, she wouldn’t wager on it being a positive one.

Mariposa spoke first. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding, I look after Chicago. The incident happened—”

Hall glanced at her. “You’re here because I want you here. But first I want to know exactly what happened.”

Benning finally managed to find his words. “Uh, that one was on me, Administrator. We changed the duty rosters but there was an oversight. The distribution center sent half of their security detail on to the new posting at the correct time, but the changeover was very late. By the time help arrived, it was too late.”

“I’m aware of the details, Alan.” Hall’s glare could have obliterated concrete. “I want to know
why
.”

“It’s my fault. I didn’t make sure the order was followed through.” Benning looked down at the table. “It was just a mistake.”

Hall seethed. “A mistake that led to one of my most critical facilities going up like a bonfire? A mistake that left seventeen State Guard men dead and another critical?”

Benning stammered. “Yes, Administrator, but—”

Hall slammed the table. “It’s hard enough for me to keep the country united as we deal with this threat. Mistakes like this sap my ability to do so.”

Mariposa had heard that Richard Hall was a level headed man, but he was showing he had a temper. She couldn’t blame him. State Guard casualties had always been a possibility with an undertaking of this scale, but this was more than that. It was a wipe out of several squads. Hall needed the Guard ready to jump into burning buildings, but already she’d heard whispers about their capacity and new restrictions on their operations.

Benning looked shellshocked. “All I can offer is my apology.”

“No, it’s not.” Hall stared straight at Benning. “I had high hopes for you, but you’ve let me down. You’re resigning, Alan.”

“But—”

“This isn’t a conversation. You’re resigning. Immediately. Get out.”

Benning looked like he might protest, but the administrator’s stare put a halt to that. Benning went pale and gripped his tablet like a life raft, not looking at either of them as he stood and moved to the door. Mariposa started to stand as well, more confused than ever about why she’d been in this meeting, when Hall cleared his throat. She glanced at him and he shook his head slightly. She paused then sat back down and waited.

Hall ran a hand through his hair as Benning left. Once it was just the two of them he spoke. “I’ve heard good things about you.”

“I’m just trying to keep things as stable as possible, despite the restrictions.” Mariposa looked at her hands, then up. “It’s a hard situation for everyone.”

Hall smiled thinly, no hint of teeth. “That it is. I’m appointing you to replace Benning in charge of Area V. I need someone who considers their actions and is thorough.”

Mariposa didn’t know what to say. She squeezed out her words. “Thank you, sir. Alan is a good man, but I won’t let you down.”

Hall sighed, finally seeming to cool down. “We’re stepping up our timetable. Most of the country is now compliant with the orders, but the south is ablaze. A resistance is rising and there’s underground media. The attacks have slowed, but not stopped, and each additional niggle we get makes it harder to achieve our core mission.”

Mariposa nodded, but kept quiet. The rise of a resistance and underground media was not surprising, given the scale of the changes involved. But it was also a set of problems that Hall seemed willing to apply force to to stop. The underground media was probably the more difficult to deal with. They could be anonymous, dispersed and effective. As damaging as poison; as elusive as quicksilver. A problem.

Hall continued. “I was hoping some low level enforcement would be enough to deal with these problems, but they’re growing nonetheless. The President is getting very impatient and I’m going to start leaning harder on my area commanders for results. That includes you from now on.”

“I understand, sir. I’ll do my best.” Mariposa swallowed hard. “We’ve had some success here, but there’s more we could be doing.”