State of Emergency: Jack Emery 2 (7 page)

Hall smiled like a hyena. “That’s exactly what I had in mind. The great thing about the executive orders is the level of autonomy they allow us to get the things that need doing done. I’m always available for a call if you have new ideas on how we can achieve this. Now, come with me.”

She stood and followed Hall out. Promotion had been the last thing she’d thought about when she’d walked into the meeting room. She knew about the distribution center attack, but it was the latest attack among many. It seemed strange that the Administrator of FEMA would take such exception to this one that he’d promote her in its wake.

Once outside the meeting room, she saw the entire staff gathered. Murray Devereaux gave her the thumbs-up as Hall gestured for her to stand alongside him. Mariposa kept her head down as the conversation buzzed. A hundred whispers with a thousand different theories swirled around the room, but to most it would be obvious – Benning was gone and Mariposa was standing next to Hall.

“The incident at Distribution Center Echo was unforgiveable.” Hall spoke over the chatter, which died down. “While we can’t completely prevent these terrorist attacks, at least not yet, nor tie down our bases so tightly that they’re impregnable, a mistake by this office contributed to the death of seventeen of our people.”

Mariposa noticed the shuffling of bodies and the sideways glances. It wasn’t every day an organization head was quite so blunt. Richard Hall was clearly not a man who suffered failure. He was a legend within FEMA, so he’d earned that right. It made her dread the idea that the buck now stopped with her. If a firecracker went off it would be her fault.

Hall shifted on the balls of his feet. “We now don’t have critical supplies for half the Area. Your colleague, Mariposa Esposito, has performed admirably in her duties in securing the downtown area of Chicago over the past few months. By all reports, there have been few issues with the administration of her area of responsibility.

“This is no small feat, given the potential for conflict in dense urban environments – as we’ve seen in Salt Lake City and other places. As a result, after Alan Benning’s resignation, I’m promoting her to leadership of FEMA Area V. I expect her to bring the same level of professionalism, diligence and results to her new role.”

There was a buzz from among the staff, until Murray guffawed. “Go on, don’t keep the boss waiting.”

Mariposa shook her head and stood slightly taller. “I’d like to thank the administrator for the faith placed in me. While the incident at the distribution center was terrible, it’s a blemish on an otherwise faultless performance by our office. I strongly believe we can get back on track.”

She paused. This was her opportunity to speak out, to tell the administrator in front of a large number of their colleagues of the wrongs being done in his name. That the restrictions, the violence and the oppression were just making things worse and that they were lucky there hadn’t been worse incidents. That the changes taking place in America weren’t ones that she wanted for her son, terrorism or not.

She didn’t get the chance, as Hall started to speak again. “I’d like to thank Mariposa for agreeing to take on this responsibility. It won’t be easy, but with such a fantastic team around her, I’ve no doubt you’ll get the results that are needed. The way we stop these attacks and restore order is through doing our jobs well.

“I’m spending the next few weeks traveling around the country, to oversee the response to problems in many of our areas. While, by and large, the entire organization has done a great job in securing America, there have been patches of bad performance. I intend to rectify these. Personally.”

If Hall’s ruthless treatment of Benning were any sign, then whoever was causing Hall problems would be best to quit before he arrived. He’d taken over a shattered organization and within a decade was leading the response to the largest wave of terrorism in US history. To Mariposa, he didn’t seem to be the kind of man who let a problem go unsolved, but more the kind who’d beat one into submission.

***

Jack widened his eyes and blinked a few times, trying to will away the tiredness that threatened to make him a car accident statistic. He’d never realized how dull driving on straight, empty roads at night could be. He’d been going the same speed in the same direction with nothing but the reflector strips on the road for company for hours now. He couldn’t even play the radio or wind down the window, lest he wake up his passenger.

Elena Winston was curled up in a ball on the seat beside him. He admired her ability to sleep in a moving vehicle. He remembered such effortless sleep – these days, his sleep was interspersed with nightmares about Erin, his torture at the hands of the Chinese or the other pain inflicted upon him by Michelle Dominique. Yet Elena seemed undisturbed by the world or her mind. He sighed and drummed softly on the steering wheel.

They’d left Chicago just prior to the city being locked down for the evening curfew. Elena had arrived at his hotel with mixed news: Guerrilla Radio had broadcast Ortiz’s information successfully, but because of Jack’s earlier attempts to disseminate the report it was important that he leave town. She’d offered him a car and now, less than twelve hours after meeting her, he was leaving Chicago with her, bound for New York.

One of the things FEMA had outlawed but couldn’t really police was travel on interstate roads at night – America had too many roads for that. It was a risk, but they were trying to get the hell out of Dodge before some flunky figured out that Jack was behind Guerilla Radio’s story about the nascent resistance. He cursed himself again for trying to post the story. While he wasn’t safe anywhere, he would be safer elsewhere.

He failed to completely stifle a yawn as a truck approached from the other direction. The amount of light that filled the car increased until, right at the point of passing, the inside of Elena’s Chevy was lit up like day. It turned out Elena was human after all, as she stirred and sat up beside him. The darkness enveloped them again, but she was already awake. She sucked in a deep breath and scratched her head for a moment.

“Welcome back.”

“Did I fall asleep?” She ran her hands over her face.

He laughed. “The minute we left the city.”

She pulled down the visor, which had a small light and a mirror. “Sorry. Tired.”

He cast a glance sideways and smiled at the hair matted to her face. “Classy.”

“That’s me.” She fixed her hair.

“Tell me how you got that story out.”

She looked at him as if she were summing up whether she could trust him or not and then shrugged. “Easy. We release everything we gather and can verify through all of our channels: shortwave radio, the Darknet, underground lectures. Even printed pamphlets, in some places where it makes sense.”

“Why not just use the Darknet exclusively?”

“Could do, but there’s not enough people using it. We need a mass movement of organized resistance. What we’re trying is nothing that hasn’t been done before when the shadow of totalitarianism casts itself over society. We have to try. Our reach is modest, but growing. Thanks to people like you.”

Jack let that one go. He still wasn’t entirely comfortable with helping Elena. If he’d been thinking straight, the issues he’d had while trying to disseminate Ortiz’s information and the danger Elena had put him in by broadcasting it herself would have sent him running in the other direction. Instead, here he was, digging himself deeper. But at least he was asking questions. He didn’t get a chance to probe her further, because her phone started to ring.

“It’s my fiancé.” The pride in her voice was palpable as she looked down at the screen. “Do you mind?”

Jack smiled and shook his head, but struggled to suppress the darkness that rose from the pit of his stomach. Losing Erin still hurt, though less these days. Despite her cheating and the distance between them in the final months of her life, he still felt like he’d been robbed of something. He didn’t begrudge anyone their happiness, he just found it hard not to think of what he’d lost.

She answered the phone. “Hey, babe, how’re you?”

Jack listened to the conversation, though he tried not to. She sounded so in love, so committed to the man on the other end. Yet she also seemed to have another passion – reporting against the menace that was creeping across America and recruiting others to do so. He admired her resolve. He’d felt the same once, a passion for both his wife and for fighting injustice. He wasn’t sure he still had it in him, but he liked to see it in others.

Finally she hung up and turned to him with a smile. “Sorry, hope I wasn’t too soppy. It’s been a while since we’ve seen each other.”

Jack smiled slightly and turned his head to glance at her. “It’s fine. What’s his name? What does he do?”

“Brad.” She beamed. “He works deep in the physics dungeons at UCal Berkley. I don’t really understand what he does, but he’s a great guy.”

“Sounds wonderful.” Jack turned his eyes back to the road.

“He’s the only reason I hesitate to do what we’re doing.” She sighed.

“What do you mean?”

She laughed softly. “If we make a mistake and we’re exposed, they’ll go after us hard. Is there anyone they can use to get to you?”

Jack thought about it, and conceded that Elena was probably right. FEMA were clearly growing restless and intervening into American society with an increasing vigor. So far journalists had been some of the worse treated, and growing dissent increased not only the risk for the journalist but also their loved ones. Guerilla Radio and the fledgling resistance were the very definition of such dissent.

“No, my wife died last year.” Jack thought of Erin again, then his mind flicked to Celeste. Did she count? He wasn’t sure.

“That doesn’t protect you. All it will take is one mistake and you’ll be exposed. It nearly happened in Chicago. If you’re joining us, think hard.”

He considered her words. His entire family was in Australia – out of reach. The majority of his friends were journalists and, while he had feelings for Celeste, he wasn’t sure what to call whatever they had. Regardless, if his friends were keeping their heads down, they’d be completely fine. If not, he couldn’t help them anyway. But he had no way of knowing if they were wrapped up in all of this. No phone call was safe from interception.

“If you’re in,
really
in, I’ll need your help in New York. We need people we can trust. Hickens trusts you, so you’re in.”

“I’ve committed to going as far as New York. I need to think about anything more than that.”

A few seconds passed in awkward silence before Elena turned to him. “We’ve got a few stops to make along the way.”

“Don’t trust me enough to tell me where?”

She laughed. “You’ve got plenty of time to make the right decision.”

Jack kept his eyes closed as his ears strained to confirm what he’d heard. He knew the sound of light machine-gun fire like he knew the bottom of a whisky glass. He looked at the alarm clock beside his bed. It was early and they’d arrived in Indianapolis late. Despite wanting nothing more than to go back to sleep, he lay awake for a few minutes, waiting for the sound, until he chuckled and decided he was crazy. Then, just as he was about to try to go back to sleep, he heard it again.

He kicked off the covers, climbed out of the bed and pulled on his jeans and a T-shirt. He was staying with Elena in an apartment that apparently belonged to her mother, but Jack was skeptical. He didn’t know too many people who kept a fully furnished but otherwise vacant apartment just in case their visiting children needed it. He hadn’t argued though – they couldn’t stay in a hotel and it sure beat curling up in a Chevy.

He rushed to the master bedroom and shook her firmly. “Elena. Wake up. We need to get moving.”

She mumbled something that rhymed with duck.

He shook her again and then turned on the lamp. “Come on, there’s fighting in the streets.”

“I know.” She groaned loudly as she squinted against the light. “A bit early, but yeah. I know. It’ll be fine.”

He stared at her, waiting for an explanation. None was forthcoming. His synapses were firing on all cylinders, sending a million thoughts rushing through his head. Every single one of them was telling him that he’d been played. He just wasn’t sure why. She’d brought him here deliberately and had known there would be conflict. He wasn’t sure what she was playing at.

“Elena?” He sat on the edge of her bed. “I’ve come a long fucking way to be kept in the dark.”

“It’s not dark. You made sure of that.” She snorted. “Spare me. If I hadn’t pulled you out of Chicago you’d be in prison right now, or worse.”

Furious, he grabbed the covers and pulled as hard as he could. If he’d have thought about it before acting, he’d have considered the possibility of her not wearing very much under them. As it was, he saw plenty of her in her underwear. His cheeks flushed and his anger subsided nearly instantly. She ripped at the covers in his hands, pure rage burning in her eyes.

“What the fuck? Why are you being an asshole?” Her voice was vicious. “No wonder you got a divorce.”

He didn’t rise to her bait. “I know machine-gun fire. By my figuring, we should be leaving here right now, in the complete opposite direction.”

“No can do.” She exhaled long and hard, apparently letting some of her fury subside with it. “I told you we were stopping a few places along the way.”

“Why?”

“We’ve got work to do, though it’s a few hours sooner than I’d expected. You should have caught some zees while you had the chance. Turn around.”

He turned around and felt movement behind him as she got out of bed. She stood and moved past him, and he shifted his gaze away from her as she gathered up her clothes and started to dress. He’d had more than an eyeful of her, and despite the gravity of the situation and his anger, he felt it was polite to give her at least some privacy.

“We’re here to cover the first strike of the resistance. The gunfire is a couple of brigades of the 38th Infantry Division. This is where we start to take the country back.”

“You’re joking.”

“Afraid not. It’s happening. There’ll be tanks in the streets soon. The underground media and a handful of southern militia aren’t really enough to overcome all of this, Jack. We need some big guns. This is the birth of the resistance. The 38th is taking back their city.” She paused and gave a long sigh. “Come on, you didn’t really think we were just going to New York to have a chat?”

He turned around. She’d put on the same clothes as the day before. “Well, the thought did cross my mind. The State Guard in town—”

“Will surrender.” She sat on the edge of the bed and started to slide on her shoes. “They’re weekend warriors.

“And if they don’t?”

“Why wouldn’t they? They’re all puffed up and tough in their black Humvees, but nothing against real army.”

“You’re mad.”

“Maybe, but it doesn’t matter. It’s happening, we’re just here to report it. If it works, and we can get the message out, the whole country will know. Come on.”

Without waiting for him to follow, she grabbed her backpack and walked to the front door. He sighed, returned to his own room and grabbed his bag. Postings in a lot of dangerous places had taught him to be ready to go with all possessions of importance at a moment’s notice, but he’d never had to, not even in Afghanistan or Syria. He ran out the door and followed her down the hall.

“Keep up!”

“Where the fuck are we going, Elena? New York, I hope.”

“Sure.” She bolted down the staircase, taking them two at a time. “Eventually.”

They burst onto the street through the fire door. The alleyway seemed quiet enough and Jack decided it was time to steal back some of the initiative from her. He rushed to the end of the alleyway, stopping at the brick wall with Elena only a step behind. He held his breath and peered around the corner. His eyes widened. There was something large and squat and tan that made for a very bad day.

“Um, we might want to go back.”

“Why?” Elena grabbed his shoulder and started to edge around.

“We both must have slept through the tank rolling into the park!”

“Well, they’re ahead of schedule. This is perfect!”

He shook his head, exasperated. As he watched, the tank’s turret rotated, but because of the darkness he couldn’t see what it was targeting. Less than a second after its cannon boomed, a fireball roared into the air off into the distance. He hid back behind the corner and was horrified to see Elena, phone in hand, filming the whole lot. He glared at her, not quite believing it.

“What?” She spoke without turning around to look at him as she kept filming. “Don’t stare.”

“What’re you doing?”

“My job.”

He took a few steps back into the alley. “Remind me again why I’m hiding in the middle of fucking nowhere while tanks roll through the streets?”

She kept filming, but turned and flashed him a smile. “Because you’re turned on by adventure?”

“I had plenty of that in Afghanistan…and China…and Syria. I never thought I’d get another dose in downtown Indianapolis!”

When he’d left Syria, Jack had thought he’d seen the last of his time as a conflict reporter. The siege of Homs had been brutal and it had taken a great toll on him, to see both the Syrian government of Bashar Al-Assad and the rebels who opposed him fight with such blatant disregard for civilians. They’d ground whole cities to dust between them. He wondered if the same thing would happen here.

The boom of the tank’s cannon drowned out Elena’s reply, but he saw her visibly tense.

“What?” He heard a gun shot from nearby, then another.

“The turret’s turning.”

Jack pushed her deeper into the alley, then looked back around the corner. The tank’s cannon was pointed at the building they were hiding behind. From above them came small arms fire, which was being returned by infantry beyond the tank. They were in the middle of a warzone. He started walking away and then turned back to her. She was rooted to the spot.

“Elena, we need to move—”

“I was told we’d be safe here.”

“Guess not.” Jack glanced back around the corner. The tank turret was now pointed at the base of the building. “
Fuck!
We have to move,
now
!”

He grabbed her hand and broke into a run. He pulled her down the alleyway as fast as he could, but they hadn’t made it to the far end when the deafening roar from the Abrams’ cannon sounded. The building shook with the impact and he heard the front of the building start to collapse. In the aftermath, he heard the tank’s engine rev and the grinding sound of its treads as it moved.

“Come on. This is getting nasty.” He increased the pace, away from the tank and deeper into the city.

Elena jogged behind him. “Jack, I’m sorry. I was told—”

“I get it. Apologize later, we need to focus on getting out of this alive.”

***

The noise of the machines filled Callum’s ears. His mind was foggy as he tried to open his eyes. Achieving that one thing consumed him.

Beep…Beep…

He managed to flick them open briefly but, unprepared for the assault of the light, he closed them again.

Beep…Beep…

Eventually he managed to keep them open if he squinted. The ceiling was white with harsh fluorescents.

Beep…Beep…

He had no idea where he was. The only clues were the noises of the machine and the white lights.  

Beep…Beep…

The last thing he could remember was being shot several times at the distribution center and hitting the ground. His friends had been shot, too.

Beep…Beep…

He lifted his right arm off the bed about an inch, though it felt like he was trying to powerlift 400 lbs. He shifted his head a little. IV drips were hooked to him.

Beep…Beep…

His mind slowly started to unfog. He could barely shuffle an inch to the right, but he did manage to turn his head sideways.

Beep…Beep…

He wasn’t sure there were plastic pink drink bottles in the afterlife. Suddenly, getting hold of the bottle from the side table was the only thing he wanted.

Beep…Be―

“Ah, you’re finally awake. Good. Good.” A nurse appeared in his vision then leaned in with a soft smile.

He tried to speak but didn’t recognize his voice. He closed his eyes again and then felt something press against his lips, something moist. Water dribbled into his mouth. It was the best thing he’d ever tasted. He sucked at it fiercely and then coughed heavily as he tried to swallow too much. His eyes felt heavy. He tried to keep them open.

When he woke, some time later, smiling down at him was another nurse with a kind smile. He tried to speak. “Where am—”

“Mr Watkins, you’re okay. You’re at Mount Sinai Hospital. You’re safe and you’re going to be okay. The doctor will be around to see you soon.”

Callum tried to speak again but she shushed him. She stayed with him for a few minutes, while the cloudy haze of the medication lifted, then left Callum to his thoughts. He began to slowly piece everything together, though it seemed harder than it should have been. He was alive. Somehow. He’d been wounded, but he’d woken up. His team had been shot to hell.

Callum’s eyes flew open. Someone was touching his shoulder and shaking him slightly. He must have dozed off again. This time, he managed to keep his eyes open fully, though his head still felt heavy. A doctor in a white coat stared down at him, but lacked the same cheer the nurses had offered. He picked up Callum’s chart and studied it.

“How’s it looking, doc?” Callum had one million questions, but started with the most obvious.

“It’ll take a few more hours for the sedatives to clear your system entirely.” The doctor didn’t look up from the chart. “Your vitals are good. You’ll be fine. You’re lucky.”

“What happened to me?”

“That I don’t know.” The doctor paused and looked up. “You came in with three bullet wounds. We asked what happened and got told not to. We patched you up.”

The answer was thoroughly unsatisfying, but it wasn’t the doctor’s fault. “Am I going to be alright?”

The doctor shrugged. “You’ll be weak for a bit. You took one in the foot, one in the shoulder and a third in the chest, but it bounced off a rib. You'll have some rehab.”

“How long until I’m out of here?”

“It’ll take time.” The doctor looked back down at the chart. “A week, if we have our way, sooner if the gentleman outside has his. I’ll leave you to it.”

“What do you mean?”

“There are some journalists who want to speak to you.” The doctor smiled sympathetically. “I refused on your behalf, but you’ve got a friend out there who’s insisted.”

“You can’t make him go away?”

The doctor laughed. “Like the rest of us these days, I serve at the pleasure of FEMA. You’ll have to excuse me.”

Callum tried to say more, to ask more questions, but the doctor didn’t respond and left the room. It was only a few seconds before the door slid open again, admitting an impeccably dressed man in a business suit. He wore glasses and had slightly longer hair than would have been allowed in the military. Bureaucrat, the sort Callum hated.

“Glad you’re awake, Callum.” The man approached the bed with a slimy smile. “I’m Tim Dobbins.”

“Can you tell me what happened at the distribution center?”

“I sure can, but there’s more to—”

“I’m not discussing anything until I know what happened to the rest of my unit.” Callum turned his head away from the bureaucrat.

Dobbins sighed. “Fine. Everyone in Mobile Three was KIA. Same story for Mobile Four except for you and Todd Bowles, but—”

“Wait a second, Todd is alive?”

Dobbins shook his head slightly. “No, he didn’t make it. You very nearly joined him, but your injuries were less critical. You’re a lucky man, Sergeant.”

“So people keep telling me.”

“When our reinforcements arrived they secured the scene and aided the casualties. You were evacuated, but things got a bit hairy after that. The center was blown sky high. Timed explosives. It killed more and has disrupted our supply chain massively.”

Callum didn’t care about toilet paper and razor blades. Or even about the other dead, if he was being honest. He turned his head away from Dobbins, to hide the tear that streaked down his face. Though he wasn’t so clichéd to say he’d rather be dead, he’d known Bowles and Pettine for a long time. He struggled to understand how he could be alive.