Killerwatt (19 page)

Once past Jackson, Rhetta flew up the on-ramp to the
interstate and pushed the Camaro toward Cape.

Woody hadn’t said anything after she told him that
Billy Dan had been shot, probably because she hadn’t given him the chance. She
disconnected after informing him she was on her way. She needed Woody with his
30-06 rifle and his military expert marksman skill. She’d thought about
detouring home and getting some of Randolph’s hunting rifles and shotguns, but
they were locked in the gun safe. She couldn’t remember where Randolph kept the
key. Besides, Woody’s house was closer.

Rhetta was certain that the power substations were
under attack. Likewise, she realized that only she and Randolph understood what
was going on. And Woody. He understood. He was just in denial. They were the
only ones left who’d seen the schematic.
Is that why Randolph was run off
the bridge? Because someone knew he’d seen the schematic?
Only she and
Woody were in a position to do something. Time after time, she tried getting
the law to help her. Law enforcement didn’t believe her. It was up to her and
Woody to get to the substations and stop the terrorists.

With the blackout occurring first in Bollinger
County and now moving to west Cape County, she remembered the list of
substations that she’d memorized. She had to visualize the map, and determine
where the next outage would occur. By her calculation, there were still three
substations left. The one in Glen Allen was out, as was the one on Highway 34
at Center Junction. Just now the one serving Cape Girardeau County and City,
which was the one on County Road 637, had surely gone down.

She and Woody needed to get to the next substation
ahead of whoever was responsible. There were two left. They needed to decide
whether to go to Perry County or to Scott County. Those two substations were at
least fifty miles apart.

There had to be a team of individuals responsible
for the substations going down. How else could that many transformers fail so
quickly? One man or a pair of men couldn’t be traveling to all of them that quickly.
Would she and Woody be too late to save any of the substations?

Had that team originally included Al-Serafi who died
with a schematic in his car? How did he die? And why? So many questions, so
little time.

The FBI had ignored her and Woody, and Sheriff
Dodson today had treated her as if she was on crack. Even so, she decided to
call the FBI again. She reached for her cell phone and punched it the St. Louis
number that she’d memorized. The number rang until it went to voice mail. She
disconnected without leaving a message. Then she tried 9-1-1, hoping to reach
the local police or highway patrol. She wasn’t sure where her cell phone call
would go. She remembered reading somewhere that cell phone 9-1-1 calls were
seldom routed locally.

A dispatcher answered on the fourth ring. “9-1-1.
What is your emergency?”

“Is this the Cape Girardeau police?”

“Yes, ma’am. What is your emergency?” asked the
female dispatcher, her voice harried and clipped.

“Can I speak with Sergeant Risko? It’s about the
power outages. I think I know what’s causing them.”

“Hold please.” Rhetta heard the familiar clicking
sounds indicating that her call was being recorded.

She thought about what she and Woody needed to do.
Her stomach tightened into a knot. Could she get the police to help them? Did
Woody believe that they were under attack? She’d find out soon enough.

A voice came on the line. “What is your name please
and what is it you want to report?”

“I’d like to speak to Sergeant Risko.”

“I’m sorry ma’am, we have no way to reach Sergeant
Risko. This is the 9-1-1 call center. This is Officer Len Brightwell. I can try
and help you. Please state your name.”

“Rhetta McCarter.” She took a deep breath,
frustrated at having to start her story yet again, but plunged forward. “The
power substations are going down because there’s a terrorist plot to take out
the Midwest power grid by damaging the power transformers in each of the
substations.” She waited for him to ask her to elaborate.

Silence.

“Did you hear me?” Rhetta said, her voice rising.

He sighed. “Yes, ma’am. I did.” Then with reluctance
evident in his tone, he continued, “Who did you say is taking out these power
transformers?”

“I didn’t say. I’m not sure who, and I’m not sure
why. What I can tell you, is that there are maybe three substations left, one
south of Marble Hill, one at Flatt Junction in Scott County, and one on County
Road 1458 in Perry County, although I think the one south of Marble Hill is out
by now.”

“All right, ma’am. We’ll look into that. Thank you
for calling.”

The line went dead.

He didn’t believe her. Perhaps if she’d been able to
talk to Risko, he’d have remembered her from interviewing her at Peter LaRose’s
apartment and not dismissed her so quickly.

It was obvious. She’d get no help from the police.

Rhetta badly needed to hear her husband’s voice, to
get his assurance that stopping the cascading power failure was the right thing
to do. Especially, she needed to know that he was all right. She speed dialed
the hospital.

“All circuits are busy. Please try your call again
later.” The tinny sounding message repeated in a loop. She tossed her iPhone
into the console. The phone system appeared to be down. She’d keep trying.

She whispered, “Randolph, you have to be all right.
I can’t come right now. I got stuff to take care of. I love you.”

I got stuff to take care of
was an expression her mother had
always used when called Rhetta to tell her she’d be home late from work. Many
nights Rhetta, an only child, fell asleep on the couch waiting for her mother
to come home from one of her two regular jobs. Sometimes her mother never
showed up, and Rhetta woke up to an empty house the following morning.

She pushed her memories away and accelerated to a
hundred miles an hour.

Within minutes, she braked for the first exit into Cape.
On the left, three blocks from the exit ramp on William Street sat St. Mark’s
Hospital. To her relief, she saw lights.
The hospital must be getting power
from its own series of massive generators
. She sent a silent prayer
heavenward to keep Randolph safe. For someone who’d quit going to church and
who’d been mad at God, she’d sure been sending up a lot of prayers lately. What
was it they said about there being no atheists in foxholes? She felt like she
was definitely in a foxhole now.

Woody lived about two miles farther, near the
university campus. Rhetta merged into the eastbound traffic on an eerily dark
William Street. Normally, the four-lane boulevard was as brightly lit as the
Las Vegas Strip, especially near the Interstate. Now, the various fast food
restaurants, hotels, bars, and the shopping mall where Jenn worked were cloaked
in inky blackness. Rhetta had never seen anything like this.

The chaos she found herself in was straight out of a
horror movie. Cars, pickups, SUVs, taxis, and busses all clamored for the right-of-way
through every intersection. Again and again, brakes screeched, followed by the
sickening sounds of metal crunching metal.

She was forced to stop at the Kingshighway
intersection barricaded by angry motorists. Although the other side was where
she needed to be, she wasn’t going to get across any time soon. She also
couldn’t turn around. She decided that once across, she’d get on a side street
away from the main thoroughfare, or Cami would wind up a crushed tin can.

Finally, she was able to inch her way across
Kingshighway. In a desperate attempt to get out from the confusion of cars on
William Street, she took the first right. In two blocks, the street dead-ended.
She veered left. There was little traffic. She found herself in an unfamiliar
neighborhood, one that she recalled hearing about, where women shouldn’t
travel, especially after dark. She should’ve turned left off William Street,
not right. She’d gone the wrong way.

Two blocks later, she veered left on to West End
Boulevard, an old-fashioned divided four lane with a median full of trees and
flower beds. Although the traffic squeezed bumper to bumper on the street, at
least everyone on her side of the median was traveling in the same direction.

Just before arriving at the cluster of traffic that
signaled a return to William Street, a late model Cadillac Seville poured out
of a side street and cut her off. It sped across both lanes as it headed for a
left-hand turn lane ahead. Rhetta slammed her brakes, barely avoiding a collision.
After the black Seville rocketed past her, she pulled up to William Street,
stopped, and waited. The endless traffic wouldn’t break long enough for her to
cross. Impatient, and unable to bear waiting another minute, she turned right,
even though she was surely going out of her way. She plodded along slowly,
forced to stop several times before managing to worm her way into the left
lane. Woody lived on the other side of William. The agonizingly slow traffic
ate up precious minutes.

Where were the terrorists heading next? If she and
Woody couldn’t stop them, the Midwest grid would completely crash.

That realization spurred her to floor the gas pedal.
Imitating the Seville, she tore off left across two lanes amid loud honking and
screeching of brakes. She careened on to Henderson Street, which snaked past
the university campus and on to Woody’s house. Approaching the campus, she
eased up, fearing another crush of traffic and wanting to avoid another right
turn. Could she make all right turns and still go left? She didn’t think so.

Surprisingly, traffic away from William and
Kingshighway wasn’t bad. She turned left, and then zigzagged right. Only one
more traffic hurdle ahead, the intersection at Independence Street. She needed
to go a block past it, to the corner of North Park and Whitener, where Woody
lived.

As she feared, Independence, always one of the
busiest streets in Cape, was swarming with traffic. Hundreds of students aboard
scooters wove crazily between the horde of cars. At least the vehicles were
moving. There was no traffic backed up. She soon discovered the reason. The
intersection was manned by a stocky campus police officer directing traffic.
When he signaled her turn to go, she floored Cami.

CHAPTER
41

The darkness disoriented Rhetta. When she crossed
Independence, she didn’t recognize anything and didn’t know for sure where she
was. She couldn’t look to the familiar green patina of the lighted coppered
dome on Academic Hall on the Southeast Missouri University campus to get her
bearings. The entire area was pitch black. No dome anywhere in sight. Was she
heading the right way?

After six blocks, Rhetta realized that she had
passed Woody’s house. Irritated at the time she wasted getting lost, she
spotted a driveway and quickly used it to turn around and backtrack.

Mercifully, there was almost no traffic on the side
streets. She wasn’t honked at or forced to dodge wayward vehicles aiming for
her. There was also no light. She slowed down, willing her eyes to recognize
Woody’s house.

Finally, she recognized his bungalow and roared into
his driveway. The moment she stopped, Woody appeared at her driver door. She
rolled down the window.

“I heard you coming from down the block,” he said.

“Do you have your 30-06? C’mon, we gotta go.” Rhetta
hit the accelerator and revved the motor. Cami responded throatily.

“I’m not going with you, Rhetta. I can’t leave Jenn
here alone.”

Jenn stepped out from behind Woody. She cradled a
large hunting rifle and a box of shells. “Here, Woody. Go.” Jenn thrust the
rifle at Woody. “I’ll be fine. I have a .38 and know how to use it.” Jenn,
nearly as tall as Woody, but a hundred pounds lighter, deposited the rifle into
her husband’s arms.

When he took it, Jenn tucked a strand of her long
blond hair behind her ear and nodded. She blew him a kiss, then whirled around
and disappeared into the shadow of the house. In a moment, Woody’s back door
slammed and she heard a metal latch clattering into place.

“I can’t believe this blackout has to do with
terrorists,” Woody said, making no move toward Cami’s passenger door.

“We’re being attacked. It’s up to you and me, Woody.
We’re the only ones that can stop it. We have to get to a substation ahead of
whoever is doing this and stop them.” Rhetta kept her voice as calm as she
could. She knew Woody well enough to know she had to stay calm, or he’d bull up
and walk away from her. She didn’t have time to drive to her house and find
Randolph’s weapons, then head to the substations. She needed Woody to shut up and
get in the car. 

“I tried calling the police, but they wouldn’t
listen to me. I can’t reach the FBI office in St. Louis either.” She put Cami
into neutral and held her foot on the brake.

“You still haven’t told me about Billy Dan. What
happened? You said he got shot?”

Why did Woody just stand there talking?

She sighed. “Yes, he got shot, by somebody driving a
green SUV. Sound familiar? Get in and I’ll tell you about it.”

She wasn’t positive about the person or persons
driving the green SUV being responsible for shooting Billy Dan, but she’d bet
her next paycheck on it.

Jenn stepped out on the front stoop and shouted,
“Woody, go with Rhetta. Right now.” Woody obeyed, crossed in front of Cami and
opened the passenger door. He slid the rifle and a box of shells on to the
floor and covered them with the surplus tarp that draped from Rhetta’s seat
into the back. The bright overhead LED interior light spilled all the way to
the outside of the car. She was glad that Ricky had added the LED. The old-style
yellowish interior light wasn’t strong enough to draw moths.

Woody stared at Rhetta. When she saw his expression,
she touched her hair and frowned. She must’ve looked like a yard gnome that had
fallen into wet concrete. And then the concrete dried.

“Hurry up and get in. We have to plan our strategy.”

After the passenger door closed, Jenn returned to
the house.

“Don’t you look cute. Is that a new fashion trend?”
Woody gestured to Rhetta as he fastened his seat belt.

She didn’t answer him.

He glanced sideways at her. “What are we going to
do?”

“Here’s how I have it figured. We’ve already lost
three, maybe four substations, starting with the two in Bollinger County and
one at Center Junction. I think maybe the other one in Cape County is out
because everything around us is dark as the devil’s breath. That only leaves
two. We have to decide whether to go to Scott County or Perry County.”

“What do you plan on doing to stop them, whoever
they are?”

“First we need to decide the where, then the what,”
Rhetta said and slammed Cami into reverse.

At the end of the driveway, Rhetta pulled out on to
the street and stopped. Cami’s engine rumbled.

“Since we’re in Cape Girardeau, I figure we’re about
the same distance away from either Perry or Scott County. The interstate connects
all three communities in a straight line. Right now, we’re in the middle. The
issue is the traffic. Not to mention, choosing which one to go to first. Our
choice could mean the difference between success or total failure.” She turned
and stared at Woody. “It might be a crap shoot, but I favor going north to
Perry first because it’s easier for the perps to reach that one from the
substation in Cape County.” She waved her hand around. “We know they’ve been to
Cape County. They can easily use a back road instead of the interstate and get
to Perry County. Otherwise, they’d have to fight traffic to cross town, then
head down south on the interstate to Scott, then drive back track up the
interstate to Perry.”

She waited for a comment. Woody didn’t say anything.
When she slid a glance his way, she swore she saw him nod. She took that as a
positive sign. Maybe he was finally persuaded.

“Perps?” Woody said, and a slow smile sneaked across
his face.

Rhetta felt relief. Woody was with her. “Let’s hit
the substation on County Road 1458 in Perry County,” she said and shifted into
first.

They screamed down Woody’s dark street. Rhetta
shifted, downshifted, made two turns, and headed to the old Farm-to-Market
Road.

“We’d never have made it to the interstate. There’s
too much chaos,” Rhetta said, tearing through another turn and roaring on to
State Highway 127, which the locals still called the Farm-to-Market Road. In
spite of the road disappearing into a hill, she knew it continued north,
straight into Perry County.

“What’s the plan?’ Woody asked. He passed a bare
palm over his slick head.

“Is that rifle loaded?” Rhetta pointed to the back
seat. She thought he nodded, although she couldn’t see him clearly. “Are you
still an expert shot?” She knew all about his numerous marksmanship awards from
the military.

“Yes, and yes.”

“All right. Here’s the plan. We get to the
substation and stop anybody inside the fence that shouldn’t be there. We’ll
hold them until the police get there. Maybe if we catch these guys, the cops
will pay attention.”

“They aren’t going to stand there meekly while you
call the cops.”

“Right. That’s why you have the rifle.”

Although she couldn’t see him shaking his head, his
silence spoke his uncertainty.

“Have you got a better idea?” Rhetta’s glare was wasted.
Most of her face was probably concealed by the darkness.

“I don’t know.” He shook his head. “I don’t know
what the Sam Hill is going on any more than anyone else does. We can’t shoot
these people.”

“You do, too, know what’s going on, Woody. These
people are trying to take down our country. You and I both know this is a
terrorist attack. And it’s up to us to stop it.”

Woody sighed. “Jenn believes you’re right. We had a
huge argument. Just before you got there.”

Rhetta smiled in spite of the terror she was
feeling.
Good for Jenn. At least she has some sense. Maybe I should’ve
brought her instead of Woody.

Inside, Rhetta felt like a bowl of jelly. On the
outside, she needed to appear strong so Woody wouldn’t waver. She knew he’d
been forced to kill during his stint in the war, and that had contributed to
his PTSD.

“Is Jenn a crack shot like you?”

“What? No. Well, yes, she can shoot. She’s not a
marksman. Or is it markswoman? Whatever.” He rubbed his head with a
handkerchief he’d pulled from a back pocket.

Rhetta steered the subject back to the plan. “County
Road 1458 runs down to the river. The substation is on the bluffs overlooking
the river. We’ll turn off on Gabriela Road. That crosses County Road 1458 about
a mile after we turn. Then we head toward the river.”

As they sped along the two-lane highway, Rhetta
filled Woody in on how she found Billy Dan shot under his boat. And how Sheriff
Dodson didn’t believe her.

“Woody, it’s down to you, me, and Randolph. We’re
the only ones left of everyone who saw the schematic. And poor Randolph is out
of commission.”

Woody didn’t answer, although she thought she heard
him grunt his assent. She cut her glance sideways but was afraid to take her
eyes off the dark, twisting road to stare back at him. Especially since Cami
was flying at over eighty through the twists, turns, and hills.

Topping a steep crest on the outskirts of Perry
County, they were met with a glorious sight. The landscape ahead was dotted
with lights. All around, the lights from houses, farm dusk-to-dawn lights, and
street lamps glimmered. The view looked wonderfully normal.

“Look, Woody!” Rhetta shouted, even though he sat a
mere two feet away. “We’re not too late. They haven’t knocked the substation
out up here yet.”

She gunned the Camaro and dared not consult the
speedometer.

“Maybe we’re all wrong about this,” Woody said.
“Maybe it really is just a massive power failure in Cape.”

“Are you forgetting about Bollinger County and Billy
Dan? Right after Billy Dan got shot, the power in Bollinger County started
failing. Then the power in Cape went out. That’s not random.”

“I know, I know, you don’t believe in coincidences,
but still. The power substation going out in Bollinger could have caused an
overload in Cape.”

Rhetta spotted Gabriela Road up ahead. The whole
area looked so bright and normal that she began to wonder if maybe Woody wasn’t
right.

She swerved a hard right on to Gabriela Road. In
about a mile, she spotted the sign for County Road 1458. She pulled up and
stopped.

“Why are you stopping?”

“If there’s cell phone service here, I need to call
the county sheriff or the FBI again,” Rhetta said. She located her iPhone on
top of the console and powered it on.

A red bar replaced the usually green battery
indicator. The battery was nearly dead. She groped around in the console for
her car charger cord. “Damn, where is it?” she said, and pulled everything out
of the small storage bin. She riffled through a mileage logbook, three pens, a
small spiral note pad, and several paper napkins. No cord. She didn’t take out
the cigarettes and latex gloves.

“Let me have your phone,” she said to Woody. She
held out her hand.

“I don’t have it. I guess with all the arguing with
Jenn, I forgot to grab it.”

“Crap,” Rhetta said and sifted again through the
console.

“All right, forget it. We’re on our own.” She
snapped the lid closed. Gravel flew as she turned right on the unpaved county
road.

She raced along County Road 1458 for nearly a mile
before Woody spoke.

“Uh, didn’t you say the power substation was near
the bluffs?”

“Yes.” Her eyes were glued to the road.

“You’re heading away from the river,” Woody said.
His voice was calm. “You need to turn around.’

“Damn,” Rhetta said, screeching to a stop. A cloud
of dust swirled around the car as she executed a Y-turn. She tore off back from
where they’d just come. Sailing past the intersection where she’d rummaged for
her charger, she said, “How could I have gone the wrong way? We may be too
late.” Couldn’t she find anything tonight?

Woody glanced out the side window.

“Uh, Rhetta, all the lights are still on so we’re
okay.”

He no sooner said it when lights began winking off. Just
like in Bollinger and Cape counties.

The countryside around them plunged into a hellishly
familiar blackness.

CHAPTER
42