The Survivors: Book One (2 page)

Ben drew him back to reality. “Mr. President, please.”

 Breaking into a sweat and not caring that he was ruining a very expensive suit, Carter stared at the small sea of white faces, now hearing heavy stomps above them which could only be agents in the Residence.

Ben, perhaps reading some of his thoughts, shook his head. “These men have no families to rescue, have been paid well in gold and passes - and all of them voted for you. No deserters here. You and your family will make it to NORAD, safe and sound.”

Only slightly reassured, America’s beloved President looked over what might be his last address with worry burning intensely in his heart. He glanced over the pages at the impatient Deputy Chief of Staff. “You’ll start the sirens?”

Ben nodded again, both of them looking up as the ceiling lights changed to a pale red.

“Yes, as soon as you’re on your way, now please, you have to go. D.C. is a direct target.”

Carter still delayed, hating it that he was being rushed, wasn’t being told everything. “What about air traffic and vital services?”

The Deputy’s lined face went blank, and the President felt his heart leap at the tone that implied it didn’t matter.

“They’ve been instructed to land them anywhere they can so Star Wars doesn’t shoot anymore down by mistake. Last report said four confirmed crashes, two more suspected. Mr. President, we have to...”

“What about the vitals? Evacuations?”

Ben sighed in frustration, knowing the President would have his report before he did anything. The black man could be pushed, but it had to be gently. He was one of the few politicians of this generation that seemed to care about his people.

“The 'net is locked down; only our senior military have the codes needed to access it. As for EVACs, those on the lists are 35% recovered at this point. Ahead of schedule.”

“And vitals?” Carter insisted, knowing it was ugly. In the answer, he heard the same terror and anxiety he felt in his own stomach.

“We have reports of massive abandonment of posts already. Media stations in France and China are on it. Daycares, schools, hospitals, radar and traffic towers, police stations, utility plants; it’s all going to shut down. They’ll have nothing to depend on, no way to survive after the first few months.” The Deputy’s voice lowered. “The Draft convoys started out half an hour ago. Waves of refugees in the hundreds have been spotted hitting towns ahead of the trucks. Some of those places are attempting to barricade themselves in. The men will follow orders.”

The President winced. He’d been briefed, but he hadn’t really thought they would do this to their own...

“Carter.”

It was the first time the Deputy Chief of Staff had ever called him by his first name and to do it here, in this hallowed place, was such a transgression of protocol that it got his full attention. This was the strategy that smarter men than he had agreed upon, and after, when it was time to come back up, he would still be in charge. The US Presidency was not allowed to change hands during a time of war unless there was a death.

“We’re using the rest of our arsenal? Retaliating, even though we caused it?”

 Ben motioned for one of the impatient, heavily armed agents to grab the tapes and hidden microphone from the desk. “It’s all under way.”

Carter’s dark finger pushed the button, not asking how that was possible without his approval. He’d learned a lot about leadership in the last few years and one of the biggest was that you didn’t ask questions unless you could take the answers. Stomach churning, voice stunned, he began.

“My fellow Americans, this is your President, Carter Heins, and I have grave news. Let me start by asking each of you to care for and comfort each other in this time of crisis, and we’ll get through it. Together,” he lied, ignoring the man waving at him to skip what didn’t matter; just tell his people that the entire world was about to change violently and forever.

“At 10:28 this morning, a terrorist was able to gain access to our nuclear arsenal by hacking into the system and introducing an unknown virus that shut down our firewalls and allowed NORAD’s computers to be breached. As a result, control of over half of our defensive warheads were compromised. The terrorists immediately initiated multiple launches and the warheads are not responding to specific abort codes. Ten minutes ago, these stolen weapons began reaching their targets, and other countries have retaliated, thinking we’ve declared War.” the President paused, couldn’t believe he was saying this, and heard a silent country holding its breath, listening, looking for comfort that he couldn’t give.

“We predict that the United States will take at least five nuclear hits. Cities expected to be destroyed include Washington D.C., Houston, Texas, Lansing, Michigan, New York City, and Los Angeles.”

Noise levels instantly went up throughout the White House, and outside, more gunshots destroyed the silence. Loud and rapid, they should have drawn immediate attention. When they didn’t, the President understood then that it was really happening, was positive he’d be the last man to sit here. Gunfire in the capital and the agents in the room hadn’t even blinked. It wasn’t a tasteless joke. The world was ending.

“I’m declaring martial law nationwide, effective immediately. The curfew is an hour before sunset. Looters will be dealt with harshly. Our southern border has been closed, all air traffic has been grounded, and prices are frozen across the board.” He hesitated again, drew in a deep breath. “I’ve also reinstated the Draft, effective as of 11:00 A.M. this morning. All males, ages 16-45, will surrender to the convoys of trucks on their way from bases across the country. People who refuse, flee, or follow, will be considered treasonous and dealt with accordingly. Stay in your homes, do what the soldiers tell you, and pray for your country. God bless you and God bless the United…”

He was jerked out of the seat at a nod from Ben and the President stopped struggling as they rushed him outside, panic roaring from the streets.

“Warning! Incoming!”

The lawn speakers blared behind them and Carter couldn’t take his eyes from the red and orange blur that he could just make out against the glare of the December sun. It was too late. They weren’t going to make it!

The agents literally threw him onto the chopper, and the President huddled with his pale wife and twin boys as Marine One quickly rose into the air. As it ascended, its huge blades were assaulted with rocks, shoes, briefcases, and cell phones that doomed citizens threw in fury.

The guards opened fire suddenly as a mob overwhelmed the iron gates and rushed across the White House lawn. Blood splattered, bodies fell, and then they were flying through the beautiful, sunny sky, watching out the windows as the warhead barreled toward the American capitol, leaving a trail of fiery smoke.

“Look, Daddy! Fireworks!”

The explosion was staggering, blinding, and Carter kissed his wife’s tear stained lips one last time as the shock wave caught up to them and brought the chopper down. There were no survivors.

2

Only two White House security tapes survived the blast, thanks to the quick instincts of a well-connected reporter with a shark’s reputation, and they were what most of the watching people saw when the President’s voice disappeared so abruptly. The first was a ten second clip, and in that short time, one perpetrator of the apocalypse was revealed.

Former President Robert Milton slid the disk into the main computer with a look of hatred that few would have recognized from his time in office. Once exalted, he was now reduced to massage-boy for the current administration and he’d volunteered for this part of covering the centuries old lie.

Clearly trying to hurry, the man looked over his shoulder repeatedly while typing in codes. He placed his hand on the scanner and the lights in the room flashed to deep red. Stepping over what was obviously a body, the broken man took a marker from the neat desk and began to write on the wall before the screen went to black.

The second tape was shorter. Only four seconds, it was a brief flash of the same traitor, now putting the shiny black barrel of a gun in his mouth. Hands already stained with blood, there was a violent, crimson flash and the former President slumped to the floor. His message glared at the crimson-streaked camera lenses.

"I did it for my country, because my country would not.”

These two clips only circulated for a few minutes before the stations airing them went to static and didn’t return, but it was enough. The people knew the truth. There hadn’t been a terrorist attack, the government had caused it. America, and the world, had been betrayed!

As to why - that didn’t become clear for a long time after the War, and even then, only a select few discovered the secrets…there were bigger atrocities to be faced.

3

In northern Florida, a twenty megaton ICBM caused the swampy shelf to begin cracking like window glass. The blinding flash was felt as far away as the Virginias, where fleeing citizens were stuck in crammed lanes of traffic on Interstate 81, with no way to avoid the danger. Nor could they escape the long convoy of draft trucks that were battering their way through the wrecks and vehicles in the grassy median, following orders with no exceptions.

Brady - Virginia

“All males will surrender to the Draft! If you resist or run, you will be shot!”

The faint bullhorn woke those who had been dozing in the uncomfortable seats of the cold Greyhound bus, and a ripple of warning went through the armed man sitting against the frosty window. People were standing to look, muttering among themselves, but the grunt remained still, waiting to see how he should react.

“Hey!”

“He hit an old guy with his gun! They can’t do that!”

“They just shot a woman! Murder! Call 911!”

Sergeant Brady used his military voice to be heard over the din,
“Everybody out! Make room!”

The others stuffed into the crowded bus shifted toward the doors at the clear order, but they were panicked, shoving and yelling. Brady hefted himself up onto the vinyl seat and dove out the open window as more gunshots and screams exploded from the stuck traffic behind the bus.

People were pouring from their vehicles now, running for the nearby homes and businesses of Wytheville as the
MRAPs
3
full of heavily armed soldiers followed, firing M16s at the citizens who refused to turn themselves over. Back-dropped by thick, black smoke and an angry, red sky, they remorselessly shot fleeing males, and anyone else who happened to get too close to their intended targets, only a few bothering with the bullhorns or their aim.

Recognizing bloodlust, the Sergeant rolled through the slush, moving under the bus, and he stayed there as the chaos got closer, arms and ankles locked tight around the greyhound’s icy frame. The War had cancelled his leave, but he had to get home and he was going - a decision these Draft enforcers would shoot him for. Gun in hand, Brady stayed still as the trucks rolled by, and the citizens he was sworn to protect, were gunned down.

A second later, the air shifted, thickened, and he instinctively shut his eyes and buried his head against his arm as the sky lit up and the sun fell on him.

4

The electro-magnetic pulse shot out brutally. The devastating wave traveled the same path as the radiation and pressure blasts, and then went farther. Moving through the air and over the land, it traveled like electricity - surging through train tracks, electric lines, and low band communication equipment. The power surge short-circuited everything it touched - sparking fires, making pacemakers stop, causing engines to stall… and planes to fall from the smoke-filled skies.

Samantha – Wyoming

“Please, can’t you just tell us where we’re going?”

Samantha’s pretty blue eyes and calm demeanor allowed the grim-faced young soldier to answer her, when he hadn’t any of the others crammed into the chopper around them, but the deadly rifle in his hands didn’t lower as the loud blades struggled to cut through the thick haze.

“We’ve been diverted to NORAD. The Essex Compound is now under evacuation.”

The chopper suddenly lurched sideways, and Samantha stifled her scream, but not a low groan, as it was hit by an invisible wave of force and lurched again. The other Seattle civilians aboard the struggling aircraft echoed her noise of near panic.

Taken together, they’d been "removed" from the Environmental Protection Agency by big soldiers with clipboards, government passes, and guns. After seeing a coworker shot in the back when he tried to run, none of them had rocked the boat despite obviously being kidnapped by their own government.

The need to fight back warred with her survival instincts and Sam brushed only a quick glance over the other well-dressed, “lucky” few on board with her. In their faces, she saw the same dismay and slowly-dawning terror, and yet, she could have been alone - didn’t feel a connection with them.
She was different.

 Samantha fingered the badge around her neck, wishing she didn’t have it. If her alarm hadn’t worked, the former President, Robbie Milton of the infamous suicide video, would have died four years ago in Nebraska, and none of this would be happening. Sam had been horrified to recognize the “terrorist” in the two short security videos. Did her saving his life all those years ago make some of this her fault?

Sam assumed they were flying low to avoid Star Wars and stifled another sound of misery as the cities rolled by, unable to believe that was her country down there tearing itself apart. Shootings, fires, assaults, murders. Bodies everywhere! In cars, on streets, even on playgrounds! Moreover, no one was coming to remove them! Samantha swallowed her panic.
This wasn't happening. Just a horrible nightma…

She watched in terror, forgetting to breathe, as an unending line of destruction rushed over the land, eating everything in its path. Power lines lit up, sparking violently; gas lines ruptured, exploded, and homes and cars disappeared under the rapidly advancing brown and gray avalanche of death that was now drawing even with the military transport chopper. They were out of range, weren’t they?