The great unmaking, p.29
The Great Unmaking, page 29
Suddenly, Riona Finley’s smiling face appeared on every screen. She was wearing the exact same outfit she wore now.
At the sight of her, the crowd erupted into cheers and applause.
“Welcome everyone! Today is the day!” she said triumphantly.
The crowd roared.
“Today is the day that we begin to heal the planet. It’s the day that the pollution, the waste, and the cycle of slow death ends.” More applause.
That’s when Bud heard a sound he hadn’t heard in a long time. The emergency warning sirens.
He turned his head and saw the yellow siren on a tower across the mall, spinning slowly, making his bad ear crackle each time it swept by.
He looked at it, puzzled. This was clearly not a tornado warning, he thought. It couldn’t be a HAZMAT spill because those materials were prohibited anywhere near the mall. So what was it?
Down on the mall, Finley’s recording was still going, but many people had stopped watching, and were staring down at their phones.
Then his own Nokia vibrated in an odd way. He took a step back from Finley and pulled it out with his free hand.
emergency alert: ballistic missile inbound to washington, dc, area. seek immediate shelter. this is not a drill.
“What is it?” Finley asked.
“This has to be a joke,” Bud said, “somebody must have hacked the system . . .”
“Tell me!” Finley said.
He checked the news wires. He saw an anchorwoman speaking: “These unconfirmed images from northern Colorado show what appears to be the launch of at least fifty intercontinental ballistic missiles.”
A video played: a wide vista of a western landscape and dozens of ICBMs rising into the sky, trailing long plumes of black and white exhaust. There was a bubbling rumble that overwhelmed the Nokia’s small speaker.
Finley had gotten out her iSheet. “Please, God, no!” She put a hand to her mouth. “Not now!”
Bud was starting to fathom that this might be real.
Out on the mall, the video of Finley had been cut off. A young man with a beard addressed the crowd. “We are getting reports of a missile attack on the cap—” The audio went out. For some reason, this technical glitch—and the loss of the crowd’s guide and leader—went through the multitude like an electric charge. People panicked and scattered in all directions, many shouting and screaming. People were pushed and trampled. It seemed that in a mere few seconds, half the mall had emptied out.
Simultaneously four executive Sea King helicopters passed low overhead, heading from the White House to Andrews Air Force Base. The president is surely on one of them, Bud thought. He noticed a few people who had not joined the stampede holding up their iSheets to film the passing choppers.
Finley watched the scene in numb shock as her vision for a new world disintegrated before her eyes. She sat down heavily, trying to make sense of it. “Not now,” she repeated. “Not when we were so close.”
Bud looked down at the Glock in his hand and put it back in its holster.
In a matter of seconds, all that they had been fighting about had become irrelevant. Now he and Finley were just two people who had been thrown together at the end.
“How long?” Finley asked.
“That depends on who is firing at us. If it’s China, perhaps as long as an hour. But if it’s Russia, then no more than ten or fifteen minutes, assuming a Russian nuclear submarine is sitting off the coast.”
She closed her eyes a moment then suddenly stood up. “Come on!” she said. “We might still be able to do something, but I’ll need your help.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Come on! Hurry!” She grabbed one of his hands with both of hers.
He yanked it away. “You’re crazy. There’s nothing we can do.”
“The device! Behrmann said it would help end war. Perhaps it can help.”
“You mean you don’t know exactly what it does?”
“Behrmann wouldn’t tell me everything. But he told me it would bring peace.”
Bud shook his head in stunned amazement. “Even if that is part of the program, there’s not enough time for it to do any good.”
“No, I’m not giving up. The nanosite swarms are already in place across the globe, all we have to do is get the final program to them. You know how fast the technology works. Maybe it won’t protect the whole world, but it could make a difference to those closest to the swarms.”
He grimaced.
“Come on,” she insisted. “Your job is to protect people, right? You have to at least try.”
Chapter Fifty-Four
This is the End
Naval Consolidated Brig, Fairfax County, Virginia
There was a sudden eruption of noise from the other inmates, and Admiral Curtiss lifted his eyes from his history book.
“Let us out!”
“It’s over, just let us out.”
“It’s the fucking end of the world, man.”
He looked across at Calhoun, who was staring at his TV, his mouth hanging open in shock.
On the screen, Curtiss could see the long trails of missile exhaust. The scrolling marquee read: breaking: launch of ballistic missiles confirmed.
Curtiss grabbed the remote for his own TV and turned it on.
The shouting from the other inmates intensified as the news spread. Some began to beat on their bars. “Let us out! What does it matter? I just want to go outside one last time.”
Curtiss examined the news footage: He saw a video of missiles being launched from an American destroyer. It was a shaky, cellphone image. The marquee said: Unconfirmed footage of missile launch by US Navy.
Curtiss knew those boats—Arleigh Burke-class destroyers. They were in the North Pacific and were part of the Aegis Defense System. They were designed to knock out Russian or Chinese ICBMs in their early stages. He also knew that they were not particularly effective and only would hit—at best—20 percent of the first volley.
Fuck! He thought. This is real.
He looked again at the screen, still not believing. Then he shook his head and gave a bitter laugh. All his work on developing the next generation of weapons . . . all the obsessing about whether it would end up in the wrong hands . . . and now they were all about to be made extinct by Cold War technology.
But then he wondered: Was Finley behind this? Or Eleven? Had Walden screwed up?
It hardly matters now.
The other inmates were howling and screaming to be let out. Suddenly Curtiss felt the same way. It felt like the walls were squeezing in around him. What he would have done in that moment for a chance to spend just ten minutes with Evelyn and the boys. To be with them when the end came. Just to hold them and touch them one last time.
“Curtiss! Curtiss!”
He turned to see Calhoun standing at the bars of his cell. He struck Curtiss as a confused little boy in that moment, trapped in a world he could never control or understand.
“What does it mean?” he asked. “Is it really . . .”
Curtiss got as close to him as his cage would allow. If he could have reached out and put his hand on Calhoun’s shoulder, he would have.
“I’m afraid it is. Nothing can stop it now. In a half hour, we’ll all be dead.”
“And my family in Kentucky?”
Curtiss shook his head. “They will probably survive the first strike, but . . .” He trailed off.
“Why won’t they let us out?”
Curtiss’s cell was one of the few that had a line of sight to the guard station at the end of the bloc. He looked down to see the last remaining guard hastily grab something and dash out the far door.
“They’re leaving,” he said, “to be with their families.”
Calhoun shook his head in disbelief. “Motherfuckers left us here to die,” he muttered. Then he nodded vacantly and went back to watching his TV.
The cacophony of noise was starting to abate. Most of the inmates had given up on shouting and had begun talking to each other. Curtiss heard bits of their conversations.
“My daughter is going to turn sixteen tomorrow.”
“I’m really sorry, brother.”
“It’s not fair.”
“It’s a hoax, man. This shit ain’t real. The guards are playing a trick on us. They hacked the TVs.”
Curtiss turned his attention back to the screen and turned up the volume.
“We turn now to Jackie Riordan from member station KTVA in Anchorage, Alaska. Jackie, what can you tell us?”
Curtiss saw a pretty female correspondent with coal-black hair bundled up in a parka. She was standing on a hillside overlooking the city.
“Diane, I’m in Bicentennial Park, east of downtown and, as you can see below me, traffic is backed up on both Seward Highway and Glenn Highway, the two major arteries out of the city. Everyone is trying to get out as quickly as possible. There are reports of shootings along the highways, but the police are having trouble responding because they simply can’t reach—”
There was a sudden flash and the screen went blank.
Cries of shock went up from the other inmates.
“Jackie, are you there?” Diane Thomas, the national anchor, appeared. “We seem to be having technical difficulties.”
EMP, Curtiss thought. Technically, an HEMP, High Altitude Electromagnetic Pulse.
In 1962, during the Starfish Prime atmospheric nuclear test, the US discovered—quite by accident—that a nuclear detonation in the midstratosphere would emit gamma rays that would shake up electrons on a massive scale and overload electronic devices as far as nine hundred miles away. This, they quickly realized, would make an effective weapon all by itself, disrupting enemy communications and equipment, and generally making life hell on a population dependent on electricity. The Russians, of course, figured it out too and incorporated it into their nuclear strategy.
Movies and books tended to show EMPs as affecting every electronic device universally, but that wasn’t true. Many things would survive, like old radios with less sensitive circuitry. Which was why Curtiss kept an old tube radio, a ham radio, and a generator in his basement. What a shame, he thought, all these years he’d lugged that shit around in case of World War III, and now he wasn’t even going to get a chance to use them.
If he guessed right, Fairbanks and Anderson, Alaska, would also be hit by now. Thus taking care of Clear Space Force Station, Fort Wainwright, and Joint Base Elmendorf–Richardson, and, thus, most of Alaska’s early warning and air response infrastructure.
That’s when Curtiss heard a strange sound.
Across the hall, Calhoun had begun singing. But it wasn’t his usual wailing, he was singing softly, almost whispering the lines. Curtiss tilted his head to try to make out the words.
Of our elaborate plans
The end
Of everything that stands
The end
No safety or surprise
The end
I’ll never look into your eyes
Again
He seemed to be remembering someone. And Curtiss wondered if she was the one Calhoun had been living for.
Curtiss turned his attention back to the TV.
“. . . if Alaska has already been struck by these—what we believe are Russian missiles,” the anchor was saying. “. . . then we may only have a matter of minutes left. Therefore, I’d like to take a moment and go off-script. We realize that most of our families are watching us from home right now and that there just isn’t enough time for us to be with them again, so I’d like to bring everyone out here in front of the camera so that we can say goodbye.” She motioned with her hand, and men and women quickly stepped forward, many with tears in their eyes. Some wept openly. Others held hands. One woman, with makeup smeared around her eyes, held up a sign that read: “Mommy loves Jake and Kaitlin.” She blew kisses to the camera.
Curtiss felt a hard sense of jealousy at that moment. Even though these people were separated from their families, they still had a way to say goodbye.
He shook his head. It wasn’t fair.
That’s when he felt an odd tingle on the back of his neck, as if he was being watched. He turned and saw Calhoun, and the expression on the man’s face made Curtiss freeze.
Calhoun had come up to the bars and was looking at him with a murderous glare. He was trembling, and Curtiss could see the tension in his neck and face as all his muscles seemed to squeeze. He was like a volcano about to erupt. Curtiss waited, expecting him to start screaming, but instead he spoke with an eerie monotone.
“You took everything from me. You destroyed my life. And now there’s no chance for me to start over . . . no way to go back.
“My mother and my fiancé thought that I was a murderer. They thought that I deserved to be in jail. Now that they know the truth, they’ve apologized and said they were ashamed for doubting me. Jenny even said she wanted to see me when I got home. But now . . .”
“Calhoun,” Curtiss said firmly, trying to get through to him. “Liam. I’m sorry. I really am. You have every right to hate me. What happened to you wasn’t fair. You became a casualty of war—a soldier whose life was destroyed by the decision of a superior officer . . . me. But you should know that your suffering served a purpose. It helped stop the war and it saved the lives of tens of thousands of people. In all honesty, I don’t regret that part. But what I do regret is that you never had a say in the decision. Every other soldier who goes into combat knows what’s at stake. He knows he may die or lose his legs or his hands or his eyesight. But he goes into battle anyway.
“You never got that choice and you didn’t know for what purpose you had lost your future. That must have been hard for you, and I’m sorry.”
Calhoun’s lips were still squeezed tight in anger, but Curtiss could tell he was listening. “I’ll admit it’s good to hear you apologize,” Calhoun said. “But it doesn’t change shit. I still want to kill you for what you did. Slowly. Painfully. Too bad I’ll never get the chance.”
At that moment there was a blinding flash. The floor heaved as the whole building seemed to jump.
Then everything went black.
Chapter Fifty-Five
Cagn’s Revenge
Naval Research Lab, Washington, DC
Blake tightened his grip on the rifle. “I’m going to enjoy this,” he said.
Jane closed her eyes and braced herself for the first shot.
“Jane?” It was Eric’s voice.
“No, stay back, please.” she said, but it was, of course, too late.
Eric stumbled around the corner, feeling his way along the wall.
Blake laughed when he saw him. “Look how the mighty have fallen,” he said. “How pathetic.”
“You were supposed to stay there!” Jane said.
“Sorry, I just couldn’t.”
“Enough,” Blake said. “Where’s Eastman?”
“He’s gone,” Jane said. Blake didn’t like that answer, but Jane held up her hands in supplication. “He went to the lab because he thought he could do something with the swarms. I swear. He said we’d just slow him down.”
Blake looked at her dubiously, then he stepped past them and to the back locker room. Satisfied, he motioned to them. “Come on. Walden wants you.”
Blake now held the rifle in one hand, the barrel pointed toward the ceiling, and pushed them toward the door. Eric stumbled and turned toward Blake, clearly disoriented. “I can’t see. Which way?” he said.
Blake smacked his lips in disgust and grabbed Eric’s collar with his free hand. Then several things happened very quickly.
With one hand Eric grabbed the end of the rifle. With the other hand, he stuck his fingers in Blake’s other eye, then he began punching him over and over.
Taken by surprise and stunned, Blake reacted slowly, and Eric was able to yank the rifle away, which he let clatter to the ground.
Jane snatched it up.
Then the two men were locked in combat. Blake, now mostly blind and disoriented, dropped his head and rushed at Eric to minimize his disadvantage. They grappled and were soon rolling on the floor. Eric gained the upper hand and straddled Blake, but then Blake went for his Glock. They struggled. Using both his hands, Eric pinned the gun and Blake’s arm to the ground, then he bit into Blake’s wrist. Blake finally let go of the pistol. Now, he used his fists and elbows to pummel Eric’s face. They were both grunting and cursing. Over and over, Eric struck him until Blake’s face was a bloody mess. Finally, Jane saw Blake’s body go slack, but Eric kept hitting him again and again. He had become a wild animal, raising both fists together and pounding them down on Blake.
“Eric, that’s enough!”
Eric stopped. Chest heaving and out of breath. He looked at her as if he didn’t know where he was. He gasped several times, sucking in air to calm himself. He stood and noticed the blood on his hands. He seemed suddenly embarrassed and wiped them on his pants and his mouth on his sleeve. “I . . . I couldn’t let him hurt you,” he said.
She felt an unbidden tear come to her eye. “I know.” She went to him and hugged him around the waist. As she put her head to his chest, she heard the pounding of his heart. “It’s okay,” she said, “it’s over.” She felt his arms close around her and felt the safety of his love. “You saved me,” she said, “again.”
“It was my turn,” he said between gasps.
She pulled back and looked up at him. “But how?”
He took a moment to catch his breath then he explained: “After I went blind the last time, I knew I had to find a way to keep it from happening again. So I injected myself with the countermeasures program. My eyesight came back a minute ago.”
She squeezed him tighter. “There you go, keeping secrets from me again.”
