Darkness on a Pale Blue Stone (14 page)

"Oh, tell me about it. I'd do anything to not have to keep walking," Sean said, beginning to pack up his things. The airport had been fruitless, quite literally, in the group's search for more food, but Lucas had found a few more lighters, of which everyone now had at least two.

The airport was well occupied. Lucas had spoken with several others in the terminal and many claimed they had simply never left after the blackout. Many had been waiting to board planes and were now stuck very far from home. For them, the airport had
become
home. Available food was rationed, but provided freely to any who stayed there. Lash couldn't help but wonder what would happen when the food ran out, but decided to keep her thoughts to herself.

"Alright, everyone. Let's get moving. We already wasted enough daylight," Gresson said.

They left the airport, cautiously looking out for any soldiers that may be searching for them. The sun was bright and there were no clouds in the sky. For most of the day, the group traveled by themselves, only occasionally passed by others. Only one person that day had recognized Gresson, but a quick pump of Lash's shotgun sent him scurrying away.

After traveling south and getting on the southern part of the Capital Beltway, the group followed it far enough to once again walk along I-95.

"It's good to be back on this road," Sean said.

"Still would've rather taken a plane," Jake said with a shrug.

They kept a steady pace for most of the day, only stopping to eat along the side of the highway or at a rest-stop to use the bathrooms, one of which, according to Jake, was now "the most disgusting place I have ever pulled my pants down."

"I bet that's saying something," Lash teased. Ignoring her, Jake vowed to always go behind trees from now on.

It was late when the group arrived in Quantico. They were greeted on the road by several marines.

"This isn't good," Jake said.

"Everyone keep calm," Gresson ordered.

"Hey, you folks should probably get off the road. We've got reports of people getting attacked at night to the south of here. There's plenty of room at our base if you need a place to stay," one marine called out.

"Trap?" Lash quietly asked.

"Not sure. Everyone be on your guard," Gresson replied. "I think we'll be alright. Thank you," he called back to the marine.

"Up to you, but I would strongly recommend you stay put for the night. We've already set up some civilian lodging," the marine said. They could now see from the uniform that the marine was a high-ranking officer.

The group paused. "It doesn't seem like they know who we are," Michael whispered.

"At least, not yet," Lash replied.

"Just be careful. For now, we'll see what they have to offer," Gresson said. "Alright, where to?" he asked the marine.

"Follow me," he said. He gave Lash's red tattoo a second glance, but didn't say anything. He walked toward the base just off the highway. They all followed him there, passed through the gate, and walked into one of the buildings.

"So, where..." he started to say, but suddenly recognized Gresson now that they were close. "Uh, anyone ever tell you that you look a hell of a lot like the late President Gresson?"

"Not so 'late,' actually," Gresson replied.

"Damn. First all the lights go out, chaos breaks loose, and now the dead are walking the earth. This really must be the end of the world," the marine said, shaking his head in disbelief. "My name's Marco. Marco Valdez. I'm the highest ranking officer here, but don't bother with formalities. Seems a bit pretentious considering the state of things."

"How much contact do you have with the troops at Washington?" Gresson asked.

"Limited. We've been sending someone there and back for orders fairly consistently the past few days. But the only thing we're being told is to send up any extra men. Other than that, we've just been sheltering as many people as we can and trying to combat this interference signal that destroyed... well... everything."

"What have you figured out? My wife and I worked at Gimbal Systems before the blackout, so you don't have to dumb it down. So far, it seems like a prolonged E.M.P. derivative," Michael said.

"A derivative, perhaps. It sure isn't just an E.M.P., though. I've seen small-scale things like this before in my career, but this... Why don't you follow me. You guys might be able to give us a hand," Valdez said. He led the group to an adjacent building. Inside were several people examining all sorts of electronic equipment, from computers to engines, none of them working.

"From what we can tell, this thing is putting out interference on a frequency that causes a massive overload in anything using the waves it's operating on. It's a big enough range to kill any kind of modern device, except in some cases," Valdez said, as he led the group through the building, around giant piles of discarded equipment.

"What cases?" Alice asked.

"Well, it's limited by height, but I don't know why on earth that is."

"Might not be 'on earth,' based on what we've heard," Sean said.

"We've heard similar stories. Some kind of creatures? They say they're humanoids, but taller than humans and always wearing dark suits. People have been calling them the 'Exterminators.' A fairly accurate name if they're really doing what people say they're doing. But I don't know what to believe about that. So far, if they exist, they've kept to the north and west. Until they get closer, I can't afford to worry about it."

"So, what do you mean it's limited by height?" Michael said.

"It didn't affect planes."

"Planes? We've seen plenty of crashed planes. Been up close and personal with one of them," Sean said.

"Well, yes. I don't mean planes are immune. But, apparently, people saw planes flying in circles for hours after the blackout. According to one of my marines, a plane she saw was flying around for a whole day, until it began to descend, apparently looking to land. She said after a few minutes, it suddenly nosedived."

"It must have a maximum height. Once the plane hit that height, it was shutdown," Alice said.

"Exactly. Some of my people think this is because it can only travel through a solid medium, but extends from there for a certain distance. I don't know. It's all just guesses. Hell, it could be obvious, if we had any equipment left to study it."

"So, as far as we know, there could be unaffected spots out there? Places it didn't reach? Maybe places away from land?" Lucas asked.

"Possible. But I doubt it. If someone had the technology to pull this off on this scale, maybe even... I can't believe I'm saying this... maybe even those aliens, I'd be surprised if they missed a spot," Valdez replied.

"They did miss the planes," Lash said.

"Not really. None are left. All anyone flying could have done is hang out for a few hours until running out of fuel and dropping like a rock. Otherwise, they would hit what I guess you could call the 'dead zone' once they tried to land. So..."

A soldier marched into the building and approached Valdez.

"Sir, I have an order from the general. He's ordered a search of the area. He said he's looking for..." the soldier said, until he noticed that the group beside Valdez matched the description he was about to recite. He slowly crossed over to Valdez and whispered in his ear.

Valdez eyed the group. Gresson reached into his coat and gripped his gun. No one dared to move. The tense moment lasted for a few seconds. Everyone prepared to either pounce, shoot, or flee.

Valdez turned to the soldier and said, "Private, report to Sanders in the morning. Tell him we've only had civilians come through here, but we'll keep an eye out."

The soldier paused a moment, then nodded. "Yes sir," he responded and then left the building.

Valdez sighed and turned to Gresson. "I won't ask. Knowing Sanders, I doubt he had any good reason to hold you. If he did, he probably would've killed you instead. You can stay here tonight, but I'd get moving early tomorrow. He won't give up his search easy."

Gresson eyed Valdez's uniform, then said, "Thank you, Colonel."

"Don't mention it, Mr. President. Literally, if you don't mind. Come on. I'll let you all stay in a private room. Hopefully, no one else will notice you were here."

Valdez led them out of the building and into a small barracks. Inside were several empty cots.

"Let me know if you need anything," he said, making his way to the door.

"I would like to speak to you in private, Colonel," Gresson said, following him.

"Sure. But again, don't bother with the title," he replied as they both stepped outside.

"Is it me, or does Gresson seem to share his secrets with everyone except us?" Sean asked.

"I'm sure Mr. Gresson knows what he's doing," Lucas said. "Let's get some sleep. No doubt it'll be an early morning tomorrow."

Chapter 19

Quantico - August 12, 2072

Colonel Valdez was there to greet them the next morning when the group exited their building.

"Good luck out there," he said.

"Thanks for everything, Marco," Michael said. The others nodded to offer similar sentiments.

The colonel led them back to the highway. Before they left, Valdez shook Gresson's hand, saying "Until we meet again, Mr. President."

"Thank you for your help, Colonel," Gresson replied.

The group began to follow I-95 south once again. It was early in the morning and only a few others were on the road. The group walked in relative silence for the first few hours.

It was about noon when the group passed a small airport. The highway and surrounding area were empty, except for the nine of them. It was here where Adam decided he had enough.

Adam pulled out Damien's gun that had been tucked in his belt and aimed it squarely at Gresson's forehead. "Take off your coat."

"Adam!" Alice yelled. Everyone stopped and took a step back, except for Adam and Gresson who were now staring intently at each other.

"Adam, what are you doing?" Michael asked desperately.

"I said, take off your coat! And keep the gun in it," Adam ordered.

Gresson took a deep breath, and slowly obliged. After taking off the coat, he began to fold it.

"Just drop it!" Adam yelled.

Gresson finished folding his coat, then calmly placed it on the asphalt road beside him.

"Now step away from it," Adam demanded. Gresson did so.

Lash began to slowly step behind Adam, shotgun ready. "Lash, wait," Gresson said.

Adam swung around and aimed at Lash. "Drop it!" he yelled, his fury increasing.

"Adam, what's going on?" Michael asked with fear in his voice. He knew Gresson was still fully capable of killing his son if he chose to.

Gresson raised his hands and said, "Everyone calm down. Adam, what is it that you want?" He was less concerned with Adam's gun than what the outcome of this would mean for Michael's willingness to continue to Charleston.

"Answers. I want answers. You've been happy to tell everyone besides us what the hell is going on, but we're the ones who are walking across the country to help you. You have yet to give a straight answer. Where are we going? Why? And how are you still alive?"

Gresson took a deep breath, then said, "Alright. Put down the gun."

"No..." Adam said.

"Put down the gun, and I'll tell you what you want to know."

After thinking for a moment, Adam slowly lowered his gun.

"Let's sit down. Then, I'll answer whatever questions you have," Gresson said. They all moved to the side of the highway and took a seat in a wide circle. Adam still held his gun, but was satisfied so far with Gresson's response.

"Before you ask anything, perhaps I should just explain. You are right, Adam. It is time you all knew the truth." Everyone was listening anxiously as Gresson continued. "The group I told you about earlier, who we are going to meet after our stop in Charleston, has been preparing for the events of last week for years. We are trying to stop these... so-called 'Exterminators.'"

There were a few mumbles among the others at this revelation. Jake was the first to speak. "So I take it you guys screwed up? Unless letting these things kill tons of people was part of your plan..."

Gresson sighed. "Indeed, things have not... gone exactly as planned."

"I hope that's a big understatement," Jake said.

"So, what really
is
this interference signal?" Alice asked.

"Most of it is beyond my understanding, in all honesty, but what Colonel Valdez observed is accurate. It's far more powerful than an E.M.P."

"But why do you need me?" Michael asked.

"In order to stop the...," Gresson stopped, trying to search for a better word but thinking of none, "... the 'Exterminators,' we need to use some part of Project Blackout. The technology used is... unique. I'm sure you know that very well. Again, the technical details are beyond me. I was only going to retrieve it."

"You still haven't said why you need me," Michael said.

"I was at Gimbal Systems in New York just hours before the blackout... or I should say, the 'Arrival.' I found Project Blackout, but it had been modified and moved to Charleston. I have no idea whether the modifications will matter or not, but you are coming along to make sure we can either adapt or retrograde the Project to suit our needs."

"Because you saw that I was lead researcher for that project..." Michael thought aloud.

"Yes," said Gresson.

"So why... and how... are you doing all this? Why is a president doing grunt work for some secret group? Especially one that was assassinated..." Sean asked.

"First, I was obviously not assassinated. The shot was far less life-threatening than the public was told. In a way, I have been with this 'secret' group my entire life. My presidency was entirely devoted to doing everything possible to aid us in stopping the Exterminators. I had already done what I needed to do before the assassination attempt. It simply served as an opportunity to leave the office and move on to more important things."

"Things like getting Project Blackout," Alice said.