World of Ashes II (39 page)

FABOOOOM!

The lights flickered and more aging plaster fell from the ceiling. Everyone’s radio came alive at the same time with frantic reports from dozens of different stations. Special Agent McGowen, the Sage, keyed his mic and all the radios in the room let out an ear piercing squawk. After some cursing everyone turned their radios off except him.

“Master Control, this is
Sage Lead
, please report.” McGowen waited for a response almost longer than he should have. When it finally came, it was mostly garbled nonsense. “Special Agents Dennis and Vaughn,” McGowen pointed to two senior agents. “Go to MC, unfuck this radio situation. One of you report back to me as soon as you know something.”

Daniel decided not make waves and just waited for the Sage to get things organized. He really wanted to ask if anyone had thought to equip police and rescuers with oxygen tanks, or if any emergency crews were standing by to rescue people injured in the riots. Instead he settled for asking the only question that was pertinent his job. “Sir, where’s Potus right now?”

McGowen turned to face Daniel and Shane. “In the Nest Egg, which is where he and the Joint Chiefs will remain until order has been restored.” With all the ways in covered by men with automatic weapons there was little to do from the deep underground bunker. Even if there was no surrounding mountain, this part of the bunker could have sat in an open desert, taken a direct hit from any conventional ordinance in the world and shrugged it off like there had been no attack at all. Or so they were told. For the first time ever, Daniel was sickened by the notion of being too safe.

The order for all clear, that the riots in the lower caverns had been quelled, didn’t sound until almost three in the morning. Now six hours past the end of his regular duty shift, Daniel had taken to cleaning some of the extra weapons in storage just to pass the time and was knee deep in small mechanical parts when news of the event started to trickle in to the men guarding the President. None of it was good news, the earliest images of the aftermath on Level 53 were playing on repeat on a split screen in a lounge adjacent to the arms room as soon as connection with the Complex’s internal network was restored. On one side was the current view from security cameras, on the other was footage of the riots in progress. The opening shot, or in this case blow, had been from a CNP who hit a man with a riot baton when he started pushing his way to the front of a food line. The man’s friends had started throwing empty bottles at the FEMA workers and the cop, more Civilian National Police joined in and the rest was quickly becoming another tragic note in American history. As if it weren’t already bad enough that cannibal corpses walked the Earth, and that Texas was trying to destroy America, it was clear patriotic Americans were turning on each other too. Starved into desperation and yet well fed on hatred and stagnation, perhaps it was only a matter of time before this forced melting pot of humanity spilled over into frothy violence.

Shane turned his head away from the images of so many dead people lying in the trash strewn streets carved deep under Cheyenne Mountain. The UV floodlights cast a scene of absolute destruction, burned trailers, wrecked cars, every food distribution area and medical center looked like a bloody tornado had torn its way from one end to the other. The catastrophe, which could only be viewed in segments by cameras that weren’t destroyed and small radio controlled drones sent in by EMS. The ventilation system was working overtime to pump in fresh air and send out the carbon dioxide and smoke, cameras from orbiting helicopters showed vents belching out blackened air long after the fires were out, but the news reported that there was still so little oxygen inside the deeper sections of the level that it was impossible there would be survivors. Of a population of almost six thousand, only two hundred and seventy made it out before automatic lockdown procedures, designed in the 1980’s, completely cut off both police and rescuers. The large explosions everyone felt were the propane tanks meant to heat water and cook food. It was already theorized the concussive force, felt throughout the entire mountain and heard for miles nearby, had probably killed everyone in the immediate area outright, and damaged any internal hatches that would have allowed Cheyenne Mountain’s internal security to gain entry.

Several units of the Army and nearby elements of the Marine Corps had volunteered to use every ordinance at their disposal to blow a hole in the mountain to get the people out before it was too late. It was unclear why that order was never given approval, but probably because it wouldn’t have made a damned bit of difference.

Later it would be discovered that it really wasn’t as simple as punching a hole in the mountain to let air in. First the mainframe computer had to run a series of protocols that were lengthy and again designed more for radiation detection than fire suppression, before anyone could open the doors. And then there was the repair work to the water lines, which wouldn’t have done anything but make a soggy mess of Level 53 had it worked. Still, people thought it was suspicious that the levels housing the poorest of the displaced population would be the ones to catch fire during repair work to the water lines. In response to increasing dissention from the population, Deputy Director Locodo announced that the threat level to Potus had been increased too.

“Is Potus planning to make a special announcement?” Shane asked their Sage as he readied to leave for a well-deserved day off.

“There’s no plan in the works right now, why?” He asked, putting on a nondescript gray hoodie and Velcro strapped shoes.

Shane shrugged, melancholy over the news. “I just figured he’d want to address his people. Everyone knows why the riot broke out… I mean, life’s shit right now for everyone. The people would probably take some comfort in hearing from their leader.”

McGowen scoffed. “Don’t let him hear you say that out loud. I was just in the Nest Egg, Potus is… not in the spending time with others kind of mood just now. I’m sure he’ll cool off after he’s had some sleep, but right now…” Their Sage looked to the left and the right of the lockers to make sure no one was looking. “The last thing we want is that man in front of millions of people, explaining why thousands more of an already precious few are dead. You can only blame so much on this place’s Cold War tech. Eventually, heads are gonna roll for this, but I’ll bet you anything Potus’s ain’t one ‘em.”

“Promote me to Special Agent.” Shane said quickly.

“What?”

“Congress will put in an inquiry, and we’ll be protecting Potus through the first impeachment trial in more than two decades. If I win the bet, you promote me.”

McGowen stifled a laugh. “Time and grade, Boot. Time and grade.” He said with a smile, heading back to his quarters with the other senior agents.

“Fuckin’ Marines, right?” Daniel sneered. Always a competition between the Army and Marines it was.

“I was in college.” Shane said with some sarcasm.

“Hippy.” Daniel jokingly accused. On their way back to their room, Shane split off and went to see if breakfast was still being served. Now alone in his room, Daniel flopped down on their lumpy couch. His eyelids became immediately heavy, but whist succumbing to exhaustion he saw Kelly had left her uniform cover under the coffee table. He grabbed it and was going to put it on the table when he realized it was quite fragrant. Knowing it was just a little creepy, Daniel put the hat up to his nose and breathed in. He fell asleep dreaming that before too long he wouldn’t have to sleep alone ever again.

Chapter 18

Not that the President ever went anywhere anymore, or that there was any compelling reason for him to leave his mountain bunker these days, but just before Christmas 2016 the Air Force delivered the bad news. Sorties flown against the undead had been almost completely useless and a horrifying waste of fuel resources. What combat aircraft and men to fly them left had suffered additionally heavy losses fighting a stalemate war against the splinter state of Texas, who wasn’t suffering a fuel shortage. The rapidly aging President of the United States was set to make his first appearance in almost three months, some said in an attempt to prevent another looming resource riot, but for anyone who spent time with him it was more to do with an emotional breaking point over the amount of unrest in the nation, or maybe just severe cabin fever. Living inside the mountain, rather than in the fields surrounding it, was supposed to be a status symbol and no small honor to be housed in the same place as the President. After almost two years of being locked inside, people were wanting to move out of the catacombs and into the daylight whether it was one of the coldest winters on record or not. It seemed people would rather take their chances with the ice than with a government that might let them burn if they become a problem. Nine different FEMA executives had been fired from their positions in Cheyenne Mountain over the water repair scandal. Naturally, no politicians had to answer for their authorization of the projects.

Kelly was one of the people who wanted out of the mountain, and she fully had Annette’s support in removing Daniel from the great rock coffin too. He resisted, refusing to be outside when his duty called for him to be wherever the President was. It wasn’t until after Potus delivered the infamous
New Resolve for a New Year
speech, that anyone had any real hope that life might change from the dreary American version of Fortress North Korea. The first thing their dear leader had promised was an immediate recolonization effort, which guaranteed legal amnesty for “harvesting” resources and claiming new properties if the original occupants were deceased. Even if everyone was excited to see an end to the satirically named
Modern Caveman Era
, many people felt the proposed laws being bullied through the House of Representatives (which now excluded states who’s estimated population was too low to represent, or who’s government was in open rebellion) would undermine personal property rights and maybe even the 4
th
Amendment itself.

Daniel was one of those people, but that was only because he was an insider now. He knew of several key laws coming down the pipeline just because he was either in the room or nearby when members of the President’s Cabinet and their Lobbyists informed the lanky puppet of what he would be promoting this week or that. The two main issues that were bothering Daniel were the Recolonization Act, and the Modern Amendments Act. One effectively stripped living owners of desired properties should they not meet the arbitrary rules of an unreasonable proof of ownership, and a legitimate reason for abandoning said properties checklist. The other was a complete circumventing of the Bill of Rights literally to suit the needs of whoever the sitting president was. This meant no more guns, no more speaking out against Public Policy, no more demanding of warrants for searches and seizures, and no right whatsoever to legal representation if you were even suspected of being a Texas sympathizer. People who had living family in Texas were the first to be interrogated by the NSA and elements of the CIA, after that it was on to anyone who had a southern accent. Rumors of even more rampant stupidity as people clamored for government cheese, abounded, and more and more often Daniel felt a real sense of racial tension in almost every aspect of his daily life he’d never known before.

By the turn of the last century racial division had been almost solely driven by quazi-anarchistis and riot inciting pseudo-preachers. But despite the antagonist’s best efforts most people in America were onboard with true equality under the law. Daniel had never had to face cliques of people with different skin colors who were supposedly on his side, his friend Hugh was so black he didn’t need face camouflage at night, yet somehow Daniel and other pale skin folks were feeling the stares of people who were buying into reverse racial stereotypes lock stock and barrel. It didn’t help that Potus wouldn’t address the issue. Time and time again, Daniel and other Caucasian Secret Servicemen had to be there and listen silently as “Civil Rights Leaders” and special interest group lobbyists spelled out a new America, born almost entirely on blaming the
White Man
for centuries of… whatever. It wasn’t true. No one race of people are evil, unless you count the Human Race as a whole, or separated politicians into their own subspecies. To be regularly addressed as Honky was an adjustment, but they’d all seen the last Caucasian agent file an E.O. complaint and be fired just as quickly.

Slowly but surely, anyone who wasn’t some varying form of a “minority,” black, latino, gay, gender-unsure, started pulling only the shit assignments. Guard this gate, put this (empty) section of the catacombs under surveillance, guard this person who barely interacts with Potus or Secretary of Whatevers. Promotions froze, if you were a white male, but yet speaking out would only make things worse for you. Possibly Daniel’s connections kept him from being fired too, but he wasn’t anyone’s go-to guy anymore, unless the trash was overflowing or someone wanted their ass appropriately kissed.

Moving out of the Mountain and back to his mother’s house with Kelly, they got the furnished basement level, was the right decision. Coming home to the most perfect wife in the world was all that kept Daniel sane. That, and his mother was always very attentive of what he had to say about the inner workings of the government. He was voluntarily, at this point, her spy in many respects. She too was alarmed by the bigoted actions of the administration, but more or less it was just a tidal wave they chose to ride. The longer Daniel could be next to the earth-shakers of their day, the better prepared the next Major General in the Air Force would be when she was called upon to do… well, something. An air force with no fuel wasn’t much of an air force, just ask the Luftwaffe.