Fifth Column_Post Apocalyptic EMP Survival Fiction Page 9

  “I’ll try, boss, but we’re stretched pretty thin as it is,” said Preacher.

  The three of them were startled by a voice from behind them.

  “Sook and I will help with the patrols,” said Palmer, who looked over to her future sister-in-law. “Won’t we, Sook?”

  Sook nodded her head and stood firmly with her hands on her hips. Her determined look drew a smile from Lucy.

  “I don’t know, girls,” started Lucy. “I suppose we could pair each of you up with the guys. Cooper and—”

  “No, Momma,” interrupted Palmer. “Sook and I are a team, and we work best that way. Right, sister?”

  Sook laughed and then regained her composure. She parroted Palmer’s serious demeanor. “Yes, we are a team.”

  Major grinned and shook his head in disbelief. The Armstrong Army had just expanded.

  “Preach,” he began, “incorporate Team Girl Power into the perimeter patrol rotation. Daytime only, and their coverage area is restricted to the fence row bordering the Slaughter property and the east fence line.”

  “Daddy,” whined Palmer, “there won’t be any action over thataway.”

  Major raised his hand, and Palmer immediately stopped. “Young lady, that’s the way it’s gonna be, for now. Understood?”

  “Yes, Daddy,” said a dejected Palmer. Then she perked up. “When can we start?”

  “How about today?” asked Preacher as he glanced at both Lucy and Major. “They can relieve the morning riders who are pulling a double shift. I can get them some much-needed rest and use them all night tonight.”

  “Fine by me,” said Lucy.

  “Us too,” said Palmer. “Can that be our regular shift, at least for now?”

  “Absolutely,” said Major. “Now, you two skedaddle, but make sure your weapons are checked out and you’ve got fully charged radios. You two will be alone on the back forty. The terrain’s rougher, and you’ve got to keep your eyes open.”

  Major continued to shout advice to the backs of Team Girl Power, who’d reached the front porch of the ranch house before he was finished. He turned to Lucy. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

  Lucy laughed. “If you’d tried to tell me no, I would’ve punched you in the nose instead of whining like your daughter. They’ll be fine.”

  Chapter 18

  January 17

  The National Mall

  Washington, DC

  Unlike their previous meeting at this spot ten days ago, when the Reflecting Pool was mostly frozen and snow was falling over them, today the skies were clear, but the temperatures remained crisp. Also, power had been restored to the parts of Washington that provided essential services to the government.

  Chief of Staff Acton rarely left the confines of the White House. Prior to the collapse, political insiders looking to advance their careers at the expense of others would track his every movement, looking for a discernible pattern in order to draw bizarre conclusions about his activities.

  Now the White House was occupied by mind-numbed robots, responding to one crisis before moving on to another. Gone were the political hacks looking for an angle to curry favor or an opportunity for advancement, which in Washington-speak meant more power.

  Also, the rabid press—which traversed the hallways of the West Wing, looking to break the next scandalous story—were also missing. Make no mistake, there were plenty of stories to break, only there was nobody in America interested in reading them.

  Prior to the collapse, in America’s hypersensitive, overly political atmosphere, every perceived slight became a source of front-page drama. If the story had legs, as they say, then it might survive the twenty-four-hour news cycle. Otherwise, one day’s drama became old news by the time Lester Holt took to the airwaves at 6:30 that evening with the latest breaking news.

  He checked his watch and noticed that Billy Yancey was five minutes late. His tardiness would typically send Acton into a tirade about whose time did Yancey think was more important—the right arm of the president or some spook who used to spend his days overthrowing governments.

  Fortunately, Acton had become mesmerized at a sight that harkened back to days of old—kids were playing field hockey across the street on the JFK Hockey Fields. It was a reminder to him that despite the suffering across the nation, they were making progress.

  The first step in the recovery effort was to restore the U.S. government. To do that, they needed to bring Washington, DC, back to life. This was happening slowly but surely, Acton made sure of it. As the relief supplies poured into Texas from abroad, Acton instructed the Department of Homeland Security to direct the bulk of the food and equipment to the DC area.

  To operate a government, you needed people. Lots of people. Once order was restored and government employees could feel comfortable returning to the District, then the federal government could take the reins of the recovery.

  The next step in the recovery effort was to control the chaos and mayhem in the cities. The martial law declaration was working with respect to the large cities. Surrounded and then isolated, residents were forced to calm down and succumb to the will of the military or face a certain death from starvation, disease, or the brutality of their neighbors. It was a form of tough love, but the technique was working.

  The last step was to deal with the rural areas, the so-called flyover country. If one were to study a map of presidential election voting results by precinct, the vast majority of America would be seen as a sea of red. The congregation of blue precincts were found in the heavily populated cities on the two coasts and cities like Chicago and Detroit.

  As much as Acton and the president were political polar opposites to the Americans living in flyover country, it was accepted that those citizens were generally more self-reliant and capable of holding on longer than the city-dwellers. Plus, as Acton pointed out often, they weren’t the president’s constituents.

  Acton was politically astute and had the ability to look at the big picture. He was certain America would survive this heinous attack. Yes, there would be death and suffering, as well as a massive die-off of the population. But through the proper marshalling of recovery assets, those most likely to survive would owe their lives to the efforts of the federal government. It was an opportunity to change the political landscape in the United States forever.

  There was just one hurdle to jump. One thorny issue that consumed his thoughts from the moment he woke up in the morning until he finished his nightcap before bed.

  Texas.

  Yancey’s black Lincoln Town Car pulled up to the curb, and the rear window rolled down. He waved Acton over. Initially, Acton didn’t like the change in routine. As Yancey’s driver exited the car and hurried to open the door for Acton, thoughts of a double-cross and hidden microphones filled his mind. He’d be careful with his words today.

  Yancey slid over on the bench seat, and Acton ducked his head to enter. There was another passenger in the backseat facing him. Acton hesitated, his eyes darting back and forth between Yancey and the mysterious newcomer. He almost backed out, but Yancey spoke.

  “Please come in, Charles. There’s somebody I’d like you to meet. She’s a friend.”

  Acton reluctantly joined them, and the door was closed behind him by Yancey’s driver.

  “Who’s this?” asked Acton nervously. He hated being blindsided, and he’d let Yancey know it at a more opportune time.

  He quickly turned his attention to the leggy brunette who sat comfortably in the seat across from him. Her long hair was pulled to one side over a professionally tailored blue suit consisting of a jacket and a knee-length skirt. Her appearance had the usual effect on men who encountered her for the first time—disarming.

  “My apologies for the cloak-and-dagger,” said Yancey. “Charles, I’d like you to meet Pauline Hart. She’s deputy adjutant general in charge of clandestine affairs in Texas. It’s a newly created position designed to mirror our CIA.”

  “Good morning, Mr. Acton,” s
he said with a noticeable Southern accent.

  Acton simply nodded, still processing the addition of the newcomer to the conversation. Yancey seemed to sense Acton’s apprehension, so he continued.

  “Charles, Pauline has worked with me for thirteen years. She has been inserted into several regime-change operations as a member of our diplomatic corps as well as being an operative in her own right. She’s fluent in seven languages, including Spanish and Korean, and moreover, she’s a native Texan who’s well acquainted with her boss, Texas Adjutant General Kregg Deur.”

  “He’s my brother-in-law,” she added.

  “Why does Texas need a spy agency?” asked Acton. He’d regained his composure and was prepared to vet the attractive former CIA operative.

  “The government is getting on its feet, slowly,” she began in her response. “Each department is patterning itself after the U.S. federal model, starting from the top down. The upper echelon of Austin’s governmental officials are calling upon known quantities—friends and family, or those who come highly recommended—to fill the positions first.”

  “How did Deur know you were with the CIA?” asked Acton.

  Yancey stepped in. “I instructed her to reveal enough of a resumé regarding her time in the agency to ensure she got the position. It worked.”

  “Deur is your family,” challenged Acton. “How can we trust your loyalties?”

  “He’s my sister’s family, not mine,” she stated flatly. “I’m an American who happened to be born in Texas. I’ve risked my life for my country, and I’m appalled that they’ve tried to tear it apart.”

  Acton studied Hart for a moment and then turned to Yancey. “What role will she play?”

  Yancey nodded. “For one, information. Pauline delivered Monty Gregg’s schedule to me, together with his protection detail’s information.”

  Acton stared at Yancey’s eyes as he attempted to read the subliminal message being sent. He knew Yancey had ordered the hit on Gregg, and now he was revealing that he’d had inside help from this new addition to his clandestine team.

  “What else?” asked Acton.

  “As a result of recent events, there is an aura of mistrust running through Austin,” replied Yancey. “Burnett is naturally paranoid that there’s a bullet out there with her name on it. She’s circled the wagons and has convinced herself that Washington might be behind the shooting, as well as the breach of their West Texas border.”

  “Why us?”

  Hart sat forward in her seat. “Two reasons, Mr. Acton. One was the prior situation at the Interstate 44 bridge checkpoint. Vice President Gregg confided in President Burnett just days before his death. He told her trained operatives, likely U.S. military, were behind the attack.”

  “The second reason?” asked Acton.

  “United States military vehicles were used to attack the border checkpoint at Hobbs, New Mexico. President Burnett is becoming convinced the U.S. was behind the attack.”

  Acton looked to Yancey. He was still going to choose his words wisely. He didn’t like being tag-teamed by trained spies.

  “The intelligence I was provided stated that North Korean soldiers were driving those vehicles, although the findings were inconclusive.”

  “We have confirmed that, sir,” said Hart. “Based upon information received from an acquaintance of President Burnett’s, the North Koreans may have traveled from as far west as Arizona to plan the attack.”

  “For what reason?” asked Acton.

  “Unknown at this time, sir,” replied Hart.

  Acton sat back in his seat and stared out the window as the kids continued to play field hockey. He glanced at his watch, cognizant of the fact he’d been away from the White House for just over an hour.

  “What are you two suggesting?” asked Acton. He wanted to hear the proposal out of their mouths not his. If ever confronted about this meeting, he would claim he was investigating rogue agency personnel on behalf of the president.

  Yancey responded. “Hart is assembling a covert, non-sanctioned team to locate these Koreans and determine their intentions. If their intentions are to attack Austin to throw Texas in disarray, we’ll do everything within our means to help or allow that to happen. Keeping our hands clean, of course.”

  “You’re collaborating with the enemy,” said Acton dryly. “You need to be careful, Billy.”

  “I prefer to call it a gentle assist or nudge against a common foe,” replied Yancey. “Let me remind you, we created ISIS and arguably al-Qaeda too. When we ploughed billions of our dollars via the Saudis into arming the Mujahideen fighters in Afghanistan against the Soviets, al-Qaeda was born with our money. When we started funding Syrian rebels against Assad, we did so with full knowledge the rebels were dominated by extreme sectarian groups hell-bent on creating an Islamic State.”

  “Billy, still, this is different,” interjected Acton. “We’re at war with North Korea. They’ve used American soil to advance upon Texas. Rendering aid to the enemy won’t sit well with anyone, Texans or Americans.”

  “Charles, this is how things are done,” Yancey shot back. “Do you want Texas back or not?’

  Yancey had backed Acton into a corner. He had to commit or look for a better option. Then the anger crept back into his mind. Burnett had betrayed America at a time when the nation needed help the most. She and the rest of Texas didn’t deserve a heads-up or the assistance of Washington. Let them fail in order to teach other states a valuable lesson. This nationalistic approach to state government could not go unchallenged.

  “Do it,” said Acton as he pulled the door handle and escaped the close confines of the deep state’s clutches.

  Chapter 19

  January 18

  The Mansion

  Austin, Texas

  The early morning phone call from Austin caused a considerable amount of consternation for Lucy and Major. The sun rising in the east had barely shone through their bedroom windows when the satellite phone’s combination of beeping and vibrating stirred them awake. Phone calls in the middle of the night to right after dawn generally meant some form of bad news, and their minds raced to concerns for Duncan.

  After President Burnett’s chief of staff quickly identified herself and the purpose of the early morning call, their attitudes changed from apprehension, to relief, to aggravation at being called so early.

  Major signed off by saying, “I’ll be there as quickly as I can.” He placed the phone back on the counter and propped himself up against the headboard. He fiddled with the covers, pulling them up to his waist and folding the excess into one four-inch fold after another.

  “Where and why?” asked Lucy as she rolled over and reached for his hands, forcing him to stop the nervous fumbling.

  Major responded by squeezing her hand, and then he replied, “Quote—several matters of utmost importance.”

  “What the devil does that mean?” asked Lucy before adding a little snark. “Doesn’t her highness have plenty of minions to call upon without yanking my husband out of bed?”

  Major chuckled and sighed. He didn’t want to get his wife stirred up. Setting aside their cordial informal past as fellow ranchers and then close confidants, Major had been asked by the president of his country to meet with her immediately. You didn’t say no to such a request, regardless of the ongoing apocalypse.

  “Come on, let me grab some coffee and a few of those corn pones you made yesterday,” said Major as he deflected her questions. A rustic cousin to corn bread, Lucy had created several baskets full yesterday to be enjoyed by everyone on the ranch. Major was surprised any were left, especially with the ravenous Riley always lurking about the kitchen.

  He swung his legs out of the bed and looked through his closet for attire that was a cut above his usual blue jeans and plaid western shirt. After a moment of indecision, he opted for khakis and a plaid western shirt. But he’d wear his dress ropers instead of his regular boots. Like most men, Major was easy to dress.

  Lucy n
oticed his extra attention to his outfit. “Do you want me to find your favorite cologne, too?”

  He walked to her side of the bed and sat next to her. “Now, Miss Lucy, there’s no need for that kind of talk, and you really need to do away with that pout.”

  “I don’t understand, Major. What could be so important that you need to leave the safety of the ranch and run clear down to Austin? Plus, you won’t have Duncan with you to keep watch for, you know, trouble.”

  Major leaned over and kissed his wife, effectively erasing the pout with a slight smile. “If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll take Riley and Cooper with me. Two of them are almost as effective as one of Duncan, especially if it comes down to hand-to-hand combat. Riley can whoop on ’em while Coop tells him what to do.”

  This drew a laugh from Lucy, and Major knew all was well in the world between them.

  “You’ll have to feed Riley,” she said as her improved demeanor allowed her to enjoy the playful banter.

  “I’m aware,” he said. “They’ve been riding the graveyard shift, so most likely they’ll sleep on the way to Austin.”

  “Great,” said Lucy as she sat up and folded her arms. “A lot of good two sleeping beauties will do ya if danger lurks.”

  “Good grief.” He laughed as he playfully slapped her on the backside. “I’ll go find the boys if you don’t mind fixin’ us up with an order to go.”

  “Okay. I could use some time alone with the girls today, anyway.”

  *****

  An hour later, the guys were on the road to Austin. As predicted, the boys were snoozing within thirty minutes of hitting the main highway toward the capital. Major used the opportunity to place a quick call to Duncan to let him know of his daily schedule and promised to call later that evening if there was anything of interest discussed.

  The scene around the Mansion was much different from his earlier visit right after Christmas with Duncan. Fort Knox didn’t have this level of military security. As they entered the grounds, they easily passed through the first checkpoint by showing their identification, but at the second checkpoint, they were stopped to confirm that their names were on the approved visitors’ list.