CyberWar: World War C Trilogy Book 3, Page 3

  Archer said, “A whole list of Americans, some names of towns. We’re trying to track down the people now. We’ve gotten in touch with most of them, but so far, we can’t find connections between them. We don’t know why they’re on this list.”

  “Why would they have printed out a paper list?” I asked.

  “They weren’t expecting anybody to get into that safe house,” the senator said.

  “The bigger question is,” Archer said, “why did they target you, Mr. Mitchell? To get to Senator Seymour? What makes him such a special target?”

  “Five minutes to the freighter video feed,” a voice cried out from the kitchen area.

  “Mike,” the senator said, “come join us?”

  “Sure, but we’re talking to Susie first.”

  Behind me, I heard the TV turn back on. The Fox news anchor detailed another list of satellites destroyed in the past hours. An image returned to the screen, mostly blank, of Moscow with its lights out. Chuck shrugged—he couldn’t help it, he needed the news feed—with the TV remote in hand.

  Lauren dialed the cottage number.

  Enlarged prints now occupied most of the surface area of the dining table. Enhanced reproductions of the soggy papers that had flown when the truck had crashed the party at the terrorist safe house. I scanned the incomplete and smudged-out names on the list. They were doing number crunching to figure out how they were connected, and whether these individuals were participants in terrorist activities, or targets, or something else entirely. One place name popped out. We had almost driven through the place on our way here a week ago.

  Pleasant Shade, Tennessee. The date beside it was September 9th. That was ten days ago.

  I asked, “Did anybody talk to people in Pleasant Shade?”

  Chapter 3

  “DAD,” ELLAROSE SQUEALED into the receiver on her end, “check your phone.”

  Lauren had dialed Susie and Ellarose on the landline.

  The growing cacophony of the chopper from the kitchen made it difficult to hear Chuck’s daughter over the speakerphone. Glasses clinked and feet shuffled as the Secret Service and others assembled to watch the show. I almost asked them to turn it down but decided I would go up to watch.

  Like watching one of those drone strikes on the internet, except this was in real time. This was about to happen “live” and had the feeling of a movie premiere. My stomach twinged at the realization that real people might die as we munched popcorn and cheered. Were they the same ones that had attacked us?

  Nobody really knew.

  The fiber optic internet connection to the cottage was still working, so when Susie connected her phone to the wireless up there, she could send pictures to us here. Between the rolling blackouts sweeping back and forth through Virginia and the rest of the country and the patchwork of communications, it was a minor miracle we could talk with her and the kids.

  Chuck picked his phone up awkwardly with his right hand— his left in a sling—and clicked an email. He showed everyone. It was Ellarose, holding a fish as big as her arm and grinning a toothy smile into the camera.

  “It’s a brown trout,” Ellarose said over the speakerphone.

  “That’s my girl.” Chuck beamed.

  “Susie,” I said. “We’ll be coming up tomorrow. Oscar is on his way, maybe with my brother? They haven’t gotten there yet?”

  Susie replied, “Nobody up here but the two security contractors the senator sent. That and some muskrat and eagles. You guys will love it up here. We’ve been having fun. Seriously, Mike, you’ll love it.”

  I wasn’t so sure.

  The memories of that place lingered.

  My wife, though, insisted that we needed to get past it, that it was a beautiful spot, and we needed to come to terms with some of the ghosts from our past. Time up in the mountains would do us some good, she had told me the night before when we were trying to go to sleep. She and Susie were ganging up on me.

  “Did you talk to Ken or Joe?” I asked.

  “Yesterday,” Susie replied.

  “My brother Terry is always late,” I said.

  “You tell the elder Mitchell when you see him,” Chuck said, “that he still owes me fifty bucks from our last arm wrestle. You tell him.”

  “Susie?” It sounded like the line had gone dead.

  We waited a beat, then another. Chuck looked at me. I looked at him.

  “Susie?” Chuck said.

  Gone.

  We tried calling back, but the line was busy. Maybe she was trying to call us. We waited a few minutes and tried again. Same result. We tried the meshnet app, the new one Damon had asked us to install. But the call didn’t go through. Might be that there weren’t enough connections up there and the internet wasn’t connected again. Chuck sent her an email and asked her to call us when she got it.

  “We could drive up tonight,” Damon said as he walked over. “It’s only an hour. I want to get back up that way myself.”

  “Not a bad idea,” I said. “We could go now.”

  Damon flopped onto the couch and sighed.

  “You still thinking about that Paulina girl?” I said, smiling.

  We had met her at Farmer Joe’s place in Kentucky, and the two had become an item. He had called her once over the meshnet and had huddled in a corner like a teenager and stayed clear of the rest of us so we couldn’t hear him talking.

  “We’re talking.” He grinned sheepishly. “But I’ve got other stuff that’s more important right now I need to deal with.” He glanced at the FBI agents still at the table in the kitchen.

  The noise of the choppers in the background was getting louder and louder. Commands barked over a loudspeaker, telling whoever was on the boat to shut off the engines.

  Damon continued, “I’ve been asking people to uninstall and reinstall the new app from the University of Washington. The FBI and government want me to give them access to everything.”

  “Can’t argue with The Man,” Chuck said, “Who was that Chinese guy they showed you?”

  Damon ignored the question and said, “It’s me giving the government the personal data of millions of people who trusted me. I’m not sure it’s legal.”

  Chuck said, “Not like they don’t have everything anyway.”

  “But it’s exactly what I’ve been trying to stop. I’m part of an MIT and University of Washington project where we’re building an open-source social media platform for people to keep track of their friends. Like a wiki social. No profits. No big corporations and no government. Something that’s not evil.”

  “Heard that before,” Chuck said.

  “Don’t remind me.”

  I sat with Damon on the couch. “You need to be practical. Terek and his sister targeted us. They infiltrated America, starting with you. I know you had the best intentions, but this is a national security issue. You have to let this go, do what they ask.”

  “Hey,” Chuck said, “can we watch the live video of the SEAL team on the big screen?”

  This was like the World Series and Super Bowl wrapped into one for him. I wasn’t as enthusiastic, but still curious.

  Lauren was on one end of the couch with Olivia in her arms. My little girl looked like she was asleep. My wife whispered to me, “I’ll take her up to the bedroom with Luke. I don’t want the kids seeing this. People they’ve met might get killed.”

  “That’s a good idea,” I whispered back.

  She walked past us. Damon and Chuck stayed silent. When she was gone, Damon went to a corner and held up his phone to start recording a video telling people to uninstall his app and use the new government one on his website.

  “Hey, Leo, can we get the video on the big screen?” Chuck called out.

  “One second.” The senator asked some questions, talked to a tech guy about security clearances.

  I pulled my phone from my pocket and opened the new meshnet app. Found Joe’s number. I called. I wasn’t sure if I would get through, as that would require having a meshnet a
ll the way from here to the farm in Kentucky, but the line rang.

  A second later I heard that familiar drawl. “Mike,” Farmer Joe said, “that you?”

  “How are things over there?”

  “Holding our own. Those fires came in from the west and we dug up a firewall to stop it. They kinda petered out. Big rainstorm swept over the top of the Shenandoah and this whole area. There’s still fires burning up in the hills, but seems to be calming some.”

  “That’s good to hear. Did my brother make it down?”

  “He said he couldn’t make it.”

  Didn’t surprise me. Terry was never on time for anything. “Did Oscar leave yet?”

  “Yesterday.”

  “What time?”

  “About noon.”

  I checked my watch. That was twenty-seven hours ago. It was only a five- or six-hour drive up there, but who knew what they might’ve encountered? Fires. Roadblocks. It had taken us seven days to drive up from New Orleans the week before.

  “Didn’t they get up to the house yet?” Joe asked.

  “I’m sure they’ll be there soon.”

  “I’m not worried.”

  Damon was still recording the video on his phone. He stood next to the TV. Its screen blinked to life. The grainy image of a freighter appeared in the middle. The noise of the choppers was now almost deafening as the sound came on through multiple sets of speakers.

  “Shut off your engines,” we heard the pilot calling out on a loudspeaker. He was yelling instructions to the captain of the freighter.

  “I gotta go,” said Joe. “I can hear you’re up to something. You keep in touch, tell me when they get there. If you can, I mean.”

  “Joe says that Oscar left yesterday at noon,” I said to Chuck.

  Chuck’s eyes were glued to the big screen in front of us. The chopper closed in. The camera view of the ocean and ship filled the entire screen. People ran on the rooftops of the containers, some of them with what looked like guns in their hands. One of them fired. Return fire stuttered. In the distance, on the ocean’s horizon, ships appeared all around the freighter.

  Nowhere for it to go.

  The senator came down from the kitchen to join us in the sitting area. He stood by the immense windows looking out over the Potomac. I got up to stand by him, my arms crossed.

  “This will be over in a minute,” the senator said.

  A startling crack.

  It wasn’t from the TV.

  The senator looked to his right. A bird had hit the glass. It squirmed around on the paving stones just below the window. A red-hot flash in the distance. Something else impacted the window. A bright light like a flashbulb lit up the room.

  Chapter 4

  WAS THAT AN explosion? Sounded more like a big firecracker. The last two days, since we’d routed the terrorist threat, people had been setting off fireworks all over the nation. A celebration of a victory that I didn’t feel.

  The glass of the windowpane hadn’t shattered.

  The Secret Service outside crouched in the wind and rain. One man inside pulled the senator behind him. Silence. Just the wind howling outside.

  Maybe the flash was an electrical short?

  And what was that on the grass? A bird?

  One of the Secret Service carefully moved over to investigate the thing squirming in the dirt. He talked into his wrist mic. As he leaned closer, a red mist clouded his head. Something spattered against the window beside him.

  The man slumped to the ground.

  At the same instant, more thudding impacts hit the window right in front of where the senator stood, concurrent flashes and cracks that didn’t shatter the glass but bent it inward, like a windshield hit by a fat rock thrown from an overpass. More red dots flashed by outside.

  The lights went out. The TVs went off.

  Silence.

  The room pitched into near darkness. Then screaming. Stuttering gunfire.

  I was already running before I realized my feet were moving, my sneakers squeaking against the marble floor of the dining area as I cleared the corner to the sweeping staircase up from the foyer.

  “Luke,” I yelled. “Lauren!”

  Three more loping steps and I leapt up the staircase. Lauren was already at the first landing, half crouched with both kids under her arms. I scooped up Olivia, who wailed with fear.

  “This way,” the senator called out from downstairs. “We have a safe room in the basement.”

  Chuck was already on his way up the stairs to meet me. The stairway was in darkness. Emergency lights clicked on and lit up the corners and angles of the house in stark light. Damon nowhere to be seen.

  Right behind my wife, I saw her mother, Susan. Her eyes were saucers even in the dim light. She had an Adidas tracksuit on, her hair a mess. She must have been sleeping or watching a movie with the children. She looked like she’d just woken up, but she was spry and quick for her age.

  With one arm around my kids, I reached around Lauren to grab Susan’s hand.

  “Get downstairs, now!” The senator’s voice thundered from just below us.

  Beyond the walls, men shouted. Gunfire in short bursts.

  Thudding pops like fireworks going off all around the house.

  Urging Lauren and Susan and the kids ahead of me, with Chuck leading, we ran as fast as we could down the stairs. A wall of Secret Service men formed around the senator, but he shoved some of them back to pull Lauren and Susan into the middle of the knot.

  “We’re heading down to the basement,” one of the Secret Service men said into his wrist mic.

  I looked around for Damon. Couldn’t find him. No time. Like a phalanx of Roman soldiers, we edged down the hallway.

  “Did anyone get a look at who’s attacking us?” Chuck asked.

  Farther down the hallway, a spindly object hovered into view. Below the stuttering gunfire and screams, whatever it was buzzed with a high whine and wobbled in space at about head height. It looked like a giant hummingbird, with a glittering head atop a spiny metal neck six inches long. A single red LED at its center. It stopped for an instant, as if observing us.

  Everyone in our group froze.

  The spindly hummingbird tilted forward. The whine ratcheted up an octave. It shot straight at me. I lurched back. The Secret Service man ahead of me raised his gun and fired, then jumped and put his left hand out to block the thing as it shot straight at his face. His hand exploded in red mist and yellow flame. He screamed.

  I fell backward. Another agent crashed down and sprawled on top of me. Lauren had hold of one of my hands. Olivia dangled around her neck. Lauren pulled Luke up, grabbed me under my armpit, yanked, and got me to my feet. Angry buzzing behind us. I looked back over my shoulder.

  Another whirring killer hummingbird appeared in the room behind us.

  “Back, back!” I screamed.

  Three of the Secret Service were already down in their stance, weapons up and firing. Two more grabbed the senator and rushed him along the hallway toward us. My head down, I wrapped my arms around my family and spurred them back the way we had come, but there were already more of those swarming machines.

  We were trapped.

  Susan, Lauren’s mother, was behind us and right in front of the senator.

  “Mike,” Lauren said, “get my mom. She can’t—”

  Susan did her best to run to us, but she fell over. Hard. Toppled awkwardly onto the marble floor.

  I let go of Lauren, who now had both Luke and Olivia in her arms, her eyes desperate, and turned to go back to get Susan. She was struggling to her feet when she turned around. A high-pitched whine behind her. One of the bastard hummingbirds took a line straight at her.

  Lauren’s mother lifted both hands up, but the thing went between them. With a sickening thud, heart-rending spatter and flashing orange flame, it dove into her neck.

  Lauren shrieked behind me, then let out a keening wailing moan.

  More of the savage little machines flooded the hall
way. I turned blindly, reached for my wife and kids. Someone grabbed and tugged me. Together with Lauren and the children, I fell backward, plunging spinning into open space.

  Lauren yanked away from me.

  My head crashed into an edge, sending a bolt of pain down my neck. My vision blurred. Olivia yelped. Somebody cursed. I gritted my teeth and strained, felt a heavy body tangle into me, spinning into space, a sharp corner biting into my back and arms. We skidded to a rolling stop. I smelled engine oil and rubber.

  A door slammed behind us.

  Chattering gunfire and yells echoed dully from beyond the walls.

  “Mom!” Lauren screamed.

  Olivia shivered and mewled. Somehow, I had cocooned her within my arms. “You okay?” I whispered.

  She burst into a screeching wail.

  My face was flat against the cool cement of the garage. I cooed gently to Olivia and propped myself up with one hand. Chuck was halfway up the four flights of stairs to the entrance to the house, his good arm—his right—wrapped around my wife’s waist. She hammered on the door.

  “Lauren, honey, she’s gone,” Chuck said into her ear.

  “Mrs. Mitchell, you gotta stop making noise.”

  I turned to my right. The person I had fallen over was Archer, the special ops guy from the kitchen. He must’ve grabbed me. My instinct, now I knew my kids and wife were safe, was to scramble to my feet and get back to the door, back to Susan. Lauren’s mother was still behind that door.

  A strong arm held me back.

  “Mrs. Mitchell,” Archer repeated, louder and more insistent this time. “Mr. Mitchell. You gotta hold quiet. Everybody’s gotta keep silent.” He released me and held out both hands, fingers splayed, as if he were pushing something down.

  My whole body shook.

  “But... my...” Lauren’s voice cracked. “My mother, she...”

  One of the TVs had started playing loudly again in the kitchen. Had someone inside turned it on? We heard the clamor of the chopper, and one of the pilots yelling instructions to the people on the boat. Beyond that, the rhythmic chatter of gunfire from the outside had died down.