Trackers 3: The Storm (A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Thriller) Read online

  A second flare never came, and Colton relaxed in the saddle. Whatever Raven had seen up there had only warranted the single shot.

  “Let’s go, boy,” Colton said. He gave Obsidian a nudge. The quiet afternoon had been shattered even sooner than he’d expected. His town might not be facing a full-out attack just yet, but he knew it was only a matter of time before the storm hit.

  SECRETARY OF DEFENSE Charlize Montgomery arrived on the outskirts of Charlotte, North Carolina, shortly after noon. She hated leaving Ty behind, but it was too dangerous for him to leave Constellation. Surprisingly, her son had been okay with the trip. He trusted her word that she would be back.

  But Charlize was already questioning her decision. The flight from Cape Canaveral had revealed a nation in chaos. Charlotte, like every other city, had been devastated by the events that had followed the North Korean attack. Without electricity, transportation, or communications, most people were starving and scared. Some of them had seized the opportunity. Looters had picked the cities clean. Gangs were thriving in the lawless streets. And everywhere Charlize looked, fires raged. There was no one left to put them out.

  Charlize couldn’t hear the crack of gunfire over the rotors, but she knew that every few seconds someone, somewhere below, was firing at their former co-workers, neighbors, friends, and perhaps even their own families. The country was tearing itself apart, pitting good people against one another in an effort to survive. And with a pre-attack population of over eight hundred thousand, the survivors in Charlotte would be growing more desperate by the day.

  The last food delivery had been a month ago, and the onset of cool fall weather was helping fuel the fear of what was to come. Charlotte was a Southern city, but the nights would still get cold enough to kill this winter. She recalled a FEMA report about food and water shortages. The report had said that three days after the attack, food shortages would escalate. A week after the attack, hospitals would exhaust their oxygen and medical supplies. Two weeks after the attack, clean water would start to run dry.

  They were almost at the month mark now. Without access to drinking water, people would start dying very quickly. Disease would spread like wildfire through the camps and the ravaged cities. Another report‌—‌one of the hundreds she’d read since stepping into the role of Secretary of Defense‌—‌had stated that only one percent of the population had been prepared for a disaster. Those people had stores of clean water, canned food, and other emergency supplies. Most of them also had enough weapons to protect themselves.

  The average American had run out of supplies mere days into the crisis. Fifty million Americans were expected to starve by winter, and another twenty-five million were expected to die from disease and violence.

  For the survivors, the only choice was to flee to one of the FEMA camps, but even that was no guarantee of safety. The survival centers, or SCs, couldn’t keep up with the demand for food, water, and shelter. It was Charlize’s job to fix that problem, but looking out over Charlotte, she had no idea where to start.

  We can’t save everyone, Charlize. That’s what President Diego had said to her before she left for this trip. She realized now more than ever that it was true.

  Charlize tightened her restraints as the Sikorsky SH-60 Seahawk dipped. The pilots were flying like they were heading for a combat zone.

  Then again, the city did look like a war zone. Burning cars on the street. People smashing storefronts with baseball bats. Families pushing shopping carts stuffed with their belongings down highways.

  There was something else that gave Charlize pause‌—‌a train with hundreds of train cars backed up on the tracks in the distance.

  What if we can get them running again? she thought to herself. It was the same way the American West was built and won. If they could do it again, they might have a chance at moving supplies, and people.

  “Almost there,” Albert said, snapping her from her thoughts.

  They were nearing the airport, and Charlize could see the concourses and air traffic control tower. Not far from one of the tarmacs, the wreckage of a 747 lay where the plane had crashed after losing power. Both wings, sheared off, stuck out of the dirt like arrows.

  A patchwork of bright colors covered the grounds beyond the tarmacs like a quilt. Thousands of tents were pitched across the terrain. Charlize unbuckled her harness and moved over to one of the windows. On one side of a fence made from concrete and barbed wire were hundreds of soldiers dressed in green. Trapped on the other side were tens of thousands of civilians. Maybe even a hundred thousand. It looked like a gigantic music festival from this height.

  “Good Lord,” Albert said. He gestured for Charlize to move back. “Stay away from the windows.”

  “The sight of a working helicopter might draw more than just eyes, ma’am,” said a young corporal named Marko. “This bird’s got a big target on her side.”

  Charlize sank back into her seat and buckled the harness. More than one transport had been ambushed en route to a survival center. People were furious at the government’s failure to protect them.

  Albert didn’t take his own advice. He lingered near the window, gazing out over the crowds. She knew he was searching for one face in particular. Yesterday, he’d gotten word that his twin sister, Jacqueline, had been entered into the system FEMA was using to track people. She was here in Charlotte, or had at least passed through here a few days ago. After losing Nathan, Charlize was more than willing to help reunite Albert with his sister. Although the big man rarely showed emotion, she knew he’d been going through hell as he waited for some word of his family.

  “We’ve got gunfire at two o’clock,” reported one of the pilots. “Everyone hold on.”

  The bird banked hard to the right. Charlize jerked forward, the straps tightening across her burned skin. Albert moved away from the window to shield her body with his own.

  “Take it easy up there!” he yelled.

  Charlize tried to look beyond his massive torso. The bird continued to turn sharply, away from the airport.

  “I’m getting us the hell out of here,” said one of the pilots.

  “No, you’re not. Turn around,” she said over the comms. They had made it this far; she wasn’t going to retreat now. Besides, the Seahawk needed a drink, and the nearest safe refueling site was too far to risk it.

  The pilot took his time responding. “Your call, ma’am.”

  “Damn right it is. Take us down.”

  Albert looked at her. “You’re sure about this?”

  She dipped her head. “I just wish I was the one flying.”

  Below, a sea of bodies surged toward the checkpoints around the airport. The North Carolina Department of Emergency Management, the local police, and the National Guard hadn’t been anywhere near prepared for an event of this magnitude, and the airport was the best option for a survival center. It wasn’t a terrible choice. From the sky, it appeared to be fairly easy to defend, with lots of open space for shelters, including the hangars and concourses.

  “Ma’am, we’re going to be exposed no matter where we try to cross,” said one of the pilots over the headset.

  Charlize took a moment to think, and then gestured to the crew chief sitting across the troop hold. “Get on that M240,” she said.

  The soldier didn’t hesitate like the pilots had. He stood and opened the door. Wind rushed into the open space as the man grabbed the big gun.

  “Don’t shoot anyone unless we’re shot at first,” Charlize ordered. She was banking on the sight of the gun deterring anyone from taking another shot at the bird.

  “Yes, ma’am,” said the crew chief.

  Albert continued shielding Charlize with his body as the pilots prepared to come in for another pass. Every head seemed to turn in their direction from the fields below. She could picture what they were seeing‌—‌a big gray helicopter packed full of soldiers, the perfect target for any asshole that felt the government was responsible for their predicament. It had on
ly taken a few weeks for ordinary, patriotic, tax-paying citizens to turn on their country.

  The crew chief raked the barrel of the M240 back across the crowds as the Seahawk flew over the fields and tarmacs, but he didn’t fire. The din of angry shouts rose over the thump of the rotors.

  “You think she’s down there?” Albert asked her.

  Charlize reached up and patted his muscular arm. “She is, Big Al, and we’re going to find her.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” he said.

  That was Albert‌—‌always the southern gentleman, even when people were taking shots at them. God, she was glad to have the big man by her side. Kind-hearted and strong, he was the most loyal person she had ever known, and the closest friend she had left in this world after losing Nathan.

  She drew in a shaky breath as a wave of grief crashed over her. This wasn’t the time to mourn her brother. Motion snapped her from her thoughts. The door gunner had swiveled the big gun to the right and leaned into the butt like he was preparing to fire. Trusting the instincts she’d honed as a fighter pilot, Charlize ducked just as a bullet punched into the metal side of the chopper.

  Albert curled around her. “Protect Secretary Montgomery!”

  Soldiers closed in, forming a phalanx of bodies to shield her flesh with their own. Charlize brought her hands up and covered her ears, but it didn’t seem to make a difference. The bark of the M240 rang out, the GAGAGA echoing through the troop hold. Charlize counted the seconds, calculating the number of rounds the crew chief had just fired into the crowd.

  “I think we’re clear,” he said over the comms. “I think I got the bastard that shot at us.”

  You think? Charlize had lost sight of the crowd, but she knew fifty 7.62 mm rounds would have inflicted major damage‌—‌especially from this height, where it would be almost impossible to get a clear shot. The other soldiers remained clustered around her as the helicopter wheeled over the camp once more.

  “Prepare for landing,” one of the pilots said.

  Charlize pulled off her headset with a shaky hand and glanced up at Albert. His eyes met hers, his chest heaving like he couldn’t breathe.

  “It’s going to be okay, Al,” she said, so quietly that only he could hear her. “I’m fine, and we’re going to find Jacqueline.”

  After a long moment, Albert nodded and straightened up. The other soldiers fell back, revealing the crew chief still gripping the gun. A month ago, the man would have earned himself a court martial for firing into a crowd of civilians, but the country was under martial law now. His only punishment would be living with the guilt of killing innocent civilians in his attempt to hit a single shooter.

  The Seahawk landed on the tarmac with a jerk a moment later.

  “We’re going to find your sister,” Charlize repeated to Albert as she stood.

  The soldiers jumped out and fanned away from the bird to set up a perimeter on the tarmac. Albert nudged past the crew chief, giving him a furious look before turning and helping Charlize out onto the pavement.

  She looked at the crew chief one last time before taking Albert’s hand. His glassy, downward gaze told her that he was already regretting his actions.

  Once her feet were on the ground, Charlize and Albert moved quickly toward a group of National Guard soldiers on the tarmac. The sound of the rotors waned in the background, the draft mixing with the cool afternoon breeze at her back. There was only one other helicopter parked here. Most of the military assets that had been hardened against an EMP attack were being kept in secure locations, and this wasn’t one of them.

  An Army captain stood out front of the dozen soldiers. He came to attention as Charlize approached. Recently shaved and boots polished, the man had clearly prepared for her visit.

  “Secretary Montgomery, I’m Captain Zach Harris. Welcome to Survival Center Charlotte.” He met her gaze with cool blue eyes behind black-rimmed glasses.

  She sized him up quickly, from his neat appearance to the keen intelligence in those eyes, and what she saw tracked with the briefing she’d received that morning. SC Charlotte was overcrowded and undersupplied like many of the survival centers, but from what she had been told, Harris was one of the more prepared and competent captains in charge.

  “I’m sorry about the...excitement,” Harris continued. “I beefed up security, but it’s hard to keep guns out of those crowds. Another reason I told Command it would have been safer to approach at night.”

  Charlize acknowledged his apology with a curt nod. “We’re here now, so let’s get to work.”

  “Absolutely. If you’d follow us, please.”

  Charlize walked alongside Harris, talking as they moved. Albert fell into step just behind her.

  “I’m told you have experience with setting up camps like this one,” she said.

  “Yes, ma’am, I helped establish civilian centers that fed and protected tens of thousands of local refugees in both Iraq and Afghanistan.”

  “Sounds like you’re the perfect man for the job. I wish we had soldiers of your caliber for all of the SCs.”

  Harris smiled with appreciation. “Thank you, ma’am. We’re doing the best we can, but no matter how many shipments come in from abroad, there are always more mouths to feed. Security is also a major problem.”

  A single gunshot cracked in the distance to punctuate his words, but the noise didn’t even seem to faze Harris or his soldiers. They continued walking across the tarmac like nothing had happened.

  Charlize eyed the guard towers rigged with industrial lights around the perimeter of the tarmac. Soldiers manned M240 machine guns on the towers, protecting the two choppers, but no one fired. Harris’s men were disciplined.

  The captain led the group toward a dozen warehouses. A Humvee raced by, a soldier in the turret swiveling in their direction as the truck rounded a corner and vanished. Another gunshot sounded. Then three more. The flurry of shots hinted at a battle rather than a random shooting.

  “Like I said, violence is a major problem here. I estimate one person is killed every few hours somewhere in the city. Sometimes it’s much worse, but it’s never better. Outside these walls it’s a goddamn warzone with the Latin Kings, MS-13, and other gangs wreaking havoc.”

  Charlize shook her head. She’d read it all in Harris’s reports, of course, but seeing the SC in person was much different from reading about it from the safety of Constellation.

  Harris pointed at the hangars. “That’s where we’re storing our food and supplies. I’ve got this area on lockdown, and we only fly in at night. That way the locals don’t riot. Most of the time, that is.”

  Charlize examined the massive hangars, previously used to house 747s and other airplanes. Now they were full of life-saving food, medicine, and supplies. Harris indicated a particular hangar ahead with open doors.

  “Welcome to the EOC,” Harris said as they approached.

  She did a quick scan of the emergency operations center. Metal tables were set up inside the open space, and a swarm of people were moving about. A wall of soldiers stood sentry behind a machine gun nest. Laptops in metal cases were spread out over tables, along with maps and stacks of reports. Civilians and military worked side by side on recovery efforts, but Charlize could tell just by looking that the SC was understaffed. If this was one of the better-run centers, then the rest must be in terrible shape.

  “How are you selecting who gets in these walls?” she asked Harris.

  “We’ve been screening mostly by occupation. Doctors, scientists, engineers, and soldiers are high priorities.”

  “And if you don’t have any skills?” Albert asked.

  “You’re shit out of luck,” Harris said dryly, his gaze sweeping over Albert.

  Charlize had forgotten the two men hadn’t been introduced. “This is Capitol Police Officer Albert Randall,” she said. Harris shook Albert’s hand. “He’s looking for his sister. Apparently she was logged into the FEMA system here.”

  “When was that?” Harris
asked.

  “Thirty-six hours ago,” Albert replied. “She signed up for housing and medicine.”

  Harris pointed at a group of people near a workstation. “Those people can help you locate her. But I’ll warn you, lots of people check in and then move on. If she left the area, it’s going to be hard to find her.”

  “Jacqueline is smart, but she doesn’t have any of the skills you mentioned earlier,” Albert said.

  Harris frowned. “Then chances are we turned her away.” He paused, held Albert’s gaze, and added, “I’m sorry.”

  “Let’s at least figure out if she’s here before we start worrying,” Charlize said.

  “And if she’s not here, I need to know where she went,” Albert said.

  “I’d consider it a personal favor,” Charlize added.

  Harris hesitated for a moment. He probably got requests like this all the time from civilians, but if he was upset about Charlize using her position to lean on him, he sure didn’t show it.

  “If your sister is still in Charlotte, I’ll help you find her,” he said. “Officer Randall, I’d advise checking in with the FEMA staff first. In the meantime, Secretary Montgomery, why don’t you follow me so I can show you more of our facility?”

  Albert didn’t budge, but Charlize gave him a nod. “I’ll be fine. Go see what you can find out about your sister.”

  “Yes, ma’am, thank you.”

  Albert hurried away while Charlize followed Harris out of the hangar. While they walked, Harris said, “This is confidential, but we’re about to shut the gates. We’re bursting at the seams with civilians that we can’t take care of. I’m planning to place the entire SC on lockdown.”

  Charlize saw what he meant by bursting at the seams. The next hangar was packed full of civilians. A thousand cots filled the massive space. The air was thick with the smell of unwashed bodies and despair. Coughing rang out in all directions, and hungry, filthy faces stared at Charlize.

  She swallowed hard, trying her best not to stare. But her eyes betrayed her, and she found herself looking at a woman clutching a baby to her breast, trying her best to feed the crying boy to no avail.