Trackers: A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Thriller Read online

  “Don’t, please.”

  The source of the headlights came around a bend in the road. It was an old Jeep Cherokee.

  Sandra smiled for the first time since her car had died.

  “Raven,” she said, letting go of Nathan.

  “You know the driver?”

  Sandra smiled. “He’s my brother.”

  The Jeep stopped a few feet from the soldier. Two men stepped onto the road. It was Raven—and the person she least expected to see him with, Estes Park Police Chief Marcus Colton.

  “Evenin’, Chief,” the soldier said.

  Colton grabbed a rifle and then shut the car door. He kept the muzzle toward the ground.

  “Dale,” he replied. “Want to tell me why you got that shotgun out?”

  Raven continued around the back of the truck to let Creek out while Colton approached Dale.

  “Reckon we’re under attack. Just trying to get some answers,” Dale replied.

  “These people aren’t a threat to you,” Colton said. “Why don’t you lower your gun?”

  “Sandra, is that you?” Raven asked.

  She ran toward her brother, moving in a wide arc around Dale. Raven reached out and folded her in a hug. Creek ran up and nudged Sandra’s leg.

  “What the hell are you doing out here?” Raven asked.

  “It’s a really long story,” she said. “Why are you here?”

  Raven shook his head. “I’ll tell you later.”

  Colton was approaching the irate soldier with his hand out. “I’m not going to tell you again to lower that shotgun.”

  “You got your gun out,” Dale said as he raised the barrel of his shotgun from the ground. The muzzle swept past Sandra, and Raven pulled her out of the way, shielding her body with his.

  “Watch it, asshole,” Raven snapped. Creek bared his teeth, reading his handler’s body movements.

  “I’m just protecting myself,” Dale said. He turned to look at Nathan but found himself staring directly into the barrel of a pistol.

  “I’d listen very carefully,” Nathan said in a firm voice. “This police officer asked you to drop your gun.”

  Dale’s nostrils flared, and his eyes widened as he focused on the barrel.

  “Drop the shotgun,” Colton repeated in a low voice.

  Sandra wrapped her arms across her chest, shivering from more than the cold.

  “Last chance,” Colton said.

  “I’m a retired Army Ranger. Not a fucking terrorist,” Dale said. “You’re going to have to pry my gun out my cold…”

  Colton directed the muzzle of his rifle at Dale’s head, pushing it against his skull. “I do not have time for this right now.” He looked to Raven and said, “Take his shotgun.”

  Raven didn’t hesitate. He pried the gun away from the soldier with little resistance.

  “You’re going to regret that, Injun,” Dale said. Sandra scowled at him, struggling to hold back the torrent of insults she longed to shout at the racist prick.

  Nathan backed away and holstered his pistol like nothing had happened. “I need a ride into town. Will that be a problem?”

  “Nope,” Colton said as he took Dale’s gun from Raven and slung it over his back.

  Raven was still glaring at Dale. “This guy is not getting in my Jeep.”

  Dale spat on the ground. Sandra pulled on her brother’s hand, but he jerked it away, advancing on the soldier.

  “Stop, Raven. Just walk away,” she said.

  “Listen to your Injun girlfriend,” Dale said.

  This time Sandra nearly hit the man.

  “Dale, you just don’t know when to shut your mouth,” Colton said, stepping between them. “Back up toward the edge of the road, or I’m going to have to place you under arrest.”

  That seemed to get through to Dale. He walked a few paces to the side of the highway. Colton nudged Raven, and Sandra pulled on his arm. He stood there, breathing heavily. Creek was at his feet, waiting for orders.

  “You’re going to regret this, Marcus,” Dale said.

  “It’s a long walk into town,” Colton said. “Use it to cool off.”

  Dale spat on the pavement a second time. His face twisted into a scowl. “You’re going to leave me out here barehanded to fend off the wolves?”

  “There are no predators up here, dummy,” Raven said. “Just you. What kind of man raises a gun toward a woman?” He shook his head and stomped away, muttering to himself.

  When they got to the truck, Colton offered his hand to Nathan. “Chief of Police Marcus Colton.”

  “Major Nathan Sardetti.”

  They shook and Colton looked back at the mountains. “What happened up there?”

  Nathan clenched his jaw and ignored the question. “You didn’t see my wingman eject, did you?”

  “Afraid not, but I didn’t see you eject either, so he could have made it out.” Colton looked toward the back of the Jeep. “This is going to sound crazy, but we’re transporting the body of a young girl back to town. It’s going to be a little crowded in the Jeep.”

  “You found Melissa?” Sandra asked. She avoided looking in the back window. Her Allie was about the same age, and she couldn’t imagine the horror Melissa’s parents were going through. She didn’t want to imagine it.

  “Let’s get going,” Colton said. He opened the front passenger door, put the seat down, and helped Sandra into the second row of seats. Then he scooted next to her. Raven opened the back lift for Creek. He jumped in and sat on his haunches.

  Sandra twisted around to pet the dog on the head. A blanket covered Melissa’s body, but it did little to stifle the smell. Ten years as a nurse had taught Sandra about all sorts of foul odors, but this one didn’t make sense. It smelled like burned flesh, not decay. She held her breath and rolled down the window.

  Raven fired up the Jeep and steered it away from Dale, who was standing in the middle of the road, hands on his hips. Colton pumped the shotgun shells out of Dale’s gun and dropped it onto the pavement as they sped away.

  Charlize cursed a blue streak the moment she reached the lobby of her apartment. A few residents were downstairs in their pajamas, some with flashlights, all asking what was going on. Candles burned on a centrally-located wooden table, the glow dancing off the walls and illuminating the exhausted faces of her neighbors.

  She tried to avoid their curious gazes. She rarely talked to anyone here, but she did recognize some faces. The last thing she wanted right now was to field their questions.

  An elderly woman with a cane shuffled over towards Charlize. “Senator, do you...”

  Clint met her halfway and redirected the question to himself.

  “Do you know why the lights are out, sir? It’s cold in my apartment. When are they going to turn the heat back on?”

  Charlize didn’t stick around to listen to the conversation. She heaved her backpack higher on her shoulders and continued across the lobby. The digital clock on the wall had stopped at 9:45 p.m. It had to be after midnight now, but the streets were filled with people.

  The double glass doors swung open, and Albert Randall rushed inside wearing his usual navy blue suit with a pair of tennis shoes instead of his polished dress shoes. He ducked his shaved head to clear the door and searched the room with the beam of a heavy flashlight, stopping when he saw Charlize.

  “Damn, it’s good to see you,” Charlize said. Her eyes flitted to his shoes. On any other occasion, she would have cracked a joke.

  Albert wiped his forehead. “It’s getting wild out there.”

  “Is your family okay?”

  “Jane is taking the girls to her mom’s house first thing in the morning. It’s about a day’s walk out of the city, and she has plenty of food and water to last them a couple weeks. My brother is going with them.”

  “That’s probably a good idea,” Charlize said. She reached up to put a hand on Albert’s shoulder. “I appreciate you sticking with me, Big Al. I know you’d rather be with them.”


  “Not abandoning you now, ma’am.” His southern drawl was strong and reassuring. Charlize was glad to have him by her side. The six-foot-six former football player had been on her security detail for five years, and he’d seen her through some hard times. She was more grateful than he knew for both his strength and his kindness.

  “Good. I’m heading out,” she said. “I need to get to Capitol Hill.”

  “Are you sure that’s a good idea? Maybe we should stay put for now,” Clint said, joining them.

  “We trained for this, sir,” Albert said. “Remember Eagle Horizon?”

  Clint nodded. “We’re supposed to be making a mad dash to the Capitol, I know. But the more I think about it, the more that sounds like a terrible idea.”

  “We’re not going to fix anything by hiding here,” Charlize said. “Let’s go.”

  Albert opened the door and waved them onto the sidewalk. He kept out in front, walking slowly, one hand inside his suit jacket, the other directing a flashlight on every civilian as if they might be a threat.

  As they left the glow of the lobby, the darkness of the massive city closed in. The suffocating atmosphere made everything seem distorted, like Charlize was a lone fish exploring a coral reef.

  “Stay close, ma’am,” Albert said. He centered his flashlight on the sidewalk, pointing out hazards for Clint and Charlize to avoid. They worked their way down 12th Street, keeping away from people as best they could. Candles flickered in the windows of apartment buildings. On one stoop, residents were huddled around an oil lamp, talking in low, worried voices. Stranded drivers stood beside their cars, unsure whether to abandon them. Everyone was asking the same question: “Why are the lights off?”

  Albert motioned for Charlize and Clint to cross the street as they approached a Walgreens. A throng of people had gathered outside the shuttered store. There were a few stragglers outside the nearby Radio Shack, peering into the window. If the power didn’t come back on soon, she feared there would be looting or riots.

  Charlize’s gaze flitted to the sky. Where there should have been a steady stream of jets taking off from Reagan and Dulles, there were only clouds drifting aimlessly across the horizon.

  “A couple thousand planes were probably airborne when the power went off,” she said. “The only reason we’re not seeing wreckage here is because of the no-fly zone over D.C.”

  “Yeah, and think about all of the fighter jets we probably scrambled,” Clint said. “I’m guessing we lost…” His words trailed off when he saw Charlize’s face.

  Dear God, please let Nathan be okay. Please let my son be okay.

  Over the years, Charlize had prayed less and less often. Most of the time it didn’t seem like anyone was listening, especially after the accident. But deep down she still had faith, and she called on it now to steady her. Falling apart wouldn’t help Ty or Nathan. She would have to trust God to keep them safe until she could reach them.

  Charlize looked away from the vacant sky. Ahead, a group of people had surrounded a police cruiser. Two officers were trying to reassure the crowd.

  “What do you mean, you don’t know what’s going on?” a woman asked in a raised voice. “My car won’t turn on, my phone won’t work, and I don’t see a single light in the entire city.”

  “I bet it was those Russians I read about on the internet!” a man cried.

  “Idiot,” snapped another woman. “Haven’t you been listening to the news? If we were attacked, it was by ISIS.”

  “Please, people, calm down,” one of the officers said.

  No one was saying what she was thinking—that the North Koreans had hit D.C. with an EMP. She certainly wasn’t going to volunteer her opinion.

  Charlize shook her head as more rumors began to fly from the crowd. Rumors would make things worse, escalating the fear and unease into outright panic. She recalled Hurricane Katrina, when New Orleans collapsed into pure anarchy. Without power, communication, and emergency services, things would fall apart here, too.

  It was all the more reason they needed to get to the Capitol. The first objective was to get to her office and figure out what was going on. From there she would work with her colleagues to determine a plan, and finally, she would communicate that plan as far and wide as she could. With the plan complete, she would find a ride to Empire, Colorado, and pick up her son.

  “We should cut across the Mall,” Albert said. “Fewer civilians.”

  He walked out into the intersection of 12th and Pennsylvania. The block was mostly void of people, but a few teenagers were hanging out outside the Washington Wine and Liquor shop, eyeing the windows. Big Al walked past them, giving his best glower, and the teens thought better of looting the liquor store.

  As she walked, Charlize went over scenarios in her mind, but the more she thought about it, the more it didn’t make sense. Why would North Korea launch a preemptive EMP attack? Mutually assured destruction had stopped America and the Soviets from firing nukes during the Cold War, and it had prevented India and Pakistan from blowing each other to hell. So what had driven the supreme leader of North Korea to plan an attack against the US when he knew it would result in the death of his people?

  Madness, Charlize thought. She had heard the intelligence reports on the North Korean leader. It was no secret the bastard was insane, but she didn’t know he was this insane.

  “Wouldn’t go that way if I were you!” one of the teenage boys shouted. “Some dude got stabbed before the lights went out. You can see his guts!”

  The teenagers were standing on the corner of the sidewalk now. They pointed toward an ambulance halfway down the street. Several people were lingering around the paramedics, who were working on a patient.

  “Go home,” Albert ordered.

  “Whatever,” said the teenager. The kids laughed and took off on their skateboards.

  Charlize could see the wheels turning in Albert’s mind, but he only hesitated for a moment. With a wave of his flashlight, he directed them onward. They kept to the side of the street opposite from the paramedics. As they passed, one of them stood and pulled off gloves dripping with blood.

  “Call it,” she said.

  Charlize was focused on the scene and didn’t notice the blur of motion coming around the corner until it was too late. The front window of the CVS on their right shattered, sending shards of broken glass to the pavement.

  “Grab the hard shit!” someone shouted as two black-clad figures rushed the pharmacy.

  “Get back,” Albert said, waving Charlize behind him.

  A woman screamed as the two hooded men used bricks to punch out the jagged glass. They dropped the bricks and climbed inside.

  Albert held out a tree trunk of an arm and ushered her away from the broken windows. “Ma’am, let’s go.”

  More people were watching now, including the two paramedics.

  “Ma’am!” Albert repeated when Charlize didn’t move. He turned to look at her, his eyes widening as he saw the gun in her hands. “Where the hell did you get that?”

  Pulling the M9 was almost a reflex. She was trained to protect herself, senator or not. The smooth handle of the gun felt reassuring in her hands.

  The clatter of falling shelves and breaking glass came from the store, and a moment later the two men re-emerged cradling boxes of prescription drugs. Their faces were covered with skulls masks, but Charlize could see their wild eyes.

  “Hey, you!” shouted a voice.

  Two figures were approaching—police officers with shotguns shouldered.

  “Agent Randall, Capitol Police!” Albert shouted back. He held out his badge, but both officers were already directing their guns toward the looters.

  “Hands on your head!” one of them shouted.

  Both of the men stepped forward, glass crunching under their shoes. The bigger of the pair dropped the boxes and turned to run.

  “Don’t move!” the other officer yelled.

  The looters took off in separate directions, prescription
drug boxes tumbling across the concrete. The officers gave chase, and Charlize finally lowered her gun. She stuck it back into her waistband as the police vanished around the next corner.

  “Ma’am,” Albert began to say.

  “I know. Let’s go.”

  The paramedics retreated to their ambulance and the crowd moved on, the chatter of the shocked citizens echoing down the streets.

  Albert kept his gun out as he crossed into Pennsylvania Avenue. The dome of the Capitol looked eerie in the moonlight, like something out of a dream—familiar, and at the same time, utterly strange.

  They turned down 12th Street, heading for the Mall. Albert guided them around the dead vehicles, some of them still guarded by their owners, all waiting to be rescued or told what to do.

  Charlize, Albert, and Clint didn’t stop to answer their questions. The nighttime trek through the nation’s capital reaffirmed her worst suspicions. Americans, in most cases, were not ready for a catastrophe. Most of these city dwellers wouldn’t survive the month without cell phones and take-out dinners.

  Pop, pop, pop.

  Gunshots sounded nearby, and Charlize’s hand went for her gun. There was no way to know if the officers were firing on the looters, or if the looters had been armed, or if it had anything to do with the robbery she’d just witnessed.

  Waving with the beam of his flashlight, Albert said, “Come on, ma’am, we’re almost there.”

  The familiar shapes of the Smithsonian Institution emerged in the darkness. Charlize kept pace with Albert as they neared the National Mall. They had made it to Constitutional Avenue when another sound rang out. It started off as a guttural booming not unlike a rocket blasting off, and it quickly rose into a thundering vroom.

  Charlize halted in the middle of the empty street. Far beyond the edges of the dark city, something was rising into the sky above the ocean, leaving a trail of fiery exhaust. She followed the trail up, recognizing the nuclear-tipped ballistic missile. Mutually assured destruction, she thought. Intellectually, she had already accepted this could be the end of the world, or at least the world she knew. But actually seeing the launch of the retaliatory strike was different. She felt the shock like a physical blow, not unlike the times her F-15 Strike Eagle was shot at in Afghanistan.