The Final Day

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Having been escorted through the vast cavern labyrinth by the runner sent back by General Scales, John passed row after row of old-style barracks and Quonset huts. Most of them were empty, windows dust covered with no sign of habitation.

There was a grim triage logic to it. Designed back in the 1950s to house twenty-five thousand for how long? A month, six months, maybe a year? Two thousand could stay down here for years, a decade if need be. Also, moving twenty-five thousand in? Surely it would have drawn notice. Bob had been in the Pentagon on that day of days and was clueless as to what was going on at the moment everything hit. The number who were in the know and slipped away earlier that day or even before that? A hundred or two at most? Their families added in?

It was the sick mathematics of living versus dying. Who is the inner elite who cared no more for their duty and moral responsibility and thought only of themselves? Triage at its most sickeningly self-centered. It was time to confront it.

As they hiked to wherever Bob had gone, John could see scores of civilians lingering, watching. Some were even tanned. My God, did they even have tanning beds down here to get a dose of vitamin D and look good in the process?

He looked at his friends Forrest, Reverend Black, and Kevin, so clearly showing the ravages of two and a half years of survival, and he knew how he must look to them. Kevin was struggling to keep it together, an affirmation of what John suspected: that he and Grace had become close. Reverend Black was whispering to him, a supportive arm around his shoulders. He was barely keeping to his task, and John was tempted to relieve him and send him back to Grace’s body and see that it was tended to with loving respect, but at this moment, he needed him far more than sentiment could allow.

After nearly a half mile of walking, John could see, of all things, a Cyclone fence that went from floor to ceiling, warning signs to either side of the entryway that they were about to enter a secured area. That almost made him laugh if it hadn’t been so ironic. The gate was wide open, two of Bob’s troopers posted to either side. A dead body covered with a poncho lay to one side, a massive pool of congealing blood having leaked out from underneath the poncho. He paused and made eye contact with the troopers.

“One of theirs,” a trooper announced, her voice clipped, grim. A field bandage was wrapped around her upper left arm.

“You all right?” he asked her.

“Yes, sir. But that son of a bitch isn’t.” She nodded to the body. “He nearly shot the general.”

There was a gaze of intense hatred in her eyes, and it was obvious she had killed him and now showed no remorse. How could he blame her? How could he blame any of them? After all they had been through, after all they thought they had been fighting for, and now to see this?

“The general is in that bunker complex over there, sir,” she announced, nodding back beyond the fence, wincing as she did so from the wound to her arm.

He looked over at the other guard, a sergeant. “Can’t we get her over to a hospital?” John asked.

The sergeant nodded back down the street that John had just traversed.

“Sir, we’ve got less than fifty in here,” the sergeant whispered. “No telling how many we’ve yet to secure who will fight back once they get organized for a rush on us. The general said everyone who can hold a gun stays on station until we get things straightened out.”

The sergeant turned his attention away from John, shouldered his weapon, and aimed past him. “You there! Halt and keep back, or I will shoot!” the sergeant snapped.

John looked over his shoulder. A group of milling civilians was getting closer and at the sergeant’s command sullenly started to draw back.

“If they were all armed, we’d be in the shit,” the sergeant said softly. “Word is that there are some additional personnel in a highly secured area.” He paused. “You know anything about that, sir?”

“I do,” was all that John felt comfortable with saying. “Just be ready; there could be some well-trained personnel in there.” He looked just beyond the gate; there was a Humvee parked inside. “See if you can get that thing to start. If not, drop it into neutral and roll it to block this gate. Stay behind it as cover just in case.”

He looked over at Forrest, who was nodding in agreement. “Mind staying here?” John asked him. “Kevin, Reverend Black, maybe you two as well?”

“Okay.” Forrest smiled. “Sir.”

The two guards were obviously grateful for the reinforcements, and leaving them behind, John started for the bunker complex. As he approached, he eyed the building. Unlike the living quarters, it was made of poured concrete. A lone guard from Scales’s unit guarded the door, offering a salute as John approached and opening the door for him.

As he went through the door, it felt as if his ears were about to pop. The room was overpressured, the air pressure higher within to keep any ambient dust or anything else, such as chemical or biological agents, from filtering in. He could see wire meshing in the heavy glass of the door. It wasn’t armor against bullets; it was faraday caging of the entire building, proofing it against an EMP. Of course it was known about back in the 1960s, and he could recall some of the secured briefing rooms down in the basement of the Pentagon having the same kind of protections.

Once through the double doors, it truly was a Dr. Strangelove world. A vast projection screen filled the opposite wall. It was dark, but he could easily imagine a global map display, arrows crisscrossing back and forth showing the trajectory of incoming missiles. Several dozen desks were arrayed in three tiers facing the darkened screen.

They were standard military issue of a generation or more ago. Most had old standard rotary phones on them as well, a few early model desktop computers, all of it having the feel of a time capsule. There were glassed-in rooms in a semicircle set around the main room, half a dozen feet higher than the main floor. John could see one was lit up with fluorescent lights; Bob Scales and half a dozen of his troops were in that room. As he approached, Bob looked down and waved for John to come up.

There was an unpleasant scent in the air, and as he drew closer, there was yet another body, not covered, shot in the head. He had seen so many dead like this one, but in this surreal room, the corpse seemed so out of place. John hesitated for a moment, looking down at it and then up at the lone guard stationed at the door telling John that the general was waiting for him, and he went into the room.

Far-more-up-to-date computers and communication gear lined two walls of the room, some of it lit up. The far wall was covered by a dark blue curtain, in front of it a desk, flanking the desk to either side American flags. Parked at an angle were a couple of television cameras that looked to be twenty or more years old, and glassed in to one side a small control booth, apparently to operate the cameras and sound equipment.

Besides Bob and his security detail, there were several civilians in the room as well. One of them Pelligrino, ashen faced but still alive. Standing nervously behind him were two men and a lone woman.

“John, are you all right?” Bob asked.

“Sir?”

“There’s blood all over your jacket.”

John looked down and for the first time realized that he was indeed caked in blood. “It was Grace. The girl with my unit,” John said softly.

“She going to make it?” Bob asked.

John could only shake his head.

Bob looked back at Pelligrino. “Another death I am holding you responsible for.”

It looked like Pelligrino was beyond rattled and just sat in dejected, terrified silence, eyes darting back and forth like those of a hunted rabbit.

“What’s going on here, sir?” John asked.

“Get these four things out of this room and have them wait in the hall,” Bob snapped, and the guards with him shoved the civilians out without any display of civility, leaving Bob and John alone.

Bob leaned back in the old chair, put his feet up on the table, and sighed. “You want the ‘sit-rep’?” Bob asked, motioning for John to pull up a chair.

John sighed and nodded, fishing into his pocket for the pack of cigarettes he had taken and pulling one out.

“I thought you quit,” Bob said, raising a quizzical eyebrow.

John did not reply as he tossed the pack on the table. Bob reached over, pulled out one as well, and motioned for the lighter.

“Didn’t know you smoked.”

“I didn’t other than the occasional cigar.”

The two sat in silence for a moment, Bob coughing as he exhaled but then nodding. “I can see how you can get hooked on these damn things.

“We’re in the shitter,” Bob finally said. “For that matter, the whole damn world is in the shitter.”

John knew that he was serving as a sounding board and the best thing to do now was to just listen.

“I came in here with eighty people. We’ve taken about twenty casualties.” He paused, looking at John. “I’m sorry about Grace and Lee.”

John could not bring himself to reply.

“All I could worm out of that administrator Pelligrino is that we are in a world of hurt. There are a couple of hundred civilians at the back end of this facility in a highly secured area who are family members of high-value types. ‘Movers behind the movers,’ they call them. Anyhow, the security we faced at first, standard garrison types, you could see that. But there are some definite A-team types holed up in that highly secured area, and if they try to retake us, it could go badly. I was on the phone to someone up there. She wouldn’t identify herself, but I told her she keeps her people in place and there’s no threat. But if they move, all bets are off, and this place turns into a free-fire zone.”

“Do they know how many we really have with us?” John asked.

“I don’t know. If they have access to outside cameras, they could see how many came in with us and do the math. For now, I think I’ve got them convinced I’ve got a full battalion in reserve coming in and if they start a fight, we can hold until that battalion arrives and all hell will come down on them. They’re not pushing, at least for the moment, and if they don’t, we don’t shove.”

John nodded.

“They’ll buy it for a while,” he finally said while Bob took another drag and coughed again but did not toss the cigarette down.

“What else?” John asked, for obviously there was more.

“I had that piece of crap Pelligrino out there get on the phone with Bluemont.”

That momentarily caught John by surprise, but then again, the moment they started to hit this place the alert would have gone to Bluemont, which by land was less than sixty miles away and by helicopter a quick twenty-minute flight.

“And?”

“I’m ordered to surrender my entire command. They’re sending up a battalion by land even as we speak.”

“Air?”

“Assume so.”

“Our choppers?”

“I’ve already ordered them to clear out. They get caught on the ground, we truly are screwed. They’re pulling back to where we landed earlier today. We can stay in touch with the comm team I left up on Little Round Top. That way no transmissions can be locked in on. Our choppers lifted off a few minutes ago. Security teams at the gate are pulling in and securing that huge steel door. Wounded are inside the gate and being tended to.”

John nodded, crushed out his cigarette, and lit another. Bob, coughing, just let his drop and did not bother to try another just yet.

“We caught them by surprise,” John replied. “If they hit back, we’ll be ready and can hold this place against a damn armored brigade. Are there any back doors?”

“I’ve got some of my people talking to the prisoners we took. Hate to say so, but I told my people to be persuasive if need be.”

“What doesn’t happen in front of CNN never happened,” John said softly. It was a bit of advice John remembered being spread among the troops just before going into Iraq. Of course there were rules of engagement with his army. But there was also the fundamental fact that war ultimately was and is the application of brutality, and if it saved the lives of men under one’s command, all bets were off, at least if CNN wasn’t there.

Bob did not reply.

“So what next, sir?” John asked.

Bob pulled another cigarette out of the pack lying on the table and lit it. His feet still up on the table, he exhaled the first puff and watched in silence as the smoke swirled up. “John, at a moment like this, it might seem strange, but I’m going philosophical on you. In fact, you were one of the few I ever served with I could go philosophical with.”

John said nothing, but it was indeed an ultimate compliment.

“Do you remember our oath when we were sworn into the service?”

“Yes, sir.”

Bob continued to stare at the coils of smoke. “‘I do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic,’ there’s a bit more, and then it ends with ‘I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office on which I am about to enter. So help me God.’”

John remained silent.

“I have just been ordered by the person claiming to be the president of the United States, headquartered in Bluemont, to surrender my command and all those serving with me.” He took another drag on his cigarette, gaze unfocused. “You ever take an order from someone you thought was a total ass and the order was dead wrong?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I hope not me.”

John chuckled softly. “Of course not.”

“For enlisted personnel, their oath includes that they are only required to obey orders that are lawful and are held morally and even legally accountable if the order is immoral or violates the military code of justice and/or the Constitution. That became important post-Vietnam, after the Mỹ Lai Massacre.

“That is not specified in the oath for an officer, but it is clearly implied because we have an option enlisted personnel do not have; we can resign our commissions in protest and are expected to do so.” Another puff on the cigarette followed by a moment of silent thought.

“Are you going to resign?” John finally asked.

Bob looked over at him. “Your thoughts, John?”

“Is it about here?” John asked. “The fact that someone—in fact, quite a few—knew on the morning of the Day that we were going to get hit, took care of their own, and said the hell with the rest of us?”

“In part.”

Bob was silent for a moment. He took another drag on his cigarette and sighed.

“So damn much is clear now. We knew a practice drill was going on the day we got hit and most of the personnel that took over after that day by chance had been in Bluemont. At least I and others believed it was by chance. Hell, drills like that are being pulled all the time. We just came to assume that a few more that took over made it to Bluemont in the weeks afterward.”

He stood and looked out the window of the room to the open floor of what had been built in the 1950s to serve as the War Room to keep on fighting from if Washington was destroyed. “This was built to fight a nuclear war from. Once ICBMs with flight times of but minutes came online in the late 1950s and warning time went from hours down to just a few minutes, those of us working in the Pentagon knew we’d all be gone in those first few minutes and this place was all but forgotten. A relic of a different type of war from a different time. And now to find it was activated and running with families stashed here?”

He looked back at John, tears in his eyes. “Six hours’ warning and I could have gotten Linda out of Florida. All of us could have done something. For that matter, we could have scrambled everything we had and perhaps even targeted the container ships in the Gulf of Mexico and off the California coast before they hit us. It’s all too much to absorb, John.”

“I spoke to a woman who said her husband claimed that a select few knew something was coming but assumed it would be just a nuclear strike on D.C., and I would guess maybe New York.” John wearily shook his head. “Just D.C. and New York,” John whispered again. “Just ten to fifteen million dead. My God, what kind of mentality thinks such a loss would be a small number and that would reset the political paradigm in their favor.”

“There’s intelligence chatter all the time.” Bob sighed. “If one believes all of it, every day you go crazy. You know that. Maybe they thought that it was just a mid-level alert. I guess we’ll never know for sure. Bastards who would sit back for that think of themselves first. I doubt if we’ll ever get the truth from them.”

“By the way,” John said, breaking the tension of the moment with a sad smile, “it was her husband sending those love notes, not to his wife but to his mistress stashed away in the highly secured other end of this facility, that gave us the clue about Site R. I told her you have the letters. She is so pissed off I’m certain she’ll sing like a canary for us if we need more info later.”

“Typical,” Bob said softly, wearily shaking his head. “So typical of so many moral scum we all had to salute at one time or another.”

“But to the core question, sir?” John asked. “Is it about what they did to us all or what they are going to do to us next?”

“Go on.”

“I see one side of the dilemma that you are dwelling on being what happened. But, sir, the more pressing issue is what they’re going to do next and how you will reply.”

“Keep talking.” Now Bob lit his third cigarette.

“All of this started to unravel when you received orders—when was it, not much more than a day ago?—to pull your entire command back to Roanoke. It meant that Bluemont was preparing to pop an EMP to destabilize Atlanta, take out communities like mine that are resisting them, and I guess send a message to China as well not to push beyond the Mississippi. It comes down to the fact that they are willing to hold and execute power whatever the cost. I just heard someone quote Milton: ‘Better to reign in hell than serve in heaven.’ They scrambled to protect themselves when all hell cut loose and then seized the reins of power afterward. Whether that was their plot beforehand or not we most likely will never know. But since the Day? What they’ve done, what they are planning to do next? That, sir, is the issue of the moment to focus upon.”

Bob closed his eyes. “‘By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down, yea, we wept when we remembered Zion… If I forget thee, O Jerusalem, let my right hand forget her cunning… If I do not remember thee, let my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth…’”

He looked over at John. “The 137th Psalm,” he whispered. “I dwell on it often when I think of all that has happened.”

“And you are saying we cannot let our tongue cleave to the roof of our mouth or our right hand forget its strength.”

Bob made no gesture of reply.

“Enemies, foreign and domestic—it all turns on that, sir. Not just what they did but what they are about to do to hold on to their power. To protect the Constitution, it is therefore right for you to act.”

His gaze was no longer fixed on John, as if he was staring off to some distant place

“And to not forget the Jerusalem that they allowed to be destroyed,” John interjected, “Whether they thought it would be—forgive me for even saying it—just a strike on Washington and New York that would reset the political paradigm and power structure or some suspected it would be a full-scale EMP strike, it happened. Now they’re ready to do it themselves against the southern United States. Why?”

“A message to the Chinese, for one,” Bob said softly. “If we’re now willing to do such against our own territory still in rebellion against them as they see it, the message would be clear. They’re so desperate that they will order the same against everyone else in this world if they think they’re about to go under. Second, it was to knock out people like you who were beginning to rise back up and put things together and who at some point would look at Bluemont and start asking questions.”

“Therefore?” John asked.

“We have to hold to our oaths to protect the Constitution against enemies foreign and domestic,” Bob replied, strength returning to his voice. “Yes, I took over what they called Eastern Command. I actually believed restoring order using our traditional military had to be done, but the ones I was first fighting against were barbarians like that Posse you wiped out. But then you were in front of me, John. That is when the inner questions started for me. I was ordered to bring you in. I tried to reason back that you had been provoked into that fight with Fredericks because you had no alternative but to fight.

“It didn’t fly. I thought I could work my way around it, get you to cooperate peacefully, which you did order, and then they tried to kill you anyhow. That assassination attempt was of course to kill you and your family as vengeance for your defiance, but it was a message to me as well that I was being watched and to toe the line. And thus the questions began to hit at last on my part in all of this.” He looked over at John. “Forgive me for not protecting you better.”

“Nothing to forgive now, sir,” John replied, but in his heart he knew if Makala had been killed that would have taken him beyond any forgiveness.

“When they ordered me to pull back to Roanoke, I knew I had to act, but how? Then your friend Linda handed me the deepest paradox of all. Did at least some of them know what was about to happen before the Day, protected themselves and their own, and left the rest of our country wide open for what then followed? That finally tipped it. That is why I had to come here and settle for myself what had to be done.” He forced a weary smile. “What I have to do now.”

Bob turned away from John and lowered his head. John knew what he was doing; he had seen it just days before in the chapel at Montreat. He remained thus for several minutes.

John heard him whisper, “Thy will be done.” Bob made the sign of the cross and then leaned back in his chair and looked over at John.

“Get that administrator or whatever he is back in here,” Bob said, and his voice was firm.

John opened the door, pointed at Pelligrino, and nodded to the guards, who shoved the trembling man back into the room.

“Again, I must protest this kind of treatment,” Pelligrino started, but an icy glance from Bob silenced him.

Bob pointed to the control booth in the far corner of the room. “Do you know how to operate the equipment in there?” Bob asked.

Pelligrino shook his head.

“Find someone who can do so now.”

Pelligrino hesitated.

“Now!”

“Phyllis is our communications person,” Pelligrino blurted out.

“Get her in here,” Bob snapped.

John opened the door, pointed at Phyllis, and beckoned for her to enter, which she did reluctantly.

“First of all, get me on the phone with Bluemont again, and put it on speaker. I want you and Colonel Matherson to hear it.”

Pelligrino did as ordered, pulling over the red phone on the desk Bob was sitting at and pushing a single button that lit up on the face of the phone. Bob picked up the receiver.

“Who is this?” a woman’s voice answered on the other side.

Bob looked over his shoulder at Pelligrino. “I said I want this on speaker.”

Pelligrino looked to Phyllis, who switched on a speaker mounted above the desk.

“This is General Robert Scales here.”

There was a pause.

“We demand that you put Mr. Pelligrino on the phone now,” the woman replied.

“It’s the other way around,” Bob replied. “Whoever calls themselves president where you are, you put that person on the phone.”

“Just who do you think you are?” came the sharp reply. “General, you have been stripped of rank effective immediately. You are to turn yourself over to Mr. Pelligrino and the head of security where you are. Any who continue to obey your orders will face the severest consequences. You will be escorted to a secured area where you wait until our forces arrive.”

Bob actually smiled at that. “Go to hell.”

“What?” Her voice was almost a shriek, and as it rose in volume, John found himself looking at the loudspeaker with surprise. He recognized who she was.

“Madam. You are to recall your forces now. Immediately.”

“Mr. Scales, it’s the other way around.”

“I hold the trump card; you do not.”

“You’re an egotistical fool. You have fewer than eighty with you. We realize that now. You’ve undoubtedly learned by now there are additional security forces within the site. Whatever chance you had is finished. If you surrender yourself, I promise leniency for all those deluded into following you, and that is our only offer.”

Bob cupped his hand over the receiver and looked at John and the two guards.

“Tell her to kiss our asses,” one of the troopers replied. “Every man and woman under your command is with you, sir.”

Bob nodded his thanks and then looked at Phyllis. “I want you to turn those cameras on and set up an uplink.”

“To what?” she asked nervously.

“BBC, for starters. China, the whole damn world.”

“I will not.”

“I can have one of my tech people in here in less than five minutes and do your job for you,” Bob replied coolly.

She did not move.

“Get someone. Sergeant McCloskey can handle it,” Bob snapped to the two guards in the room, and one set off at a run, but the other guard came up close to John.

“McCloskey’s dead,” the guard whispered to John.

He could see Bob hesitating, such a rare sight, but all of it had become all so overwhelming. Every second that passed raised the chance that a counterstrike could hit them, and as if in answer, he could hear what sounded like gunfire from outside the command bunker. Chances were they were about to be overrun.

What had to be done, he knew Bob most likely was contemplating, but the moment dragged out, gunfire growing louder, and for John, it came down to Lee, Grace, Jennifer, all those who died. All those who would continue to die.

“Sir,” John snapped, and he extended his hand out, indicating he wanted the phone.

Bob looked at him in surprise but then handed the phone up.

“This is John Matherson. You might not know who I am, but I know who you are.”

There was a pause from the other end. “The terrorist from Carolina?” It was more a question than a reply.

“A citizen from Carolina who knows that you plan to take down the entire southeast region of the United States with another EMP burst within the next few days.”

“What difference does it make that I’m talking to you instead of a general now formally stripped of command?” she snapped.

“I’ll tell you the difference, ma’am.”

There was no reply, but over the loudspeaker, John could hear whispering from those who were most likely in the same room with the woman on the phone.

“I want all of you to listen closely. General Scales might not be comfortable with ordering this, but I no longer have a problem after everything you bastards have done to us, to our country.”

“How dare you!”

“I dare because I can destroy this place in a matter of minutes.”

Another pause, whispered voices, and finally a reply, as if she were trying to laugh his words off as an idle threat. “It was built to withstand a direct hit on the surface from a nuclear weapon. Unless you have one with you, John Matherson, your words are just that—words.”

“But we are inside. This place has a central ventilation system. I have enough of my people here that we will blow that, for starters. There is fuel storage, gasoline and diesel; we will dump it and light it off. The barracks are made of wood; after sixty-plus years down here, they’ll burn like torches. Your food supply is centrally stored; we already know where that is. A hundred gallons of gasoline tossed in there and lit and the life of luxury in here turns into the way people like my family have been living for over two years while your families are fat, warm, well-fed, and safe.

“Your water cisterns. I’ll blow them, and while everything burns at this level, we’ll flood out any lower levels beneath this one as well. We will blow this place, and in one hour, every single person in here will be standing out in the freezing cold. And let me guess—do you have grandchildren in here?”

“How dare you threaten them, you son of a bitch!” she shrieked.

“So you do have them here. So let’s make this clear. I bet there are a couple of dozen in that room with you, and all of you have families here. And by the way, if your so-called secretary of state is there, tell him his wife knows about Alicia and is waiting to discuss his mistress. I offered to loan her my gun, and I think she’s eager to use it.”

He could hear loud cursing and then the voice of someone being muffled.

“Don’t you dare try to play a blame game with me. We are not terrorists who will kill children. But you most certainly are a terrorist. My daughter died because of people like you. So the choice is yours: call your attack dogs off both inside here and any coming from the outside, and we continue to talk. Otherwise, I’m handing the phone back to General Scales, we start smashing this damn hiding hole, and you figure out what to do with everyone in here when they’re standing outside tonight in two feet of snow and another storm is rolling in.

“I am a man of faith, and I swear to you before God I will not harm a single innocent person in this place. But I also swear to you that unless you back off now, every person in this place will be living like the rest of America in another hour. At least I’ll give your people time to get into warm clothes if they have any and one pouch of an MRE each, but that is it. And that is a damn sight more than you and yours ever gave to the rest of this country two and a half years ago. I’ve said my piece. It is now you who have one minute to decide.”

John tossed the phone down on the desk and looked over at Pelligrino. “Get on there and tell her I’m not bluffing!” John shouted.

Bob sat in perfect silence, looking up at John in surprise.

John drew out his Glock and pointed it at Pelligrino. “Tell her I’m not bluffing!” John shouted.

“John?” It was Bob speaking, but John did not look at him.

“Tell her.”

Hands shaking, Pelligrino needed both to pick the phone up. “He has a gun to my head. He’s just crazy enough to do it.”

“One minute for the shooting in here to stop and for you to halt whoever is preparing to hit us, or this place starts coming down!” John shouted.

“He means it!” Pelligrino cried.

A pause, more arguing from the other end, and someone sobbing their kids were in the middle of it and to back down.

“Thirty seconds!” John shouted.

“All right! All right!” she cried.

It sounded like she was muffling the mouthpiece of the phone, but all could hear her shouting to get on a comm link to the security team in Sector Alpha and order them to cease fire and withdraw.

“Tell her she just bought herself a few more minutes,” John said, looking at Pelligrino, who nodded and gasped out the message.

John stepped to the door into the room, telling the one remaining member of their team standing watch to go out to the gate and report back whether all was secure.

The distant sound of gunfire finally ceased. Two minutes turned to three and then four.

The guard, breathless, ran back into the cavernous main hall and then up to the communications center. “Whoever they are, they’ve apparently pulled back, sir.”

John nodded and lowered his weapon away from Pelligrino, and the man visibly shuddered and sighed with relief.

“How bad was it?” Bob asked.

“Two of our people at the gate are down. I think one is dead.”

John wanted to ask if his own friends were safe but knew he could not do so now.

Bob nodded and took the phone from Pelligrino. “Every death now is on your head,” he said. “I’ll call you back in five minutes. But if any moves are made, if anyone tries to approach from outside, what Matherson said will come to pass.”

He hung up without waiting for her reply and looked back at Phyllis, who, though obviously frightened, was displaying more nerve than Pelligrino.

“You and I need to talk, and I promise you, either way you answer, no harm will come to you. You have my word of honor on that.”

She nodded but did not reply.

Bob spared a sharp glance toward Pelligrino and motioned to the door, and the breathless trooper hustled him out of the room, closing the door.

“Sit down, Phyllis.” Bob offered her a chair.

She did as requested, and Bob motioned toward the pack of cigarettes. She shook her head, but he drew one out for himself, as did John.

“Phyllis, how long have you been here?”

“Since the morning of the day the war started.”

“Why you? Are you a family member of someone in Bluemont?”

“No, sir.”

“Then why?”

“I’d rather not say.”

That could mean a lot, but John sensed what it might be and did not press the question.

“And you being in here in this room when I came in?” Bob continued.

“I was assigned to work communications here. I used to be a producer and sometimes anchored for a television station in D.C.”

For John, that seemed to fall a bit into place. She was tall, highly attractive, the type that would be pushed in front of a camera to interview some government official. It was easy enough to see that had developed out and why she was alive here rather than long ago dead back in Washington.

“I think you know that outside of here, Bluemont, and I can only assume now a few other places, our country has gone to hell.”

She just nodded, head lowered.

“It could have been you out there, Phyllis.”

“My parents, a sister”—she paused—“a guy who was once my boyfriend.”

“Phyllis, do you know that Bluemont is preparing to launch an EMP strike against our own country?”

She hesitated. “There have been rumors,” she whispered.

“And your thoughts on that?”

She did not reply.

John could see what Bob was trying to do and gently moved in on the conversation. “Phyllis, there are hundreds of communities like mine that just barely managed to survive. Barely. We’re starting to crawl out of the dust, basic things, get at least a trickle of electricity up and running. From that, the chemistry lab in the college where I teach is again making anesthesia and antibiotics, things we once took for granted. Phyllis, have you ever witnessed an amputation with the victim wide awake, no pain pills afterward, no way to stop infection once it set in?”

She stared at him wide-eyed and then lowered her gaze and shook her head.

“How about watching a diabetic child die because her frantic parent could not find a single vial of insulin?”

Another shake of her head, but her glance turned back up to him.

“Yes, that was me. My daughter was twelve, and I held her as she died. Even with just a few extra hours’ warning, so much could have been different. Phyllis, those of us left are trying to crawl out of the hellhole of what happened, and those people in Bluemont are about to hit us, to push us back down into that hole. Bluemont is going to smash all that within the next two to three days because it doesn’t fit what they see as their plan.

“Look at me, please,” John said, and she raised her head.

“How old was your sister?”

“Fourteen.”

“My daughter was twelve when she died for want of a vial of insulin.”

He held the eye contact, and this time she did not break away.

“What do you want me to do?” she finally whispered.

John stood just behind Phyllis, who was at the control board. It was lit up. She had indicated to him and Bob that the uplink was hot and also being fed to Bluemont as well.

If she was bluffing, she was being damned good at it, and he could only hope for the best and that she had made a moral choice—or, as Bob had interjected, a penance—and it was time for her to set her own moral choices straight.

Bob was sitting behind the desk at the far end of the room.

Phyllis looked over at John. “He’s on,” she announced, and she turned her attention back to the display board.

John wasn’t quite sure what to do other than just hold his hand up and wave.

Bob nodded and looked at the camera, and John could see the image on a small screen in the control room. Certainly not the professional quality the world had once grown all so used to, but it would have to do.

There was no makeup, no smile, just a firm determined look.

“My name is Robert Scales. Until an hour ago, I was a serving major general in the United States Army and in command of all army operations in what was defined as the Eastern Mid-Atlantic Command Zone.

“My task, as assigned to me by an entity located in Bluemont, Virginia, claiming that it was the reconstituted government of the United States of America, was, and I quote from the orders I was operating under, ‘to return to federal control all territory from Charlottesville and Richmond, Virginia, to the north, the Appalachian Mountains to the west, and the border with Florida to the south.’

“Until two days ago, I diligently followed those orders, believing that the entity located in Bluemont that claimed it was the government of the United States was a legitimate government. I no longer believe so, and that is why I am making this broadcast now.

“Several days ago, I was made aware of two actions by those who claim to be the government—one a crime of unsurpassed magnitude on what so many of us now call ‘the Day,’ the other a crime of nearly equal magnitude that same government was planning to commit within the next forty-eight hours.

“I shall review those crimes shortly. But before doing so, I am making the following statement and then demand. An hour ago, I wrote out my letter of resignation as a serving officer in the United States Army so that it can never be stated that one following a tradition going back to General Washington and those who served with him rebelled against his government. I therefore resigned and now have the freedom to act as a private citizen. Bear that in mind as I now make this demand. I demand that the criminal entity that claims to be the federal government based in Bluemont resign from office. That applies to the so-called president and every other official there.

“All of you who resign will stand trial by a duly created civilian court, for your crimes are of such magnitude you must face juries of your peers. Do not resign and you shall be construed as in rebellion against those who defend the Constitution of the United States and dealt with accordingly.”

He paused and looked over at John for a few seconds, who had been carefully watching Phyllis’s actions. Nothing seemed amiss. She had claimed to be linking the signal not just to Bluemont but also to several frequencies commonly monitored by ham operators, the frequency of America’s Voice of Victory, as it was now called, and, even more important, the BBC. Her hands were shaking, and he looked over at her.

She was in tears but then whispered. “I’m with you on this now.”

John gave a reassuring look back to Bob.

“I shall now review in detail my charges against those in Bluemont, an explanation of where I am now, and all that this place called Site R, from where I am broadcasting, symbolizes.”

He spoke for nearly a half hour, amazing John with his ability to have thus organized his thoughts, laying it all out clearly with no teleprompter, relying on nothing more than a few sheets of paper with notes scribbled on them with a Sharpie.

John continued to watch Phyllis’s actions. She stuck to her post, not making any attempts to shut things down. Bob had run down the list of events going all the way back to the Day and how it was now clearly evident that a very select few in the government, and beyond them political leaders and high-level economic leaders not directly in government, had word of the impending attack; conspired to conceal it while ensuring the safety of themselves, their families, friends, and allies; and ensured as well their seizing dictatorial power afterward. This cabal, as he called it, had ceded more than half of what had been America to other nations in order to ensure their continued hold on power and finally had plotted an EMP strike as a means of suppressing those attempting to rebuild and as a dangerous political ploy against the rest of the world.

“Why did they sink to this lowest of moral crimes?” Bob finally asked. “I don’t know for certain. The warning about the threat of an EMP attack has been out there for years, decades, and yet no one acted on it. Was it ignorance or was it simple dumb disbelief? Perhaps for many, yes. But I recall all too well an interview with someone who was fully aware of the threat long before it hit. When he was asked why there was no action to prepare, his reply was, ‘Don’t we, the ordinary citizens of our country who are aware of the threat, realize the elites will take care of their own no matter what happens?’

“This day I have found that those who claim to be our government based in Bluemont did take care of their own while the rest of us faced the Day without warning, and hundreds of millions died. Every one of their deaths rests on those who knew and said nothing while looking out for themselves.

“I must add that I believe that some, for perverted reasons, saw this as a means of seizing power, no matter what the ebb and flow of politics, fearing perhaps they would soon be voted out of office. And the sickest crime of all is that—to paraphrase Milton, who in Paradise Lost once wrote of Satan—they felt it was better to reign in the hell they created than to serve in heaven. To a world, to Americans who lost so much but still survive, to personal friends, I must ask you: Should such as they be allowed to continue on in power? I point no finger at one political view or another; our petty arguments of left or right, liberal or conservative, seem so inane now in contrast to what we endured together. Regardless of what we once felt on such things, I believe we are united with these revelations that we must stand together to ensure that government of, by, and for the people shall not perish from this earth.

“In conclusion,” Bob finally said, “I can only speak now as a private citizen, having resigned my commission in order to be free of what any might construe as a military coup. All men and women in uniform must now make a choice. If you are an officer, remember your oath is to protect and defend the Constitution against all enemies, foreign and domestic. It is your choice to decide if those in Bluemont are enemies of our Constitution and then act accordingly.

“I am asking that any force commanders in possession of nuclear weapons go to a full lockdown and vow that under no circumstance whatsoever will they deploy or launch such a weapon, except in response to nuclear weapons launched by another country against what is left of the United States, until a properly constituted government formed within the original guidelines of our Constitution has been re-created. Only after that takes place with a duly elected and morally guided government in place will those in direct charge of such weapons unlock them, strictly to ensure the defense of our country against outside threats.

“I am asking that those military forces directly attached to Bluemont, either defensively or currently moving toward offensive action to retake Site R, go to a full stand-down. I no longer have such power to order you to do so, but your unit commanders can.

“I am asking that any civilian-based military units within a hundred-mile radius of Bluemont move upon it now. I pray that there shall be no violence offered from our regular armed forces, who will instead join you in occupying Bluemont and placing under arrest any who are still there.

“Where I am located now, near Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, is the underground shelter I spoke to you about earlier. Having resigned my commission, I have no power to act here, but I am requesting of the officer who is taking over in my place to ensure that the civilians who have lived here safely for two and a half years shall be protected. Our own Constitution makes clear that no family member can be punished for the crimes of a parent or spouse. However, if those in Bluemont do resist or attempt to seize this place by force, all civilians within Site R will be ordered to evacuate and find whatever shelter and sustenance they can in the outside world all the rest of us have resided in for the last two years. If that is indeed the tragic result, I ask that you show them more compassion than their leaders have shown to us.

“So what is next?” Bob asked, and he looked at the camera for a moment as if almost expecting to hear tens of millions of replies.

“I leave that to you, my fellow citizens. Our once proud cities and our once beautiful capital have been reduced to ruin and ashes. I see the land around Bluemont to somehow be accursed. I will therefore close with a suggestion. I ask that thirty days hence, five representatives from each of the surviving states come to meet here at this place. I ask that you good citizens decide how they shall be selected, as it was once done when the founders met to frame our Constitution. I ask that we reaffirm that Constitution and create a reunited Union of States.

“Why here?” He paused for a moment. “Within sight of this place I am now broadcasting from, our nation, once divided, fought the bitterest battle of a bitter war. And yet, fifty years later and again seventy-five years later, former enemies met as friends, standing on opposite sides of a stone wall on a place called Cemetery Ridge and shook hands in friendship. But a few hundred yards from that wall, President Lincoln stood before the newly made graves of those who gave the last full measure of devotion and proclaimed that ‘this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom—and that government of the people, by the people, and for the people shall not perish from this earth.’”

There was another long pause.

“In your hands, my fellow citizens, and not mine, now rests the fate of this nation. I ask that Almighty God grants us his peace and guidance in the days to come.”

He sat back in his chair, eyes still on the camera.

Phyllis waited for some sort of signal, but he gave none, and finally John whispered.

“That’s it.”

She reached across the board and threw a number of switches off and then looked over at John and began to cry. “I’m sorry I was ever here,” she whispered.

“Consider what you just did as atonement,” John replied. He stepped out from the narrow confines of the control booth and walked up to where Bob remained motionless.

“I guess all we can do now is wait and see what happens.” Bob sighed.

“‘We shall nobly save, or meanly lose, the last best hope of earth,’” he said as if to himself.