A New World: Conspiracy (41 page)

* * * * * *

Greg watches the streamers of smoke rising
in the air. As he continues to observe from his elevated platform,
another dark, oily plume appears, its dark smoke climbing rapidly.
Then another…and another. He knows this sight having seen it
numerous times during his deployments to Iraq and Afghanistan. It
is vehicles being set alight by heavy caliber fire. Another dark
cloud of smoke rises in the afternoon sky. The latest plumes are
larger…whoever it is causing them is heading his way and drawing
closer.

“Driver….go! Everyone hang on,” Greg yells
into the interior. To the two standing by the side of the road, he
shouts, “Follow us if you want, but I wouldn’t advise being here in
about ten minutes.”

* * * * * *

Leonard is awakened and looks at the clock.
“What’s up, XO?” he asks, knowing they couldn’t have arrived at San
Diego as yet.

Leonard is familiar with the pulse of his
boat and instantly knows they’ve come to a stop. “Why have we
stopped?”

“Sir, we’re beginning to pick up an increase
in radiation levels,” the XO states. “I’ve halted the boat.”

“Where are we?” Leonard asks.

“We’re approximately forty miles to the
northwest…on a bearing of 315 degrees from San Diego,” the XO
answers.

Leonard can tell from the
Santa Fe
’s
lack of a rolling motion that they are submerged. “I’ll be there
shortly.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” the XO says and
departs.

Leonard sits up and runs a hand through his
hair. He feels significantly older than he did five months ago.
Sure there were stresses associated with running an attack sub in
war zones but nothing compared to what they’ve been through since.
And now they’ve halted when they are almost home. Since the attack
on Krandle’s team and getting them safely back on board, they’ve
made a run to the south. The medical personnel assured him that the
chief’s men would recover fully. An attack of that magnitude took
both of them by surprise. With the SEAL Team being his only
protection, he’ll be more cautious where he sends them next time.
And by the chief’s look as his men were brought below decks, he’ll
be reluctant to send his men inland as well.

Splashing water on his face from the tiny
basin in his cabin, Leonard dons his uniform top and shoes before
making his way to the control room. He is apprised of their
position once again. The radiation readings are within tolerable
levels, but have steadily risen as they’ve journeyed south. Before
they reached marginal limits, the XO dove the boat and ordered a
halt.

Their passive sensors indicate all is quiet
above.

“Bring us to periscope depth,” Leonard
orders.

He feels the boat rise as the buoyancy
levels are increased. Looking through the periscope, he performs a
three-hundred sixty degree sweep. It’s all clear under an evening
sky. The sun is setting on the western horizon bathing everything
in its orange glow. Over gentle rollers, Leonard spots land a few
miles to the east. To the southeast, toward San Diego, the last of
the sun’s rays illuminate a dark smudge lying on the horizon. It’s
obvious that this line extends well below the horizon. Looking at
the ugly brown blanket covering the sky in that direction, he feels
a cold thread of fear work its way inside him.

Continuing to stare through the lens, he
watches the warm glow of the sunset spread, igniting the sides of
the shroud. The color diminishes as the sun continues its downward
trek but the orange glow doesn’t vanish completely.

He holds the
Santa Fe
in its present
position until daylight. He doesn’t want to arrive in the middle of
the night. If there is any remaining presence in their homeport,
whoever is there will be more than cautious. In the morning, he’ll
bring the boat in closer, broadcast their position, and wait for an
escort. Failing that, he’ll surface if the radiation levels have
stabilized, and motor in. No one can mistake their distinctive
silhouette and will withhold any hostile reaction.

As far as the radiation levels go, he
believes them to be a carryover from the nuke power plants in
Southern California that have leaked their nuclear waste. Or from
winds carrying the fallout from the vast number of plants in India
and the Orient.

The next morning, with no change in the
readings, he orders the helm to keep to their previous course and
speed. He has the radiation levels monitored and leaves his boat at
periscope level. At twenty miles, the levels reach marginal
conditions. Being underwater, the boat won’t be affected as much;
it’s the air that’s poisoned. The ocean is always slower to follow.
Leonard has their course altered to keep some distance from the
shoreline, still believing a nearby power plant to be responsible
for the conditions.

He sends a broadcast identifying his vessel
and position. There is no reply either over the airwaves or
physically from an escort leaving the harbor. At seven miles out,
the levels tip over into the red. At this range, Leonard knows that
this must be hitting the city itself. No one can live through this.
Outside, just scant feet over their heads, sits a microwave of
enormous proportions. They couldn’t survive a moment without proper
gear. They’d be cooked in minutes should they venture out.

Not saying a word to the crew, he has the
boat turned to parallel the coastline. He wants to at least glimpse
his homeport. When their position indicates that they’ve cleared
Point Loma, their home, and they can view the naval base situated
on North Island and the city itself, he raises the periscope mast
to its tallest extent. He has the cameras rolling without putting
the video on any of the displays and looks through the eyepiece.
The sight he beholds is not at all what he is expecting and his
mind goes blank for several seconds.

The dark smog that has hung on the horizon
now shrouds the entire sky to the east. Its dirty brown tinges
everything. Leonard presses his face harder against the eye cups as
if he will be able to see through the veil. Point Loma, North
Island, and the strand connecting it to the mainland are gone. They
aren’t just lying in ruins or have some parts visible, they are
completely gone…obliterated. What lies beyond is even more
shocking. The city is in ruins. Skeletal remains of buildings rise
in places amongst rubble. Light smoke drifts upwards from a hundred
places to create an abysmal cloud above the city. The smoke
prevents a look farther inland, but Leonard knows that he would
only see more of the same. He gazes along the inner shoreline where
naval vessels once berthed. It was there that aircraft carriers
were based. Several of the older carriers that were docked, like
those in Bremerton, on display or to be torn apart for their scrap
metal, are overturned hundreds of yards from their previous
moorings. Of the others, there is no sign.

The scene through the periscope adds up to
one inescapable fact. Someone nuked San Diego…and nuked it
heavily.

Michael senses other packs north of him.
They are coming into the area in greater numbers, filling a gap
that was created when he took the greater share of packs south with
him. Some time ago, responding to a call for help, he called to the
packs in the area and they responded, resulting in the large pack
he currently has. Now there are others infiltrating into the area
north and he knows it is due to a shortage of food.

So far, Michael has been able to provide for
his pack and keep them safe. He’s kept them away from the
two-leggeds, though his anger at them hasn’t subsided. He supposes
he is marginally grateful to them that Sandra is no longer a thorn
in his side but that doesn’t diminish his feelings toward the
two-leggeds. They are dangerous and to be feared. Aside from his
natural hatred and rage against them, they are a threat to his
pack. They must be destroyed. His fear of them exacerbates his
anger.

Michael senses several strong ones leading
several of the packs but knows he has an advantage in strength over
any one of them. Should he call, they will respond and acknowledge
him as leader. None of the ones to the north have drawn together
like his and remain scattered.

In nights past, he’s felt many of those
packs fall to the night death in the sky that comes occasionally.
He wishes he knew what it was and attack it. It’s the one thing
that forces him to keep his distance from the two-leggeds and some
prime hunting grounds. Many of his pack and others have suffered
because of it. His hatred of it has grown as strong as that of the
two-leggeds themselves. He knows it serves them somehow, and he
feels that he should be able to know why, but the answer lies just
out of his range of understanding.

With the strong ones coming south and
bringing their packs with them, Michael knows it’s just a matter of
time before he will journey up and contact them.

# # #

John is a former Air Force fighter
instructor pilot who transitioned to Special Operations for the
latter part of his career gathering his campaign ribbon for Desert
Storm. Immediately following his military service, he became a
firefighter/EMT with a local fire department. Along with becoming a
firefighter, he began a career in the Information Technology
industry starting two large casinos in Washington as the
Information Technology Manager and becoming the Network Manager for
the Washington State Legislature, the Northwest Information
Technology Manager for the Federal Aviation Administration, and the
Network Systems Manager for Hollywood Video. Currently, John is
self-employed with his own Information Technology consulting
company, consulting and managing various businesses with their
information technology needs. He also volunteers for a local youth
center managing their computer lab.

As a former marathon runner, John
lives in the beautiful Pacific Northwest and can now be found
kayaking out in the waters of Puget Sound, mountain biking in the
Capital Forest, hiking in the Olympic Peninsula, or pedaling his
road bike along the many scenic roads.

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