HOMELAND: Falling Down (Part 1 of the HOMELAND Series) (13 page)

Piven let his words sink in before continuing. “As I said, extremists and traitors are everywhere. My job is to root them out. And I will stop at nothing to execute this task. Other agents are now doing the same in every military command from corps level down. The entire chain of command from platoon sergeant up will report to the battalion conference room immediately after this formation for a briefing and evaluation. This includes both commissioned and non-commissioned officers. Your attendance is mandatory. All personnel are restricted to the battalion area until further notice. That is all.”

Prescott ordered, “Fall Out!”

The men milled around in confusion, wondering what just happened.

Cole gathered his men. “You guys keep your heads down.  Something tells me this isn’t the time to draw attention.”

Hicks asked, “What’s going on, Sarge?”

“I don’t know. Maybe we’ll know more after the meeting.” He pointed at Sergeant Reyes. “You are now the platoon sergeant. You’ll have to come too. The rest of you report back to your quarters and stay there.”

Cole sat in the conference room with the rest of the battalion leadership five minutes later. The men exchanged nervous looks, but none dared speak.

The dim fluorescent lights in the room flickered and hummed, fighting to stay alight. The base’s old power plant had been pressed back into service after the blackout. The overburdened facility provided limited electricity to buildings inside the wire as blinking lights struggled to squeeze every drop of energy from their meager ration.

Agent Piven entered the room, striding confidently to the front of the group. “At the stroke of midnight eastern time this past Tuesday, the national power grid experienced a cyber-attack of a severity and complexity that was previously thought impossible.  The entire country was plunged into darkness and will remain there for the foreseeable future.” He glanced up at the struggling lights. “Currently, little is known about the nature of the attack other than that it originated somewhere in Nashville and was conducted by the American Constitutional Front. That’s all I can say until each of you is vetted. That process begins now. We will call you, one by one, to the battalion commander’s office to be interviewed. Do not leave this room until ordered to do so.”

Piven pointed to armed men standing by the exits. Each wore the same black D.H.S. uniform as Piven, but with no names on their chests.

“They will make sure you don’t.”

Piven left the conference room. The metal door slammed behind him, echoing in the silence of the gathered men.

Morning drifted into afternoon and afternoon faded to twilight as Cole waited his turn.

Reyes’ name was called sometime in the late afternoon.

“Good luck.” Cole whispered.

“Thanks. You too.”

Several more hours went by as the number of men waiting in the room whittled down one by one.

Cole walked to the door leading into battalion headquarters and said to the guard, “I gotta take a leak.”

“Hold it,” the stone faced guard replied.

“C’mon, man. I’ve been stuck in this room for ten hours.”

“Not my problem.”

“Either you let me out or I’ll piss in the damn floor.”

The sentry smirked. “Do what you gotta do.”

Son of a bitch.

Cole fought the urge to piss on the guard’s leg.

“Sexton!” another nameless D.H.S. agent shouted from the doorway. Not ‘
Sergeant
Sexton
.
’ Just ‘Sexton.’

He glanced down and said to Cole, “Follow me.”

The door guard glared at Cole as he passed.

The agent led Cole to the interview room, waved him inside, and shut the door behind him.

The room was dark. The lights here were just as feeble as those in the rest of the building.

This had been Colonel Lee’s office, but all vestiges of the former commander were gone. Photos, awards, knickknacks. Gone. A new name plaque which read, ‘Special Agent C. Piven’ now graced Lee’s desk—the one Piven now sat smugly behind. A nine-millimeter pistol rested on the surface inches from his resting hand.

“Sergeant Sexton,” he said with a smile when Cole entered the room. “Thanks for coming.”

“I didn’t have a choice.” Cole took the seat across the desk, hoping to get the ‘interview’ over with as quickly as possible.

“I’m sorry about all this, but these are dangerous times. We have to know who we can trust.” He opened a mini-fridge behind the desk. It was full of icy sodas and bottled water. “You must be thirsty. Can I offer you a drink?”

“Water, thanks.”

Piven handed Cole the cool beverage. “You’ve been in a few years now.”

“Seven.”

“With four combat tours along the way.”

“That’s right.”

“Tell me, what makes a philosophy major join the Army?”

Cole shrugged. “It pays better than philosophy.”

“I guess it does.” Piven laughed. “You don’t have any political affiliation. You don’t go to church. Your parents live only five hours east of here, yet you rarely visit them. You have no friends to speak of. You don’t call anyone.” Piven spoke from memory. No notes. Cole wasn’t sure what to think about that. “You rarely text. Your last email was weeks ago and not worth reading. You’re not even on social media. You’re a philosopher with nothing to say. Odd, don’t you think?”

“You read my email?”

“There’s no such thing as privacy anymore, Sergeant. But, if you have nothing to hide, you have nothing to fear.” Piven got another water from the fridge and took a swig. “How many people have you killed?”

“I try not to think about it.”

“Does that question bother you?”

“No.”

“It’s okay. We have to do things in war sometimes. Things that are tough to think about after, but necessary. The incident at the hospital for example. I was sorry to hear about Sergeant Crowe. I understand he was a good man.”

“The best.”

“You killed the man that shot him.”

“Yeah.”

“He had a hostage. You opened fire, killing both him and the hostage. You made a tough decision. According to your file, it’s not the first time.”

“I’m not a murderer.”

“But you
are
a killer.”

“I’m a soldier.”

“Fair enough, but I think we both agree that you’ve had to make some tough choices during your time in uniform.”

“It’s part of the job.”

“
You will be called upon to make even tougher choices in the coming days. Like I said, these are dangerous times. It’s hard to tell who the enemy is. Anyone could be a traitor.”

“Like who?”

“Right-wing radicals mostly. Constitutionalists, veterans, evangelical Christians, libertarians, preppers, bourgeoisie types.”

“Bourgeoisie?” Cole almost laughed at the term. “You just described half the country.”

“It only took a few to bring us to our knees. Small domestic terror cells decapitated our government and took down the power grid. You’ll have to root out these fanatics, disarm them, and kill them if need be.”

“What about Posse Comitatus? It’s illegal to use the military against civilians.”

“As I said, Sergeant, these are desperate times. They call for desperate measures.”

“You’re talking about killing American citizens.”

“I’m talking about arresting traitors. You took an oath to defend this country against enemies both foreign and domestic. It has to be done. The sooner the better. The country is tearing itself apart out there. You saw it. We need patriots to step up and make it right. Can I count on you to do that? Can your country count on you?”

“How do we know who the bad guys are?”

“Leave that to me.”

Cole took a deep breath, trying to calm his unease and hide his disgust. He knew Piven was full of it. This was against his oath and the Constitution, but Cole knew saying that would land him on the enemies list.

“Well?” Piven’s fingers tapped impatiently next to the pistol on the desk.

Cole decided discretion to be best course of action—for now. He nodded. “Enemies foreign and domestic.”

Piven smiled. “I knew we could count on you.”

8

EDUARDO

Eduardo peered out the window of Angie’s darkened apartment. The smoke-blanketed streets below were clogged with abandoned vehicles. The lights of two derelict police cars flashed mutely in the murk as the icy moon looked down from its celestial perch.  The flood of humanity was now a trickle, small groups making their way north. Always north. Fires still raged across the city, casting the world in an orange glow. Dark shapes slithered in the haze at the edge of seeing. Screams of unseen victims below rose from the soot and echoed into the apartment through the broken window.

Angie whispered. “It’s Dante’s Inferno down there.”

Eduardo nodded. “Don’t worry. We’ve got enough food and water to last a few days. We’ll stay here until it’s safe to move.”

“Suits me just fine.” Sam sat on the sofa, examining the amateur stitch job Eduardo had done on his arm with a sewing kit found in Angie’s closet.

Something caught Eduardo’s eye. It was bright, coming from the windows across the street. More fire. He looked closer. It was a reflection of their own building. A floor halfway between them and the ground was burning.

“Everybody grab you packs. We have to go.”

“But you just said…”

“The building is on fire. We have to go. Right now. We have to escape Manhattan.”

Sam pointed to the street. “We have to cross that?”

Eduardo shouldered his bag and put his scarf back over his face. “Just part of it. Let’s go”

They unblocked the door and crept to the pitch-black stairwell.

Eduardo reminded them, “We have to feel our way down. Slowly. No lights. No sound. Don’t draw attention.” Sam and Angie nodded.

The slightest sound rebounded up and down the stygian shaft as they descended in total darkness, one step at a time. Eduardo went first, then Angie with Sam taking up the rear. Each kept a hand on the shoulder of the person to their front. Their heartbeats pounded in their ears as they strained to hear any sign of danger, freezing in place at every sound and echo.

Eduardo lost count of how far they’d gone in their descent to Hell after a few floors.

Bodies blocked the way at several points, some still warm, some cold as the concrete. The group felt their way over the dead as quietly as possible and continued down, down, and down.

The fumes grew thicker and the air warmed as they reached the burning floor. The bodies were thicker here too. The three of them choked and coughed, moving with more urgency the closer it came. An amber glow from under a steel door marked ‘27
^th
floor’ was the first light they’d seen since leaving Angie’s level. Thankfully, it was closed. They felt the heat and heard the roar of the blaze through the metal.

“Hurry.” Eduardo felt lightheaded. They had to get away from the smoke.

As they passed the door, it burst open, slamming against the concrete wall. The crash resounded up and down the stairwell. Flames leapt from the portal as if reaching out for the three of them, fiery devil hands trying to pull them into the inferno.

“Keep moving!” Eduardo shouted.

A figure stumbled from the doorway, bathed in fire, screaming in that high-pitched soul rending way that only burning alive can cause. It hit the rail and went over, dropping like a torch into the abyss.

They kept moving, faster now, floor by floor, down, down, down.

After what felt like days, they reached the bottom. The seared corpse of the flaming being lay waiting for them on the ground floor. Eduardo couldn’t tell if it was a man or woman. The air here reeked of burning flesh. Beyond was the exit. Eduardo inched the door open and peeked into the lobby. Still empty.

They scurried onto the sidewalk. Ashes fell like snow onto the gloomy street, making the scene an odd combination of Christmas Eve and Nine-Eleven.

They made their way northward building by building, block by block, sprinting from shadow to shadow.

They halted at the corner of Central Park South and Seventh Avenue. Eduardo said, “The Queensboro Bridge is a straight shot east.” He scanned the skyline. The firelight was less fierce in that direction. “It’s our best bet if it’s still open.”

A car appeared from a side street to their front. The metal body was now scratched and beat to hell, but the bullet-pierced windshield of the luxury sedan was familiar enough. It began to roll silently toward the three of them.

“Hey!” Angie yelled. “Over here! Help!”

“No!” Eduardo put his hand over her mouth.

The car sped toward them.

“Run!” Eduardo yelled, “Into the park!” Bullets buzzed like angry hornets by his head as he hurried his friends into the dark grassy confines of Central Park. They ran until Sam fell to his hands and knees and vomited.

“I can’t,” he heaved, “I can’t go any farther.”

“C’mon, Sam. Don’t be such a pussy.” Eduardo spotted a dark patch of ground under a stand of trees nearby. “We can hide over there, but just long enough to catch our breath. We have to keep moving.”

The park wasn’t crowded, but it was far from empty. Small groups wandered warily in the dark as shadowy figures slinked in and out of view. It was impossible for Eduardo to distinguish predator from prey in the gloom.

“Eddie!” Angie screamed as a hand sprang from the darkness and clutched her throat.

A voice hissed, “Gimme the backpacks.”

Eduardo spotted the flash of a knife to Angie’s ribs. He put his hands up. “Take it easy. You don’t need to hurt anybody.”

“The backpacks,” the man snarled. Angie whimpered as the blade pressed harder into her side.

“Alright.” Eduardo took off his backpack and held it out. “Let her go and it’s yours.”

The assailant moved forward slightly, allowing the moonlight to reveal his hooded form. “Nah,” he said. “I got a better idea.” He whistled over his shoulder. “Hey! Over here! I got some fresh meat!”

His call was answered by whistles and whoops from all directions.