Hideaway (Book 2): An Emp Thriller Read online

  Hideaway: Book 2

  Roger Hayden

  Copyright 2018 All rights reserved worldwide. No part of this document may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, by any means without prior written permission, except for brief excerpts in reviews or analysis.

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  Download the FREE Prequel on Amazon-Click Here

  James and Marla Weller lead normal lives in their quaint St. Louis suburb. But on one seemingly uneventful Friday morning, everything changes in an instant after an aerial blast causes a massive blackout through their city. Stranded at a gas station, James discovers that the power grid isn’t the only thing disabled. His car and cell phone won’t work either, and he’s far from the only one. News travels of a bomb threat downtown where his wife is working, and James must get there by any means to find her. His dangerous journey is only the beginning of a mass evacuation that follows. Can he save Marla in time, or will they unable to escape the imminent threat that looms over them? Find out how the story begins in the exciting prequel of a real-world disaster come alive.

  Download the FREE Prequel on Amazon-Click Here

  Contents

  1. One Week After

  2. The Chase

  3. Pit Stop

  4. The Breach

  5. End of the Line

  6. Labyrinth

  7. A Way Out

  8. Moving On

  9. Sanctuary

  10. Blood Moon

  11. Brotherhood

  12. Initiation

  13. The Fall

  About the Author

  1

  One Week After

  ** The Free prequel is available in the front matter and TOC of this book**

  Washington D.C.

  An emergency meeting had been called between the President of the United States, his advisers, department heads, and top-level military staff. Countless officials sat around the long conference table as others stood, packed within the darkened room. At the head of the table sat President Walter Burke, two years into his first term. The group observed a map of the U.S. projected onto a giant screen beyond the table. Within the layout were areas of the country marked in different shades of red, green, and gray. Numbers were listed on the bottom left-hand corner of the screen. The officials in the room stared ahead as the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, General James Marshall, briefed the president and other officials on the latest updates.

  The undeniable tension in the air increased upon hearing the general's dire assessment, but they were all aware of how fortunate they were to have working electricity in the building. Nearly half of the nation's power grid had been successfully disabled. The general referred to the map, which defined some twenty-five states in red, as “affected areas.” The affected areas had little or no running electricity, and in addition, loss of vehicle mobility and standard means of communication.

  “Simply put,” the general explained, “technology use across our nation has been decimated.” The quiet room listened as he continued his briefing. “As you can see, the red zones indicate states along the Eastern coast, encompassing several major cities and states east of the Mississippi. This troubling pattern has spread along on the West Coast as well. Cyberattacks across the country have also plagued our ability to respond to this as the aggressive act of war that it is.”

  He paused, giving the room a minute to process the severity of the situation, and then continued. “Red areas indicate a seventy-five percent loss in power, communications, and mobility. Areas in gray indicate a loss of similar technology below fifty percent.

  Areas in green are largely unaffected but still face potential threats.”

  He closed his binder, looking around the room at the faces of stunned officials.

  A conference phone in the center of the table flashed with state officials listening on the other line. It had been a week since the attack, and the federal government was still reeling from the aftermath. The attack was exceptional in strategy and catastrophic in its effects. Generals, department heads, senior advisers, security analysts, and the president himself struggled with finding an appropriate response. Not only did they have to enact emergency aid and disaster relief throughout the entire country, they had to respond to bold aggression from a foreign enemy.

  Heads turned as the president stood at the head of the table, seemingly dressed for action in his brown leather bomber jacket. Like everyone else in the room, he looked sleep-deprived and overwhelmed, his gray hair unkempt and stubble showing on his cheeks. He glanced down at his open notebook, pages scribbled from top to bottom, and then addressed the room.

  “We've got to get a handle on things. No more excuses.” His voice sounded hoarse from days of relentless briefings. “We need to deliver emergency aid to these affected areas. I don't care how. Airlift the supplies or put them on a train. There's no reason for this delay. We need emergency responders dispatched accordingly. And we need the grid restored.” He paused, running his hands through his disheveled hair. “But I'm sounding like a broken record here. What's my status?”

  Officials looked around the room as FEMA director, Michael Bowman, spoke up. “We've dispatched response teams to affected areas all over the country.”

  “And what of the military?” the president asked, staring at his joint chiefs. He then leaned toward the conference phone in front of him. “I know a lot of you have already declared a state of emergency. What is the activation status of your National Guard and reserve elements?”

  He waited as one governor answered. “It's been very difficult to communicate with our divisions in North Carolina, but we've managed to set up some relief camps throughout the state.”

  “Anyone else?” the president asked. He waited in disbelief as the line remained silent. “I know the power isn't out in everywhere. You've got military trucks at your disposal that were immune from the EMP attack. Use them. Work to evacuate your cities until this threat is under control.”

  He then glanced at the projection screen at the far end of the room. Its red areas far outnumbered the grays and greens of the less impacted zones.

  “I want round-the-clock action on this. We must maintain law and order. We need everyone, from local law enforcement to Homeland Security to our military personnel. The scope of this attack is unprecedented in what is a clear act of war. I will accept nothing but your best during this national crisis.” He paused, taking a deep breath.

  One week earlier, Friday morning October 21st, the Unites States had faced a wide-ranging and sophisticated electromagnetic pulse attack that had disabled much of the country's power grid. Its high-level frequencies had also disabled the circuitry of most modern vehicles and advanced electronic devices. The subsequent sabotage of technology that accompanied the EMP missile strike had created hysteria and disorder in its wake. Few in government thought that such an attack was possible. Now they had no more control of the situation than when it had occurred.

  First responders of all stripes had been called into action. Several major cities in Eastern and Western states had been evacuated due to a threat of nuclear attack. The president was initially reluctant to use aggressive retaliation, yet it was imperative that the United States deliver a swift and overwhelming response to the enemy who had launched the unprovoked attack. But the enemy in this case wasn't clear, as no foreign country had taken direct responsibility.

  “Sir, this is Governor Grayson of Indiana,” a woman's voice said over the conference phone.

  The president leaned closer to the phone and spoke. “Go ahead.”

  “How much longer do we have?”

  The president looked around the room, confus
ed. “I'm not sure what you're referring to, governor. The blackouts? The disabled vehicles? Cell phones that have been reduced to paperweights?”

  “The power grid, for starters, sir,” the governor said.

  President Burke flashed an exhausted smile as he pointed at a bespectacled, thin-faced man at the table, one of a few dressed in a suit and tie, an ID dangling around his neck. “Mr. Cernovich would you like to bring her up to speed?”

  Allen Cernovich, director of the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission, cleared his throat and broke the silence of the attentive room. “Our agency and every major power company in the country have never dealt with something of this magnitude.”

  “Is that your answer?” the president snapped.

  “I believe Deputy Baker may know more than I,” Cernovich said, passing the buck.

  All heads turned to Homeland Director Greg Baker, who had chaired the EMP Commission years prior. His department, in an extensive 2011 report, had outlined several detailed protocols in the event of a weaponized electromagnetic pulse attack. But even that agency hadn't foreseen just how far the damage could spread. “We don't know for sure,” he began. “Our diagnosis estimated a full relaunch of the power gird within six months.”

  Audible gasps filled the room, followed by anxious murmurs.

  “Enough,” the president said to the room with his hand up. “Six months is the worst-case scenario. Right, Mr. Baker?”

  The Homeland Director nodded as cross chatter continued. It was clear that no one imagined that restoring the power grid could take so long. It was difficult enough to communicate with officials in affected cities and states. So many areas had gone dark that there was no idea where to start. The U.S. had been subject to several multi-faceted strikes without warning. Nobody wanted to take responsibility. The president soon shifted gears by introducing a high-ranking Pentagon official who had information pertaining to the probable enemy behind the attack.

  “Mr. Layne MacGregor, our chief analyst, will tell you more,” the president continued. “Layne?”

  A tall, broad-shouldered man seated opposite the president stood up, holding a remote in his hand. He pointed his remote toward the screen, which changed to show several aerial images of cities without power. Mixed within the display were satellite images that showed affected areas at night without any lights. Their meeting room still had electricity, as did much of D.C. So far, it was one of the few unaffected areas in the country, but hundreds of generators were on standby if that changed.

  “As everyone can see, these are images of affected areas collected over the week.” He then switched to the next slide, displaying an aerial photo of the entire U.S., where only some areas in the Midwest had lights showing. Most of the rest of the country was black.

  “This shows the magnitude of these blackouts. The situation is dire, there's no other way to put it. To bring support to these affected areas would indeed take time and resources.” MacGregor turned from the screen and began pacing what little space there was in the crowded room. “If we're lucky, we should be able to establish order in approximately two weeks. In more rural areas, relief could take months.” MacGregor then explained that there was no magic bullet or quick fix.

  “Our assessment has led us to what we believe to be an attack by several unified groups. They have waged war through several complex fronts. The attack on the energy grid, for instance, was achieved through an elaborate cyber-alliance, which we've traced back to Russian operatives. The hundreds of missiles that followed were launched in a stealth strike, using our own technology against us. The origin of these anti-radar missiles was traced back to a small island in the Pacific. An island, mind you, established as sovereign land by the Chinese military.”

  Sweeping disbelief was evident on the stunned faces of every official and reiterated as well in the silence of the speaker phones. The Pentagon's report had established more than one foreign entity; not one but two major world powers collaborating to attack the United States.

  “The EMP commission report states that a nuclear EMP would not affect most vehicles or personal electronic systems,” he continued. “Unfortunately, it appears that our enemies have figured out how to do that.” He flipped to the next slide, displaying a numbered chart. “This elaborate attack had three initial stages. Phase one was the massive cyber-attack against our power grid, done through sophisticated hacking. Phase two was the launching of nuclear EMPs across the country from a remote island in the Pacific. And three, and perhaps most deadly, was the detonation of improvised bombs throughout all major cities. This was obviously done to further cause panic and disarray among the population.” MacGregor stopped and looked around the room, asking for questions. Hands went up as officials shouted over one another, adding to the growing panic in the room.

  President Burke suddenly slammed his fist onto the table, demanding calm. “We've got hundreds of millions of Americans in a state of crisis right now. There are an untold number of casualties, displaced people, families separated, and people missing. I want every department and agency to work around the clock to bring order and assistance to these areas.” He paused and looked at the conflicted faces of the surrounding officials. “Understand?”

  The room nodded in agreement as the president walked away from the table to the opposite corner of the room in the shadows. His Pentagon analyst soon rose and followed him, concerned.

  “Are you okay, sir?”

  “Yes,” he said as he opened his eyes and straightened his posture. “Thank you, Layne. I'll be fine. Just need a moment.”

  Satisfied, MacGregor returned to his seat. Burke then circled the room as conversation broke out between the officials. He stopped in front of the projection screen with the colors of the latest slide reflecting on his face. “It's not our job to panic,” he said to the room, gaining their attention. “Your country needs you.”

  A cabinet official held his hand up, and President Burke pointed at him. “Yes, Josh.”

  “Mr. President, what of this island used to launch the EMP missiles?”

  Burke cut his hands across the air as if the matter had been taken care of. “We sent a drone to its coordinates and eliminated the island.” The officials exchanged glances, obviously hoping for more details, but another man interrupted.

  “Have Russia and China officially declared war?” the official asked, to murmurs of concern.

  Burke shook his head. “It's more complicated than that. They're denying involvement. They claim that the attack against the U.S. was illicit. They're blaming a rogue separatist element.”

  “Bullshit,” said the official in response.

  “Both countries have arrested over thirty conspirators, several within their own military,” Burke continued. “They've been very cooperative.”

  “I don't know, sir,” one of the joint chiefs opined. “This attack was too well-planned and much too sophisticated for a rouge operation.”

  “They're calling it Operation Butterfly,” a general added. “And it's impossible to assume neither country knew about it.”

  “Mr. President, if we don't show these countries swift retaliation, we'll lose complete credibility,” the joint chief official continued. “Things will get much worse.”

  The president stepped forward, face flushed with anger. “Russia and China have been working with us! I'm not going to start World War III. We will take out the persons responsible, and that's a promise.”

  “The Chinese military outnumber us two to one,” the same general said to the room. “Nothing short of nuclear war would be the next step.”

  “That's enough!” the president shouted. He pulled at his collar as sweat seemed to pour down his face. The entire room went quiet as they turned toward him, watching with concern. “I didn't call this meeting to further escalate this situation. I—” The president suddenly stopped and wiped his forehead, appearing to have lost his thought.

  “Sir, are you all right?” a nearby adviser asked.

&nbs
p; Burke stumbled toward the table and then leaned over its surface, wiping the sweat from his face. He was losing color fast, and no one knew exactly what to think.

  “Yes, I'm fine,” he said, gulping down water from a glass that wasn't his. “You all have your objectives. Execute, and be prepared to brief me in one hour.”

  Immediately following his words, the room erupted again in cross chatter from nearly every official. Questions came flying at the president from all sides. No one was listening to anyone, and most importantly, nothing was getting done. The president backed away from the table, slightly losing balance as the plethora of conversations engulfed the room. Burke reached out for balance but couldn't find anything to grasp.

  He collapsed in front of the projection screen, flat on his back, as the Secret Service agents rushed over to him. Heads turned in his directions. Officials ran to him as agents held several people back to give the president room. Two agents knelt near the president, trying to help, talking to him as they fanned his face, but the problem looked more serious than a simple fall. Burke’s petrified face trembled as he clutched his chest and frothed at the mouth.

  “Get a paramedic in here, now!” an agent shouted.

  The room erupted in chaos as calls for a doctor rang out. President Burke’s body broke out in spasms as he lay on the floor, arms flailing, torso jerking involuntarily. Secret Service agents were upon him, trying to assist, while other agents kept the space clear. Above the president was an aerial image of New York City shrouded in darkness.