An Armageddon Duology (26 page)

S
ara Houston stared
through the window of the helicopter at Washington, D.C. The familiar landmarks were gone. The bejeweled arteries of transportation dark, the lights extinguished by a city-wide blackout. Along with the loss of the grid, the monuments vanished as the spotlights winked out—the Capitol, the Lincoln Memorial, the pillar of the Washington Monument. Gone.

But there was light—orange, glowing in a primitive anger rising from the ground.
Fires
.

The pilot’s voice rang in her headphones.

“I’m going to put you down as close to 1600 as I can. I’m broadcasting on all frequencies—if anyone is listening we’ve got the codes to prove we’re friendlies.”

“Maybe they’re shooting first and asking for ID later,” mumbled Lopez beside her, his words barely discernible in the thunder of the blades above them.

“Might be,” said the former Blackhawk pilot. “But the rest of the city is chaos. The food riots from the lockdown last week exploded earlier tonight when the power cut. It’s like something out of a zombie flick. You’ll never make it through the streets.”

Houston shouted over the noise, “The President is still there? Are we sure?”

“As of twenty ago, yes. They’ve had a marine contingent keeping the mobs at bay.”

“Why hasn’t she been evac’ed?” asked Lopez.

“Got me. Word was filtering through that they were going to. They were flying missions in. Marine One should have choppered her out, but something happened.”

Lopez looked at Houston and mouthed, “The Worm.” She nodded staring back down to the patches of red and orange flickering below.

The pilot continued. “But I don’t know why they haven’t been able to get a military mission in there. Someone must be running interference.”

Houston gasped, pointing vigorously below. “Maybe those?”

Lopez and the pilot glanced downward. Over the dark city, underneath and in front of them, structured like a migrating flock, small objects reflecting the moonlight sped along their vector. The outlines of the White House could be made out, approaching quickly, the building still illuminated by emergency power. The objects raced straight for it.

“Look!” cried Lopez. “The ones in the back—they’re carrying people.”

“Drones,” said Houston. “They’re dropping in a hit squad. Can you outrun them?”

The pilot shook his head. “We’re too close. This old shit heap you forced me to fly can’t compete with the new birds. It’s too slow.”

“Gun it!” she yelled, releasing her safety harness and grabbing a machine gun from the back. “Just gun it. Bring us into firing range.”

The pilot accelerated sickeningly. Houston was nearly thrown against the back of the cabin. Lopez leapt up and steadied her, pulling her forward beside him near the side door. They mounted one of the weapons on a makeshift turret, Lopez slinging the other weapon against him.

The helicopter darted forward, closing the gap between it and the flock of drones. They approached the back rows, human forms dangling from the larger machines, a strike team of nearly ten black shapes descending with the flock toward the growing form of the President’s house.

Houston slung the door open. “Keep it steady!”

They fired. At their distance accuracy was poor, but they compensated with a full spray of bullets. Houston worked the larger, mounted gun, the ordnance dramatically blowing apart machines and men. Between them, they managed to take down more than half the team before the killers realized their peril. The rest dove straight to the ground and out of range.

The remaining drones ignored the helicopter and accelerated downward. Houston and Lopez fired maniacally at them, but only managed to down a handful more. The remaining plunged like kamikazes toward the White House.

“Aerial strike!” said the pilot.

Around the property, explosions erupted. The fireballs lit the drone’s targets—military trucks, fortified gunners, the power generators. The building was plunged into total darkness.

“Setting you two down!” came the pilot’s frantic words.

The chopper dropped like a brick, the lurch in their stomachs only matched by the strength of the crush to the ceiling. They held on for dear life. The aircraft came to a bone-shaking stop as the landing skid struck the grass on the front lawn, hopped, and slammed down again.

“Go!”

They leapt out of the helicopter and crouched, automatic weapons at the ready. The chopper climbed quickly to an altitude the pilot hoped would be safe from the madness below, prepared to return and retrieve them once Houston and Lopez had located the President.

They’d taken no friendly fire on landing, and it was quickly obvious why. Flames raged around them and smoke filled the air. The initial wave of explosive drones had more than neutralized the military defenses, leaving no one to guard of the nation’s First House.

Lopez pointed to the blasted remains of the fence in front of the building. Bodies of rioters were strewn everywhere. It was unclear whether they had been killed by the deceased marines or by the blast that had torn the barrier down. He screamed over the cacophony around them: “The assassins landed back there! They’ll be coming through the front gate.”

Houston nodded, motioning for him to follow. They sprinted forward, and she made a beeline for the blasted remains of a military barricade. Soldiers and their remains littered the makeshift rampart. Houston heaved one off a mounted machine gun, pointing the weapon toward the street.

“They wanted shock and awe,” she said, looking around. “They got it, but we punched a hole in their plan. We can stop them.”

Lopez crouched beside her and removed pieces of a weapon from a backpack. He quickly assembled a rifle and attached a night-vision scope. Placing it on the cement barricade in front of him, he aimed through it.

“They’re here!” he said. “Four. No, five! I can get several before they react.”

“Wait!” said Houston scanning around them. “Let them get through the fence.”

“That’s too close, Sara!” he said. “Less than a hundred feet. Anything could happen!”

“But if some rabbit and come at us from other directions, we might be sitting ducks hunting for York. Draw them in,” she said, pulling out two grenades. “Pick off as many as you can. The others will hunker down for a few seconds before making a run for shelter.”

He nodded. “Throw deep, girl.”

They didn’t have to wait long. In the dancing light of the flames, Houston was soon able to spot the shadows approaching. They were moving swiftly, in a tight formation, cautious yet still seemingly confident of the outcome.
Overconfident
.

Lopez squeezed the trigger. One of the five arched backward, paused a second frozen, then tipped like a bowling pin to the ground. Before he’d hit the asphalt the man beside him took a shot to the head as well.

The others dropped quickly to the ground. Houston hurled one grenade after another at their location. Her motion drew the attention of the attackers, but she continued to throw, even as shots whizzed by. She’d launched four grenades in quick succession when Lopez tackled her before she could remove more. As they fell, the explosions began.

“Dammit, Francisco!” she screamed over the series of detonations.

He ignored her and aimed the rifle again, staring through the scope. “All five down, you crazy fool!” he said, removing the weapon from the barricade and planting the butt on the ground beside him. He sighed. “What a mess.”

She smiled and grabbed him roughly by the cassock. “No more foreplay. Need to find POTUS.”

They turned to the entrance, preparing to run into the damaged building. A rapid fluttering sound whipped over their heads and two shadows dropped to the ground in front of them, catching them unprepared. They stared into gun barrels.

“Sara, down!”

Automatic fire erupted as they dove for cover. Houston felt two rounds slam into her stomach, the flak jacket absorbing the most dangerous energies. She rolled desperately away and then sprang to her feet, leveling her weapon. She expected to die.

A pair of women stood in front of them, the bodies of the assassins at their feet, smoke trailing upward from their weapons. One was a female Marine, bloodied, and with a fire burning in her eyes. Houston moved her finger off the trigger and raised her gun skyward. She stared at the other figure, an older woman in a dark suit, short gray hair in disarray, a gun in her hands.

“Well, I’ll be goddamned.”

It was the president.

“
M
adam President
,” said Houston as she stood up, grass stains and soot plastering her face. “You look like you know your way around a war zone.”

Elaine York scowled and handed the weapon to the marine. “
Ms.
, please. I don’t run a brothel. Your friend’s hurt.”

Houston’s eyes darted across to Lopez. He sat on the ground holding his left arm. “Shit!” She dashed over to him.

“It’s okay, Sara,” he said, seeing her wild eyes. “Just a graze. Not even my gun arm.” Blood soaked his shoulder and dripped through the cuff of his sleeve.

“Dammit, Francisco, you’re too much a linebacker to dodge!” Houston ripped open the fabric of the cassock and revealed an ugly laceration across his upper arm. “Graze or not, you’re going to bleed out if we don’t close this up.”

“Get York out,” said Lopez, glancing up as the president stood over him. “Call the pilot. We’ll deal with it after.”

A pained look in her eye, Houston pulled out a handheld radio. It cracked with static. “Extraction 1. Target is acquired. Retrieve immediately. There are wounded.”

There was a short silence, then: “Roger that. On your position. On the ground in half a minute.”

Houston thrust the handheld to the president who took it with stern eyes. Pulling the dark mask off her head, she ripped it lengthwise and wrapped it into a tight mass, pressing it to Lopez’s shoulder wound.

The marine beside the President looked grimly over the field of battle. “Let’s hope to God that’s the last of those fucking deathbots.”

The deep throb of the helicopter blades grew quickly. Lopez stood up as the craft hovered above the building, kicking up debris and nearly blinding them. It set down on the lawn fifty feet from their position. The pilot waved them over frantically.

They ran. There were no more surprise landings. No shots fired or bombs detonated. As Houston slammed the door, the four of them still moving to take seats, the bird rocketed up, the sound of the rushing air muted as the latches sealed. She reached over and pulled a first aid kit from underneath the seat. Within seconds it was open and she was dressing Lopez’s wound.

“I was going to offer some help,” said the marine, eyeing her carefully. “I’m certified as a medic. But it looks like you know what you’re doing.”

Houston didn’t take her attention from Lopez, who grimaced unmoving as she worked the torn flesh. “We’ve had some experience.”

The President spoke. “Okay, so who the hell are you people? I don’t usually jump into moving aircraft with just any pair of armed personnel, but today has been a bit unusual.”

Houston continued working on Lopez’s shoulder. “The pilot will drop you off at Mount Weather. Plans were likely for NAOC or something, but given the buzzing drone armies, I think feet on the ground is the place to be.”

The President furrowed her brow. “You aren’t coming? What’s going on here? Who are you?”

Houston paused a moment and turned her head toward York, expression strained. “We don’t exist, Madam—Ms.—President.”

“Let’s not get cheeky, darling. Out with it. There are no government ciphers to me.”

“We aren’t government. We don’t exist. Friends called us in. But we’re out before the light of day.” Houston returned to treating the bullet wound, hands covered in Lopez’s blood.

York eyed her silently for several seconds. “Friends called you in, huh?” She shook her head. “Damn prescient friends you have and I’m not going to second guess them. Not after what just happened. I assume you’re legit or I’d be dead by now.”

Houston chuckled. “I wouldn’t go so far as to say we’re legit.”

Lopez opened his eyes and fought to smile. “I’m Gabriel,” he hissed between clenched teeth. He twitched his head at Houston. “This is Mary.”

York nodded. “Praise the Lord. Whoever you really are, I’m pleased to meet you.” She shuddered. “I thought we were goners down there. I hope to be able to thank you properly someday. Consider me very intrigued.”

Houston spoke flatly. “Who else is left?”

York closed her eyes and sighed, the fatigue apparent on her face. “A few staff. I hope to God they retreat to the bunker. We were cut off from escape by the explosions. Caved in a good part of the White House. Killed most of the soldiers. Nearly killed us.” She looked to the bruised and bloodied face of the marine. “We’re barely standing up again and it’s gunfire, more explosions, your helicopter in the mix. I thought you were the bad guys until the drones dropped off the last two.” She looked at Lopez. “Saved your life right before we mowed them down. Anyway, I judged you were friendlies. The Vatican look might have helped.”

“I meant, who’s left in the government?”

York’s face hardened. “It’s not good. Confirmed killed are the VP and the most of the leaders of Congress. The cabinet is MIA.” She opened her eyes and stared out at the receding flames below. “Damn. Look at her burn. Should take a photo for my presidential library.” The others stared at her in silence. “Meanwhile, Mount Weather makes a lot of sense. It’s close enough, secured like all hell, puts me in contact with all the governmental emergency systems. Better than airborne right now. Speaking of which, how safe are we?”

The helicopter began to descend. Houston finished taping off Lopez’s shoulder and slumped next to him on the chair, drenched in sweat.

“We’re not Air Force One, Ms. President,” said Houston. “Just another helicopter flying around on doomsday. Who’s to care?”

Lopez steeled himself and sat up as the craft neared the ground. “This is our drop off, Ms. York,” he said with difficulty. “The pilot is in our circle of
friends
. He’ll get you to the emergency operations center, assuming the little flying demons don’t pick you off.”

“Reassuring,” muttered York.

Lopez smiled. “Oh ye of little faith.”

The helicopter touched down and the pilot called out to them. Houston opened the door and prepared to jump. York grabbed her arm.

“Good luck,” said the president, holding Houston’s eyes in an intense stare.

She returned the gaze. “We’re all going to need a lot of that.”