Without Warning (37 page)

“Heather! Yo, Heather,” Barney called out.

She didn’t seem to hear him at first, but her slack features became animated when she finally recognized her colleagues. She immediately burst into tears as Kipper folded the quivering young woman up in his arms.

“It’s all right, kid. Everything’s gonna be fine. It’s all right.”

He didn’t attempt to question her for at least two minutes. Barney stood by and occasionally patted her shoulder, but obviously felt the need to be doing more.

“Kip, I’m gonna see if I can scare up somebody from the company. See if they can tell me what happened.”

“Good idea,” nodded Kipper. “I’ll be here. You got the cops and the ambulance, right?”

“Done deal. They’ll be here, even if the fucking army won’t.”

In fact the first squad cars were already screaming to a halt at the edge of the lot, disgorging officers, who emerged guns ready but unsure of where to aim them.

Barney kept his hands held up in clear view and walked carefully over toward them.

“Can you tell me what happened, Heather? Can you do that yet, darlin’?” asked Kip.

A small, tentative nod was all he got in reply. Her whole body was still shaking uncontrollably as she pushed away from him. She rubbed at her arms, folded them, and started rubbing again.

“There were m-maybe a thousand people here, when I got in at six,” she said, unsteadily. “They all had transit passes and ration vouchers, just like we planned.”

Heather stared around the parking lot as if seeing it for the first time. Her face contorted, and Kip was sure she was about to start crying again, but she got it under control. Her voice was small, and seemed forever on the edge of breaking into a thousand little shards.

“Th … they were just fine. Everyone waiting their turn, until these three pickups arrived.” She pointed with a shaky hand at a couple of abandoned trucks a hundred yards away. Kipper could only see two of them, but didn’t interrupt her.

“A-about a dozen guys,” she stammered. “All armed, and they like, just
pushed in.
“

Kipper shook his head.

“What about the army, the cops? Where were they? There was supposed to be a platoon of soldiers here to help out.”

Heather volleyed back his headshake with one of her own, throwing in a nervous, exaggerated shrug for good measure.

“I don’t know. But these guys, like I said, they just started pushing their way to the front, and some people are yelling at them, some are just getting out of the way. And this one guy, some big guy in a lumber jacket, a big red lumber jacket, he just steps in front of them and puts his hand up like a traffic cop or something.”

“Okay,” said Kipper. “Go on,” he said in a quiet voice.

“Well, one of these jerks, from the pickups, he had like an ax handle or something, and he just buttswipes this dude with it. Totally wiped him out. He goes down and then the shooting starts.”

“The pickup truck guys, the looters, they started shooting people?” asked Kipper, his voice rising.

“Nope. They
got
shot. Or at least the one with the ax handle did. He dropped the lumberjack dude, looked like he was about to start wailing on him with that club, next thing you know, somebody blew him away. Two or three shots, I don’t know. But there’s blood everywhere, people screaming, and
then
the real shooting started.”

Kipper felt as though he was going to vomit.

There had to be more than a dozen lifeless bodies lying around in the parking lot. There’d probably be more in the streets beyond.

Where the fuck were the army guys? They were supposed to be here. They’d insisted on it, in fact.

“How about you, Heather? Are you okay? You got a little blood on you, darlin’. You’re not hurt, are you?”

“I don’t know where all the guns came from,” she said. “But once they were out, it was like everyone was armed. Everyone was shooting. I’ve never seen anything like it. There was a little girl … standing just near me … she was screaming and crying for … for her mom … and …”

The young woman broke down completely as the morning’s blood and horror overwhelmed her.

Barney reappeared with a police officer, an older-looking man with sergeant’s stripes.

“You in charge here, sir?” he asked, almost accusingly.

“What? Yes, no … well I …”

Kipper pulled himself together.

“My name’s Kipper,” he said. “James Kipper, city engineer. We were starting our food-aid program here this morning. The city’s running the program, with help from Costco, here at least, but the army was supposed to be doing the site management and security. So, no, I’m not in charge. Nobody was, by the look of things.”

The cop took in the scene with unalloyed disgust on his face.

“You know, the fucking city could have just used us. This wouldn’t have happened on my watch, I tell you.”

More cops were arriving and the first of the paramedics were charging around, doing triage.

“I don’t make these choices, Sergeant. I’m like you. A civil servant. We do as we’re told.”

It sounded weak and worthless as it came out of his mouth, and Kipper immediately regretted speaking.

The cop fixed him with a baleful glare.

“Well, don’t you be wandering off, Mr. Kipper. I’ll be needing to speak to you again.”

He turned his back on them with that and trotted over to a couple of uniformed officers, barking orders as he went.

“Jesus, what a fucking mess,” said Barney. “This is just so fucking typical of trusting those assholes at Fort Lewis to do anything but blow shit up.”

“Uh-huh,” grunted Kip. “We’d better find out what broke down, do what we can to help, then get back to council. We’ll call them, tell them what’s happened.”

Barney looked troubled.

“I tried, Kip. But none of them are available.”

“What d’you mean?” he snapped, instantly regretting it. “Sorry. It’s just that I keep hearing this. It’s bullshit. Where are they?”

Barney shrugged. “I even tried a few home phones. Their cells. Nothing. Offices back at Municipal Tower. Same result every time. You just get routed into the phone menu hell out at Fort Lewis.”

“Why? How come our calls are going out there?”

“Not ours,” said Barney. “Just any calls to the councillors.”

Kip started walking Heather over toward an ambulance. She was looking shocky and pale, and he wanted to get her cared for as quickly as possible. The paramedics, however, would have their hands full with more serious casualties.

“Heather, I’m going to get someone to run you out to the hospital … no, scratch that. They’ll be overloaded. Do you have a doctor in town? Someone we can call?”

She shook her head.

“No, but I’ve been to a clinic near my apartment a couple of times. I got food poisoning my first week here.”

“Jeez, Seattle’s been good to you, hasn’t it? Okay. Barn, you think you could drive Heather over to this clinic? Get her checked out. Don’t take any shit from them. It’s city business.”

“No problem.”

“Okay, you guys go now. Fuck the cops, they know where to find you. I’ll deal with them. Off you go.”

He shooed them away, keeping an eye on the sergeant who had his back turned to them.

A long line of ambulances was speeding down Fourth Avenue South toward them, and he could hear a chopper, more than one, approaching from the city. Hopefully it would be a medical flight. The media couldn’t take their helicopters anywhere without written authority from Fort Lewis. The entire state had been declared a no-fly zone. To “secure” the city’s airspace and approaches. It was bullshit, of course. There were no more unpiloted, empty aircraft headed for Seattle. They’d all crashed within hours of the Disappearance. But General Blackstone hadn’t gotten around to removing the restrictions.

Well, for once, Kipper was glad of it.

He could really do without having to deal with a lot of jackass reporters this morning.

Nearly six hours later he finally made it through the last checkpoint on Fifth Avenue, where a couple of Humvees with ring-mounted machine guns blocked access to the Municipal Tower, the city’s administrative center. A kid with the name tag
MEYER
read his papers, stamping his feet in the cold while his breath plumed in the frigid air. He didn’t look at all pleased to be out in the open. The sun had disappeared again, and a light drizzle was drifting down from the leaden sky. It stung Kipper’s eyes, as he waited for his papers, taking him back to childhood memories of swimming in pools with way too much chlorine.

“Looks fine, sir,” said Private Meyer. Or was it Specialist Meyer? He never really knew where he was with these military types. “Just park as normal and head on through. Major McCutcheon is waiting to see you.”

Kipper was about to walk away when he pulled himself up.

“Sorry, who’s waiting to see me?”

Young Meyer consulted his clipboard again.

“Major McCutcheon, sir.”

“I don’t know any McCutcheon, son. Major or otherwise. What’s it about? Unless he’s come to explain where your guys got to this morning instead of guarding my food bank, I’m not interested.”

Meyer looked severely discomfited.

“Sorry, sir. I don’t know why he came to see you. He’s General Black-stone’s aide, if that helps.”

Kipper blinked away the burning rain that ran into his eyes.

“Well, no it doesn’t… but… damn it. McCutcheon, you said?”

“Yes, sir, Major Ty McCutcheon. Waiting for you inside, sir. In the … ah … deputy mayor’s office.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

He stalked off. If nothing else, this McCutcheon might make a convenient punching bag. God knows he needed one after this morning.

Forced to take a spot a good long walk from the tower, he didn’t recognize many of the vehicles, and noted that a fair amount of military transport had arrived, too. The thin mist of rain started to thicken, falling more heavily and forcing him to hurry. He no more wanted to be out in it than poor Private Meyer. Two more guards, both of them toting rifles, greeted him at the door, eyeballed his papers, and reminded him that he had an appointment with Major McCutcheon. Kipper tried to shake off his anger with the rain and pushed past them into the heated and slightly humid interior of the building.

He could tell immediately that many more folks were in residence than was normal, many of them, perhaps most, out-of-towners. Every fourth man
or woman was dressed in a military uniform. A couple of very expensive suits were wrapped around some very polished Eastern accents, too, but not many. And Canadians seemed to pop up at every corner, announcing their presence with a rising inflection and an
“eh!”
for every occasion. None of the newcomers recognized him, but here and there he caught a despairing look from a city employee. He had no idea how many people knew about the fuckup at Costco. It certainly hadn’t been on the radio as he’d driven in. Those stations still operating were given over to official announcements spliced in between wall-to-wall music, and none of the official announcements had made any mention of the trouble this morning.

By the time he’d reached the deputy mayor’s office, he’d calmed down a little, and decided to ditch the meeting with this McCutcheon guy. He was going to be far too busy with all of the blowback from the food-bank disaster and opted instead to attempt an end run to his own office.

“Yo! Kipper! You made it, man, good to see you. Come in, dude. We need to talk.”

The engineer nearly jumped out of his boots.

The army officer—or was he army? They had majors in the air force, too, didn’t they?—was a lean, forty-something man with a bristling gray crew cut. He looked the part, but sounded like a surf bum. A Californian, maybe?

There was no avoiding him, though, so Kipper set his features and made the best of it.

“You’re McCutcheon, right? Did you come in here to explain what the hell happened at Costco? You guys were supposed to be there guarding the handout. You insisted on it, as I recall.” As soon as Kipper started to speak, all of his bottled-up rage and frustration spilled out. He was nearly shouting by the time he’d finished. “All that bullshit about major security operations being an army gig now. But I got eighteen people dead, and the entire fucking city locked down again. It’s not good enough, Major.”

“No, it’s not,” countered a gruff voice from somewhere behind McCutcheon. “Now get your ass in here, son, and help us sort it out.”

Kipper pushed in through the door, surprised to find another uniformed man in the chair behind the deputy mayor’s desk. This one was older, bald, and much thicker-set than McCutcheon.

“Who the hell are you?” he asked, as the major closed the door behind them.

The man, who was dressed in fatigues like McCutcheon, gestured at a chair. “General Jackson Blackstone,” he said. “Sit down.”

Kipper blinked and froze.

“You. You’re the fucking idiot who insisted that the army would handle security this morning. Great fucking work out there, guys. Top-shelf effort.”

“Sit. Down.”

Blackstone’s voice came out in a low growl.

McCutcheon pressed Kipper toward the chair, placing a hand gently on his elbow.

“Yeah, sorry, not our finest hour,” he said. “We sent two platoons over to that marketplace that got hit last night. It’s a snafu, Kipper. I’m sorry. It happens. Come on. We need to talk.”

“You’re damn right we need to talk,” said Kip. “And what’s with the invasion?” he asked, gesturing to take in the hordes of military personnel swarming the building. “Is the army taking over or something?”

McCutcheon remained unaffected by his hostility.

“Naw,” he said. “We just stand out because of our superior grooming and fashion sense. Really, if it weren’t for that, you wouldn’t even know we were here. Come on, come in. I’m not army, by the way. I’m air force. Special liaison to the civil power, for now. General Blackstone is army, and cochair of the Special Means Committee.”

The air force officer fetched a coffeepot from the sideboard. The office was crowded with paper files, maps, and electronic equipment, all of it military issue.

“You want java?” asked McCutcheon. “It’s fresh. But the milk’s not. I got some very nasty military-issue creamer, if you want?”