John Birmingham - Without warning

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 have been here-they’d insisted on it, in fact.

‘How about you, Heather?’ he asked her. ‘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, ignoring his concern. ‘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 now, 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?’ the policeman 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 were meant 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,’ Kip replied. ‘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 he 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 the three engineers with that, and trotted over to a couple of uniformed officers, barking orders as he went.

‘Jesus, what a fucking mess,’ said Barney.

‘Uh-uh,’ grunted Kip. ‘We’d better find out what broke down, do what we can to help, then get back to council. We’ll call the city councillors, tell them what’s happened.’

Tench looked troubled. ‘I tried, Kip. But none of them are available.’

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

His friend shrugged. ‘I even tried a few home phones and their cells, but nothing. And if you call Municipal Tower you just get routed into phone-menu hell out at Fort Lewis.’

‘Why? How come our calls are going out there?’

‘Not ours, just the councillors’. When you call them direct, I mean.’

Kip started walking Heather over towards an ambulance. She had zoned out. She was looking shocked and pale and he wanted to get her cared for as quickly as possible. The paramedics, however, had their hands full with more serious casualties.

‘Heather, I’m going to get someone to run you out to the hospital,’ he told her. ‘No, scratch that – they’ll be completely 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 and get her checked out? Don’t take any shit from them – it’s city business.’

‘No problem,’ replied Tench.

‘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 4th Avenue South towards 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, in order 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 got 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 5th Avenue, where a couple of Humvees with ring-mounted machine-guns blocked access to the Municipal Tower, the city’s administrative centre. 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? Kip 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,’ he repeated.

‘I don’t know any McCutcheon, son, Major or otherwise. What’s it about? Unless he’s come here to explain where your guys got to this morning when they should’ve been guarding my food bank, I’m not interested.’

Meyer looked severely discomforted. ‘Sorry, sir. I don’t know why he came to see you. He’s General Blackstone’s aide, if that helps.’

Kipper blinked away the burning rain that was running into his eyes. ‘Well no, it doesn’t… but… Damn it. McCutcheon, you said?’

‘Yes, sir. Major Ty McCutcheon. He’s waiting for you inside, sir, in the… er… 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 parking spot a good long walk from the tower, he didn’t recognise many of the vehicles, and noted that a fair amount of military transport had fetched up here, too. The thin mist of rain started to thicken up, falling heavier 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, a good number 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, he noticed. And Canadians seemed to pop up at each corner, announcing their presence with a rising inflection and an ‘eh!’ for every occasion. None of the newcomers recognised him, but here and there he caught a despairing look from a city employee. He had no idea how many people knew about the fuck-up 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 announcements made any mention of the trouble this morning.