Tim Washburn - Cyber Attack

“I said the schematics of the prison are in the e-mail I just sent you,” Major General Lawrence Moore says. The adjutant general for the state of New York, he’s tucked away in his office back at headquarters near the Albany airport.

“Roger, sir,” Butler says. “Will we have reinforcements?”

“Unfortunately, no. With all that’s happening, we’re getting stretched mighty thin. There are state troopers at the prison and hopefully more on the way.”

“I assume they will be under my command.”

“That is correct, Captain,” Moore says.

“Do we have any intel from inside the prison?”

“Very little. My understanding is it’s a real blood—hold on a sec, the governor is calling.”

Butler tries to imagine what the scene may look like, but he doesn’t have any real reference points, having never served in combat.

After several moments General Moore comes back on the radio. “Are you there, Captain?”

“I’m here, sir.”

“This is highly unusual, but the order comes directly from the commander in chief.”

Or, in other words, he’s talking about the governor of New York.

“Go ahead, sir,” Butler says.

There’s a long pause and then General Moore says, “Scott, I have to be honest with you. I don’t know what to make of the governor’s order.”

“What is it?”

“He orders us to protect the remaining guards, but he also orders that we take no prisoners.”

“What was that last part, General?”

“You heard me, Scott. Take no prisoners.”

“Jeezus, Larry. No way. My men and I aren’t going to prison for murder. And that’s exactly what it would be. For Christ’s sake, I’m a fucking dentist, not some hired mercenary.”

“Scott, it’s a direct order from the commander in chief.”

“I don’t care if it’s a direct order from Jesus Christ himself. We aren’t murderers, General. If the governor wants them killed tell him to get his ass on a plane and head this way. I’ll save a rifle for him.”

“Listen, Captain, I know the order is highly unusual, but if the power grids across the rest of the state fail, the last thing we want is for those murderers to be out on the street. Think about that for a moment.”

“Okay, I’ve thought about it—no. That’s the reason we have laws in this country. And what makes you think the rest of the grid is going to fail?”

“Just a hunch. Manhattan is currently without power and the governor called up other guard units to patrol the streets. Think about what those killers up there would do to a bunch of unarmed civilians.”

“Manhattan is four hundred miles away, General. How are the prisoners going to get there? Walk?”

“Okay, they might not make it to Manhattan, but they sure as hell could make it to Buffalo. Do you want them loose in your town?”

“Of course not.” Butler pauses and stares out the truck’s windshield at the road ahead.

“To add a little more food for thought,” General Moore says over the radio, “looting has already started in Manhattan and the governor issued a shoot-to-kill order.”

Butler triggers the radio. “I’m not doing it unless we get a formal immunity letter from the attorney general that covers the entire unit.”

“How far are you from the prison right now?”

“We should be there in fifteen minutes or so.”

“There’s no time for a letter, Captain.”

“Then I’ll assess the situation and run the operation as I see fit.”

“Are you disobeying a direct order?”

Butler pushes the transmit button and says, “Butler out,” before reaching up to turn off the radio.

Chicago

Peyton and Eric make it to the elm tree and duck behind the tree’s massive trunk. Upright, they now have a better view of the area. Neither has been able to pinpoint the location of the gunfire because it’s difficult to do when you have your faces buried in the dirt. Eric leans forward and takes a peek around the base of the tree, zeroing in on the Target across the street. It’s the only thing that makes sense. Everything else in the area looks to be residential buildings with a few small businesses occupying a smattering of the ground-floor spaces. The construction site next door obstructs Eric’s view of the rest of the block, but from all appearances there’s nothing here to spark a war other than that one large retail store.

As if reading his thoughts, Peyton asks, “Are they fighting over that store?”

“I don’t know. It’s hard to see anything from here.”

Both jump when more gunfire erupts. Eric ducks back behind the tree just as a random spray of bullets chews into the tree’s upper canopy, launching a storm of wood chips that pelt Eric and Peyton as they hug the ground. The gunfire ends as quickly as it began and Peyton exhales the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding.

“I saw bursts of flame from inside the store,” Eric whispers, “but I can’t tell who the other shooters are or where they’re shooting from. You see anything?”

Peyton rolls onto her side and rakes her fingers through her hair, picking out the dead leaves that have accumulated there. “All I saw was dirt. I think we need to find a safer spot.”

“Can’t. We’d be too exposed trying to get there. And it sounds like they’re using machine guns and that means they’ll be spraying bullets everywhere.” Eric tilts his head back and looks up at the tree’s underlying branches. “In fact, I think a few bullets hit during that last round of fighting.”

“All the more reason to find a safer place.” Peyton rolls onto her belly, pushes into a kneeling position, and crawls closer to the base of the tree for another look. “What about that building under construction?” Peyton asks, pointing to the skeletal framework of a multistory building going up next door.

“It’s fenced.” This late in the day, the construction site is buttoned up for the night. Eric turns to look at the sun as it sinks lower in the sky. “Might be best to wait until dark to make our move—” Eric, hearing the rustling of footsteps on pavement, stops speaking and turns to see four police officers creeping down the street. All are wearing body armor and helmets, and all are loaded for bear. He turns and whispers to Peyton, “I think they’re trying to flank the store.”

“What do you know about military maneuvers?” Peyton whispers.

Eric shrugs and whispers, “Hey, I watch the History Channel.”

“What does the History Channel say about being in the direct line of fire?”

Eric looks at the approaching police officers then the store, contemplating the angles. “Oh shit.”

“Exactl—”

The last syllable of her word is clipped when the police open fire on the building again. Those inside start firing back and Eric pushes Peyton to the ground and crawls on top of her as a salvo of bullets zings by overhead. Glancing up for a peek, he sees bullets stitching across the dirt only yards away from their position. Eric, who hasn’t been to church since Easter Sunday 2005, closes his eyes and begins mumbling the few words he remembers from the Twenty-third Psalm. But he doesn’t get very far before his thoughts are interrupted by a loud whooshing noise that sounds like a giant bottle rocket being launched. Eric squeezes Peyton tighter, and a few milliseconds later an enormous explosion detonates, shaking the ground beneath them. Almost instantaneously, car alarms in the area begin wailing as the crash of shattering glass cascades down the block.

Lying on top of Peyton, Eric bears the brunt of the blast and is momentarily deafened by the explosion. Peyton, feeling like she’s being suffocated, elbows Eric in the gut and he rolls off her. Pushing up to her hands and knees, she pulls up her shirt to wipe the dirt from her nose and mouth. She turns her head and says, “We need to go.”