Tim Washburn - Cyber Attack

And that proves to be a fatal mistake.

The toxic cloud of hydrofluoric acid invades the car. Now unable to breathe or see, Melinda loses control of the car and it slams into a ditch. Dazed, she’s wondering why Elise is no longer crying and that’s her last thought before her body shudders one final time and goes still.

Manhattan

Paige and Hank are moving north on Broadway, trying to make their way to the East 34th Street Heliport. And it’s a tough slog. The sidewalks are jammed tight as teeth and no one seems willing to give an inch. Having visited the city many times, Hank knows New Yorkers can be brusque, but most of these people are downright surly and he gets the feeling things could spiral out of control at any second.

Passing St. Paul’s Chapel, Hank’s not surprised to see a steady stream of people filing into the church. He knows many people fall back on their faith during times of duress, hoping divine intervention will intercede on their behalf. But unless their deity knows how to fix the power grids, Hank thinks, they’re probably wasting their time. He grabs Paige by the hand and leads her through the crowds and into the street. It’s slightly less crowded, but the abandoned automobiles do allow them room to take a breath.

“How much further?” Paige asks.

“Sixty-two blocks. Goin’ to make it?” Hank asks.

“Don’t have much choice. How do you know it’s precisely sixty-two blocks and not sixty-one blocks or sixty-three blocks?”

Hank shrugs. “I just know.”

“What? You just dial up a map of Manhattan in that big brain of yours?”

“Yeah, that’s pretty much how it works.”

“Do you ever get lost?”

“Sure, if it’s a place I’ve never been to before or if I haven’t looked at a map of a specific area.”

Paige shakes her head. “Weird. Shoot, half the time I can’t remember what I had for lunch yesterday.”

“That’s not uncommon for most people. But if you stop and think you’ll eventually remember.”

“Do you have to stop and think? Or do you just pluck it from memory?”

“It depends. In this case I did have to count the blocks.”

Two blocks up, past a looted Staples and a ransacked Starbucks, people are lining up around City Hall, already chanting protests.

“What are they protesting?” Paige asks.

“I guess they want the mayor to wave a magic wand and make everything better. Most people have no idea how the power grids work. They just assume when they flip a switch that the light will come on. It’s somethin’ we all take for granted. But, unfortunately, there are no magic fixes.”

“How long have we been without power? A few hours, maybe? And it’s already this chaotic?”

“It’ll get worse. Much worse,” Hank says. “A day or two without water and food and this city will turn into a hellhole real fast.”

“How are they going to survive?”

“Not my problem.”

“That’s rather cold-blooded. Don’t you have empathy?”

“Of course I do. But there’s not a damn thing I can do about it. The only thing we can do is try to prevent this from happenin’ elsewhere.”

“Do you think Tomás is going to come through with a helicopter?” Paige asks.

“It’ll be there.”

“You sound sure.”

“I am sure. Tomás can pull a lot of strings.”

“How did you two get to be such good friends?” Paige asks.

“We’ve worked on several cases, but I think the main reason is that we both came from similar backgrounds. He’s half-Mexican and I’m half-Indian—or Native American if you’re into bein’ politically correct—and we both had to overcome multiple hurdles to get where we are today.”

“He seems like a great guy.”

“He is,” Hank replies.

Three blocks up, they pass the Jacob K. Javits Federal Building, home to the FBI’s New York field office. The building, a highly secure place on any normal day, is now even more so, with a dozen or more armed agents, wearing full body armor, guarding all of the building’s entrances and exits.

“Are you sure you don’t want to head inside and work from here?” Paige asks.

“I’m sure. Our best chance to crack this thing is back in D.C.”

A few minutes later, while crossing Walker Street, Paige and Hank run into the first hint of real trouble when a fusillade of gunfire erupts in the middle of Broadway.

—BREAKING NEWS—Norfolk Naval Station attacked! Significant damage reported.

Details are slow to arrive on the situation at Norfolk Naval Station. We do know the port and several ships were damaged. More details to follow…

—BREAKING NEWS—Reports of second chemical plant explosion near Los Angeles. More details to follow…

—BREAKING NEWS—Horrific train crash snarls traffic in Northeast Corridor. Acela Express train plows into Penn Station. Witnesses report train was speeding up when crash occurred.

First responders on the scene report significant loss of life. Cause still undermined. Witnesses report the train was speeding up as it approached the station. More details to follow…

—BREAKING NEWS—Massive explosion at army munitions depot in McAlester, Oklahoma. More details to follow…

—BREAKING NEWS—Stock trading halted because of computer irregularities. Experts fear loss of financial transactions. Monetary losses expected to be astronomical.

All stock trading has been halted due to some type of computer glitch. Officials believe computer issues may be deeper than first expected. Experts we’ve spoken to fear there could be a significant loss of financial transactions. More details to follow…

Attica

If Attica Corrections Officer Lydia Darnell were willing to take her hands off the shotgun, she’d use them to cover her ears. She doesn’t know exactly what’s happening out in the prison, but judging by the howling screams and insane blubbering, it’s bad. Real bad. It can’t be fellow officers being killed because every guard she saw was already dead. But there’s no doubt some old grudges are getting settled and in a barbaric way. And they have all the necessary tools to get the job done with ready access to every kitchen utensil inside prison walls. Still locked away in the armory, Darnell is trying to stay alive long enough for the cavalry to arrive. She’d love to have access to the prison’s camera system, but that would mean opening the steel cage door, and that’s not something she’s willing to do.

Prisoners have been in and out of the Times Square booth, no doubt plotting ways to get their hands on the last remaining guard and the weapons inside. So far there has been no direct attack on Darnell’s position—the bodies piled up at the door may be acting as some type of deterrent. But Darnell is ready if they do come. She now has four fully loaded shotguns stacked up on the floor next to her, along with a nice selection of fully loaded pistols. The inmates’ only chance to get to her would be to send in a wave of cannon fodder in hopes she’d run out of ammunition. And that’s not entirely out of the question. With over two thousand inmates inside the prison walls, Darnell doesn’t have enough ammunition to kill them all.

Her radio squelches and the tower guard, Walt Taylor, says, “Darnell, you there?”

Darnell takes one long look out the armory door before triggering the radio. “I’m here, Walt. Status?”

“National Guard is five minutes out.”

Darnell exhales a sigh of relief. “How many soldiers?”