William Weber - Zero Day

“Here’s what’s more worrisome. The plant is cut off from the internet for that very reason,” Nate went on. “So the only way inside was to somehow smuggle infected thumb drives past the gates.”

Liz was shaking her head in disbelief. “An inside job?”

“Hard to say for sure,” Nate admitted. “If it had Excelsior Energy’s logo, all you’d need is for someone at a coffee shop to slip it into your pocket or break into your house and put it in your briefcase. We may never know exactly how it happened, but I’m hoping someone on the shortwave might have some answers.”

Carl swallowed. The warm smile that never seemed to leave him had faded. In its place was a new look, teetering somewhere between concern and full-blown panic. “Let’s head down to the basement then and see what we can find out.”

Carl and Liz’s basement was a garage sale junkie’s dream come true. Stacked neatly along every wall was furniture from the 1960’s and early 70’s—oval coffee tables with angled legs, a walnut cabinet covered in cobwebs and dust. This stuff had been down here so long, it had come back into fashion.

By a far wall was a narrow desk with a single seat. A ham radio sat on the desk. Wires ran down the back to a car battery.

“Lucky for you I had a spare battery in the garage,” Carl said, some of that old joviality coming back into his cheeks.

“Lucky for us,” Nate corrected him.

Carl nodded without saying a word. Instead he flipped a switch and a series of lights came on, along with the sound of static.

Nate grabbed a 60’s dining room chair with soft padding and settled down into it. For his part, Carl donned a headset that covered his ears and rolled the dial. Sitting next to him, Nate heard the hiss of static, followed by the occasional blip of silence.

“This is something of a lost art,” Carl began telling him as he continued to spin the dial. “Nowadays, it’s mostly old guys like me who are into this stuff. The boys and I in the radio club couldn’t help but marvel whenever anyone in their twenties would wander in. Of course, nine times out of ten, they were lost, looking for the seedy bar next to where we used to meet.” Carl was gliding over a scrap of unusual noise when he suddenly stopped. He rolled back, going over it slowly until a man’s voice could be heard.

“Howdy, friend,” Carl said. “This is call sign Kilo Niner Bravo Golf Golf…”

The voice continued.

“I think it’s a recording,” Nate said, leaning in to listen.

“…further instructions. This is the Emergency Alert System. Please be advised, an internet-based attack has cut electrical power to several rural and urban areas in the continental United States. Residents are being advised to shelter in place and await further instructions. This is the Emergency Alert…”

“That’s not very helpful,” Nate said. “A list of the affected states would have clarified things a bit more, don’t you think?”

Carl stared at him blankly. “Unless the whole country has gone dark.” He changed frequencies and called out: “This is Kilo Niner Bravo Golf Golf, handle Two Bear, if anyone is out there.”

The radio hummed static. Carl repeated the message and waited.

“How long does it normally take?” Nate asked.

“Depends. This isn’t a cell phone.”

“No kidding. Have you considered that maybe no one’s listening?”

Carl called out a third time when another voice came on.

“Kilo Niner Bravo Golf Golf, this is Whiskey Seven Bravo Echo Foxtrot, handle Sharpie. You’re coming in at five over nine into Santa Maria, California.”

“Thank you, Whiskey Seven Bravo Echo Foxtrot,” Carl replied. “Sharpie, we’re in Byron, Illinois, and wondering how things are going in your neck of the woods, over.”

“Not very good, I’m afraid, Two Bear. Power seems to have gone out here at approximately twelve minutes past two am Pacific Time. All phone communication is also down, along with water. Besides a single police patrol, at this point, no real sign of government intervention. What about you? Over.”

“Appreciate that, Sharpie,” Carl replied. “Over here in the Midwest, we are presently in the midst of a monstrous winter storm. Unlike you, we have yet to see any government response whatsoever. No doubt road conditions are likely hampering their efforts to check on folks and keep them informed. I’ll be honest with you, it’s quite disheartening to hear the outage stretches all the way to the Pacific, over.”

“Not only us, I’m afraid, Two Bear. My understanding is the power is out from the northern tip of Canada to the southern tip of Mexico. Although I can’t independently confirm that assessment, it seems to be the consensus among the radio operators I’ve spoken to. Over in my neck of the woods, I’m afraid to say things are even more serious. The local nuclear power plant had a malfunction during shutdown procedures and forced a massive evacuation from the area. I’m just a few miles past the danger radius, but I’ve heard a number of people have already died.”

Nate shook his head, reeling from what the man on the other end had just said. He felt his hands shaking and his chest squeezed tight. Kids nowadays had an expression for what Nate was feeling. As the kids liked to say these days, he’d been sunned. Shaken to his very core by the revelation Sharpie had just laid out for them. Carl was no better off. He continued to ask questions of the man in California in spite of the dry mouth hampering his speech.

They finished up their conversation soon after, telling Sharpie to stay safe. Carl was about to shut the radio off when he heard a fresh voice calling out. Carl replied and the two men shared call signs.

“Pleasure to meet you, Two Bear, this is Renegade in Illinois.”

Nate asked if he could take over.

Carl removed the earphones and handed them to Nate. “Be my guest.”

“Hey, Renegade,” Nate replied, surprised and even happy. “This is, uh… Overseer. We’re also in Illinois—Byron, to be exact. What’s your 10-20?” The old cop call signs were flooding back in. Although they weren’t utilized in the ham radio code system, Renegade went with it.

“I prefer not to say, if that’s all right, Overseer. I’ve got a well-provisioned setup where I am and don’t intend on giving away my coordinates. There’s no telling in times like these what some desperate nutjob might be willing to do.”

Renegade’s voice was deep, and sounded cured from years of smoking and booze. He also sounded like an older man, somewhere in his late fifties or early sixties.

“Overseer, you sound like a smart guy. I take it you’ve got a handle on our current situation?” he asked.

“As good as can be expected,” Nate replied. He told Renegade about the nuclear power plant meltdown in California and that the one in Byron was currently facing the same possibility.

“I’ve got nuclear and biological air filtration systems, so I should be fine either way. If I had a single red cent for all those doubting Thomases who snickered behind my back… I reckon it’s safe to say they aren’t laughing now.”

“Roger that,” Nate agreed, smirking. “I reckon they aren’t. Prep for war and hope for peace, right?”

“Right on, brother.”

Nate was about to let Renegade go when the man said one last thing. “Should things get worse, and I have every reason to think they will, you need to realize we’re less than fifty miles from a number of ticking time bombs.” He was talking about the nuclear power plants in the immediate area.

To the south were the Dresden, Braidwood and LaSalle plants. To the west was the Quad City plant. And to the east were the Cook and Palisades nuclear plants. All formed something of a ring around the greater Chicago area. That sinking feeling in his gut told Nate this was where Renegade was going.