Devon Ford - The Fall

Of all the supplies they had successfully recovered and carefully stacked into the truck, they had only managed to salvage their weapons, a couple of bags of food and water, and, luckily, the cooler stacked with insulin, which Louise clung on to as though her life depended on it.

It does, thought Cal as he saw her shiver and moved closer to put his arm around her for warmth and comfort. Her grip on the box didn’t relax, but she rested her head on him.

The outboard motor which Ricky had managed to get running had lasted them for just over an hour before it spluttered into silence, and now they drifted as Jake tried to keep their slow course to the center of the wide waterway and away from the sides where other people and bad things were. Nobody spoke, because nobody knew what to say. They had been in the middle of a terror attack, seen the country devastated by nuclear explosions and bombing runs, seen anarchy and mob rule take over normal people and had now watched troops parachute to the ground where they tried to round up the population.

They were exhausted, scared, and they had little to no clue where they were headed. For now, drifting south on the Ohio River with enough food and water to last maybe two days, they were just happy enough to be away from land.

An emergency meeting of COBRA, or the UK’s Cabinet Office Briefing Room to be long-winded as the British liked to be, was called late in the evening. The prime minister was surrounded by senior politicians, as well as the entire raft of armed forces high-ranking officers and their advisors. The doors were sealed shut, and the noise quickly faded away.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” said the PM, “I’ll hand over to the intelligence community for an up-to-date briefing before we begin.”

A man stood and fastened the top button of his suit jacket smoothly with one hand; a practiced movement which was subconscious as much as it spoke of his upbringing in a polite, elitist society.

“As of yesterday, the North American continent is effectively cut off,” he began. “Twelve nuclear explosions have been detected and fallout has begun to disperse according to prevailing winds. Also, precision bombing strikes have neutralized the majority of the armed forces response and some internet footage has found its way out which shows that an advance invasion force has begun to seize control of infrastructure across the country. We have not yet received any communication from the American government, however satellite imagery.” He paused, glancing at another suited man who tapped at the keys of a laptop and brought up a picture to the large screen on the wall. “Shows that Washington D.C. has been destroyed.”

He stopped speaking and glanced back to the PM, who nodded for him to sit. Effortlessly unfastening the button of his jacket with finger and thumb again, he took his seat.

“Our allies are under attack,” the PM said, “and we do not yet know who is responsible. Can anyone answer that?”

Glances were exchanged and uniformed men shifted uncomfortably in their seats. The PM tried to retain some dignity and not snap at them for an answer, but luckily for them a young man cleared his throat.

“Yes?” she said, fixing him with her gaze.

“Hetherington, ma’am. MI6,” he said by way of introduction, before giving his explanation without further wasting anyone’s time. “Our satellites picked this up a few hours ago,” he said, hitting keys of his own computer and clicking through a series of low-resolution slides.

“Our intelligence sources indicate mass troop movement in both North Korea and China.”

Silence descended once more, and the PM steepled her fingers with her elbows on the polished mahogany table.

“Get me confirmation,” she said. “I need the UN on a conference call in an hour, and I want options to rescue citizens and discuss our ability to offer aid and counterstrikes.”

As one, the combined cabinet and advisors took a breath. They were preparing to go to war.

Dressed in a fresh black suit again, the woman who wore no insignia or identification paced around the control room looking over shoulders at displays as she went. Her uncle, the president of the republic, had cautioned her that he didn’t want casualties. The reports she saw were not filling her with confidence that she would be able to report an inconsequential sum when she was next summoned to see him, and it seemed that all the meticulous planning had factored in every possibility bar one.

They had manipulated the rogue group of Americans into destabilizing the infrastructure and confusing any response to their initial attacks, and they had executed that first wave of devastation with close to a 100 percent success rate.

What they had failed to account for, what they should have realized was probably their biggest hurdle from the beginning, was one simple fact.

America would fight back.

Devon C Ford is from the UK and lives in the Midlands. His career in public services started in his teens and has provided a wealth of experiences, both good and some very bad, which form the basis of the books ideas that cause regular insomnia.

You can find more about the author:

Facebook: @decvoncfordofficial

Twitter: @DevonFordAuthor

Website: www.devoncford.com

Set in the UK in the immediate aftermath of a mysterious illness which swept the country and left millions dead, the series follows the trials facing a reluctant hero, Dan, and the group that forms around him. They must battle the elements, find sufficient supplies and equipment to survive, and protect themselves against the most destructive force on the planet: other people.

Copyright © Devon C Ford 2018

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without prior written permission from the publisher.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any person or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. No affiliation is implied or intended to any organisation or recognisable body mentioned within.

Published by Vulpine Press in the United Kingdom in 2018

Cover by Claire Wood

ISBN: 978-1-910780-89-3

www.vulpine-press.com