The Last Flag, page 1
part #2 of EMP Survivor Series
The Last Flag
James Hunt
Contents
1. Three Days Ago
2. Present Day
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
1
Three Days Ago
“Ninety seconds until package detonates!”
Personnel scrambled in the pit of the control room. A dozen stations were set up, each operated by two teams working in unison with the other stations. The atmosphere was chaotic and anxious, but the team was resilient in facing adversity. They had trained for moments like this. Still, despite the dedication, there wasn’t a pair of eyes in the room that didn’t glance at the countdown timer projected on the large monitors in the front of the control room.
The control room was the nerve center for an organization known only to those with the most top-secret clearance in the United States government. But no one truly understood the power this place wielded. Not even the employees in the control room. But that was precisely how it was designed.
The Bunker, as it was referred to by those who worked here due to the fact the entire structure was buried beneath hundreds of feet of earth, was created and controlled by one man. No one, not even the control room members, who acted as The Bunker’s brain, knew the man’s name. They only referred to him as “Sir.”
Sir was the de facto leader of The Bunker. Since its infancy twenty years ago, it had been nurtured by him after he first suggested the idea to his superiors. Sir had presented the intelligence community with a problem no one else had seen.
People.
“Sixty seconds!”
So long as people were involved in collecting, gathering, and distributing information, there would be cause for concern. However, eliminating people wasn’t possible in their line of work, so Sir chose to limit the employee’s information.
No one at The Bunker understood anything more than their specific job. No one knew each other’s names. No one fraternized. Everyone was watched. By limiting everyone’s information, what they saw, by only giving them the bare minimum, Sir had managed to do what no other intelligence agency had been capable of: complete security.
There was no risk of leaks because no one understood what was happening. This was the genius of the organization. The workers were nothing more than an extension of Sir’s mind to enact his will under the premise that it was for national security.
“Thirty seconds!”
The anxious buzz in the room grew louder with each passing second. The Bunker staff was glued to their chairs, studying their screens, everyone attempting to prevent an inevitable outcome.
But all it would take would be a word from Sir to calm their nerves. Sir had always known what to say at the right moment. Understanding people was integral to his intelligence ambitions. And never had the stakes been so high.
Of the twelve stations, one was charged with tracking movement along the Pacific coast. “I have multiple combatants approaching the Washington State coastline.” The worker had no name, only a number to identify him: 912.
The floor supervisor approached 912’s desk. “Keep a geotag on their last known locations until the clock reaches zero. We still might have access to a few satellites to keep an eye on them, but I want algorithms showing possible target locations.”
“Yes, ma’am,” 912 said.
“Ma’am!” 811 raised her hand from her station. “I have reports of multiple attacks along the northern border. Assets await instructions.”
“Twenty seconds!”
The floor supervisor looked up to the crest of the pit where Sir sat, calmly watching the events unfold. He was the only one without a name tag or a number in the room. Like everyone else, no one knew his name.
“Sir,” the floor supervisor said. “Do assets engage?”
“Everyone,” Sir said, “listen up.”
Sir didn’t have to raise his voice above an average speaking volume, even though the energy in the room was loud and frantic. Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked to their leader—the man who had handpicked each of them for this assignment.
“The bomb is coming,” Sir said. “We can’t intercept it, and we can’t stop it.”
A few people glanced at one another. None of them were trained to give up. Failure wasn’t part of their protocol.
“Systems are in place to allow us to operate from our location even after the attack is over,” Sir said, stepping into the pit of the control room and walking amongst his subordinates. “What matters now is tracking all assets and ensuring we have a chance to rebuild.” He stopped in the middle of the circular room, looking at each team member. “This is where the next iteration of our country will be born. And to do that, we must remain clear-headed. Do I make myself clear?”
A unanimous “Yes, Sir” rang out through the room.
“Good,” Sir said.
Sir returned to his chair at the crest of the control room. “Every asset, every piece of equipment, everything under our purview should be called home.” When he reached his chair, he spun around to face the room. “Is that understood?”
“Yes, Sir!” Once again, the answer rang loudly out from the control room.
“Initiate Bunker protocol,” Sir said.
The moment the words were spoken, all stations focused on their tasks while Sir watched from his perch above.
“Ten seconds!”
One of the crew members approached him. She was in charge of their contractor program, which had been an integral branch of The Bunker’s effectiveness.
“Sir, when you say all assets,” she said. “Are you including all retired assets?”
The woman was young and nervous. It wasn’t typical for questions to be asked, not in this environment. Orders were given, and orders were followed.
“Every. Single. Asset.” Sir’s voice was so low it was almost a growl.
The woman nodded. “Yes, sir.”
After she quickly returned to her post, Sir leaned back in his chair. He looked at the main screen as the timer ticked to less than five seconds. And with every second lost, excitement grew in him because he understood precisely what happened next.
When the EMP was detonated, the country would dive into chaos. Millions would die from hunger, fighting, and lack of medical care. And while many would see this as the end, Sir saw it as an opportunity. A chance to rebuild.
And when the clock struck zero, that was precisely what he planned to do.
2
Present Day
The bloodstain was still there. Charlie Owens had spent all night trying to get it out, but the wood floor was stained a pinkish red. When he realized the blood wouldn’t come out, he pushed the hutch he’d built over the top to cover it.
Eventually, Charlie would replace the boards or sand down the wood until the stain was gone. But for now, it remained.
The cabin Charlie had built on Beckett Island was meant to be a haven for his family in a catastrophe, artificial or otherwise. His previous job as a contractor for the Department of Defense had shown him how fragile the world had become.
It wouldn’t take much to upend order and civility. So, he had left his post, bought the land on Beckett Island, and carved out a place for his family to live. And when the EMP had detonated three days ago, this was where he’d brought his family.
Charlie had always wondered how people would respond to an event like an EMP. He had his theories but couldn’t be sure until the rubber met the road. And if he were being honest with himself, even he was surprised by how quickly civilization had crumbled.
To the south, Seattle was nothing more than a pile of rubble. If the EMP hadn’t been destructive enough, Mother Nature had decided to throw in a few earthquakes and a volcanic eruption. Millions of people were without power, food, water, or basic medical supplies.
Over the next few days and weeks, people would scavenge for supplies. Right now, there was still plenty to pilfer from shelves. But when resources became scarce, when the last of those non-perishable items were stolen and supermarkets across the country were barren, the fighting would begin.
But Charlie had no intentions of throwing himself or his family back into that world. They had everything they needed here, and he intended to keep it that way.
Charlie headed for the cabin door, leaving his sleeping family behind. He didn’t want to wake them. They needed the rest. He donned his jacket, picked up a folded flag, and stepped outside.
Dawn hadn’t quite broken yet, but the sky was the muddy gray just before the sun rose. The winter chill was upon them, and Charlie zipped up his jacket to shield himself from the cold.
A flagpole stood in a cleared space in front of the cabin. Charlie approached the flagpole and hoisted the flag. Old Glory unfurled as it reached the top and then remained still.
/> There was no wind this morning. It was calm, quiet, a far cry from the noise and chaos Charlie had experienced yesterday. But the violence from the day of the EMP still echoed in his memory, interrupting the moment of silence.
Charlie had a history of violence. He had kept secrets from his family about his previous job as a contractor with the DoD. He had wanted to spare them the details, but if he were honest with himself, he wanted to avoid the pain of reliving those moments.
But all of that was behind him now. He no longer wanted a life of killing and destruction. Instead, he would live out his days here with his family. He would tend to the garden and chickens and bees. He would teach his children to fish from the sea. He would watch them grow up here and build their own lives.
Charlie truly believed they could be happy here. But then again, he was good at convincing himself of lies.
When Shelly Owens woke, her husband was already up and gone. He had always been an early riser and never one to sleep in, not even on the weekends or holidays. A restlessness had plagued her husband; it had been there before they met. She hoped it would settle, but it remained strong after twenty years of marriage.
Shelly dressed and then quietly stepped into the living room where their children had fallen asleep the night before. Neither Charlie nor Shelly had the heart to move them away from the furnace, so they gave them blankets and pillows and let them sleep.
Kayla and Benji had been through so much in the past twenty-four hours. They needed time to decompress. Shelly only hoped her children could recover quickly.
The community on the island seemed nice enough, but years in Seattle’s Police Force had revealed the harsh realities of human nature, and Shelly had grown skeptical of people’s goodwill. The EMP had only reinforced those beliefs. But Shelly understood the importance of showing good faith, even in hard times. And that was what she intended to do now.
The plan had always been to move to Beckett Island permanently. Shelly had agreed to give up her job as a Seattle detective and pull their children from their schools, friends, and lives to stay in this place. Shelly’s old captain had pulled some strings and landed her a job with Beckett Island’s small sheriff’s office. She was meant to start next week, but circumstances had changed.
Shelly walked from the west end of the island where Charlie had built their cabin to the east, where the bulk of the townsfolk resided. There was nothing but wild, wooded forest between them, and Shelly wondered if Charlie foresaw future conflict on the island as the reason for their remoteness. She hoped not.
The sun had risen when Shelly reached the heart of Beckett Island’s downtown. The buildings were old but lacked the charm of a tourist town. This was a fishing village; the island's heart was the marina the islanders stored their boats.
Because most of the vessels had old diesel engines, they still worked even after the EMP, allowing the Becket Island residents to remain fed, so long as they could still find the fish.
Beckett Island was a tight-knit community. Charlie had told Shelly it would be essential to establish relationships when they moved here. Charlie had already done that during the construction of their cabin over the past six months. But while the residents knew Charlie, they didn’t know Shelly or their children.
Shelly caught a few glares from the locals as she walked down the main street toward the sheriff’s office. She could only imagine what they whispered to one another, but whispers and rumors didn’t bother her. She had received enough of those during her time with the Seattle PD.
Shelly’s brother had been a criminal, one she had arrested personally. After years of trying to convince him to make a change, she had decided he was a lost cause. And those sentiments were amplified after the EMP.
But Shelly wasn’t ready to process those events yet. She had enough on her plate as it was.
“Sheriff Thompson?” Shelly knocked on the door as she entered, but no one answered.
Two empty desks were positioned on either side of the small room. The walls were decorated with plaques and pictures of the island’s previous sheriff and deputies, including a few trophy fish and a deer head.
“No one’s home yet.”
Shelly tensed. The voice echoed down the hallway where the prison cells were located. She knew Weber was provoking her, but she couldn’t resist the bait.
The prison cells looked like they predated the sheriff’s office. The old cast-iron bars were thick and rusted but remained strong enough to hold prisoners; like Justin Weber.
Weber was covered with tattoos, a few scrawling up his neck from his dirty shirt. He was tall and lean, the kind of scrappy fighter who grew up as the runt of a litter.
Weber was the gang leader for the group of criminals Shelly’s brother had joined. Shelly had been on the task force meant to bring Weber’s organization down. Several months ago, Shelly had arrested Weber’s brother. He was killed in a prison raid, but Weber blamed Shelly for his brother's death. On the day of the EMP, Weber had instructed his men to kidnap Shelly’s children in retaliation. And Shelly’s brother, Danny, had helped.
“Are you here to serve me breakfast?” Weber asked.
“No,” Shelly answered.
“I think I’d like to speak with the sheriff about these inhuman living conditions,” Weber said.
“I’ll pass along your complaint,” Shelly said, turning to leave, but Weber wasn’t finished.
“Too bad your brother’s not in here,” Weber said. “We could have shared a cell. If only you hadn’t put a bullet in him.”
Shelly stopped, but she didn’t turn around. She was afraid of what she might do if she did. Instead, she walked away and stepped outside. She let the cold morning air cool her anger. She had wanted to kill Weber after catching him.
No one would have blamed her. No courts or prosecutors to answer to anymore, no more rules. But that was precisely why Shelly hadn’t done it. If civilization survived this collapse, then law and order must be enforced.
“Owens!”
Shelly glanced to her left and saw Sheriff Thompson heading toward her with his deputy in tow. Thompson was middle-aged and had a bit of a chip on his shoulder. Shelly knew he saw her as an outsider, a cop from the “big city” who didn’t think a small-town operation like this was good enough for them.
“What’s going on?” Shelly asked.
“We have a major problem,” Thompson answered.
Kayla had heard both her parents leave. She kept her back toward them as she lay on the floor. She hadn’t slept all night. Her eyes were red and tired, but her mind was still buzzing, keeping her alert and awake. She had pretended to sleep so she wouldn’t be bothered, but now that both parents were gone, she sat up.
Benji was still asleep. He had slept like a rock all night. She envied him for that.
Kayla stood and walked outside, hoping the fresh air would help clear her thoughts. But when she stepped out and saw the coastline, any hopes of clearing her head vanished. She shivered, not just from the cold but from fear.
It was a fear born out of a truth Kayla was afraid to acknowledge, but one that begged for her to speak it aloud. She could still feel the woman’s scalp beneath her palm and how she thrashed beneath the water. She could still see how the woman’s eyes bulged as she was suffocated. Even thinking about it now sent an adrenaline shock through Kayla’s veins. She needed a distraction.
Kayla grabbed her bow and quiver of arrows and walked away from the coastline into the woods. She kept her head down, avoiding the water, and when she raised her head, she couldn’t see the ocean anymore.
It seemed cruel to be stuck on an island after what she’d done. Surrounded by water, the murder weapon she’d used. It was a constant reminder, a harsh slap whenever she slipped into the bliss of forgetfulness.
