Doomsday

sure of yourself.”
“I was a U.S. Marine, lady. The few. The proud. The kickass.
You’re paying me three times the going rate to get your fancy rig to you and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
“I hope so. Be careful, Mr. Thomas.” Becca Levy hung up.
Ben shoved the phone into his pocket. He considered her last words. On an impulse, he went to a metal ladder and climbed to the carwalk. Wire mesh covered the window, but he could see out. And what he saw sent a shiver down his spine.
The Space Needle and the rest of Seattle’s skyline were as they always were: futuristic, imposing, impressive. But sirens blared and police and ambulance lights flashed everywhere.
Smoke curled skyward from a score of locations. The crackle of what sounded like firecrackers wasn’t firecrackers at all; it was gunfire.
Ben hurried down and over to his truck. He climbed into the cab of the truck he’d named Semper Fi and did another run-through. Earlier he’d topped off his fuel tank and had the engine serviced. Diesel, oil, coolant, tires, all had been checked and rechecked. Once he cranked over the engine, he could be on his way.
A fist pounded on the door.
“I need your John Hancock,” McDermott said, and held up the clipboard with forms for him to sign. “We’re about done.
Five minutes and you’re good to go.”
Ben undipped a pen from his shirt pocket. “Can you believe what is going down out there?” he asked with a nod at the high windows.
“It’s crazy, is what it is. One of the guys was just telling me that an enemy sub had been sighted in Puget Sound.”
“Which enemy?”
“Damned if I know. I doubt he did, either. Probably just another rumor. Reminds me of World War Two, when people were seeing Japanese subs all over the place and blowing fish out of the water.” McDermott shook his head. “It’s a mad world out there and getting madder by the moment.”
Ben handed back the clipboard and slid the pen into his pocket. Turning in the driver’s seat, he made sure his duffel bag was there. He patted it, saying, “I can’t leave without my babies.”
“Did you hear something?”
Suddenly the building shook to a concussive blast. The windows rattled so hard, several cracked.
“What the hell?” McDermott blurted. “That was an explosion.”
“I need to go.”
McDermott nodded. “I’ll hurry things along.” He ran toward the rear of the trailer.
Ben switched on the radio to an all-news station.
“Citizens are being advised to remain indoors. The streets aren’t safe. Unruly mobs are on the loose. Gun stores have been broken into. People are taking food and water from stores without paying. The police report that outside agitators are at work, but they haven’t explained exactly what they mean by that.”
The announcer took a breath.
“Incredible as it sounds, our social structure is breaking down. It has become every man, every woman, for him or herself.”
He paused.
“In other news, Turkey, Italy, and Greece are now embroiled in the spreading conflict, which the secretary-general of the United Nations has described as the beginning of the end for Western civilization unless world leaders can agree on an immediate ceasefire. England and France are mobilizing troops, while in …”
Ben turned off the radio. He nearly jumped at another pounding on his door. “What?”
“Geez. Bite my head off, why don’t you?” McDermott smiled.
“You’re good to go, buddy.”
The warehouse reverberated to Semper Fi’s roar.
Rollers squeaking, the bay doors rattled open.
Ben Thomas shifted into gear, put the pedal to the metal, and rumbled out into madness.
Tangled Webs
Minnesota
The drawbridge was down. Kurt Carpenter had called ahead and they were ready for him. As Holland drove the long black limousine along the dirt track that was their only link to civilization, Carpenter peered ahead and nodded in satisfaction.
His brainchild was a thirty-acre compound surrounded by twenty-foot-high brick walls. Aqueducts at the northwest and southeast corners diverted a stream into an inner moat, a secondary line of defense should the brick walls ever be breached.
The limo didn’t stop once it was across the moat. Holland made for the closest of six concrete bunkers. C Block, Carpenter had designated it, where the Communications Center was housed.
Becca Levy was waiting. As always, she was smartly dressed.
She spoke into a wafer-thin mouthpiece attached to an ear jack in her left ear. She stopped talking as he emerged from the backseat of the limo, and she held out
her hand for him to shake. “Good to see you made it, boss.”
“Give me a breakdown.”
“Twenty-seven are here already. We expect another forty-one to show up in the next eight hours.” “And the test?”
“They’re aware of the deadline. They know what it means if they don’t make it.”
Carpenter strode toward the entrance to C Block, Becca keeping up with his brisk pace. “Any word on the SEAL?”
“The transporter was just leaving Seattle the last time 1 spoke to him.”
“I’m counting on him. The SEAL is my gift to those who come after us. Provided we survive, that is.” Carpenter stopped and scanned the compound. Two men with rifles were on the west wall near the drawbridge. To the east were trees and a row of cabins. Beyond that were fields he planned to devote to tilling. “God. I hope I’ve covered every contingency. One mistake, and we’ll be no better off than those pour souls caught in the cities.”
“You’ve done a remarkable job, sir. You have every reason to be proud.”
Carpenter entered C Block. The Com Center boasted the best equipment his money could buy, all of it state-of-the-art, complete with satellite linkups and GPS. A large screen was flagged with dots, one for every person Carpenter had selected.
“Many of them have a long way to come.”
“We estimate a 97 percent success ratio,” Becca Levy reported. “Provided that most of them are clear of the major population centers before the missiles start to fly.”
“What’s the latest on the war front?”
“The United States has responded to the nuking of its Mediterranean