Highway 395
Just past Pearsonville, California
3 March, 2020
Hot, dry air filled with dust kicked up by the vehicles ahead of his blew in through the open window and stung at Edward Spinnaker’s face. It was still early but the desert heat that was expected from this area of California already sent mirages into the air. He gazed out the open window to his right as the Humvee bounced along the rough road that was supposed to be freshly paved, yet somehow the money disappeared at some point. Dry tumble weeds and random other desert flora filled the area around the road. They just past Pearsonville, a small town near Death Valley and the Druidth colony that was located just outside the national park.
“Scenic Pearsonville, California,” The driver said over the roar of the wind blowing in through the open windows. “Can you believe people brag about owning property out here?”
“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, Private,” Spinnaker replied. “Though I sure as shit wouldn’t behold this place. Give me trees and a lake any day.”
“Ah it’s not so bad. Did you know we’re closer to Las Vegas than Camp Pendleton? Well, as the crow flies,” The driver laughed, his helmet bobbing on his head. “So if you don’t like the desert, why’d you join the Corps, sir?”
“Because some smooth talking recruiter convinced me that Marines only operated in tropical islands with barely dressed women.” Spinnaker, 2nd Lieutenant Spinnaker, U.S. Marine Corps to be exact, checked the dash mounted, military-grade GPS to be sure they were on the right path. Early this morning the company had received orders to deploy to the Death Valley Colony to provide security, aide, and assistance to the survivors of the attack. As he reached for the LCD display he saw spots of white dust that settled on the black skin of his hand; grumbling, he dusted it off and stopped as he considered how much dust would be on his uniform. “You’d think the government could pay to put air conditioners in its vehicles.”
“Aww, sir, you know that’s not possible. If they did, then we’d all be relaxing in the cool air instead of getting shot,” The driver said sarcastically.
Spinnaker reached for the radio, “Well I’d prefer not to get shot, Private,” He keyed the transmitter. “King two-five, this is Romeo-nine. We’re just passing Pearsonville, and continuing to head north, over.”
“Copy that Romeo-nine,” The radioman for Headquarters battalion replied. “Next check in at-“
A look of confusion spread across Spinnaker’s face. “Say again King two-five, your last transmission cut out, over.” Silence was all that relied. “King two-five do you copy? Over.”
“Sir…” The Humvee driver said with a bit of confusion.
Spinnaker turned and was about to ask him what he wanted but he already knew; the familiar roar of the diesel engine had died and they were slowly coasting to a stop, like the engine had just died. Ahead he saw the rest of the convoy slowly rolling to a stop in the middle of the dusty blacktop; across from the road he saw a number of tractor-trailers and regular cars doing the same, no doubt their drivers would have the same looks of confusion as the young Private Benjamin Moore, Spinnaker’s driver.
They came to a gentle stop a few feet behind the large cargo truck carrying supplies that were meant for the colonists. Moore pushed the starter switch a few times but the only sound was the soft clicking of the switch hitting the stops. “Sounds like the battery’s dead,” The young Marine said.
“Yeah, but that wouldn’t have stopped the engine. Or stopped every other vehicle in the area,” Spinnaker replied. He reached behind his seat and pulled out the road atlas, something he always carried despite having access to the best geo-positioning equipment available. His fingers found the correct page and the smooth paper rubbed the bottom of his fingers as he traced their location. “It looks like China Lake is just over the hill,” He gestured to the east. “Maybe they were messing around with something they got from the Druidth.”
“Like an EMP?” Moore asked.
Spinnaker had studied the effects of EMPs at Annapolis and knew that the Electro-Magnetic Pulse was being researched by the government for tactical applications. Everything that runs on electricity is shut down temporarily, and depending on the severity of the pulse, permanently. EMPs occasionally occur whenever a nuclear bomb goes off, but since Spinnaker was still here and not a pile of radioactive ash, he doubted that was the case. He opened the door and climbed out of the all-terrain vehicle, making sure to grab his rifle from between the seats; from across the truck he saw Moore doing the same thing.
“Hey, LT!” A rough, but familiar voice called out from behind. Spinnaker turned to see his platoon Sargent jogging up from the trail vehicle. “The hell is going on?” Staff Sargent Jared Blithe asked as he slowed to a walk, his trade-mark and cliché unlit cigar sticking out of the corner of his mouth.
“Don’t know, Jared,” With his NCO’s Spinnaker liked to stay on a first name basis, he believed it improved camaraderie. “Maybe the egg-heads at China Lake were fooling around with something and pushed the wrong button.”
Blithe spit chewed cigar on the ground and replaced the gnarled tip between his stained teeth. Jared didn’t like to light his cigars while he was on mission, besides the obvious fact that a glowing ember would be an easy target for a sniper, Blithe didn’t enjoy smoking in front of his troops. “Well, we need to tell the Duke,” Jared said after chewing for a moment.
The Duke, or Captain Alexander Baron, headed up D Company of the 1st Marine Division stationed at Camp Pendleton was a good man who treated his Marines well, however he liked to stay on top of what was happening out in the field. Spinnaker heard a rumor that the Captain had joined up sometime during the Iraq war and first saw combat when his convoy came under attack.
“Radios don’t work,” Spinnaker informed the Sargent. “I was thinking of taking a squad to the research facility and use their radios.”
“What makes you think theirs will work?”
“It’s a military research facility,” Edward said. “They’re gonna’ have something more than just a radio.”
“Right… You want me to go instead, sir?” The Staff-Sargent offered.
Spinnaker shook his head. “No, if we ran into any resistance then an officer should be there to add some authority.”
Jared guffawed heavy, careful not to choke on his cigar. “Eddy, you’re a second lieutenant. Hell, I got more authority than you.”
“Careful there Staff-Sargent, that might be considered dis-respectful to my rank,” Spinnaker warned jokingly. He turned to his driver, Moore, who was leaning against the hood and talking to another soldier. “Moore, since you’re so involved in your conversation with Corporal Muller, perhaps you’d like to invite him along on our little walk?”
Sebastian Muller smacked Moore on the back of his helmet, grumpy that he had to walk through the desert. “Yes, sir,” He said dimly.
“And while you’re at it, round up Ackland and Salazar, they need the exercise,” Blithe said with a broad grin.
“Sir?” Someone asked from behind the truck.
“No getting out of it, Muller,” Spinnaker jested.
“Lieutenant, fucking look!” He was about to come down hard on the young Corporal, he was as more lenient than most officers he met, but no one swore in his face without good reason.
Before he could, Jared grabbed his shoulder and twisted him to face the southeast, toward Los Angeles. At first he couldn’t see anything, but then, after his eyes adjusted, he wished he hadn’t seen it. Rising high above the horizon and blocking out much of the sky, seven skinny, black Mushroom Clouds climbed up like their fungal namesakes; a few moments later a deep rumble and heavy tremor rocked through the air and ground. Spinnaker tried not to fathom how large and devastating they were if he could see them from over a hundred nautical miles out.
“What in the name of God is going on?” He asked incredulously, then tasted dust that flew into his open mouth and spit on the blacktop.
“Nuclear?” Muller asked.
“I don’t know, kid. Somehow I don’t think so,” Blithe answered. Spinnaker gave the grizzled old Marine some credit for trying to calm the other men that could here.
They were all still staring at the southern sky, watching the clouds rise when a black V-shaped plane streaked by barely twenty feet above their heads, the noise threatening to burst their eardrums. As one, all the Marines threw themselves against the dead vehicles, rifles raised skyward.
“Did they see us? Did they see us?” Someone near the lead truck called out.
When the strange craft didn’t turn back, someone else called out “Nah, we’re golden!”
“Well, at least we know who it is…” Blithe said, attempting to be re-assuring.
“Right…” Instinct kicked in. “Right! Third platoon!” Spinnaker called out at the top of his lungs. “Let’s get to China Lake!”