Today was a day like any other. He pulled up to the checkpoint and produced his driver’s license. The young soldier waved him through and Kaliz drove on. When he was two car lengths past the checkpoint, he stopped the truck and got out. His partner in the front seat exited with him.
“Marco! What are you doing? Keep it moving man! C’mon!” The young soldier was visibly frustrated by the delay.
“So sorry, Private Morris, the engine died on me,” said Kaliz in his polished Spanish accent.
“Try to get it in the other lane quickly. I gotta keep the line moving.”
“Yes, of course. So sorry about this.”
Kaliz glanced into the back seat and waved his men out of the truck. His team members stood at the back of the truck, pushing as Kaliz steered the vehicle. Once the truck was blocking all the lanes, Kaliz put the vehicle in park and unzipped his jacket so he could quickly access his tactical vest. The others retrieved their bags from the truck bed and did the same.
“Marco! What the hell, man? Rush hour’s coming and I don’t need this shit!”
Kaliz and his team took their time getting ready. Nothing about their movements aroused suspicion, only frustrated confusion from the soldiers at the check point. Once his team members stopped and made eye contact with him to signal their readiness, Kaliz nodded his head and the attack began.
Each man dropped the spoon on his grenade and lobbed it toward the checkpoint. While the grenades were in flight, the four men produced automatic rifles and began to fire. Each team member had a designated target. The first shot the tires out of the four vehicles immediately behind their truck. The second opened fire on the vehicles in the oncoming lanes of traffic and stopped them dead in their tracks, then lobbed a grenade toward the disabled vehicles. The third and fourth men took careful aim at every soldier in their line of sight and shot them dead as the grenades exploded, crippling cars and killing dozens of terrified motorists.
With the first stage of his plan executed to perfection, Kaliz proceeded to phase two. Two of his men took up position in front of the truck and tossed smoke grenades towards the checkpoint, blinding the confused and wounded soldiers and preventing a counterattack. As clouds of white smoke shrouded the scene, the two men lobbed grenade after grenade at the checkpoint. Cars exploded and mangled body parts flew in all directions. Any soldier managing to escape the heavy veil of acrid smoke in an attempt to advance was immediately gunned down in a hail of bullets.
Kaliz and his partner sprinted to the center of the bridge. Every few hundred yards, Kaliz reached into his vest and tossed a brick of C-4 to the pavement. He knew the team on the other end of the bridge had carried out their portion of the plan successfully; not a single car came toward them in the oncoming lanes. A few minutes later, Kaliz heard the rat-a-tat of automatic gunfire coming from his brothers on the other team. Once Kaliz was reunited with his counterparts, the final stage of his plan could be carried out.
“Did you set your charges, my brother?”
“I did.”
“Good! Praise be to Allah for watching over us.”
“Allahu Akbar.”
Kaliz reached into his vest, took out the remaining two charges and tossed them at his feet. The four men gazed at each other, smiles illuminating their faces. They did not fear death because they knew in their hearts that Allah would reward them in the afterlife. Kaliz flipped the cover on the detonator and pressed the button.
The Golden Gate Bridge was rocked by twenty-four massive explosions, sending large sections of concrete and steel raining down into the murky water below. The West Coast had just suffered its first major attack from The Silent Warriors.
Lance McGee stood in line at the front gate of Fort McClellan, Alabama, waiting to be processed into the refugee camp. He was shivering, not because he was cold, but because he was terrified. Had the weather been a bit warmer, the people standing around Lance would have known immediately that something was wrong with him because he could not stop trembling. If not for the incessant rain, the tired, hungry citizens standing in line might have noticed the pungent urine stain covering the front of his jeans. Lance’s bloodshot gaze remained fixed at his dirty feet for fear that someone might look into his eyes and know something was horribly wrong.
For the next hour, Lance crept forward in line, getting closer to the front gate of the decommissioned army installation. Fort McClellan was once the largest military base in the country and one of the most famous. It housed the Women’s Army Corp that trained the very first women to be soldiers during World War II. Fort McClellan also housed the training camps for the Military Police Corps and the Chemical Corps. In 1999, it was decommissioned by the United States Army and became home to the Center For Domestic Preparedness run by the Department of Homeland Security. Residents from all over The Pulse Zone desperately scrambled to get to Fort McClellan. They all wanted one thing—security. In the eighteen months since the collapse, the Unified American Empire fought to restore law and order to keep the population safe. Refugee camps erected across The Pulse Zone simply couldn’t handle the strain of food riots, gang violence, and the countless waves of people terrified of the slave trade.
Fort McClellan became a beacon of hope. The installation sat roughly fifty miles to the south of the southern boundary of The Pulse Zone. The electromagnetic pulse that plunged the Eastern Seaboard into darkness had no effect on Fort McClellan. The power grid had been knocked out but was easily repaired. President Simon Sterling knew the significance of the installation, and given its close proximity to Atlanta, it was the obvious choice to be the headquarters of the Unified American Empire’s military forces on the East Coast. Because of its importance, Fort McClellan enjoyed a limitless supply of resources, thanks in large part to the ongoing pillaging of the unaffected oasis that was California.
As Lance got closer to the checkpoint, it took every bit of concentration he had to keep from passing out. The lives of his wife and children were at stake; he had to do this for them. He had no doubt about the consequences of failure. If he botched this, they would be raped and murdered. He had no other options.
As the smartphone in his pocket began to vibrate, Lance let out an involuntary shriek and his shaking escalated, alarming those waiting nearby.
“Sir, are you okay?”
“Do you need help?”
“What’s wrong?”
“Uh… n-n-nothing. I’m sorry. J-j-just have a splitting headache.” Lance tried his best to smile at the people around him, but it didn’t lessen their alarm.
“Should we get a doctor? Honey, walk up to the front of the line and tell…”
“No! I said I was fine! Don’t do that!” Lance knew he needed to get a grip. He was drawing unwanted attention to himself when he could least afford to do so. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell. Please forgive me. It’s just so cold and my feet hurt.”