A Sacred Storm (50 page)

“What are you, Greg? Some kind of sharpshooter? This isn't the Wild West you know. The odds are well against you. Surely you don't want to be responsible for the death of your beloved boss here.” He gestured to the President.

“Don't listen to him, Greg,” said Mackenzie. “Nobody's going to shoot me – they need me alive. They need my launch codes.”

“So that's what this is all about,” said Albany. He stared at Perry. “Listen, General, nobody is going to launch any missiles today. We've made the decision and it's final.”

Perry ignored the comment and turned to Colonel Matthews. “I think perhaps we ought to go back to plan A, Sam.”

Matthews switched his aim from the President back to his daughter.

“Now then,” said Perry. “Unless you guys want to be responsible for the death of an innocent little girl then I suggest you drop your weapons right now. This has gone on long enough. I need those codes and I need them now.”

“It's not going to happen, General,” said Albany. “You need to lower your weapons right now or your going to die. And then no-one will be launching anything will they? It needs both your codes to instigate a strike.”

“Listen, General,” said Grady. “There's no way you can win. In fact there's no way any of us can win. I suggest we all act like the civilized people we are and just lay down our guns. If you don't then my guess is that we're all likely to get hurt or die for no reason.”

“We're all going to die anyway thanks to him,” said Perry, waving his gun at the President.

“Maybe,” said Grady. “But if we are, let's die as a team – not like this. I mean, look at yourself, look at what you've become. Look at this frightened little girl – is that why you joined the army, to bully children? To scare them to the point of tears?”

Perry looked away.

“No,” said Grady. “I didn't think so. I know you only want to protect your country and its citizens, but this isn't the way to go about it. Look, I'll lower my weapon first.” He let his hand go limp and laid the gun on the President's desk.

“What the fuck do you think you're doing, Grady?!” yelled Albany.

“Making a stand, Greg. Someone's got to give first.”

Perry looked at Grady and then to the President and his family. Then he thought about the millions of families across the country. The millions of little girls that were going to die because of Mackenzie's pigheaded stupidity. One little girl to save millions of others – the answer was self-evident. “I'm sorry, Greg,” he said, and squeezed his trigger.

Greg Albany felt the savage belt of the Colt in his chest. He dropped his gun and fell to the floor, bloody fingers clutching at his heart.

Grady watched his friend go down and instinctively leapt across the room at Perry. The Colt fired again, but Grady felt nothing as he crashed down on top of the maverick general and pinned him to the ground.

Mackenzie picked Grady's gun off the desk and pointed it at Matthews. “That's enough!” he ordered. “Everyone drop their weapons! No-one else is going to die in here today.”

Matthews looked to Johnson who nodded and let his own gun drop.

Mackenzie hugged his wife and daughter. “It's okay,” he said. “You're alright now. No-one's going to hurt you.”

Just then his phone started to ring. He picked it up and listened briefly before replacing the receiver.

“It's bad news, I'm afraid,” he said calmly. “It seems that I've made a big mistake. The Muslims have just launched their first missile.”

The flames continued to flicker in the distance covering the town with a sinister blood-orange. Up above, the first rumble of thunder broke through the thick carpet of cloud and sent a shiver through all that heard it. Trees creaked in the shadows, bending and swaying and heralding doom. Jenna huddled herself against the hastening wind and took one last drag of her cigarette before throwing it to the floor and stamping it out. She looked fearfully to the sky and then hurried across the grass to the tent.

Tariq watched his girlfriend approach down the crowded aisle and smiled to himself. Even in the midst of all the mayhem she shone as a beacon of beauty and hope. His heart soared as her radiance cancelled out the bloody and battered background, and filled it with streams of angelic light. In that moment it hit him that nothing else mattered; that should all their fears come to fruition, he would always have that image of her to wipe away the pain. He'd told her that he loved her before and had meant it, but now the feeling had pierced him more completely than ever, and his previous words and emotions seemed to fall desperately short of the deeper reality he was now experiencing.

As Jenna drew near she noticed a strange look in Tariq's eye. She looked down at him on the camp-bed and gave him a quizzical glance. “What's up?” she said. “Is everything okay?”

Tariq smiled and nodded dreamily. He stood up and held her cheek and gazed deep in her eyes. “I love you,” he said. “I love you more than anyone could ever love anything.”

Jenna wanted to look away but felt unable. It suddenly occurred to her that she knew exactly what he meant, and that she felt the same. A wave of exquisite joy and pain thrust its way into her soul, and as her eyes welled she felt Tariq's soft lips touch her own and envelop her completely.

For a brief moment everything made sense. And then the world came crashing down around them.

The tent erupted in a maelstrom of chatter and confusion. Patients began leaping fearfully from their beds. Tariq and Jenna broke off their kiss and looked around bewilderedly, trying to get a grasp of what was happening.

A young man thrust past them and Tariq grabbed his arm. “What's going on?!” he shouted above the din.

“They're outside!”

“Who's outside?!”

“Them!” the young man shouted. “The rioters. They're outside the hospital!” He shrugged off Tariq's hand and scurried off out of the tent.

“What shall we do?” asked Jenna.

Tariq shook his head. “I don't know. Maybe it's better to stay in here. I'm not sure leaving the tent's such a good idea.”

“But that's what most people are doing.”

“I know,” said Tariq. “But we're not most people. They're just in a blind panic at the moment. That's not going to do anyone any good. I reckon we should sit tight for a while.”

“I don't want to hang around like a sitting duck,” said Jenna. “We need to find out exactly what's happening.” She grabbed his hand. “Come on, let's go and find someone who knows the score.”

They hurried out of the tent together and into the open air. The scene outside was even worse. People ran and scrabbled blindly in the semi-darkness, trying to escape but unsure of which direction the threat lay. Lost children screamed for their parents. Infirm bodies tripped and fell and were crushed under fleeing feet. Jenna scanned frantically for a safe passage, but the sea of hysteria appeared impregnable. She was just about to retreat back inside when she felt a hand upon her shoulder. It was Paul, the soldier.

“Are you guys alright?” he asked.

“I think so,” she said. “We don't know what to do though. How do we get out?”

Paul's answer was blunt. “We don't,” he said. “The whole place is surrounded.”

“But why?” she asked. “What the hell do they want? There's no threat to them in here.”

“They want the Muslims. There's been a load of deaths out there today and they're demanding payback.”

“But surely there's been deaths on both sides?”

“Yeah, there has. But the white boys want more. They don't think we should be treating Muslims up here in the hospital.”

“That's ridiculous!” said Jenna.

“The whole thing's fucking ridiculous,” said Paul. “I don't even think they're bothered about the Muslims anymore. It's just any old excuse. Something's got hold of them: it's like a contagious madness.”

“Yeah,” said Tariq. “It's called hatred.”

Paul pulled them back into the tent. “Listen,” he said. “If I was you guys I'd wait in here. There's no point trying to go anywhere else.”

“What are you going to do?” asked Jenna.

“What I'm told to. I think our stand-down's going to be short-lived. There's no way we can let these fucking idiots destroy the hospital. We're holding them at bay for the moment, but it won't be long before we have to start shooting.” He looked out into the fray. “I'd better get going.”

Jenna watched him disappear into the melee and felt her heart sink, every cry of the crowd removing a little more hope from the well. Overhead the thunderous sky grew louder, its incessant growl reverberating through her frightened mind. She looked up to the heavens and despaired, seeking guidance from a God that had deserted her long ago. And then, as she stared vacantly into the ether, her soul almost spent, she let out an abrupt laugh. The laugh segued into another, and then another, until she was unable to control her joy. She turned to Tariq. “Come on,” she said. “Let's get going.”

“Where?” said Tariq, confused by her sudden delirium. “What's wrong with you?”

Jenna took his hand. “There's nothing wrong with me. There's nothing wrong with me at all. Just trust me.”

“The soldier told us to wait here.”

Jenna laughed once more. “Who cares? Who do you trust more – him or me?”

Tariq looked into her eyes and detected a madness. “I just think we should keep out of the way,” he said diplomatically.

Jenna tightened her grip on his hand. “Listen,” she urged. “You don't have to be scared. Fuck it! None of us has to be scared! Don't you understand, Taz – nobody has to be scared. That's the answer to all this.”

Tariq tried to move away, but she held him tight.

“Look at me, Taz,” she pressed. “Look into my eyes and try to understand what I'm saying. We…don't…have…to…be… scared!”

Tariq had seen this look before, not from Jenna, but in the eyes of deranged zealots and unhinged fanatics who had suddenly ‘seen the light' and wanted to tell the whole, unsuspecting world about it. He had seen it in the eyes of newly converted Mormons in the street, and Jehovah's Witnesses parking themselves at the front door with their
Watchtower
's. It was a look that almost exploded from the eye-sockets, showering the recipient with an unbearable luminosity that forced them to recoil in suspicion and fear. It was a look that Tariq never thought he would see in the eyes of the woman he loved.

For a moment he stood there, uncomfortable and unable to speak, his face unconsciously frowning. And then it happened. Their eyes locked together, and in that brief instant he understood. She was right – they didn't have to be scared. This simple understanding sparked a reaction in his brain and rapidly flooded his whole being. For the first time he could remember he felt truly alive, as if his previous existence had been a dull and stagnant dream. His face lit up with new-found awareness.

“You do understand, don't you?!” Jenna screamed excitedly.

Tariq nodded serenely. “Yes, I do.”

“Come on then,” she said, tugging at his hand. “Follow me.”

Tariq had no idea where she was leading him or what she was going to do when they got there, but he no longer cared. The world had opened up in front of his very eyes, and he moved dreamily among the frightened hordes like a heavenly cloud in the eye of a storm.

At the entrance to A&E Paul Smith looked on as the insufficient police presence bravely held back the rioters with shields and batons. With more angry bodies joining the mob by the second he knew that soon their resistance would be broken, and when this happened he knew what he and his team were going to have to do. The stand-down had been a nice dream, but that was all it had been. The cold reality being that the only way to stem the tide of violence was to meet it head on with greater force. He checked his weapon nervously once more, blanked his mind, and got ready to begin the cull.

Within half a minute the police wall had foundered, trampled by an overwhelming surge from the unformed masses. Paul lifted his gun and took aim. The crowd stormed towards them: two hundred yards…one ninety…one eighty. Paul swallowed and expelled his breath and squeezed the trigger. Then he stopped.

Out of nowhere, the girl, Jenna, and her boyfriend had appeared directly in his line of sight, between the guns and the oncoming riot. For a brief moment they stood there motionless, seemingly oblivious to the onset of gunfire around them. And then, inexplicably, they sat down. Paul found himself shouting for them to get out of the way, but they couldn't hear him, no-one could; his voice was lost in the groundswell of battle.

In the bunker half a mile below the White House, President Mackenzie and his aides watched the screens as they filled up with blips depicting incoming missiles. A total of ten were now headed for the States, all of them targeting major cities. Both New York and Washington DC would soon be reduced to rubble, and the destruction would continue right across to Seattle and Los Angeles on the west coast.

Grady couldn't remember feeling so low. He was way past the point of upset and had descended into numbness. He'd tried phoning Brooke in LA but there had been no answer. It seemed like they would be parted forever, and he hadn't even had a chance to say goodbye. His only hope was that Grant, with all his connections, had access to a nuclear bunker, and had taken Brooke and the baby with him to keep them safe. This thought gave him strength as he clutched his wounded stomach in pain.

In front of him General Perry was still trying to convince Mackenzie to strike back. “Mr President,” he said. “If we don't launch soon then these missiles are just going to keep on coming. If we send out some warning shots then I think they'll stop. At least that way we can save some of our people.”