The Tipping Point Read online

  The scrape of footsteps on the stairs outside the room was faint, but caused Dianne’s thoughts to seize up and her body to tense. She held her breath, listening as a pair of feet plodded up the last few steps and stopped just outside her room.

  “We’ve got to stop for a few minutes. This walking and climbing nonsense is killing my back.”

  “Yeah, just be glad we’re not back at the gas station. That fire killed a few of the workers. He is pissed. His best bitch was one of them. Died in the first explosion.”

  “That one with the long blonde hair?”

  “Yup.”

  “That was his favorite?” The voice chortled. “Did he not know she was getting used by everyone and their brother, too?”

  The other voice laughed. “Nope. Best hope he doesn’t find out, either, otherwise he’ll start killing all the rest of ‘em and leave us with nothing at all.”

  “He won’t kill the kids. They’re good for labor if nothing else.”

  “Until they get to a certain age, am I right?”

  As Dianne listened to the two men carry on with their conversation, she felt herself growing angrier by the second. With all of the drama surrounding Tina’s capture and subsequent liberation and Jason’s injury, Dianne hadn’t given much thought to the other people not part of the gang who had been at the gas station. While she wasn’t all that surprised to hear what the men were saying, she was nonetheless infuriated by it.

  She glanced down at her pistol again before slipping it into its holster, then carefully put the small sledgehammer in between her thighs to keep from bumping it onto the floor of the shower. She rummaged through her pockets, pulling out the medical tape and a few of the sealed scalpels. She unwrapped them slowly, wincing at every crinkle in their packaging as she wondered when the men would hear, but they were too absorbed in their conversation to pay her any mind.

  Once she had three of the scalpels unwrapped, she pressed them together and carefully wound a long piece of medical tape around them, both strengthening them as a weapon and giving herself extra grip when holding on to their handles. The three blades were lethally sharp and shimmered in the glow of her flashlight, and though they weren’t meant to be used as offensive tools, she had no doubt that they’d stand up to at least a few slashes and stabs.

  Dianne’s hands shook as she worked, both from adrenaline and rage, and when she finished working on the scalpels she picked up her flashlight from the small shelf in the shower where she had placed it, slipped it into her pocket and took the sledgehammer back into her left hand. Using the gun would virtually guarantee that she would be able to kill both men, but mere escape was no longer her objective. Her mind was clouded with a red mist, obscuring common sense and reason and her sense of self-preservation. She would kill as many of the men in the facility as she possibly could, and with each death there would be one less terror afflicting the innocent.

  Chapter 3

  Washington, D.C.

  Rick had expected the city to be quiet, but it was quite the opposite. A soft whistling wind carried through the devastated streets of Washington, sending swirls of ash and bits of trash tumbling and floating along. The wind played a backdrop to a chorus of groans, creaks and snaps as the buildings in the city settled into their new existence. Foundations warped by the intense heat popped and snapped as they cooled while bits of roofs and walls that hadn’t completely collapsed slowly moved around in the wind, parts of them occasionally crashing down.

  The steady crunch of Jane’s, Dr. Evans’ and Rick’s footsteps echoed through the rubble as they stepped over the remains of cars and buildings, picking their way slowly toward the center of the city. The sun was sinking slowly in the sky behind them, making each step more difficult than the last and forcing them to slow down so that they wouldn’t trip and fall.

  The Capital Beltway (Interstate 495) and other roads that intersected with it helped to form fire breaks that kept large swaths of buildings and neighborhoods intact from the fires that raged nearby. The timing of the initial explosions meant that most vehicles were away from residences at the time, which further helped to keep those sections from being completely destroyed in the initial fires.

  After crossing the beltway near Falls Church, the trio made their way east, with their goal being to make it to Arlington by the following night. From there they would strike out across the Potomac River, either by bridge or by boat, and they would then be inside Washington proper. Dr. Evans first wanted to visit Foggy Bottom, one of the oldest neighborhoods in Washington and the home of the United States State Department, a choice that struck Rick as more than a little odd.

  “Dr. Evans, I’m not an expert on politics or the federal government or anything of that nature, but why would the NSA have a facility there?”

  Dr. Evans grunted as he jumped over a telephone pole lying in the street. “My suggestions are based entirely off of what I overheard and read during the initial attacks. There was a lot of talk going on about a ‘control center’ in Washington, and Foggy Bottom popped up as one of three potential locations, though again, it’s all based on what I overheard and caught glimpses of in paperwork I shouldn’t have been looking at.”

  Jane chuckled and clicked her tongue against her teeth. “Tsk tsk, Doc. Reading things you shouldn’t have?”

  “Yes, well, at the time I was scared that I might go to jail. Little did I realize there was a fate in store for me that’s far, far worse.”

  “You said three locations, right?” Rick tried to steer the conversation back on track. “What were the other two?”

  “The NSA cooperated on the project with the CIA after they bought it out.”

  “The CIA headquarters is north of us quite a way, though, isn’t it?” Rick asked. “Shouldn’t we have gone there by car first?”

  “Nope,” Dr. Evans shook his head. “Damocles wasn’t the first project that the CIA and NSA collaborated on. They had a dedicated facility in the heart of D.C. that housed that work since they wanted it to be crystal clear that they were projects owned by both agencies.”

  “Why would the NSA work with the CIA, though?” Jane asked. “Wasn’t the NSA in charge of all of the virtual, computer espionage stuff?”

  Well,” Dr. Evans said, “The NSA’s primary functions are in code-breaking and code-making. They operate primarily in the digital realm, yes, with very few field agents. Developing a weapon of war that can strike at physical assets through a digital medium is a challenge, though. You have to have intelligence on those systems, understanding not only how they work but how they support a country. That’s where the CIA comes in. They’re the big kahuna of the agencies in some sense, but their primary role for a project like Damocles would be their extensive network of intelligence agents and assets. Where the NSA exists primarily in the digital space, the CIA exists primarily in the physical space.”

  “So the CIA would collect intel that the NSA would then use to build out Damocles?” Rick nodded. “Sounds about right. I still want to know who let Damocles out into the wild.”

  “Nobody was sure, from what I heard,” Dr. Evans replied. “It could have been a foreign government, but it also could have been a hacker who was poking around and released it by accident as they were trying to access secure systems. We may never know.”

  “I don’t buy that it was a government. They’d be crazy to unleash something like this on purpose since it would affect them as much as anyone else.”

  “Not if it was a country that was lagging behind on the technological scale. We and other heavily industrialized countries have put so much of our ‘stuff’ on the web and connected everything together which made things easy for Damocles. A country that isn’t as interconnected or reliant on computer-controlled systems wouldn’t experience the same effects. But they also wouldn’t have the resources to do this, so… yeah. It’s a mystery.”

  Jane shook her head. “Regardless of who started it, as long as we can stop it then that’ll be good. I can’t ima
gine what it’ll take to rebuild, though.”

  “An enormous amou—hang on. What was that?” Rick stopped short in the street and cocked his head to the side, angling it to try and pick up on something. “Did you guys hear that?”

  “Hear what?” Dr. Evans and Jane stopped, and he turned to look at Rick as he replied.

  “It sounded like an engine starting up, but I don’t… wait. There it is again!” Rick’s voice dropped to a whisper and he looked intently at Jane and Dr. Evans, both of whom had their heads back, rotating them around as they tried to pick up on what he was hearing. Jane was the first to nod, confirming that whatever Rick thought he heard wasn’t just in his imagination.

  “Yep, that’s an engine. No question.” She glanced at Dr. Evans, then back at Rick with a worried expression. “That can’t be good, can it?”

  “Very few things seem to be good these days,” Rick replied. He unslung the rifle he had been carrying from his shoulder and slipped off his backpack. “Check your weapons, you two. Make sure they’re loaded and you have your spare mags close at hand.” The rifle had been one of the handful of weapons they had taken from the group attacking them in the Kansas City store, along with a few pistols and boxes of ammunition for both the rifle and pistols. An AR-type rifle chambered in .556, it was equipped with an off-brand scope that Rick was certain was nowhere close to being properly zeroed but they had neither the time nor the spare ammunition to do it.

  While Rick collected the magazines for the rifle and the 9mm pistol in his waistband, Jane made sure that the magazines for her .380 were easily accessible while Dr. Evans did the same for his 9mm pistol. None of them were happy with their armament but it was better than nothing and would have to do in a pinch.

  “It’s getting louder,” Jane whispered as Rick stood up and put his backpack on. He gripped the rifle tightly and gulped as he tried to calm his racing heart. He had known that they would be more likely than not to run into yet another conflict before arriving at their destination, but that knowledge did nothing to make him feel less nervous.

  “Yep. Follow me and let’s keep going. We’ll stick as close to the buildings as possible and try to get around these guys, whoever they are. Hopefully we can slip past them and avoid any problems.”

  Chapter 4

  Earth Orbit

  Seven Hours After the Event

  “Give it another half second.”

  “Direction?”

  “Same as before.”

  “Got it. Waiting for your mark.”

  “Three… two… one… mark.”

  The small capsule shudders as its engine kicks on for exactly one half of one second, increasing its speed and making the three occupants tense up involuntarily. When the burn completes, there is another jolt and the cabin of the capsule is once again enveloped by silence. The three crewmembers hold their breath as Commander Palmer studies their position, waiting to see if the burn was executed properly or not.

  “We’re in the pipe.” His words are accompanied by exhalations of relief from Ted and Jackie as they look at each other, hopeful for the first time since leaving ISS-2. “We’re synchronized with the ISS’s orbit. Thirty minutes till visual acquisition, then another hour or so till we can make contact.” Commander Palmer extends his arms, bumping them against the wall of the capsule as he tries in vain to stretch.

  Built as a lifeboat to escape the ISS-2 in case of catastrophic emergencies, the small capsule was never designed to cross the vast distances separating the second and first space stations. When faced with certain death in a space station whose orbit is rapidly decaying, though, designs are thrown out the window and every effort is made to survive, no matter what. Thus, as the ISS-2 continued its dive towards the earth, the small capsule ejected, heading for the International Space Station – a place that has been empty and dormant for a full six months, ever since the ISS-2 was brought online.

  “Either of you ever been to the ISS?” Commander Palmer leans forward and looks to his left at Ted and Jackie. All three crewmembers are dressed in full EVA suits and are wearing extra oxygen tanks. The capsule barely has enough room to fit them, to say nothing of the hoards of food and other supplies they stuffed into every nook and cranny.

  “Never.”

  “Nope. You did, though, right?”

  Commander Palmer nods. “I was part of the decommissioning crew. We shut everything down and prepped her for long-term storage. She was supposed to be kept in orbit till her station-keeping thrusters ran out of fuel, then she’d burn up.”

  “How long was that supposed to take?”

  “A year or so, give or take.”

  A long pause passes over the conversation before Jackie replies. “So we’ll have plenty of time there to figure out our next move. Assuming we make it.”

  Commander Palmer smiles at her from behind his thick visor. “We’ll make it.”

  ***

  One and a half hours later, the capsule shudders again. This time, though, it’s not from the thrusters, but from an impact with its destination.

  “Clamps?!” Commander Palmer shouts.

  “Secure! Green lights across the board. We did it!” Ted, Jackie and Commander Palmer let off cheers of joy and elation as they celebrate their safe arrival at the International Space Station. Their arrival is both welcome and slightly unexpected, but they are all thrilled beyond belief that they made it. The real challenge, however, is about to begin.

  “All right, listen up you two. We’re secured to the station but we still have to get inside. The downside with all of this is that we can’t afford to expend the fuel to dock the capsule properly so we’re just going to leave it hanging and EVA everything in.”

  “Should be fun,” Jackie replied with a nervous laugh. “I’ve only done three EVAs before this.”

  “No time like now to do your fourth, eh?” Commander Palmer unbuckled himself from his seat and slowly floated toward the top of the capsule. “Make sure everything’s secured. I’m going to pop the hatch in thirty.”

  The sharp hiss of escaping air went away a second after Palmer unsealed the hatch at the top of the capsule, opening up the interior to the vacuum of space. Ted and Jackie stayed in their seats while Commander Palmer floated through the hatch, checking his oxygen levels in his suit for what felt like the hundredth time since putting it on. “I’ve got two hours of air left. We need to hustle to get inside and get the scrubbers turned on.”

  “You want us to wait here and monitor your progress or follow behind with supplies?” Ted asked.

  Commander Palmer hesitated with his answer at first, weighing the risks they were taking with the greater ones associated with running out of air. “Under any other circumstances we wouldn’t be grappling the outer structure of a decommissioned space station with a lifeboat while we try to EVA to the other side, force open an airlock and get inside all before running out of O2. So, yeah, you two gather the supplies and let’s do this as fast as possible.”

  Chapter 5

  Blacksburg, VA

  Dianne swung open the bathroom door and looked out into the small room, checking to make sure that the two men hadn’t walked in without her hearing. They were still just outside the room, though, and based on their voices it sounded as if they were sitting on the floor with their backs to the wall. She tried to ignore their vulgar language as they continued going on about the various things they had done with and to the “workers” at the gas station, but everything she heard served to raise her blood pressure even more.

  Bracing herself at the door, she listened to the position of their voices outside, trying to picture where they were in the hall. One to the right, and one leaning directly against it, I think. Killing didn’t come naturally to the homeschooling mother of three, but desperate times called for desperate measures, and evil had to be snuffed out.

  Dianne threw her weight down on the door handle and pulled inward, stepping to the side as the door flew open and bounced against a rubber stopper on
the wall. A man wearing a filthy coat that was once the color blue fell backwards, his eyes wide and his arms flailing as he tried to grab for the doorframe to hold himself up. The rifle that had been in his right hand slipped and fell forward into the hall, landing with a light clatter as the back of his head smacked against the hard floor behind him.

  The man just barely had time to open his eyes as Dianne stepped over him, bringing down the small sledgehammer in her right hand directly into the center of his face. The sound was horrific. Flesh, cartilage and bone all snapped and squished and squelched as the sledgehammer drove the man’s nose into his brain. His body jerked and twisted as his muscles spasmed, but no noise emanated from his throat as he lay on the floor, the plastic handle of the sledgehammer sticking out from where his mouth and nose used to be.

  Though Dianne was sickened by the sounds of the man’s death, she didn’t hesitate to make her next move. Opening the door and slamming the sledge into the first man’s face had taken him and his partner by surprise, but in another few seconds she knew the second man would be fully aware of what was going on and would try to fight back. She wasn’t about to give him that chance.

  She took a step out into the hall over the first man’s twitching body, glancing to the right and locking eyes with the second man, who was still looking over at his partner, trying to figure out what was going on. He started pulling up the rifle lying across his lap to aim it in Dianne’s direction, but she ducked low, pushing her body into his and pressing her knees on his hands to keep the rifle and his arms down and out of the way.

  At the same time she slashed forward and to the side with the taped-together scalpels, cutting at the man’s throat as hard and fast as possible. If he had a chance to let off a shout or a cry for help, her position would be compromised and it would be that much harder for her to escape. While she wasn’t an expert at quietly assassinating people, she reasonably assumed that if his throat was cut wide open he wouldn’t be able to make much noise—at least nothing above a gurgle.