Desolation

PROLOGUE

One Week Prior

Mount Weather Emergency Operations Center

Northern Virginia

Once upon a time, when you got fired from your job, the boss would simply say, “You’re fired!” The words stung, but there was no doubt about their meaning.

When Secretary of Agriculture Erin Bergmann was awakened at six o’clock that morning by Secret Service personnel announcing she’d been summoned to a meeting with the president and his chief of staff, she was certain to hear those dreaded words.

Not that she would’ve been surprised. President Carter Helton had grown weary of her contrarian’s point of view. He was under tremendous pressure throughout the crisis to the point of being confined for a brief time to his presidential suite on advice of the White House physician.

When Erin was called upon in cabinet meetings, she gave her learned opinion on the topics related to the mitigation of the effects of nuclear winter. Oftentimes, her suggestions and recommendations ran contrary to what the president wanted to hear. She was not a polished politician like the other members of the Helton administration. As a result, she hadn’t quite learned how to play the game.

However, in Erin’s mind, dealing with an existential crisis like the destruction of the planet’s atmosphere from the consequences of nuclear war required straight talk. Nevertheless, she deduced as she made the long walk through the corridors of Mount Weather buried deep in the mountains of Northern Virginia, her days as part of the Helton Cabinet were coming to an end.

Erin rolled her eyes as she imagined the upcoming conversation. To ease the mental anguish of an employee’s being fired, human resources directors created many alternatives to the dreaded words—you’re fired.

Personnel realignment. Rationalizing the workforce. Career change opportunity. Workforce imbalance correction. Adjustments in internal efficiencies.

“Mumbo jumbo,” Erin muttered aloud, drawing a look from one of her escorts. She noticed the stern look on the Secret Service agent’s face, but she didn’t return the glance. Instead, she managed a smirk. Okay, fine. Gobbledygook. Better now?

Because Erin wasn’t a politician, she didn’t give a rat’s ass about a future in politics, especially in light of the fact that ninety percent of the country would be dead within a year. Therefore, she was determined to go out in a blaze of glory. Her only goal was to negotiate a departure package, more human resources gibberish for can you at least give me a ride home?

When the escorts stopped at the double-doored entrance to the presidential sleeping quarters, reality set in for Erin. She was about to be fired and turned out into the cold, literally. Three words came to mind.

Dead man walking.

“The president will see you now, ma’am,” said the Secret Service agent, snapping Erin out of her thoughts filled with dread.

“Um, thank you.”

She entered the president’s quarters, which consisted of an outer office staffed with two armed guards and a desk for the White House secretary, who was not yet on duty. She stood in the entry alone, glancing around at the spartan furnishings. There were several doors leading out of the entry foyer, presumably offices or bedrooms. The space was not intended to be luxurious like the Oval Office in the White House, but it was elevated above the barracks-style quarters afforded others who were living within the protection of Mount Weather.

Another set of double doors was suddenly flung open, and a casually dressed Harrison Chandler appeared in the entry foyer with a smug look on his face. He and Erin had butted heads many times, which didn’t help matters. Chandler had the president’s ear virtually twenty-four seven. It was the functional equivalent to talking trash to a wife about her husband. The husband had more time to counter your arguments, so it was always a losing proposition.

“Come in, Erin, and take a seat,” said President Helton, pointing toward a chair in front of his desk. The Resolute Desk, the nineteenth-century partner’s desk used by the president in the Oval Office, was one of the few historic pieces of furniture that had been removed from the White House. During the bug-out process, it had made its way to the underground bunker.

“Good morning, Mr. President,” greeted Erin somewhat cheerily. She intended to kill him with kindness before body-slamming him for his feckless policies. “I imagine you’re excited for our move above ground to Carlisle.” Our being the operative word, Mr. President. Did you catch that?

He looked up from the President’s Daily Brief, the daily summary generated by the national security team and supplemented by Homeland Security during the crisis. He removed his glasses and leaned back in his chair. His face was expressionless.

President Helton set a dour tone for the meeting. “Erin, the attacks on America and the nuclear winter conditions have changed the dynamic of this administration. Each and every member of my cabinet was hired with a particular role in mind. When I chose you for the Secretary of Agriculture slot, I followed a skill-mix approach that transcended traditional boundaries, specialisms, and levels of engagement.”

Erin bit her tongue because she needed to see how this meeting played out. Her thoughts, however, weren’t constrained. Mumbo jumbo, naturally. You gave me the job as political payback and to endear yourself to Floridians with their thirty electoral college votes, the nation’s third largest.

The president continued. “As we transition in the direction of recovery rather than a defensive posture, I will need people around me who are willing to carry out my vision for the future of this great nation.”

Erin chuckled somewhat disrespectfully. Her attitude drew a scornful look from Chief of Staff Chandler.

“Yes-men,” she interrupted.

“Excuse me?” asked the president.

“You need more yes-men, as if the other fourteen out of fifteen members aren’t enough.”

“Secretary Bergmann, you’re out of line!” shouted Chandler.

She gave him a death stare. “Am I? It’s blatantly obvious that my opinions are disregarded because the president doesn’t want to hear an opposite point of view.”

“I do value your opinions, Erin,” countered the president unsuccessfully as he took control of the meeting. Erin wasn’t buying it.

Over the weeks since the attacks, Chief of Staff Chandler had wielded more control and power in the Helton administration. The president’s stress and anxiety created a power vacuum that Chandler was more than willing to fill. However, with their impending move above ground, as the president liked to call it, Chandler’s role was also being diminished. The HR people might call that being managed down.

“Well, Mr. President, respectfully, I understand that you may choose not to follow my suggestions or advice. There can only be one decider, to borrow a term from former president Bush. However, I don’t believe it’s in your best interests to discard someone who can provide you a different approach.”

The president took a deep breath, glanced at Chandler, and exhaled. Erin got the sense he wanted to use the words you’re fired. However, his chief of staff, who micromanaged the administration’s personnel decisions, was always concerned about optics and media perception. As a result, Chandler was careful not to create a situation in which the president was accused of being one of the many labels ending in -ist or -ism.

“For example?” the president asked.

“Let’s take Florida, my home state. Sir, your plan to exercise your authority under the martial law declaration to seize property and convert it into America’s new breadbasket is a fool’s errand. The sandy soil of the Keys won’t support agricultural growth. And even if it did, there’s not enough land mass to feed the residents of Florida, much less the nation. Plus, with NOAA’s hurricane advisory, you should note that anything grown there could be washed away prior to the harvesting season by storm surge.”

The president furrowed his brow and studied Erin. She didn’t break eye contact with him as he spoke.

“My interest in Florida involves more than growing food for America. We have a situation, as you know, that borders on treason. I cannot allow state and local governments to shut themselves off from the rest of the nation at a time when we need to come together to help one another.”

“You’re referring to the actions of the Monroe County officials, I presume.”

“Of course. The Florida Keys. The Upper Peninsula of Michigan. The barrier islands along the Eastern Seaboard. Hell, the whole state of Texas thinks they can restrict the flow of American citizens and ignore the rule of law. The first order of business is to tamp down this treasonous activity so I can focus on helping people stay alive.”

Erin’s mind raced as she soaked in his words. He seemed to be acting out of frustration. She also believed Chandler had been chirping in his ear about using the transition to the temporary seat of government at the Army War College in Central Pennsylvania as a logical opportunity to eliminate Erin, who’d been a thorn in the administration’s side.

Truth be told, she was tired of playing the political games. She was proud of her accomplishments and verily believed her experience would be an asset to the country. However, this president and his right arm, Chandler, had shown a propensity for making knee-jerk decisions and playing favorites with members of the cabinet. Her contribution would never be acted upon much less appreciated. So she took a chance.

“Maybe I can help you?”

“In what way?” asked Chandler, rudely trying to insert himself in the conversation. Erin responded to his question but remained focused on the president.

“Mr. President, I have considerable ties to Florida’s political machinery, as you know,” began Erin, who reminded the president why’d he tapped her as Secretary of Agriculture in the first place. Her expertise was in transportation, but the agriculture position gave her the opportunity to help Floridians. “I know the governor well, of course, and I’m also familiar with Mayor Lindsey Free, the county executive of Monroe County. Perhaps I can defuse the situation.”

“Secretary Bergmann, the president’s decision has been—” began Chandler before the president raised his hand and cut him off.

“Let her finish, Harrison.” The unusually stern rebuke drew a slight smile from Erin.

“Sir, I respect your decision to make a change at the Department of Agriculture. Naturally, I would prefer that you not. That said, I serve at the pleasure of the president and will honor your wishes. However, I can serve you in a way that helps solve the problem in the Keys.”

“Go on,” said the president, who was once again leaning back in his chair and relaxed.

“Sir, I have many contacts there. Send me to the Keys as your emissary, of sorts. With the approval of the governor, I can work behind the scenes to convince Mayor Free to back down from her shenanigans. If not, I can work with other politicos in the Keys to orchestrate a recall or some other similar means to remove her from office. I know the circumstances are unusual, and generally, a change in leadership of any government, even at the local level, is not advisable. However, her actions are almost tyrannical.”

“I see you’ve been paying attention during the security briefings,” said the president with a smile. His mood had softened. “Erin, the governor isn’t any help to us. While he doesn’t have a relationship with this mayor, he doesn’t want to appear heavy-handed in dealing with the local county executives. His actions toward one might seem like an affront toward all.”

“Makes sense,” said Erin. “The federal government has different interests at stake than Tallahassee. For one thing, they’ve blocked a federal highway. Secondly, from a national security standpoint, the Florida Keys are the closest point to Communist Cuba, a close ally of Russia.”

“Very true, Erin. What, exactly, do you propose?”

Erin paused and then laid out her plan. “I have a friend in the Keys whose family has been there since the beginning. He’s well liked and highly respected. If you’ll arrange travel for me to Driftwood Key, as well as create a direct line of communication to Harrison, I’ll keep him abreast of my activities. I’ll also consult with him as I work to remove the mayor and anyone loyal to her from office.”

The president smiled. “I like it,” he said as he turned to his top aide. “Harrison, work with Erin to give her anything she needs.”

For the next two days, Erin learned all she could about Lindsey Free and the politicians who ran Monroe County’s government. She identified potential allies and met with the Pentagon representatives coordinating the National Guard troop movements.

The day she was supposed to travel by helicopter to Driftwood Key, a devil of a storm swept over the island chain.