Chapter 64
The sound grew from a low drone to a deep rumble, vibrating in Charlotte’s chest before she could see its source.
She turned toward the hollow and whistled twice, signaling for Mason to stay down.
From the darkness came his answering whistle, followed by the dog’s low whine, as the aircraft’s engines reached a pitch the animal perceived as a threat.
Charlotte tracked the sound as it moved eastward. Darkness was nearly complete. The last amber light had faded from the western horizon, and the stars had emerged in the clear September sky, shining with unusual brightness.
“Coming in low,” he said. “From the southeast. Following the highway corridor.”
The aircraft appeared as a darker shape against the stars, moving with the steady determination of something not built for speed.
Its running lights were active, with red and green on the wings and a white strobe on the tail.
As it passed directly overhead, Charlotte could make out the blocky silhouette of a transport plane with engines mounted low on the wings and a squared fuselage.
“C-130,” Rivera said. “Hercules. Old as hell. Probably out of McGuire or Dover before they got hit.”
The plane’s engines roared overhead, the sound shifting from a low rumble to a powerful roar as it passed.
Charlotte felt the vibration through the soles of her boots.
She knew the horses would be panicking in the hollow below.
The distressed whinny of the gelding cut through the noise of the aircraft, and she hoped Mason had the presence of mind to hold on to the reins instead of trying to calm the animal.
The C-130 continued westward, its running lights fading into the horizon, while the sound of the aircraft lingered in the air.
“That’s one of ours,” Rivera said. He lowered his hand and turned to Charlotte, his expression that of someone delivering news at once encouraging and devastating. “Or it was before. Now it’s just a plane that still flies when nothing else does.”
“Because it’s old,” Charlotte said.
“Because it’s analog. Mechanical flight controls.
Hydraulic systems. Vacuum tube avionics, probably, or at least components that don’t rely on integrated circuits.
The EMP targeted modern electronics. This bird was built in the sixties or seventies.
It runs on technology the EMP was designed to spare because its creators were using the same technology to deliver it. ”
He gestured toward the burned Humvee.
“That’s the pattern. Everything that died was modern.
Everything that lived was old. Cars with points ignition.
Radios with vacuum tubes. Planes were built when engineers expected things to break and be fixed with wrenches instead of software updates.
The military is scrambling right now. Every base in the country is tearing apart storage facilities for equipment that predates the digital revolution.
If it has tubes instead of chips, it’s worth more than anything in an armory. ”
The implications rearranged themselves in her mind. The world hadn’t simply ended. It had been selectively dismantled with precision down to the component level. What remained wasn’t random. It was built to withstand a different kind of failure.
“The fighting is spreading,” Rivera said.
“The SNA didn’t just hit the coast. They’re pushing inland along every major corridor.
Highways first, then secondary roads, then rural networks.
They want control of the transportation infrastructure before winter.
Once the snow comes, movement gets harder for everyone, and whoever controls the roads controls whatever’s left. You said you’re heading west.”
“West Virginia. A farm outside Mill Gap.”
“That’s nearly two hundred miles.”
“I know.”
“You won’t make it on horseback. Not with winter coming and that cough getting worse.”
He said it plainly, and Charlotte didn’t argue. Her lungs burned with each breath behind the mask, and the warm metallic taste had become constant. The antibiotics were buying time, not health.
“What’s your alternative?” she asked.
“Find the National Guard checkpoints. They’re establishing them along the westward routes, any road that leads away from the population centers.
They’ll have medical resources, evacuation support, and intelligence on safe routes.
If that C-130 was heading west, there’s still a functioning airfield somewhere that’s receiving supplies.
Find the checkpoints. Follow their directions.
They’ll get you farther than a horse will. ”
“The clinic in Dover,” she said. “Civilian volunteers, some of whom are doctors. Oxygen. Is it still there?”
“Dover got hit. Not as bad as the coast, but there was fighting. I don’t know about the clinic specifically, but if it was running before, someone’s probably keeping it running now.
Civilians are doing that all over, setting up aid stations in buildings that still have roofs—schools, churches, community centers.
If the map says there’s a clinic in Dover, there’s a good chance it’s still functioning, or something like it is. ”
He stood up from the guardrail. The movement cost him, and Charlotte saw the strain in his face before he masked it.
“I need to get to the rally point,” he said. “My unit will be looking for me, or what’s left of them will. If I’m not there by morning, they’ll assume I’m KIA and move on. I’d rather not add another mound to the collection.”
The C-130 was long gone, its sound replaced by the silence that follows the departure of something large enough to reshape the surrounding air.
In that silence, Charlotte heard the gelding’s whinny from the hollow, Mason’s voice calling something she couldn’t make out, and the dog barking once in the pattern that had become their signal for all-clear.
She looked at Rivera and made the only decision that made sense. “You need a ride,” she said.