The same scene was unfolding in St. Louis. In Des Moines. Wichita. Springfield.
To the south of Omaha, a line of defense was quickly forming, composed of USAF security forces from Offutt Air Force Base and Army National Guard units from the surrounding area. They were lightly armed.
The Offutt AFB flight line was filling with strike aircraft, stopping to refuel and rearm. A-10s and F-16s thundered into the sky, heading south.
As they approached the base, Garrett watched the long blue tail of an F-16’s afterburner rocket by him as the Viper screamed south, a pair of cluster bombs slung beneath its wings.
As the Kiowa settled on the ramp at Offutt AFB, the first bright flashes from a B-52 strike lit the southern horizon. A line of six of the mighty BUFFs from Barksdale AFB, Louisiana, were puking their heavy loads of high-explosive iron bombs from their fat bellies and wing pylons, shaking the ground with a thunderous roar that rolled across the cornfields like a massive earthquake.
As the first B-52 turned back toward Barksdale, the second bomber in line dropped its load of forty 500-pound general-purpose bombs. The remaining four BUFFs lumbered through the air, awaiting their turn on the bombing run, their turn to add to the fiery maelstrom erupting below. The press liked to call it “carpet bombing.” To those who flew the old warhorses, it was called the “elephant walk”—one bomber after another, flying single-file in the sky, dropping their war loads.
For the first time in history, the oldest and mightiest symbol of American airpower was tearing into an enemy on American soil. It was a sobering sight.
As Garrett carried Carolyn across the ramp toward a waiting Humvee, all he could hear was the rumble from the B-52 strikes, the bomb blasts lighting the sky with an eerie orange glow.
He couldn’t hear the sound of thousands of claws tearing into the soil, digging, digging. As the high explosives from the BUFFs blew hundreds of them to shreds with each detonation, the wave stopped in place.
A low moaning sound escaped from the open maws of the upright things, barely audible over the bombing’s lionlike roar. Giving orders.
Soil flew through the air as each of the things tore into the ground with such ferocity, such urgency, that in a matter of minutes most had disappeared from view. They continued to dig, even as the 500-pound bombs continued dropping among them and unearthing hundreds with each earth-trembling blast, throwing their torn bodies high into the air and scattering pieces all over the once-peaceful farmland. Those that avoided the bombs continued to dig until they were far belowground, safe from the aerial onslaught being unleashed against them.
But they weren’t trying to escape the bombardment. It was time.
To burrow.
To rest.
And more importantly, it was time to multiply.
At that same instant, the five other waves of creatures stopped in place and started to dig as well. A biological clock in the restructured brains of each of the things had hit an internal stop — the urgency to feed was replaced by an urgency to get underground, to hide. To prepare for the changes to come.
The high-altitude grumble from the B-52s’ engines receded into the distance as they left their target area to recover at Barksdale.
When the sun broke the horizon announcing a new day, the American heartland was quiet once again.
Quiet as a tomb.
DAY TWO
CHAPTER 23
“Mr. President?”
Andrew lifted his head, surprised he’d actually dozed off for a few minutes. He quickly glanced at his watch, and found his few minutes had in fact lasted more than an hour. Jessie Hruska was standing by his desk, her hand resting on his shoulder.
“Sir, General Smythe is on the line from the NMCC. He has some new information.”
Andrew reached for his secure phone, which had a direct connection to the National Military Command Center in the Pentagon. “Yes, General?”
“Mr. President, we’ve had a new development.”
“Go on.”
“Sir, the things have disappeared.”
“Disappeared?”
“They’re gone, sir. None of our monitoring equipment is picking them up. No infrared signatures, no ground radar contacts, no visual sightings. We think they may have gone underground.”
“When did this happen?”
“About forty-five minutes ago, sir. The first B-52 strike was hitting them outside of Omaha and—”
“Forty-five minutes ago? Why wasn’t I notified immediately?” He flashed an angry glance at his national security advisor, which he instantly regretted. He’d been awake for over twenty hours straight. Allison had noticed the fatigue in his voice, and called him on it. Now was not the time for the president of the United States to be asleep on his feet, she’d said, and as usual, she was right. Fifteen-minute catnaps could do wonders.
Jessie must’ve made sure he wasn’t disturbed once he dozed off. She’d only woken him when it was absolutely necessary to do so.
The general was fumbling for words on the other end of the line. “Uh, sir, we weren’t exactly sure what we were seeing. I wanted solid info before—”
“Okay, General. I understand.” He looked apologetically at Jessie, and she smiled back. For just an instant, as he looked into her eyes, he allowed himself to feel a moment of affection for her. It was something he’d tried to avoid, tried to ignore, but it was getting more and more difficult.
Ever since the death of his wife over two years ago, he’d completely buried his whole being in the demands of the job — in part to deal with his loss, and in part to shield himself from those around him. A president, no matter what happened in his personal life, had to remain strong, especially in a time of war. Showing weakness, even when faced with the loss of someone so dear to him, was simply not an option. He had mourned, and the nation had mourned with him. But it had only been for a short time. No matter how much it hurt, he felt he had to put it behind him and move forward as quickly as possible, for the sake of his country.
As the months dragged on and he continued to bury his pain underneath the events of the day, it became less and less prevalent, even in the few quiet moments he was able to grab over the course of his grueling daily schedule. He thought of his wife less and less, which at times caused an incredible guilt to sweep over him.
After a year had passed, however, he began to feel a connection with his national security advisor. It was a connection that had grown stronger with each passing day. They’d worked side by side continuously during his administration, and there was rarely a day that went by when they weren’t together in some capacity. Andrew knew, deep down, that Jessie Hruska cared for him. She was an incredible woman — strong, capable, and unafraid. She’d been a superb source of guidance and counsel to him and had helped direct the course of the nation in this time of war. More importantly, she’d been a source of comfort for him, especially after his wife had died. There had been many little moments like this, when she’d openly shown her compassion for him. He was finding it extremely difficult to keep his relationship with her on a strictly professional level.
She was striking — no man could help but notice her. But he was starting to look beyond the physical, to see inside. With subtle glances across a conference table or seemingly unintentional touches when they were standing close, he could tell she was feeling the same thing. The professional part of him told him it couldn’t happen — shouldn’t happen — but the man inside of him was telling him something entirely different.
And it was getting harder to ignore.
Andrew returned his thoughts to his chairman of the Joint Chiefs on the other end of the line as Jessie sat down across from his desk. “Go ahead, Ray. Continue,” he said.