The Shattered Earth (Surviving the Fall 3)

Chapter 1

Mount Weather Emergency Operations Center

One Day Before the Event

A heavily modified Gulfstream III tears through the bright blue Autumn sky at nearly seven hundred and fifty miles per hour. Reinforcements in the structure of the aircraft enable it to withstand the additional forces generated by flying almost two hundred miles per hour faster than its civilian counterparts. The aircraft has a plain paint job and if the tail numbers were ever searched the aircraft would come back as being owned by a boring faceless corporation.

The truth, however, is another matter. The Gulfstream III is one of several owned and operated by the United States federal government and used as semi-secret transportation for the President, Vice President and other senior members of government. Capable of landing on airstrips where the Boeing 747 cannot, the Gulfstream III—the government modified version of which is referred to as the C-20—carries a very special passenger.

“Mr. Vice President?” A stewardess approaches a man in a suit who is staring nervously out a window. “Sir, would you please fasten your seatbelt? We’re about to land.”

“Mm?” The man looks up at her questioningly for several seconds before her request finally processes. “Oh. Right. Of course. Thank you.”

A portly man of sixty-something years old with drooping jowls, liver spots on his bald head and a smooth baritone voice that captivates his audiences, the Vice President of the United States is in a position he never thought would arrive while he was in office. As he is ferried from an event in New York to the secure underground bunker at Mount Weather, Virginia, he wonders what is happening to the rest of the high levels of government.

Secure communications channels have been down for days and only limited communications are allowed on civilian and insecure channels. He has no idea where the President is, what is being done with the members of Congress or what’s happening in the country and the rest of the world. His briefings on Damocles and the effects it is having on the world have been extensive, but he has yet to fully process what it all means.

Ten minutes later, when the wheels of the C-20 have stopped rolling, a black SUV races towards the plane and pulls to a stop. A man in a uniform steps out of the passenger seat and gives the Vice President a quick salute, then motions for him to get into the car. The Vice President obliges, not bothering to ask any questions as the SUV races back toward the Mount Weather buildings and the entrance to the underground bunker.

Hardened against nuclear attack and set a mere fifty miles west of D.C., Mount Weather is the central operations post for FEMA. It is also one of the main relocation sites for the highest military and civilian levels of government and since it is so close to D.C. it is the location of choice for fast evacuations for anyone in, around or near Washington.

Inside the bunker the SUV rolls to a stop and the massive doors begin to slowly close behind it. The Vice President watches the doors close with a raised eyebrow, then finally speaks to the driver. “No one else is coming?”

“They’re here already, sir. You’re the last.”

“Hm.” The Vice President steps out of the car and walks down a long corridor that slopes down into the mountain. He passes through two more open vault doors before the décor changes from an industrial look to an office one.

Inside the command center buried beneath Mount Weather the mood is tense. All conversations between the staff are carried on in whispers and the Vice President looks around for someone in command to speak with. After a moment a figure in a suit and tie comes jogging through the door and extends his hand, smiling apologetically.

“Mr. Vice President. I’m so sorry to keep you waiting for so long. Please, come this way.”

The man in the suit leads the Vice President through the operations command center into a large room with chairs, couches and tables scattered throughout. The place is decorated like an upscale club with leather furniture, bookcases on the walls and carpeting that keeps the myriad of conversations dulled.