Apocalypse Atlanta (Book 4): Apocalypse Asylum (3 page)

“This channel is one of several we broadcast and monitor on.  The other frequencies follow; monitoring is twenty four/seven, for the duration.”

Peter listened as the male voice started reading off a series of numbers.  One of the operators spoke up as the playback’s volume was lowered.  “That’s basically it.  After the frequencies, it says they’ll transmit every six hours, then nothing for thirty seconds, when it repeats in full.”

“We got a full recording off the repeat.” another operator mentioned.

“You woke up by then, you mean.”
Peter thought, though he kept it to himself.  He knew it was tougher than it seemed to stay alert on something as dull as radio watch; especially when nothing ever seemed to happen.  Well, something had happened now.  “Have you tried to contact them?”

“Yes.”

Peter waited, then allowed himself a slight frown.  “And . . .” he said expectantly.

“Oh, uh, we aren’t getting any response.”

“Why not?” Sawyer asked.

“They’re out of range.”

“How is it we can hear them but they can’t hear us?” Peter wondered aloud.

“Transmission power.” Mendez said from the doorway behind Peter.

The Marine turned and looked at him.  “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough.” the Guardsman said, wearing an expression of concentration.  “Assuming we’re not dealing with an atmospheric oddity, they can’t hear our transmissions because our signal can’t reach them.”

Peter sighed, thinking of how much work was probably ahead of them to solve this issue.  He had no idea, exactly, how they’d boost the power, but he figured it would probably require gathering generators or batteries or something like that.  “How much more power do we need?”

“It’s not necessarily a question of throwing in enough juice.” Mendez began, but the third radio operator, the one who’d been quiet so far, spoke up abruptly.

“We haven’t hooked up the right kind of equipment for me to verify it, but I’ll bet anything they’re actually bouncing their messages off a comm sat.  We’ll need to do the same if we want to get in touch with them.”

Peter glanced at the man curiously, but Sawyer was talking.

“What would you need to verify it?”

“Doesn’t matter, does it?” the operator answered, blinking at her.  “We can hear them.  What we’re worried about is getting them to hear us.  Right?”

“Right.” Peter nodded approvingly.  “How do we do that?”

“I’m not sure we can.” Mendez sighed.  “Maybe if we can lay our hands on some sat-comm gear and a code list so we can access the satellite links, but the closest place I’d  bet we could find all that for sure would be Benning or Gordon.”

“Clay wouldn’t have it?”

Mendez shrugged.  “The base looked kind of torn apart when we went through before, and sat gear isn’t exactly designed to stand up to being thrown like that, but maybe.”

“Nothing says Benning or Gordon aren’t in the same condition.” Whitley said.

“Nothing says they are.” Mendez replied.  “But anyway you cut it, we’re looking at a road trip and a search.”

The radio operator chuckled, drawing eyes back to him.  “You’re thinking military.”

“If we’ve got to transmit from here to South fucking Dakota, then we’re gonna need a satellite.” Mendez said a little heatedly.

“Perhaps, but it doesn’t have to be a military satellite.”

“Ted, mil-spec gear would be quicker than trying to build a transmission tower tall and big enough to reach them.” another operator said.

“Satellites don’t just accept any old incoming connection.” Mendez pointed out.  “Unless someone around here can hack into civilian bird, we’ll need to use a mil-sat and that’ll take codes.”

“You might be up to speed on the slot A into tab B procedures they taught you in comm school, but you’re not a radio enthusiast like I am.” Ted told Mendez, completely ignoring the other operator’s comment.  “Trust me, I can have us connected to them by tonight.  I just need someone to get my laptop out of secured storage.”

“You checked it in?” Sawyer asked.

Ted nodded.  “Well yeah.  I wasn’t going to leave it laying around for someone to steal or step on or something.  It’s not like there’s a lot of private space around here.”

Peter touched Mendez on the shoulder and shook his head quickly when he saw the soldier starting to bristle just a little.  “Ted, what does your laptop have to do with getting us in touch with whoever sent that transmission?”

“We know who sent it.” one of the operators objected.

“We know what they
say
they are.” Whitley corrected.

“We need to talk to them.  Figuring out who they are can wait until we’re in contact and can ask some questions.” Peter said.

“I’ve been a ham for over twenty-five years.” the man said.  “I can work out what we need to know the hard way, but it’ll take some time — probably at least a week — to build up a frequency list and schedule of passes from scratch.  My laptop’s got all that stored on the hard drive already.  Plus the tracking software I’ll need to automate the shifts is already installed.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The satellites.”

“We don’t have the codes to access any.” Mendez said, unable to contain himself any longer.  “And I’ll guarantee you we don’t have the computer power to break in without months of work.”

“We don’t need to hack anything.” Ted grinned.  “We’ve got OSCAR.”

People blinked at him for a few seconds.  Peter glanced at Mendez, who was giving the same blank look as the rest, then focused his attention back on Ted.  “Okay, who’s Oscar?”

“What’s OSCAR.” Ted corrected.  “Amateur radio satellites, for hams.  They’re not locked down or encrypted, so it’s just a matter of knowing where to point our signal and what frequency to use to make and maintain a connection to them.”

“I’ve never heard of that.” Mendez said doubtfully.

“That’s because your training focuses on off-the-shelf plug and play.” Ted replied.  “It’s not your fault, but they don’t really teach you communications so much as how to operate and maintain the specific radio models in use in the Army.”

“That’s—” Mendez began hotly.

“Fine.” Peter interrupted.  “That’s just fine.  You’re sure about these OSCAR sats?”

“Sure I’m sure.” Ted grinned.  “They’re low orbit, so their orbits are fast and quick, but once I get everything configured on our end we’ll have a few minutes per pass where we can bounce signals off one and down to South Dakota.”

“How long are the passes?”

“About every ninety minutes.  I’ve got specifics in the information stored in my laptop.”

Peter looked at Sawyer, who nodded immediately.  “Ted, give me your check number so someone can get your gear out of storage.”

“So this is going to work, right?”

Ted shrugged and adjusted his glasses on his nose.  “You never know for sure until you hear someone replying, but the equipment here is ready.”

Mendez shook his head.  “I’ve never heard of this before.”

“You’re not a ham.  You only did radio because it was your job.”

“Don’t start in on me again.”

“The important thing is you’ve both done good work.  This would have taken a lot longer if the two of you hadn’t cooperated to get us set up for the attempt.” Peter said smoothly, pitching his voice to a reasonable tone in an attempt to head off any further sniping.

Mendez was still having trouble adjusting to the reality that his training as a military communications specialist had nothing on a dedicated ‘amateur’ radio enthusiast who’d spent most of his adult life playing with radios and all the associated systems for fun.  But the fact was it
had
taken both of them to spearhead the adjustments and settings needed to do what Ted said was possible.

The ham provided the knowledge of the communications satellites in low-Earth orbit, acting as repeaters for the worldwide ham community.  It was his software that was going to control the frequency shifts necessary to connect to and track with the satellites as they zipped past in space.  Mendez, Ted’s disdain to the contrary, was actually quite competent at connecting and assembling the radio hardware.  That was not as simple as it sounded, since the transmitters were up on the school’s roof and wired to the radios with long cables.  But between both of them, it had only taken a few hours to connect and assemble everything.

Now all that remained was to test it.  The ‘comms room’, which Peter still thought was an overly optimistic description for a classroom with some radios and computers on tables, was crowded with nearly fifty people waiting to hear what happened.  In addition to most of the soldiers of the Guard unit Peter was in charge of, a good portion of Sawyer’s administrative people were present, as well as a few of the more key ‘civilian’ staffers as well.

“Okay, here we go.” Ted said, pulling one ear of the headphones he’d perched on his head into place so he could listen.  He was at one of the computers, which was wired into the radio.  Peter would have never guessed that was even possible, but according to Ted it was actually fairly common for modern radio equipment to be factory designed for computer input.

But the Marine really didn’t care about the specifics, regardless of his — apparently wrong expectation — that a radio meant a box with knobs and dials to be adjusted.  He simply stood against the whiteboards behind the line of tables, out of the way as Ted manipulated the mouse, clicking on controls on the screen.  Some speakers were in place and ready to go, but Ted had insisted they be under his control; he said it was easier to use the headphones until he was locked in.

Most of a minute went by, with people fidgeting and shifting as Ted clicked the mouse and listened to the headset.  Peter waited patiently, knowing from his own experience when he was buried in an engine or beneath a car that you couldn’t rush something technical.  Sawyer was less practiced though, and finally she apparently couldn’t take it anymore.

“Anything?”

“Not . . . yet.” Ted said quietly.  A few seconds later though, he leaned forward slightly and changed what he was doing with the mouse.  “There it is.”  Peter watched as he selected things on the screen, then suddenly the room’s speakers were active with the faint rustling crackle of a carrier signal.

“K4 G9D, K4 G9D, calling Ellsworth AFB, South Dakota.” Ted said into the microphone on the desk.  The hum of the speakers cut out when he pressed the button on the mic, then came back when he let up on it.  He said it was to avoid feedback messing with the transmission quality.

He waited a few seconds, then pressed the button again.  “K4 G9D calling Ellsworth AFB, South Dakota.”

“Is it working?” Sawyer asked.

“Yes.” Ted and Mendez said at the same time.  The Guardsman had planted himself in front of the main radio, the one being used for this.  He wasn’t touching anything — in fact, he had his hands folded beneath his armpits very deliberately — but he was watching the dials and readouts on the radio closely.

“Why aren’t they responding?”

“They might not be receiving, or they might not be listening.” Ted said.

“If it’s working, how can they not be receiving?”

The ham shrugged.  “We’re bouncing off the satellite, that much I’m sure of.  And we’re on one of the frequencies they listed.  I’m not sure if they gave some that we could use with an OSCAR on purpose or by accident, but they picked it and that’s what we’re on.  If it was an accident, their transmitter might not be set up to hit the OSCAR like we are.”

“They could also be short of monitor personnel.” Mendez said.  “Or they could be having power problems.”

“K4 G9D calling Ellsworth AFB, South Dakota.” Ted tried again.  He changed what was displaying on his screen and frowned.  “Well, we’ve got about three hundred seconds before we lose the satellite on this pass.”

“How long unt—” Sawyer began, then stopped when the speakers suddenly came alive with a male voice.

“Echo three-seven Sierra Delta, replying to K4 G9D, over.”

“G9D here Echo three-seven.” Ted said quickly, as soon as the voice stopped.  “We received your broadcast.  Looking for update on current situation there, over.”

“The situation is stable and steadily expanding.  Say your location and situation, over.”

Peter stepped forward and took the microphone from Ted, who scooted his chair a little out of the way.  This had been discussed.  “Echo three-seven, this is Bravo Mary two-one, here with G9D.  Location is Cumming, Georgia; we are a State of Georgia Guard unit, attached to a FEMA camp with three thousand seven hundred and two souls.  Situation is safe and stable as long as the scavenging holds up and no massive hordes start causing problems.  Over.”

“Cumming Georgia, over?”

“Confirm, Cumming Georgia.  Northeast of Atlanta, over.”

There was a pause, then the voice came back.  “Roger Bravo two-one, logging location and 3,702 souls.”  There was a brief pause, then the transmission resumed.  “How many are able bodied, over?”

“Echo three-seven, you are official US Gov operation, confirm, over?” Peter said, rather than answer the question.

“Confirm Bravo two-one.”

Smiles broke out across the room, but Peter remained focused on the voice.

“President Martins, former SecLabor, is in charge.  Forty-seven members of Congress, three other Cabinet Secretaries, and two of the Supreme Court Justices are here and all have confirmed Martins in office under COOP, over.”

“Say estimated timetable for relief operations reaching to southeastern CONUS, over?”

“Unable, over.”

Peter frowned.  “No estimate, over?”

The voice sounded unhappy.  “No estimate available Bravo two-one.  Stay number of able bodies available to you, over.”

Hesitating for a moment, Peter decided to approximate his answer.  “Five hundred, maybe.  Why, over?”

“We are critically short on personnel.  Can you secure transport to reach us, over?”

“Are they fucking kidding?” one of the civilians exclaimed.

Peter frowned, but Ted touched his arm and spoke quickly.

“Fifteen seconds.”

“Echo three-seven, recommend you check with any ham radio operators or information you have access to.  OSCAR satellite repeater frequencies are our only method of reaching you.  We’re about to lose this satellite until it comes around again.  The next useful pass for us is—” Peter said into the microphone, reading off the next frequency and timing written on the sticky note Ted had slapped on the side of the computer monitor.

“Roger Bravo two-one.” the voice said when Peter finished relaying the information.  “We’ll get set to respond to your next transmission.”

The voice was fading, and by the time it finished it was getting quite weak.  Peter handed the microphone back to Ted and looked at Sawyer.

“We’re not alone.” she said with a smile.

“No, we’re not.” Peter nodded.  “But we still have no idea how long it might be until they can make it here and start clearing the situation up.”

“Things aren’t so bad.” one of the administrators said.

“It’ll be getting cold in another few weeks.” Peter observed.  “Even with blankets and fires, I’ll guarantee the thirty-seven hundred people here haven’t ever really experienced winter without insulated walls and central heating to see them through it.”

“Have you?”

“Not a
whole
winter, no, but I’ve spent more than a day or two here and there sitting in a tent in sub-zero weather.  You find me more than a handful of others who can beat that and I’ll apologize, but until then, I stand behind the comment.  It’s going to get cold, and people are going to get a lot more cranky and anxious about what’s happening.  This is still fall.  When winter hits, it’s going to be harder to be nonchalant about things.

“And that doesn’t count the zombies.”

“The zombies are under control.” someone in the crowd pointed out.

Peter smiled gently.  “The enemy attacks when they’re ready and you’re not.”

“Plan for the worst.” Whitley nodded.

“They’re zombies, not Russians.” another civilian said.

“They don’t have to be smart to get lucky and hit us when we’re not ready.”

“That’s why we’ve built up the perimeter so much.” Sawyer said calmly.  “And are still focused on stockpiling everything we can get our hands on.  No one is taking the situation lightly.”

“I agree the odds of the camp falling from without are low, but a sufficiently large horde could overrun us.” Peter said.  He left unsaid what could happen if the outbreaks resumed again; if people started turning once more, the odds of the camp not being hollowed out from
within
were pretty good.  Even though people would know what to watch for this time, and a lot of them were going armed.

“Let’s stop forecasting doom and gloom.” Sawyer said firmly.

Peter resisted the urge to shrug.  “My advice is to set up a schedule of satellite passes so we can maximize our chances to talk to Ellsworth; at least for the next day.  At three or four minutes at a pop, it might take a while to conduct any meaningful communications.”

Ted nodded.  “Take me five minutes to write one out; it’s all in the computer already.”

“Make some copies of those programs and spread them around so we’ve got backups.” Sawyer ordered.

The operators nodded, one opening a small tote box and pulling some USB thumb drives out.  Peter met Sawyer’s eyes and jerked his head slightly.  She nodded just as subtly.  He went out into the corridor and walked away from the communications room.  Half a minute later Sawyer emerged and joined him after looking around.

“Trying to drive a stake through morale?” she asked.  “That’s not like you.”

“It sort of got a little out of hand, but I meant what I said.  Trust me; it might not get really cold in Georgia, but consistent temps in the thirties and forties are not fun when all you’ve got are tents.  Cold can kill.”

“I’ve got procedures on my books for dealing with cold weather.”

“I’ve no doubt.” Peter agreed.  He had a lot of respect for the little FEMA coordinator; she’d proven herself to be more than competent.  “But what I’m saying is surviving it is different from enjoying it.”

“I’m sure everyone here has experienced cold weather before.”

“I’m sure.  But this won’t be a few hours, then they duck inside to a nice warm house.  You’re talking four months of tents and bonfires.  With this many people, that’s a lot of fires; and that means a lot of wood needs to be brought back.  Or are you hoping to find the mother of all firewood stores somewhere nearby with what’s needed already cut and stacked and seasoned, ready to be hauled in?

“And by the way, the term ‘watches’ used to be ‘fire watches’, and it means exactly that.  If you don’t set some up when fire starts being necessary for survival, you could easily see a blaze take out a good portion of the camp before it can be brought under control.”

Sawyer sighed at him, then gave him a sharp look with her head cocked.  “What’s this ‘you’ thing you’re stuck on all of a sudden.  What happened to ‘us’ being in this together?”

Peter gave her a steady look in return.  “I want to talk to Ellsworth some more, but I’m leaning toward heading north.”

“What?”

“I’ve said all along I’m interested in making a difference.”

“You are making a difference.” Sawyer said immediately.  “Here.  You’ve made an enormous difference, right here.”

“I’ve done alright.”

“This camp wouldn’t even be operating if it wasn’t for you.”

“Sooner or later you would’ve sorted something out.”

The woman’s face took on a dark cast as he referenced the late ‘Acting Governor’ Carlson, who had closed the then fledgling camp to all but a handful of picked people loyal to him.  The state senator had claimed it was a temporary measure, designed to ensure the outbreaks didn’t continue and take out the gathered refuges, but in reality he’d only been interested in making sure he and his fellows were safe.