The Liddy Scenario

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  THE LIDDY SCENARIO

  by Jerry D. Young

  Published by Creative Texts Publishers

  PO Box 50

  Barto, PA 19504

  www.creativetexts.com

  Copyright 2015 by Jerry D. Young

  All rights reserved

  Cover photo modified and used by license.

  Credit: _Gavroche_/Foter/CC BY

  This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United States of America copyright law.

  The following is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual names, persons, businesses, and incidents is strictly coincidental. Locations are used only in the general sense and do not represent the real place in actuality.

  ISBN: 978-0692542750

  THE LIDDY SCENARIO

  By

  JERRY D. YOUNG

  THE LIDDY SCENARIO

  Brody Cunningham watched the news, fascinated. America was under attack. The northeast coast of the country and the southern coast of California got hit hard.

  It was the 1989 Liddy scenario almost verbatim, at least in the actions. The probable perpetrators were more likely Iranian sponsored Islamic Extremists rather than a communist cell but the results were the same, plus a degree, due to the additional attacks in California that weren’t in Liddy’s memo to the president.

  The terrorists had hit EHV transformers, shutting down the entire electrical grid to New England. The same thing in California, isolating it, too, from the electrical supplies produced in the middle of the country.

  Choke points on the railroads all over the country were destroyed, limiting rail traffic to mostly local use, which wasn’t that much in demand. Coal fired power plants began to run out of fuel all across the country.

  Enhanced EMP devices were used in New York City; Washington, DC; Houston, Texas; Chicago, Illinois; Atlanta, Georgia; and Los Angles and Sacramento, California. Fortune 500 Corporate records, Federal reserve banking information, IRS and Social Security records, California and New York State and City welfare and entitlement records, and much private information was wiped from computers. Depending on the degree of secure back up, which wasn’t much for some of the systems., it would be months to years before computer records were re-created from paper records.

  Almost every major natural gas pipeline was hit and either the lines blown where they crossed rivers, or the pumping stations taken out. More power plants went down.

  Refineries in California and all along the Gulf coast were hit with RPG’s, creating explosions and starting fires that burned for days.

  Fully two dozen aircraft were shot down just before landing or after takeoff. Flight was restricted to military aircraft, with fighter escorts that could use countermeasures on the shoulder fired missiles that had taken down the commercial craft. At first the escorts seemed unnecessary after the attacks stopped for a full day, but three more flights that had been given special permission to fly were shot down. After that all commercial traffic was stopped for the duration.

  The attacks took place over three days, near the end of June. The Federal Government’s first and third benefit and Social Security checks for July did not go out. That’s when the riots started in Washington, DC and all over California, primarily in Los Angeles and in New York.

  Brody had gone in to work the first day of the attacks at the big box home improvement store where he was a warehouseman. The power went out around noon, when another section of the power grid, trying to carry the load around the blown transformers, had a cascading failure that blew many of the primary power interconnect transformers.

  As news of the widespread attacks became known, one employee after another was sent home with the instructions to call in an hour before shift during the following days to see if the store would be open, and if so, where the individual employee would be needed.

  Brody knew he was low man on the totem pole at the store. He went in and signed up with a temp service again. That was what he had been doing since he got laid off at his previous job and got the warehouseman’s job.

  The people at the temp service weren’t too hopeful. More and more information was coming in about the countrywide effects of the terrorist attacks. So Brody stayed home, conserving his cash, calling in to the store every morning, and staying by the phone the rest of the time, hoping for the temp service to call.

  Getting low on fresh food on day six after the attack, Brody walked to the local grocery store where he normally shopped. “Should have known,” Brody said under his breath. The shelves were bare. With limited fuel not many trucks were going anywhere, including grocery store supply trucks, though they were getting priority over almost everything except for fuel deliveries and medical transport.

  Brody turned around and walked out without buying anything. “Prep time,” he said to himself, going back to his apartment to get his mountain bike and trailer. He still had a month’s worth of LTS food in the apartment, but he decided to move some from the storage room he rented in case non-motorized travel was restricted, too. Better to save fuel for more important needs.

  It took him three trips to get what he wanted, getting the manager from the office each time to open the gate to the facility. It was electronically controlled and wasn’t working, though the power was on. Supplied for a few days, Brody continued to try to find work. Then work found him. The temp service called and asked if he could operate small construction equipment like backhoes, skid steer loaders, and such. Brody said, “Yes, I can.”

  It had been several years since he had, but he figured he could pick it up again quickly. He didn’t ask where the job was going to be, but he shrugged after he hung up and decided it really didn’t matter.

  The next day Brody checked the address three times when he arrived at what he thought he’d read. He was right the first time, too. It was a cemetery. There was no office, as such. Only what looked to Brody like a garage, which, Brody decided, only made sense.

  After locking his truck, Brody walked over to the building. Sure enough, it was a garage, with the access door on the other side. There was an elderly man there tinkering on a Case tractor backhoe.

  “Wha’cha’ doing here, boy?” the old man asked.

  “I’m Brody. The temp service sent me down here to work.”

  “‘Bout time they brought in somebody. You ever dug a grave before?”

  Brody shook his head.

  “Well, come on along. Got the old goat to going.” The Case rumbled to life and the old man put away his tools. Climbing into the seat of the open ROPS cage, he started to pull out of the garage just as Brody started to step up and ride beside him.

  “No riders, boy,” the old man said. “OSHA don’t like it. You walk. I’ll ride.”

  Brody nodded and easily walked alongside the old backhoe. The old man wasn’t pushing it very fast. He watched as the old man used the backhoe to carefully dig a grave, where the sod had already been removed. Brody knew enough about running equipment to know that the old man was an expert.

  The old man maneuvered the backhoe away from the grave. There was another plot with the sod removed. “You do that one. Just like I did this one.” That was all he said before he turned around and walked off.

  Climbing onto the backhoe, Brody worked rather slowly, until he’d acquainted himself with
the eccentricities of the backhoe. Then he was able to dig a bit faster, though he knew he was nowhere as fast as the old man, nor as precise. He’d just finished the grave when another man, dressed in soiled coveralls, came up and pointed off in another section of the graveyard.

  “Hop to it. We got nine more today.”

  “Nine?” Brody asked.

  The fellow hurried off without answering. Brody put the Case in gear and headed in the direction in which the man had pointed. It didn’t take him long to find the next plot needing to be dug. He worked steadily until after one and then went to his truck to get his lunch. He slipped out of his shirt, leaving on his T-shirt. It was really getting hot.

  Brody had barely taken a bite of his sandwich when the old man came walking up slowly. “Hurry it up, boy. We gots lots more to do.”

  “Don’t I get a lunch?” Brody asked, a bit annoyed.

  “You got it. Now hurry up. I hope you know enough to stay out of sight during the ceremonies.”

  “Sure,” Brody said, not having had a clue. But it made sense. Still eating his sandwich, and grabbing a bottle of water to take with him, Brody headed back to where he’d parked the backhoe. “Where next?”

  “Pick a spot without a headstone, that isn’t already a fresh grave. Do the best you can peeling and saving the sod. Quantity is now the goal, over quality.”

  Brody shrugged. “Sure thing. What’s your name, anyway?”

  “Emit Smith. What’s it to you?”

  “Nothing,” Brody quickly said. “Just wanted to know what to call you.”

  “Don’t call me. This is my last day. You’re on your own as of right now,” Emit said. “Just gotta get my lunch bucket and I’m out of here.”

  “But… What am I supposed to do? Who will sign my timecard?”

  “Take it to the coroner’s office. He’s in charge of this mess. This part of it, anyway.”

  Brody was confused. But when he took on a job, he completed it. Doing as Emit had said, Brody picked random undisturbed plots and kept dig-ging all afternoon, until six. He had well over his eight in, without a real lunch, plus.

  There was no one around when he parked the Case backhoe in the garage and closed the door. Another hearse was pulling into the cemetery as he pulled out. He had to stop and look at a telephone book to find out where the coroner’s office was. He drove down to the city morgue and asked for the coroner.

  The person was on their way out the door and just pointed down the hallway. Brody went down it and found the office door marked Coro-ner’s Office. He knocked on the door and went in when a voice said, “Come in.”

  “Yes? What is it?” The man looked up then. “Oh. Who are you?”

  “Brody Cunningham. I’ve been digging graves at the city cemetery. I’m a temp. I was told you would sign off my time card.”

  “For crying out loud! This should be taken care of by the City Cemetery Administrator. Who told you me?”

  “Emit Smith. He said it was his last day.”

  “You’re kidding! That old geezer is quitting? He’s been grave digger at that cemetery since he was nineteen.”

  “He told me it was his last day. I’ve no way of knowing if he means it or not. He sure looked like he did.”

  Brody held out the time card to the coroner. According to the name plate on his desk his name was Dr. Steven Crane. “Dr. Crane?”

  Crane essentially snatched the card from Brody’s hand. “Let me see! I might as well… Wait. This card goes through Sunday. I’m not about to sign it and let you put any hours on it you want. Looks like you’re al-ready fudging. Nine and a half hours today?”

  “Emit had me work through lunch, and I had to finish the grave I was on. He had me dig a bunch of them. What’s going on?” Brody’s inquisitive nature had gotten the best of him.

  “People die. They need graves. Here. Bring this back when you have Saturday and Sunday entered.”

  “You want me to work the weekend?”

  “People die every day of the week, or didn’t you know that?”

  “Yes, sir. I know that. But…” Brody needed the work. Why not? At least he wasn’t digging the graves by hand. “Okay. Saturday and Sunday it is. Can I take a lunch?”

  Dr. Crane suddenly looked thoughtful. “Well… Of course you’re entitled to a lunch… But make it a short one.”

  The telephone rang and Dr. Crane answered it. He hadn’t given Brody the time card back so Brody waited. And listened to one half of the conversation.

  “How many?” Pause “Aren’t we going to get Federal help?” Pause. “I imagine so, but…” Pause. “Have you seen the weather forecast?” Pause. “That means we’re going to have to go to extreme measures.”

  Dr. Crane hung up the telephone slowly. Suddenly he looked up at Bro-dy, startled. “You didn’t hear any of that. You understand?”

  Brody nodded. Something was up. Not only was he curious, he did need the money.

  “Oh. Here. Have Julie Anne take care of this tomorrow.”

  “Julie Anne?” Brody asked, taking the card when Dr. Crane held it out.

  “Julie Anne Baumgartner. She’s the Cemetery Administrator. She’ll be out there in the morning to give you some instructions. If she isn’t, you give me a call. You have a cell phone?”

  “Doesn’t everybody?” Brody asked, taking out his Motorola and show-ing it to the doctor.

  “Take my card. Call me if she isn’t there and start doing what you were doing today.” With that Dr. Crane put his head down and began reading the material he’d been reading when Brody had gone in.

  Taking the card, Brody left. “Something is up,” Brady said to himself as he went back out to his pick up. It seemed even hotter now with the sun going down than earlier in the day. Brody hadn’t seen the weather fore-cast that morning. He turned up the AC in the truck and the cab was just getting cool by the time he got home.

  Brody flipped the light switch when he went into the apartment, but nothing happened. He turned on the battery lamp on the bookcase by the door of the apartment and then, without thinking, tried the TV remote. “Dummy!” he said to himself and tossed the remote back onto the sofa. Brody pulled a small flashlight from his pocket and began checking boxes that were stacked along the wall of the apartment. It took him only two tries to find the small battery operated TV. He had things organized fairly well.

  There were batteries with the TV and he put them in and turned the unit on. All five local stations were broadcasting. Just to find out, Brody hooked the cablevision cable to the TV. Nothing. He went back to the TV’s built-in antenna. He watched his favorite station. They were run-ning on backup power the anchor woman said.

  “The best information we have is that this is a cascade failure related to the terrorists’ attacks on the electrical grid in other parts of the nation. The city authorities are asking that everyone that doesn’t have a critical job function to stay home until this situation is rectified.

  “Anyone in critical need of food should call one of the food banks that have been set up. The numbers are scrolling across the bottom of your screen. The hospitals are already overloaded. Only in the most serious cases should you call 911 or take someone to the hospital.

  “Mike, how is the weather going to cooperate?”

  The scene changed to the weather set. Mike didn’t look too hopeful. “Janice, I’m afraid the weather is not going to cooperate at all. The temperatures from this new system will continue to climb just slightly to-night and then zoom to over one-hundred tomorrow. Janice.”

  “Thank you, Mike. Definitely not good news. As with those needing food, a few ‘cooling centers’ have been set up around the city. Those numbers are now scrolling at the bottom of the screen. Please…”

  The TV screen went snowy. Brody tried another channel. They were still up and running. But saying the same things. Hot and hotter the next few days. With no word on when the electricity might come back on. Limited fuel and food deliveries, if any.

  “Not go
od,” Brody said. He opened up the windows of the apartment and got ready for bed. Not much to do but sleep. He didn’t want to waste battery power reading or watching what TV there was. He set his alarm for the next morning just before he went to bed.

  Brody was bathed in sweat when the alarm woke him up the next morning. Crossing his fingers he went to the bathroom. There was no water pressure. He used the bathroom, realizing that after the one flush, he would have to start using the chemical toilet.

  He used some of his bottled water supply to take a quick sponge bath and then got dressed. The roads were a mess, with all the traffic signal lights off and not enough police to direct traffic at all the major intersections. A few civilians were trying to do the directing, but they were ignored for the most part.

  Brody had expected it and took the long way around to get to the cemetery to avoid the grid lock. He had the garage opened up and the Case running, after a bit of fiddling with it. A few minutes later, Brody was about ready to call Dr. Crane, but he saw a car pull in and park next to his truck.

  “Miss Baumgartner?” Brody asked when he met her halfway to the gar-age.

  “Ms., if you don’t mind. And you are?”

  “Brody. Dr. Crane said you’d have some instructions for me this morn-ing?” Brody lifted his cap and ran a sleeve across his forehead. It was al-ready hot.

  “Yes. We are… to be blunt… having a burial crisis in the midst of this larger crisis. We are going to have to stop doing individual graves, except for those that are willing to pay extra. The bodies are stacking up in refrigerator trucks and we’re running out of diesel for them. I will show you where I want slit trenches dug for mass graves. You’ll dig one for immediate use, and then start on the others, filling the first as bodies are added.”

  Brody was stunned. They were turning to mass graves already. It was inconceivable. “There are that many deaths already?”

  “Yes. Now don’t stand around. Get the tractor and follow me.” Julie Anne Baumgartner was all business.