text:
Jacqueline Druga
ONE – Impact
The single first command didn't bring chaotic screams to the plane, the loud mumbles of concern came minutes earlier when the pilot announced the red eye flight was making a forced landing.
He assured the passengers that it would be a rough landing, apologized for the inconvenience, and promised it would be no more than a few bumps and bruises.
"Head down. Stay down."
The female flight attendant had enormous command over her voice. Not giving into emotions, not conveying fear or concern, just direction.
"Grab your ankles. Brace. Brace."
Engines whirled louder as the plane made a quick descent, feeling more so like a rushed landing. There was a sense that everything was going to be fine, a little rough, but fine nonetheless. Until the second illumination and the interior of the plane was as bright as day.
The engines just stopped.
"Heads down. Stay down. Brace."
A split second of quiet and then an eruption of screams ensued the moment everyone realized the plane was on a free fall glide to the ground.
Suddenly, the calm flight attendant picked up urgency in her commands, repeated them like a broken record.
"Head down. Stay down. Grab your ankles."
Kit Rolland wasn't scared. She expected that she would be. All those preflight jitters, constant prayers before boarding, the fear of dying in a plane crash… gone.
Instead of crying, screaming and panicking, Kit felt an abundance of calm.
There was no flashing of her life before her eyes. If this was indeed it, the final moments of her life, she was not going to spend it feeling desperate, she was going to savor every last second.
"Brace. Brace."
Kit knew that no amount of bracing, head down was going to stop the inevitable. The plane was without power and even if somehow she survived the crash, that was only round one.
Others may or may not have seen, but Kit did.
The quick progression of events made sense to her.
They didn't at the time, but now she had clarity.
"Head down. Stay down."
Kit didn't follow those commands, instead she turned her body to search.
She needed that. She needed those one last looks.
My son, my brothers, she thought. Were they okay? How are they handling it? After all, they were on the flight. The last minute travel arrangements had them all scattered about.
She scanned across the aisle one row back, 10B to her seventeen year old son. Zeke was in the brace position. His legs together, leaning as far down as he could, forehead to his knees with his fingers locked on top of his head. The man next to him had his head against the seat before him, clutching the top.
Was Zeke scared? More than anything Kit wanted to call to him. Tell him she loved him, but she feared him moving, changing his position. He needed to be that way, just in case that worked.
In her mind she told him how she felt. In her mind, she held his hand.
Her oldest brother Regis was two rows behind her in a middle seat. His eyes were closed, he wasn't putting his head down. Somehow, as if he sensed Kit was looking at him, he opened his eyes, gave her that reassuring big brother look before finally lowering his head down.
"Grab your ankles. Brace."
Her youngest brother.
Where was he?
He was nearer to the back.
Kit had to see, she had to look, she had to know.
She rose slightly to a near standing position and searched. She didn't see him. However, she did see the woman in the red sweater. Mark was seated next to her. He, too had to be in position.
Knowing somehow everyone was all right, Kit sat down.
It was at that second, her heart raced.
This was it.
"Brace. Brace."
The one pure sad thought Kit had was, "My poor mother." Her mother was a strong woman. Alone she raised her kids. Her children were her life, her driving force. How was her mother going to deal with not only the loss of three of her four children, but her grandson as well?
Kit's oldest daughter. Barely over the legal drinking age, Jillie stayed behind. She had just gotten married and was expecting her first child.
At least her mother had Jillie.
Kit sat back down then buckled her belt. She closed her eyes, pressed her head back against the seat and inhaled, feeling the plane going at a smooth angle downward.
"Get down!" the man yelled.
Kit opened her eyes and looked over the empty seat between them to the man next to her.
He leaned partially forward and looked at her. "Get down."
Kit just stared.
He extended his arm, cupped the back of her head and shoved her down and forward. It was abrasive and her forehead skinned against the plastic of the folded upright tray table.
Before she could react, jump back…
The first hit sent a jolt up her backside to her hips. The top of Kit's head hit hard into the seat in front of her and her own seat slammed down and folded on her back.
She felt folded in half, barely able to move. Her arms dangled down and she wanted to bring them up but couldn't. A loud ringing commenced in her ears and they filled with the pressure of the fast moving and out of control plane against the ground.
Another bang and jolt lifted her up some, but her belt and the back of her own seat restrained her. She turned her head, looking to her left as the plane swerved viciously left to right. Some passengers were no longer in a crash position. Their bodies bounced out of control with each joggle of the aircraft. Luggage flew about the cabin. A blue laptop case sailed end over end at a high speed, slamming into the man in 9C.
Blood splattered and he rolled from his seat into the aisle, then as if he were a rubber ball, bounced upward to the ceiling.
Debris flew everywhere.
Screams lessened and were more sporadic.
There were no more jolts, no more bangs, just a fast sailing fuselage, sliding against the ground with no means to stop.
With each foot the plane moved Kit felt the pressure pushing her, but more so the compression, as if her body would eventually smash like a bug.
The plane came to an abrupt stop. The seat against her back, the one keeping her down lifted and Kit flew to her right, cracking her head against the window.
It wasn't enough to render her unconscious. She wished it was.
Although the adrenaline aided in her not feeling any pain, it didn't stop the fact that she couldn't breathe when a thick dust or smoke poured into the plane.
Kit choked and coughed and then, for a brief moment… Kit died.
TWO – Boarding
Four hours earlier
Her stomach twisted with a warning hunger pain that told Kit she had better get something to eat before they boarded the flight. Peanuts and pretzels weren't going to cut it since the only thing she had to eat all day was a cup of ramen noodles.
She wanted to eat and intended to do so, but she was rushing around for a trip she had only two days notice about.
Her options for food were limited. It was already after ten pm and not much was open at the airport. She was already at the gate, a little earlier than expected. She had overestimated how long it would take at TSA.
Kit teetered between looking at her phone and people watching. There was strange energy at the gate. People seemed tense, moved around quite a bit and the airline kept announcing that they were looking for people to give up their seats. They were offering such exuberant priced vouchers, Kit even debated on giving up hers. She couldn't. It wasn't a vacation, it was a trip she didn't want to take, but it was one that she had to take.
She wondered where all these extra people needing seats were, because to her, the gate looked pretty empty. Then again there was a strange amount of soldiers at the gate, about twelve, all lugging huge duffle bags and backpacks. All in uniform. Were they being deployed somewhere? Perhaps that was the reason they needed the seats.
None of them looked happy. In fact, one soldier, a young man paced back and forth, phone to his ear, appearing to be having some sort of emotional conversation. Kit felt bad for him.
Then again, she was well aware of emotional conversations.
Her phone beeped signaling a message and Kit didn't want to read it. Until she saw it was from her daughter.
'Be careful. Good luck. Text me when you land. Love you.'
Kit smiled and replied with thanks and love.
She would need good luck on many levels. In the seconds following that text it hit her again the reason for the trip. Kit's chest swelled with anxiety and heaviness, she exhaled to try to relieve it.
It wasn't a fun filled trip, or business venture. In fact Kit only took flights east twice a year to visit her father.
This was the first trip in the year, but also the last one she would ever take.
Her father had died.
Even though he lived thousands of miles away, Kit was not estranged from him. Her parents divorced when she was young and then her mother moved them all from Virginia to Washington State. She spent a few summers with her father, then as she grew older, the trips were less frequent. However, she never missed a phone call, daily texts, weekly video chats and all the social media things in between.
His death was a shock.
He was still young in her mind, only sixty-five. Not even retired. Kit had just spoken to him, he was going fishing. Then a few hours later, his wife Sandra called to say he had a heart attack. That was it. He was gone.
The memorial service was in three days.
It was Sandra who made the flight arrangements. Deana, Kit's sister lived out east. Kit supposed Deana hoped none of the siblings showed up. If flight arrangements were up to her, Deana probably would have said, "Sorry they're booked up."
Rather… she didn't want Mark to come.
Mark was the black sheep, the outcast and more so recently because of his sudden divorce. For some reason, everyone passed judgment on Mark because he didn't want to be married anymore. They sided with his wife as if Mark committed some sort of mortal sin.
It was his third wife, but the only one he ever had a child with.
Regis didn't talk to Mark, nor did Deana and because Kit decided to be Switzerland, Regis avoided her.
It was a mess and one Kit wished they'd all get over. Especially at a time when they all needed each other.
Another beep of her phone, and Kit looked down. She thought Jillie was texting again, but it was Deana.
'You know he didn't even tell his wife he was leaving?' Deana texted. 'Our brother is a piece of shit. Keep him away from me.'
Kit exhaled and thought, really? Our dad just died and you're being like this?
Kit didn't respond.
"Mom, you okay?" Zeke asked, snapping her from her stare of the phone.
"Um, yeah." Kit cleared her throat. "Just Aunt Deana being…"
"Aunt Deana?"
"Yep." Her fingers fumbled. "I think I'll just shut it off."
"You don't need to."
"Yes, more than you realize, I do." She held the button in to shut it off. "Thank you for coming to this."
"Mom, please, it's Pap."
Suddenly Kit's eyes felt heavy and her throat thickened. She had tried not to cry so much. "Yeah, it was."
"Anyhow… Uncle Rege asked me to run to Pizza Villa and grab him food. You want anything."
"Oh, yes, please." She reached for her purse. "Get me a slice and coffee." Grabbing her wallet, she pulled out a twenty.
"He gave me money."
"I don't think he wants to pay for my food." Kit forced a sad smile.
"Mom, really?"
"Yeah, really." She placed the bill in his hand. "Just plain pizza if they have it. Thank you."
Zeke took the money, put it in his pocket. "It will all get better. It'll work out. You'll see, the second we touch down everything will change." After kissing her on the cheek he walked away.
Kit shook her head sadly and tried to smile at his youthful optimism.
He didn't get it.
Things were bad. It got petty and mean. Brothers and sisters shouldn't hate each other at any age. They were far too old for the drama.
It broke Kit's heart.
She looked across the terminal to her brother Mark who was on the phone at the other end of the gate. Then she glanced to Regis who was reading something five rows over. It was pathetic, and sad. They should be grieving over their father together not battling it individually. They weren't strangers, they were family. Not only were they away from each other at the airport, they would be seated separately on the plane, but they were emotionally further apart than they had ever been.
Never before had they been anything less than a tight unit. Always having each other's backs.
More than anything, Kit wanted them all to be as one, to heal, to come together. She hoped and believed with everything in her that the pettiness of the previous weeks would be lost and become a distant memory, and that somehow they'd all forgive and forget the hurtful things said and done.
She thought of Zeke's words.
"It'll work out. You'll see, the second we touch down, everything will change."
Little did she know, as she sat at that gate, that when the plane did touch down, how absolutely right Zeke would be.
THREE – Flight 2468
Typically, there was a lot of bumping and polite shoving when Kit boarded a plane. Impatient people fighting for their spot in line so they could get overhead compartment space. It wasn't that way, there just didn't seem to be that many people.
She conveyed her curiosity to Zeke about why they were offering vouchers for people to give up their seats, to which he simply replied, "Maybe it's not a space issue as much as it is a weight issue."
Was the plane carrying a heavy cargo?
Kit was certain she didn't add much to the baggage weight, her small carry on fit nicely in the space overhead. Although, she did have some trouble getting it in, not because of the weight, more so because people were trying to squeeze by her. One of them, her brother Regis. He brushed by her as if he was a stranger and took his seat. He never brought carry on with him. He was a snob on that front, even going as far as getting irritated with people who carried their own luggage. She guessed he was especially irritated with Mark, because he just didn't bring a small suit case, he brought a tote and laptop. She was curious as to how Mark was going to get away with it.
Mark walked by her and shook his head. "How'd you and Zeke get so lucky up here. I'm like way in the back."
"You'll manage."
Mark shoved her carry on in the bin. "You're holding up the line." He grinned.
He was such a stark contrast to Regis.
The big brother was a real estate lawyer and served on the board of his local church. Mark was a free spirit, who worked doing sales pitches at conventions and car shows, while making a little money doing acting gigs.
On the physical side, Regis was older, bald and stout, especially around the middle. Mark was tall, thin with dark wavy hair and a thirty thousand dollar smile. Literally, a thirty thousand dollar smile… he took out a second mortgage for his dynamic grin when he landed a small speaking roll and an 'on screen' part in a blockbuster super hero movie.
She slipped deeper into her row, grateful she had a window seat and shook her head when she saw Mark apparently smooth talking the flight attendant because she happily helped him stow his bags even though he was breaking the rules.
As she sat down, she saw the same soldier from the gate. He was still on the phone. He took the seat in front of her.
"Why are you still there?" he said on the phone. "Listen to me. No… listen to me."
Oh, this is going to be annoying , she thought, hang up the phone, we'll be leaving soon.
He plopped down hard in the seat causing it to flap back at Kit.
"Oh my God, Jenna, please, please listen to me," he said, his voice soft yet cracking.
Kit would have gotten irritated had she not heard how emotionally he sounded.
She felt bad. Obviously the solider was dealing with something that was beating him up. She didn't want to eavesdrop, it was just impossible not to.
Tune him out , she thought.
Her flight plane was simple, while everyone else wanted to settle into a slumber on the overnight flight, Kit planned on reading. In the age where everyone had electronic reading devices, she pulled out the old tattered paperback of, Alas, Babylon . It was in horrible condition because it had been read a million times. It was her father's favorite book, and he gave it to her on her last visit east. The cover looked like something out of an old 1980s movie, even though the novel was written decades before that. He had wrapped it like a Christmas gift and probably noticed the look on her face when she opened it.
"This book is my favorite," her father told her. "I must have read it a hundred times. I want you to have it. I believe it will mean as much to you as it does to me. Promise me you'll read it before I see you next."
"Daddy, I don't read."
"Kit, promise me."
"I promise."
Kit never did. She would on the flight. It was at least one last thing she could do for her father.
"I love you so much," the soldier said. "This is the only way."
Kit lifted her eyes then felt the presence in the middle seat next to her. His arms brushed against hers as he adjusted in his seat. "Good book," he said.
She flipped over to the cover as if she didn't know what the title was and she smiled politely. He had only spoken two syllables to her and Kit knew the man wasn't from Seattle. His heavy southern dialect bled though his words. He had a pleasant face that was buried beneath a scruffy five o'clock shadow and the brim of his baseball cap rested at the top of his forehead.
Kit inched over some more toward the window. Space was tight and she knew that bright green neck pillow was going to be tapping the side of her head the whole flight.
He grunted. "Uh, so much for premium seats and extra leg room."
Kit looked over. His knees nearly touched the back of the seat in front of him, where hers didn't come close. He didn't look that tall, perhaps he just had long legs.
"At least the drinks are free with these seats, right?" he said.
"Yes." Kit replied, then repeated that simple smile and nod. She didn't want to be rude, but she also didn't want to engage in conversation. She wasn't in the mood.
He didn't really say much more during the rest of boarding, he just played with the air system and light.
Kit opened the book. Maybe he would see she was occupied and he wouldn't bother her.
Finally, everyone was on board, the flight attendants started closing the overhead bins and moving things round. Kit tried to focus on the first page, but the soldier kept up his phone call.
"I'll get in trouble. I can't tell you. I have to go. I'll find you. I promise I'll find you. Leave. Now." The soldier paused. "I love you."
Kit lifted her eyes from the pages.
"Excuse me, ma'am," the man next to her said.
Kit didn't respond.
"Ma'am?" he tapped her on the shoulder.
He was talking to her? Kit faced him. She was clueless that when he said 'ma'am' he meant her.
"Looks like no one is sitting there." He pointed to the empty aisle seat. "I'm gonna move there. I just don't want you to feel insulted."
"I'm sorry… why would I feel insulted?"
"I mean, I don't want you to think you smell or anything. You know me suddenly getting up."
"I won't be insulted and I won't be worried you think I smell."
"Sweet. Thanks. Bit more leg room." He scooted over, moved left to right before finally moving his leg into the aisle. "Ah," he exhaled. "Yeah, that's better."
When he closed his eyes, Kit saw that as a sign that things would get peaceful. The soldier was done arguing, the southern guy was going to nap and Kit was going to dive into that book. It was a little late, she wouldn't be able to discuss it with him, but if it was the last thing she did she was going to keep her promise and read that book before she saw her father again.
FOUR – Revelation
Regis Rolland wasn't a bad person, nor was he complicated. He was just a quiet man and deep thinker, his quietness was often misunderstood as attitude or pompous. Especially as of late, his father's death was just the final straw in a long series of events that emotionally beat Regis.
His sister Deana championed him for being anti-Mark, while his mother and Kit chastised him for not being supportive. Regis didn't hate Mark, he loved his baby brother, but he was just tired of picking up the pieces of his younger siblings' life.
It was fine and well when Mark would blow through a relationship, but his recent change of heart didn't just hurt his wife, it hurt his seven year old son. The person Mark seemed to forget about. When the repo company came and took his wife's car, Regis bailed her out. When they were foreclosing, Regis stopped it. Mark's soon to be ex, Liza worked hard but didn't make enough money to cover all of Mark's debt he left behind. When his son Brice needed shoes and food, Regis was there, never thinking twice. Where was Mark? A thousand miles away, flashing his mortgaged porcelain smile and SAG card making minimum wage acting in a Bruce somebody, or other film.
Regis didn't want thanks, he just wanted his brother to do what was right. Maybe Regis was wrong, maybe Mark just couldn't. Maybe Mark didn't know exactly what was right because like Regis was doing now, somebody had bailed Mark out of trouble his entire life.
Deana knew, but Kit didn't. Regis didn't tell her because he just didn't want to shatter her delusion of her loveable baby brother. He just stopped talking to Kit for fear he'd run his mouth.
Although he knew, now with the passing of their father, it was really not the time to be at odds.
His father always had a way of keeping everyone together. Maybe his passing was one of those ways.
Regis felt bad that he didn't help Kit with her bag. After she declined a simple slice of pizza, she certainly wouldn't want his help. She probably would have said, "No thank you. You suck."
That would destroy him, Regis was already having a tremendously hard time. His world crashed again with the death of his father, now he not only was on a plane filled with nervous soldiers, he was seated between two of them.
Internally it was a lot to handle.
When he first was seated between them, Regis struck up a conversation with the soldier to his right.
"You boys out of Lewis?" Regis asked.
"Yes, sir."
"Are you being deployed?"
"You uh, can say that."
"Godspeed. My son was out of Fort Lewis. Seventh infantry division."
"So are we. Does he still serve?" the soldier asked.
"I suppose in another way. He was killed in combat," Regis said. "A few years back."
"I'm sorry to hear that, sir."
"Thank you. So…" Regis took a deep breath and exhaled, trying to control the emotions that always took over him when his son was mentioned. "You take care of yourself wherever you're going…"
The conversation caused Regis to sink into thought and sadness. He adored his son and loved him more than life. When Phillip died, so did a part of Regis. He felt for the soldiers, especially since they all seemed tense.
That was evident as the flight progressed. He guessed it didn't help that in flight services such as wifi and movies went out an hour after takeoff.
That didn't bother Regis. He had that book to read. His father had given it to him when he visited four months earlier for Christmas. He never recalled his father reading it, though his father claimed it was his favorite. It was an old book, the pages thick, rigid and brown, original cover. Regis wanted to read it, not because of the subject matter, but because his father wanted him out of all the siblings to have it. Handing it to him wrapped like a present like some sort of secret father son gift. He made Regis promise to read, Alas, Babylon , before they saw each other again. Regis tried and made some progress, but as the flight continued, the continuous tapping was a distraction.
The young African American soldier next to him didn't sleep. He didn't relax at all, he sat almost at attention, eyes forward as his hand tapped continuously in nervousness on the armrest of the seat. Was the young man scared of flying, or was he going somewhere that scared him to death?
About the third time Regis looked at the nervous fingers, he noticed what caused the tapping. The young man held a cross in his hand.
He was scared.
More than anything Regis wanted to ask the young soldier if he wanted to pray with him, but he didn't want to be viewed as some weirdo. Instead, Regis tapped his hand fatherly and asked. "You alright son? Can I buy you a drink to calm you?"
Almost automated, the turned his head to Regis and stared.
His eyes held horror.
"What's wrong?"
"What… what time is it?"
Regis looked down to his watch. "Two minutes after one."
He shut his eyes tight and swallowed so hard his Adam's apple moved. "Oh God."
"Dalton," the soldier to Regis' right softly scolded.
Regis kept his focus on Dalton. "What's wrong?"
Dalton shook his head. "Just… thinking of my mother. My brother. I didn't… I didn't say goodbye."
"Dalton," the other soldier warned again.
"There's time." Regis said. "You can call when we land. If that's not possible, give me the number, I'll call for you."
At that second, following a blurted, "Excuse me", Dalton stood up.
"He'll be fine," the other soldier said.
"I'm sure," Regis replied. "I think I need to use the rest room as well." He stood, placed his book on his seat and had every intention of finding Dalton. Something didn't sit right. If it was something official, then Dalton couldn't, nor wouldn't say anything.
Mid way down the dark aisle, Regis spotted the reading light in the middle of all the dark. That light illuminated his brother.
Regis planned on nodding at Mark when he passed until he noticed what book Mark was reading.
Alas, Babylon .
Seeing that the seat was empty next to him, Regis took that book and that seat as a sign from his father.
"This seat taken?" he asked Mark.
Mark blinked long and placed the book on his lap and smiled. "Act… actually it is. She went to the restroom I think. Lady in a red sweater. See her?"
Regis looked to the line of people waiting to use the rest room. "She'll be a while. I'll just…" Regis sat down and placed his hand on his brother's leg. "I see you're reading."
"Yeah, Dad gave it to me. How about that?'
"How about that."
Mark trailed his fingers against it. "Don't get mad. Dad gave it to me. He wanted to me to read it. It was his favorite book."
"Yeah, I know."
"I'm not much of a reader, but Dad made me promise to read it."
"Then you should."
"I am." Mark put his hand on the cover. It was a newer version of the book, a later edition.
"How are you doing Little Brother?"
"Not good, Big Brother." He shook his head. "I don't know if I'll ever be. Dad's gone. We didn't even get to say goodbye. We didn't say goodbye."
Surprising Regis, Mark leaned into him, s
Regis absorbed that moment, he loved it and it felt good, right. Every bad word, argument and negative thought over the past few weeks seemed to disappear. There was an unspoken truce at thirty thousand feet. He knew his time with Mark on that flight would only last until the red sweater woman returned, until then he'd make the best of it and he vowed to continue once they landed. If he could, Regis would find time to talk to Kit before the end of the flight, as well.
It was what he had to do. It was what his father would want them to do.
Not long before Regis was thinking about how his dad had the ability to pull everyone to father, and for some strange reason, through some old book, he was inadvertently doing it again.
FIVE – Brothers
At first, Mark wished the woman in red would have taken the bribe. He offered her fifty bucks to switch seats with his brother. It had been weeks since he and Regis spoke and it just felt so good to him to be sitting with his brother. During Red Sweater Woman's extended bathroom break, they talked about being kids, going fishing with their father and other childhood memories. They didn't talk about the recent events that caused the horrible riff.
They did however, talk about the book.
Mark could have talked to Regis the whole flight, but the red sweater woman returned. She refused to give up her aisle seat for a middle one.
"Even to sit between two hot soldiers?" Mark asked.
She grumbled.
Regis apologized for using her seat and told Mark, "Read up. Dad would want that."
"I will," Mark said. "And Rege… thanks."
Regis nodded, winked and walked back to his seat.
Mark, after giving a smug smile to Red Sweater woman, opened the book.
"Thank you," Regis told Dalton as he slipped back into the row, lifted the book from his seat and sat. "Are you better?" he asked.
"Me, too."
Dalton the soldier looked at him with curiosity.
"My little brother." Regis pointed. "He and I, well, have been having some issues as of late and I just went over and talked to him. I just… I just… I'm glad we spoke. I feel much better."
"Good. You'll need each other, especially now."
"Did I tell you our father passed away?" Regis asked. "Because that is really intuitive of you."
"Not intuition. " Dalton peered across Regis to the other solider who was sleeping. After lifting a finger, he took the book from Regis' lap, lifted a pen from his own front pocket, opened the cover and began to write on the first empty space he saw.
Regis waited, he thought Dalton's behavior very odd. First quiet, then nervous, now talkative and sharing some sort of message. Then again, he thought, the poor kid was going off to war. Things made a bit more sense to Regis after thinking about that being the case. Dalton was nervous. Perhaps it was some secretive deployment, and Dalton was rushed out before he could bid his family goodbye.
A deployment, a prelude to some sort of conflict wouldn't surprise Regis. After all tension had been high between US and Russia. Even his father made mention earlier that it was unprecedented and the worst he had ever seen.
Dalton needed to share something with Regis. Something the other soldier couldn't know he told him. He probably was giving Regis the contact information for his mother.
After he was finished, Dalton slipped his pen back in his pocket, closed the cover of the book, handed it to Regis and stared forward.
Regis flipped open the cover. He expected to see a name, a number, maybe even an email address, what he didn't expect to see was the first sentence.
'I shouldn't be telling you this, but you'll know soon enough…'
That sentence was followed by a passage that not only took his breath away, it made every fiber of his being freeze. He closed the cover of the book, shifted his eyes once to Dalton and ran his hand over his mouth to hide his heavy exhaled.
'Dear God,' Regis thought.
Then after making the sign of the cross, he closed his eyes and prayed.
GROUND ZERO CITIZEN – One
Washington D.C.
Since receiving rave reviews from his mother in regards to his peanut butter and ramen noodle dish, Terrence Hill always wanted to be a chef. Not just some cook in a kitchen flipping burgers and frying wings, he wanted to be the top dog, the one who ran the kitchen, the one everyone called, "Chef."
More than a great cook, Terrence was a great guy.
The only son of a single working mother, Terrence not only got above average grades in school, but he worked to help his mother pay the bills.
He wanted badly to go to college, more so, culinary school, but it wasn't in the cards when he was younger. His mother developed breast cancer when Terrance was twenty-one and he held down two jobs to pay the household bills and get her medical treatment.
School would come, it really would.
It was during that rough time caring for his mother, working part time at the discount store and almost full time at Pasty's Restaurant when he met his future wife, Macy.
She was the same age, was working as an aide in the hospital while going to school.
He envied that, while she envied his strength.
His mother beat the cancer, went back to work, and Terrance continued at the diner.
Three years later, right after her graduation and becoming an RN, Terrence married Macy.
He got a better job at a better restaurant, still making low wages. The dream of being a chef still far away. He could be head cook, line supervisor, but without that education, he would never be chef.
Terrence shared his dream with Macy. She didn't ridicule, she knew how well he cooked. After all she gained twenty pounds off his cooking the first three years of marriage.
By the time he was thirty-two Terrence had two baby daughters under three and his mother moved in to help.
His dream of being a chef waned, until that fateful snowy night. It was his youngest daughter's sixth birthday and he wanted to get home. Like most people in the food and beverage industry, Terrence switched jobs a lot. At that point, he was working at a bistro that closed at eight. It wasn't creative cooking, just burgers, sandwiches and other simple stuff.
Washington D.C. was hit was a crippling storm. Everything shut down. Half of his employees didn't show and they only had three customers all day.
Terrence wasn't even sure his beat up Toyota would make it home. He was closing down, the whole street was deserted, and the snow blew hard making it difficult to see. Yet, it was hard to not see when a motorcade showed up.
Four SUV's and a limo.
Only one person had that type of security in D.C.
A CIA agent accompanied a man that identified himself as the Secretary of Defense. The Secretary told Terrence that the roads were completely impassible and it would take a good couple hours to get to the White House. The president was starving. "What can we do?" the secretary asked.
Terrence replied, "I'll get my butt cooking."
Fryers were down, but still warm, he would have everything ready to go again in ten minutes.
He asked the agents, secretary and president what they wanted and they simply replied, that since they already were putting him out, make what he wanted.
Terrence filled with nerves, ignored the menu items and made what he knew he cooked best. After all, the president was seated in his establishment.
It was a bistro and his stockpile was limited. He started them off with his personal specialty of Buffalo Ranch wings, while he made them main entrees.
Everything went off without a hitch. Food was praised and appreciated. Terrence was on cloud nine. He got to not only meet the president, he fed him as well.
Weeks went by, Terrence didn't think much about it until he was called into the owner's office. Apparently the Secretary of Defense came by for some of those wings that weren't on the menu. At the owner's request, Terrance made them a staple item for the Secretary of Defense only. He came in twice a week for a takeout order of wings.
One day he asked to speak to Terrence. The secretary took interest, asking him about his life. Two weeks later a letter came from the best culinary school not only in D.C., but the top ten in the country. He had a full scholarship, courtesy of the Secretary of Defense.
His dream became a reality. There was no way he could repay him, or thank him enough.
"Keep making those wings," the secretary told him. "Follow that dream. My son followed his, others dismissed him because he didn't go to college, but he's doing what he wanted."
Making a promise he would make those wings for the secretary wherever he worked, Terrence went to school. With his experience and now education, he was writing his own job ticket as Chef.
For the final year of school he worked at the best hotel in the city, securing the chef job there upon graduation. He had been there for two years when he put in his notice.
He was going to the White House thanks to a recommendation from the Secretary of Defense.
When the morning of war came, he had four days remaining at the hotel. His apartment was a mess, they were moving into a house and boxes were everywhere. After all, he was going to be making the type of money that afforded them the American dream, two kids, a spouse and a mortgage.
It was an early day, Terrence didn't mind. He would be getting to the White House early when he started there so he had to get used to it.
It wasn't a typical 'chef' duty, going in and getting the breakfast buffet ready, but his main cook was out all week.
Terrance would go to the hotel, unload the deliveries, start the buffet and leave once staff arrived since he had to be back later in the day for meetings.
He kissed his kids and wife goodbye and headed out.
He was a thirty minute ride from work when traffic was good, which was a rarity in D.C. On this particular morning, there was very little traffic.
Usually he didn't put on the radio, but on this day he did.
He was glad he made that decision.
At first he thought it was a joke.
After all, it was only four in the morning in Washington D.C.. Yet, the news came on talking about potential attacks, war, and all those things when it should have been music.
'Right now, they are confirming that Yokota Air Force base in Japan has been hit. There is speculation that it was a nuclear weapon that was detonated…'
"What?" Terrence spoke out loud. "This is insane, that can't be right." He switched the station.
'Confirming that the president has been evacuated to a secure location…'
'Two nuclear warheads on the Canadian Montana Border…'
'There has been no confirmation on whether or not these attacks are a declaration of an all out war…'
'While there is no indication whether these are anything but strategic hits or isolated hits, probability is high that civilian areas could be next…'
'Water, dry goods, anything you can, people should prepare and not leave unless they are in the heart of the city. Then again, how many people are listening at four in the morning, it's even worse on the West Coast.'
The news caused Terrence to pull over. He leaned close to the windshield and peered to the sky almost as if expecting the bomb to just come. His insides shook and he had to think.
He wanted to turn back, go home, but to do what? Stay in the apartment with no supplies? He was only ten minutes from the hotel and while working was out of the question, going there wasn't. Everything he would need for his family was delivered the day before.
It was in the room right by the delivery entrance.
He would go there, get what he needed and then go get his family and leave D.C. It was early, most people weren't awake and listening to the news. Most people didn't know. Hopefully, Terrence would be able to get his supplies and his family to safety without getting stuck in evacuation traffic and before the bombs, if they were on their way.
SIX – Dive
Kit hated those healthy snack chips they handed out on the plane, but it was all she had to snack on. She was glad she asked for two airline size bottles of vodka because it seemed as if the flight attendants didn't want to be bothered on a red eye. Always assuming everyone slept.
Kit never did.
People around her were out. Including the country guy wearing the green neck pillow. His head was tilted to the right, his mouth slightly open as he exuded a quiet snore. She still had her book open, but had barely read a page. She probably would have played with the flight real time tracker app. Something Kit enjoyed doing, checking to see where the plane was mid flight, but that and everything else went out soon after they left Washington air space.
Her mind kept drifting. She thought of her father and how proud she was of her parents and the way they raised her. It could have gotten ugly, she could have hated her father. However, her mother never let it get there. The only snag was when her mom wanted to move west. Eventually it came to be. Sure they saw their father less, but they loved him and respected him.
Kit was ten when they divorced, Deana and Mark were four and five. They didn't know the why of it all, they never saw their parents fight. Regis knew. He was going into his senior year when it all went down. Kit supposed her mother used Regis going to UCLA as another reason to be out west.
It was years later, when Kit was in high school that she learned her father had been unfaithful to her mother.
At that point her father had met Sandra and her mother didn't carry a grudge.
For that Kit was grateful. Her father's infidelity was inexcusable, however, she never knew enough to be angry, or hate him.
That was the way divorce was suppose to be.
As a divorced mother, Kit learned what to do. She understood that immediate reactions could cause long term damage.
What she didn't understand was the book Alas, Babylon .
Not that she didn't get the subject matter, but she didn't understand how it stayed in print. It was truly a novel of its time. From raw language to past standard remarks that would be considered racist in today's world.
She found it cute that the main character's brother was named Mark. Maybe that was one of the reasons her father wanted her to read it. Kit probably wouldn't have made it to page fourteen had she not saw underline words on page thirteen.
She would have dismissed the underlined word of 'Mark' as a reference to her brother, but then in the same sentence, the word 'Flying' also underlined.
That prompted Kit to turn pages to see if anything else had been marked.
Next page… double underline… Alas, Babylon .
The next… intelligence
Then the word… warning.
A thump in her stomach caused her to lift her eyes from her book. It was a physical feeling. A sinking twisting that she was used to and was only caused when the plane dropped altitude usually in preparation to land. Kit glanced out the window, then sat upright to look around. At that second one man, then another moved hurriedly up the aisle. They were followed by a woman.
Surely it wasn't a two a.m. rush to the bathroom.
Something was wrong. Maybe a medical emergency in first class, or technically there really was a problem with the plane. She wanted to ask, but before she could flag down a flight attendant, a man who was dressed like the captain entered the main cabin. His shoulders and chest were broad which gave him a bigger appearance. He looked disgusted, as if he lost an unfair fight. He whispered something to the flight attendant, she nodded, then noticing that Kit was not only awake, but leaning forward and staring at him, he made eye contact. Locked eyes with her for a moment, then sat down in the first row empty seat, buckling his belt.
"What the hell?" Kit spoke out loud.
Country man sat up as if snapped out of a dream. "Are we landing? We feel like we're going to land."
"Yeah, it feels that way," Kit said. "If someone was flying the plane."
"What?" He sat up.
Kit pointed. "That's the pilot."
"Nah, can't be. Maybe he's a fancy first class flight attendant or co-pilot."
"He's a pilot, I saw him in the cockpit."
"Then he has to be the co-pilot," Country man argued. "I mean…"
"Ladies and Gentleman if I can have your attention please," the male said over the speaker.
"See, that's a different voice than earlier," Kit said. "The other was husky." She immediately looked over to the pilot. He just stared ahead.
"We ask that you put your trays and seats in an upright position and secure your seatbelts. We are experiencing a technical difficulty and will be making a forced landing."
"What… what does that mean? Forced landing?" Kit asked.
"It means they have to put this plane down at any cost," Country man said,
The announcer continued, "It will be a rough touchdown. At worst I promise it will be no more than a few bumps and bruises. We apologize for the inconvenience."
Voices of concern, and soft screams carried in the cabin as flight attendants rushed down the aisles to ensure safety. They checked overhead bins, told people to sit up, all while trying to encourage calm.
"Land? Land where?" Kit asked. "Where are we?"
Country man looked at his watch. "Three hours air time. My guess South Dakota."
Her stomach flipped and heart raced out of control. Kit needed a second to calm down then she was going to unbuckle her belt and go see her son then return to her seat.
She closed her eyes, said a short prayer, turned her head and looked out the window hoping to see airport lights.
Instead she saw something else.
On her farthest point of sight, just on the horizon, she saw a flash of light. Then another and another. Pop. Pop. Pop. They danced across the ground. The lights of civilization below went dark with each spark.
All began as a tiny flash, swelling into a bright bubble before transforming into an undeniable mushroom cloud.
"Oh my God." Kit gasped her words.
"What is it?" Country Man asked.
Kit's eyes widened. "We're not gonna make it."
"Look, take a look."
Just as he leaned forward to peer out her window, the plane jolted downward, the engines grew louder and the speed seemed to pick up.
Before he got to see what Kit witnessed, the flight attendant called out, "Brace. Brace. Head down. Stay down. Grab your ankles. Brace."
The book toppled from Mark's hand the second the pilot said they needed to make a forced landing. It wasn't his own surprise that caused him to drop the book, it was Red Sweater woman's panicked reaction.
Mark didn't have time to think about what was happening. What he wanted to do was stand up, shout for his family. The amount of noise on the plane and immediate chaos would have prohibited them from knowing he was even trying to reach out to them.
He bent forward picking up the book, tucked it in the seat pocket in front of him, then tightened his belt as tight as it could go.
"Could you help me?" Red Sweater woman asked, fumbling with her belt. "Please. It won't tighten."
"Yes. Yes, I will." Mark reached out.
The plane jolted slightly, angled forward and felt as if it dropped.
Red Sweater woman shrieked.
"Hold still," Mark said. "I got this."
He adjusted her belt, but paused when he heard the frightening command.
"Brace. Brace. Head down. Stay down. Grab your ankles. Brace."
After finishing the woman's belt, Mark undid his buckle and immediately stood up.
Regis was transfixed on watching the nightmare outside his window. It was real. It was happening. How many were there? Three or four? It felt like a dream watching it unfold. He literally didn't hear a sound around him. It was muffled by the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears.
Nuclear weapons had been detonated on American soil. How were they still in the air? How did the plane still have power? Surely the EMP would have knocked them from the sky? His mind raced for logic and he thought of the Enola Gay. They dropped the bomb and flew away. Maybe the pulse of the bomb wouldn't hit them. Regis doubted it. They'd lose power, it was just a matter of when.
Suddenly, the noise of the plane changed and standing in the aisle by his row was Mark.
"Head down. Stay down. Brace." Steady and strong the flight attendant repeated the sentence like a skipping record.
"Mark, what the hell?" Regis jumped to his feet. "What are you doing?"
"I love you." Mark breathed heavily. "I love you and I'm sorry."
Regis reached out and laid his hand on Mark's face. "I love you, too. It's gonna be fine. Go. Go back now."
Mark didn't seem to want to listen, he moved forward.
"Mark." Rege stopped him. "Go. Now."
He had made it only a row and Regis saw Zeke standing.
The teenager looked scared to death.
"Zeke," Mark yelled.
"Go." Regis ordered Mark. "Get back." Then he locked eyes with Zeke, brought his fist to his own chest as a show of his love to his nephew, then pointed with command at Zeke and motioned for him to get down.
Zeke did as instructed.
Mark was still in the aisle.
"Please get back," Regis begged.
"I need to see Kit."
"She's fine."
Mark's face tensed up, he took a few steps back and as he moved, he shouted over the cabin noise, "Kit. I love you."
Regis watched to make sure Mark made it back to his seat, then he himself sat down and buckled his belt.
He hoped that Kit heard him.
He closed his eyes debating for a second if he had time to search out his sister, she was only a couple rows ahead. The second he opened his eyes, he saw her standing.
She was looking right at him. He made eye contact with her, even if it was only with his eyes. He tried his hardest to convey love and hope through a look and a nod.
He felt at peace. He saw them all before the plane careened to the ground.
A day earlier they were emotionally the farthest apart they ever had been. Now they were only a distance of a few feet from each other however, to Regis, they were worlds apart.
Nothing could be done about it right now.
They couldn't huddle, or hold each other for strength at such a dire moment. They had to spiritually find that family connection with the rows of people between them.
Regis believed they had with their limited eye contact before they sat back down.
He lowered his head and assumed a crash position.
Then the inevitable happened… the plane lost all power.
'Jesus, this isn't happening. This isn't happening.'
Mark's mind raced with frantic, panicked thoughts as he leaned forward hoping he had the brace position correctly. He didn't know. There had been no preflight instructions. Was it head to the knees, hands behind head or grabbing ankles? Maybe it was head to the seat in front?
Mark did a combination of both.
He put his head as low as he could get to his legs as his hands gripped the seat in front of him.
He couldn't think clearly and didn't even know where the idea to grab the life vest came from. The second he returned from his last ditch attempt to convey his love for his family, he thought to grab the life jacket from under his seat. He placed it over his head and inflated it. Not for fear of hitting water, but in hopes of extra cushion for impact.
It was the longest moments of his life.
The engines of the plane went quiet and the plane rode the wind at a high, steep speed angle toward the earth.
He closed his eyes tightly, waiting.
My son. My poor son. Why didn't I stop and see him. My baby. I'm so sorry.
There were no more screams on the plane. Was it Mark's imagination or could he hear the sound of the air as the plane cut through it?
It was oddly quiet with the exception of the few voices behind him that formed a unison chorus in the Our Father prayer.
He listened, locked on to that, but didn't join in. His only prayer was that he didn't feel it when they made impact.
There really was no more time to panic.
It was a matter of waiting. When would they hit? How much longer would it be? How close were they to the ground?
There was a certain amount of serenity in those final few hundred feet.
Any second.
Any second…
Then they hit the ground.
Mark flung some to the left and his fingers crushed against the seat he clung to, causing him to lift his head and pull back his hands.
He watched luggage eject up from the floor and hit the roof, at the same time everything came tumbling around him.
He whipped from left to right with each hard movement of the aircraft, gripping his arm rest as the plane bounced up and down, sliding against the surface without losing speed. How long would they keep going? He waited for the plane to roll like a log.
Objects flew about the cabin. A suitcase sailed his way hitting him hard on the shoulder. It caused him to veer to his right and into Red Sweater woman the same time a bag flew from behind and smashed her in the back of the head.
She dropped forward and blood splattered onto Mark.
He didn't have time to register it, to scream or react, because the plane jolted one final time. It was them Mark realized he never buckled back in.
He flew upwards from his seat.
SEVEN – Wreckage
Kit gasped and choked, then she coughed hard. So hard it was almost spastic and she fought for the ability to inhale.
"I got her. She's back."
The male voice was close. She could hear him in her ear and feel the presence of his body close by.
She wheezed and tried to breathe. It was hard, almost as if something was stuck in her chest.
"Here. Here," a man said. "Take a breath."
She felt something touch her face then cover her nose and mouth. Instinctively she tried to fight it, waving her hand, pushing it, until she could feel the air flowing to her. Through her coughs she tried to inhale the oxygen.
"It's okay. Breathe."
Someone held her arm. Who was it? The fingers locked on tight to her.
Kit opened her eyes and they burned. There was a gritty feel to her eyes, every time she blinked it was abrasive. Not only that, she couldn't focus. Even if she could there was no way to see. Everything was dark, except a few dots of light here and there.
As she shifted her eyes, she tried to make heads or tails of where she was. She couldn't. It was impossible to see anything. Her hands felt free and she moved her fingers to feel.
A plane seat? Was she still in the wreckage?
"Over here!" the man that was near her, yelled.
"Is she injured badly?"
"Not that I can see."
A bright light hit Kit across the eyes, a flashlight maybe and it blinded her even more.
"Okay, stay here with her. We have more seriously hurt to get out."
"I can carry her."
"Don't move her," the second man warned. "We'll be right back."
She wished she could see, but she couldn't. She had to rely on her other senses. It didn't take much to know a lot was happening around her.
She could hear so many voices and noises around her.
The sound of a truck wasn't far from her. She listened as it sounded like it rolled away.
Voices shouted left and right. People cried, people screamed in pain. All of that told Kit there were more survivors than just her.
'First group is out. Keep looking.'
'I found one.'
'How bad.'
'Got a bleeder.'
'This one's dead.'
'Move. Move. Get this one now.'
'We don't have much time. Twenty minutes people. Move them now!'
In the dark, there was one other sensation Kit felt… cold.
It was bitterly cold and her body began to shiver. She tried to asses if she felt any pain other then the heaviness in her chest.
She believed she felt all her limbs, but that could have been her imagination.
"You cold? I be
Kit didn't know what he did, but he covered her with something.
"We'll get you on the next truck," he said. "I promise. They're loading now."
Kit nodded. Her left hand reached out and she felt his leg.
"I'm here. I won't leave you. My name's Abe," he said. "Are you in pain?"
Other than a few aches, Kit didn't feel anything excruciating. She shook her head.
"Good," Abe said.
Suddenly it hit her. She came to her senses. Clarity.
"My… my son," she tried to speak through the mask and she attempted to move.
"Hold on." Abe kept the mask on her.
Another flashlight blinded her and as it moved from her way she saw the outline of two figures. In the dark she could see their faces because they were wearing biohazard gear and their masks were illuminated.
"Let's get her out of here and on the truck," the one bio man said. "I'm not seeing much blood."
"A few scrapes and bruises. She wasn't breathing when I found her," Abe told them. "That's the only thing I could see. I did CPR."
"We got her now. Thank you. You should get in the truck."
Kit felt them grab her legs and arms.
"I want to help look," Abe said. "I need to help."
"They can use people in the back."
Abe grabbed Kit's hand as they lifted her. "I'll find you."
Kit nodded. "My son… find… my son."
It was when they started carrying her that she felt the pain in her back. They didn't put her on a gurney or cart, they lugged her out. The farther they moved her, the more things came into view.
There were so many people in biohazard gear. Some carried people, some searched.
As they carried her down the aisle of the wreckage, Kit saw more than she wanted to.
Seats were toppled, the ceiling hung down and wires dangled about. People slumped lifeless still strapped to their seats, some missing body parts.
While there were survivors, the realization hit her that there were so many dead and Kit internally panicked.
"Stop!" she cried out. "Please stop."
They didn't.
"My son, I have to find my son. He's here. He's on this plane. My son."
She begged, she pleaded and cried. They ignored her. Once outside and free of the wreckage, they quickly carried her to the back of a truck.
Her entire body filled with worry and anguish. Her trembling from the cold turned into trembling from shear fear.
Where was Zeke? What happened to Zeke?
As the open back truck rolled away, Kit stared up to nothing but black. There was no moon, no stars.
No amount of physical pain compared to the pain she felt over her child, the feeling of loss and not knowing what happened to him.
Defenseless and alone, all she could do was sob. "Oh my God, my son. Where is my son?"
EIGHT – Flight Deck
He had been a commercial airline pilot for twenty-seven years. He wasn't wet behind the years and had logged more flight hours than most pilots he knew. He was well aware of the ins and outs and believed he had seen it all, until that night when Captain Scott boarded the plane for a flight he routinely manned.
The Seattle to D.C. red eye. He had expected three solid days off but was called in to fly flight 2468 because the scheduled pilot had an emergency. Captain Scott was fine with that, he had taken that flight many times. He thought nothing of it when he entered the airport early, something he always did. Then he arrived at the gate. There seemed to be less people and they were already offering seat vouchers. Even stranger, Flight 2368 was already on the tarmac.
Typically it was never there, he usually spent time talking to the workers at the counter until the plane arrived and unloaded. He loved being the first one on board.
The counter people didn't say anything, other than the previous flight was early. They resumed trying to buy seats.
"Are we that overbooked?" Captain Scott asked.
"Yes, and we can't figure out how it happened, other than a glitch in the system," the counter woman replied.
He thanked them and made his way to the plane. Seeing how it was early, he expected to see maintenance workers and a cleanup crew. Not the actual flight crew. To make matters even stranger, he didn't know a single one of them.
They were preparing the cabin and doing preflight. They acknowledged his presence and that was it.
The reiteration that he hadn't seen it all happened when he tried to squeeze his larger body into an already crowded cockpit.
Two men in suits stood in there.
"What's going on?" Captain Scott asked.
"Abram James Scott?" the one man asked.
"I'm special Agent Staab, Homeland Security. You're Abram Scott and your brother is Senator John Scott, chairman of the Armed Services Committee."
"Yes, what is this about?"
"Can I see your right hand, Abram?"
"Abe," he corrected and extended his hand. "Again, what is this about?"
The other agent placed Abe's hand on what looked like a tablet and scanned it. "It's him," the agent said.
"Abe, I'd like you to meet your co-pilot on the flight," Agent Staab said,
"My co-pilot?" Abe asked. "I know my…"
The co-pilot turned around. He wore a military flight suit and like every other crew member, Abe didn't know him.
"What the hell?" Abe barked.
"This is Colonel Ray Carillo, United States Air Force," Staab introduced him. "He will co-pilot with you until we must relieve you of duty."
"Is this a joke?"
"This is no joke, sir." Staab nodded at the other agent.
They closed the cockpit door.
Abe just couldn't discern exactly what he was feeling and which emotion seemed to encompass him the most in the moments after of getting the news. A part of him was angry, a part sad, and even a part of him still held on to the hope that it just wasn't going to happen.
"Do you need a moment?" Agent Staab asked as if he delivered some minor bad news.
Abe turned his head and just looked at the agents. "A moment?" He chuckled in disbelief. "I need more than a moment."
"Take all the time you need. Absorb it. Get your head in the game. We have work to do." Agent Staab placed his hand on Abe's shoulder in some sort of attempt to show comfort, but Abe wasn't buying that.
Was he for real? Was he serious? He has just delivered the news to him as if it were a bullet point meeting memo, or a debriefing. Factual, no emotions, Abe stared ahead as he listened. It wasn't real, it couldn't be happening.
"To ensure the continuity of government," Agent Staab explained. "There is a protocol in effect that required the evacuation of essential personnel and their immediate family. To move such individuals to a secure location in the event that an attack was imminent… a nuclear attack."
Wait? What? Nuclear attack.
"As part of COGCON 1, you are being evacuated. Because this was a designated flight, per your experience you are mandated to fly this plane until such time that you are relieved of duty."
"When will that will be?"
"When we land at our desired location, or in the event something else unexpected happens."
"Jesus Christ," Abe said. "What the hell is happening? Speak English."
"We are preparing for attack. You are being moved out to a location in New Mexico," Stab said. "Intel has told us there will be a full scale attack on the United States at approximately zero six hundred hours Eastern seaboard time."
"Are they sure?" Abe asked. "Nuclear war."
"We believe nuclear and biological weapons."
"Is everyone on this plane part of this evacuation?" Abe asked.
Staab shook his head. "No. About sixty percent of the one hundred and eighty on board are essential personnel, or the immediate families. The remaining ones are just lucky."
Abe scoffed at that. Lucky? No one was lucky .
"Only twenty know the truth," Staab said. "That would be the flight crew, United States soldiers and a couple other dignitaries."
A hand full of people including Abe knew that war was on the horizon? It was speculated, but not proven as fact. They were moving people out as a precaution.
Agent Staab stated that while they were acting on reliable information, there was no way of knowing for sure until they were in the air.
The course of the flight would change without the passengers' knowledge. The plan was to land the plane, get everyone secure and wait out not only the attack but response of the United States.
Abe had no family other than his brother. Leaving the plane was not an option.
So Abe decided if he was going to be a part, then he was going to make sure his passengers were safe. He was told that the secure location had a runway and he would land safely.
He argued with them about the charted course, there were other ways to go to New Mexico other than through Colorado.
Since the knowledge of the attack wasn't public, they wouldn't get clearance to change course early on.
Clearances didn't matter much, an hour into the flight, all wifi went down and they lost communication with any towers.
Something was happening on the ground.
Shortly after they entered Colorado airspace, the computer systems went down. Staab seemed to have some sort of radio communication. That was their only source of information.
Just after that. Abe saw what he believed was the most frightening vision. The sight of rockets sailing into the air of a clear night. There were hundreds that had been launched.
They jetted toward the sky leaving a bright trail of ominous steam in their path.
Their destination… the enemy.
Did we launch first, or did they? It didn't matter, devastation was forthcoming.
"Holy Jesus," Colonel Carillo said. "We won't make it."
"Won't make it where?" Abe asked.
"To our destination. We need to land now. If a nuke goes off we'll drop from the sky."
"Land? Where you going to put her down?"
"Where ever we can."
Agent Staab who had remained in the cockpit stood up. "You are relieved of duty Captain. Colonel Carillo and myself will take over from here."
"Oh, so you're a pilot now?" Abe asked sarcastically.
"I am. Thank you for your service. You can stay here, or take a seat in the cabin."
"What? Are you kidding me?" Abe argued. "Let me land this plane."
"Colonel Carillo and I will land the plane."
"Has he ever had to do a forced landing of a 757?" Abe asked. "I have. It's not easy. You can't just set her down. We don't know what's below."
"You are relived Captain." Staab placed his finger to his ear, listening. "We have four minutes to impact."
Abe's heart raced out of control. Four minutes to impact. He undid his belt and abruptly stood.
Staab took over the seat, speaking to the colonel as if Abe wasn't even in the cockpit. "We'll be approaching a tangible landing area, thirty miles east of Colorado Springs, crews are already en route from Peterson, or Schriever."
"What about New Mexico?" Carillo asked.
"No go for now. This is plan B. Let's put her down."
Abe planned on staying and maybe if needed, helping, but he knew his presence was useless. No one was saving them.
If they had four minutes until impact of the first nuclear weapon. There was no way even as experienced as he was, he could land the plane. Not under that pressure and without being certain what was below. They could hit a mountain range or houses.
They were going to do a forced landing and even if the plane somehow miraculously survived, they were facing a nuclear weapon thirty miles or so from NORAD.
It was a lose-lose situation.
Just as he started to leave, he saw the first flash of light.
Then another.
He expected an instant loss of power, but that didn't happen. He knew it would.
"Was that a nuke?" Carillo asked.
"I don't know," Staab answered. "I'm not seeing any fire. Maybe it was something else. Biological maybe, conventional."
Abe couldn't take it. It was over. The first impact sent him into a state of despair.
He wasn't going to stand in that cockpit, watch the world go ablaze and then witness first hand as the plane nosedived powerless from the sky.
He exited, shut the cockpit door and went immediately to the galley.
He grabbed a handful of liquor bottles, uncapped them and downed them quickly. He consumed at least four while standing there, then another two as he walked straight through a crowded first class into the main cabin.
It was dark. He looked about the passengers, they were sleeping and so unaware of their horrible fate that lay head. He spotted only a few who were still awake. One, a women, she locked eyes with him as if she knew something was up.
He acknowledged her, then Abe took the first empty seat, buckled his belt and waited.
It would only be a matter of minutes and it would be over.
Abe expected the landing to not go well, for the plane to lose power and the nose to break off the second they hit ground. He did not, however, expect to live.
Though he had buckled in, he didn't plan on taking the crash position. Part of the protection of bracing was the seat in front and Abe took an empty seat in the front row.
The plane had descended quite a bit and hadn't lost power, for a split second Abe was hopeful.
Maybe they could land the plane.
Then in the midst of the flight attendants 'brace' chant, the cabin brightened as the residual flash from bombs hundreds of miles way flowed into the plane. And the interior remained illuminated. The aircraft picked up speed, angling forward.
The moment the craft went quiet and the engines all lost power, Abe made a last second decision to brace.
He placed his head as close to his knees as he could, grabbed his ankles and the impact came a second later.
His buckle snapped. Sending him flying forward into the separation wall and the folded upright crew seat… Because of his bent over position his shoulder made the connection first. Abe didn't recall much of the remaining sixty or so seconds of the crash, only that he curled his body as tightly as he could into a ball and held on to that seat.
When it was done, he was alive.
So were others. They screamed and cried in fear.
Uninjured, Abe stood and had the wind knocked out of him, not by anything physical, but rather by seeing that a cooling rod had impaled his seat. Had he not bent over that would have been in his chest.
On that particular plane, passengers boarded through a door located just behind first class, that door, however was gone. His first inclination was to leave, but he couldn't see anything, only an illuminated cloud around them. The air was cold, and he didn't smell any fire.
The moans and cries of people called to him and since he wasn't hurt, he had an obligation to help. Just as he turned to make his way into the galley he watched a huge cloud of dust blasting from the front of the plane.
Covering his mouth, he faced the wall of the plane until the debris had rolled by. It moved with a force causing a prickling pain against his bare arms as it hit him. The dust settled low to the floor causing people to cough and choke.
In the darkness he made his way into the galley. He knew there was a flashlight there and the vodka could be used to clean wounds. Plus there was a canister of oxygen.
It was overwhelming.
All he heard was people calling out.
"Help me."
"Margret! Are you there?"
"Oh, God, help me."
"Mom! Mom!"
"Can someone help me?"
Found them.
Abe flicked on the flashlight, placed vodka in his pockets and tucked the oxygen under his arm. His immediate thought was to go to the small first class section, knowing they took the brunt of the crash. But there was no movement, no noise, yet cooler air flowed into that compartment. The cockpit was definitely gone.
When he turned again to go back into the main cabin, he saw people standing, looking around, or helping others. A couple of people fled from the plane.
The man that was seated next to him in that row was slumped over and still buckled in. Abe walk to him and felt for a pulse, but as soon as his hand touched his throat, Abe knew the man's neck had been snapped and was broken.
There were so many people needing help, Abe didn't know where to go. Then he heard the sound of motors and he looked out the door to see headlights heading their way.
Agent Staab did indeed call for help. That call probably had those individuals at a distance from the nuclear blast.
"Hey over here!" a man called to Abe.
Abe looked to his left, a man was trying to assist the woman next to him.
"She's not breathing. She was a second ago, then she coughed and that was it," the man said panicked.
"Hold this." Abe handed the man the oxygen and switched positions with the man. It was the woman he made eye contact with moments before the plane crashed. He felt her neck. "She's dead."
"She wasn't a minute ago, I swear."
Abe lifted the arms of the seats and placed the woman on her back across the seats. It wasn't an ideal place to help her, but there wasn't room anywhere else.
After listening for breath sounds, finding none, Abe began CPR.
He was at it for a while, with no success. It was long enough that the Schriever people in hazmat suits had rushed on board. They were just pulling people off left, right and hurriedly, too, disregarding injuries.
Just as he was about to give up, the woman coughed.
"I got her. She's back. Give me that," Abe requested of the oxygen bottle as he placed the mask on the woman. "Here. Here. Take a breath."
The woman struggled against the mask, but Abe held on.
"You hurt?" he asked the man.
"Um… yeah." The man exposed his stomach wound. "I don't know how this happened." He swayed. Before he toppled one of the Hazmat men grabbed him and immediately escorted him.
"Hey!" Abe called out. "Over here. I have one here."
He grunted in frustration, debating on just carrying the woman out until one of the rescue workers said they'd be back and asked Abe to stay with her. He did, until they carried her to one of the trucks. He didn't know how he was going to, but he promised he would find her later, and her response was for him to find her son.
The workers accepted his offer of help, but cautioned they had to move fast, and they'd deal with the injuries later. Fall out would begin in the hit areas, and it would take another thirty minutes until it reached them. Time was critical, radiation would be more deadly than the crash.
Abe would help as much as he could, but he would also keep an eye out for the woman's son. He didn't know what he looked like or how young he was, fortunately there weren't many children on board. Abe would look, hopefully the child was okay and looking for his mother. He just wished he had a name, it would make his search so much easier.
NINE – Spread
Kit passed out, but woke up in the front seat of a fast moving pickup truck that smelled like old coffee and cigarettes. She sat up quickly in fear.
"Easy. You don't want to hit your head."
She looked down, she was covered by a blanket and the oxygen tank set on the seat next to her.
She looked over to the man driving the truck, he was hard to see, it was dark and the only lights were the dashboard. He was older, at least she thought he was. His voice was thick, raspy and deep, yet somehow comforting.
"You okay?" he asked. "I didn't see any injuries. If you think you can breathe, you can take off that mask."
Kit did and sat up.
"Take a deep breath," he said, then shifted the gear, jarring the truck.
She did and coughed, but it wasn't hard, or deep.
"Try breathing without it. Sorry about the mess. Wasn't expecting a search and retrieve tonight. And also, sorry about the speed but…" his arm extended across her and he pointed.
It was far, but there was a glow on the horizon.
"That's gonna bring a shit load of radiation. We just need to get to the shelter."
"My son," Kit said.
"Was he on the plane?"
Kit nodded. "He was seated right by me. One row."
"I didn't pull you off that plane, they loaded you in my truck." He said. "I can tell you they were taking everyone off that plane. Hurt, alive…" he cleared his throat. "Casualties."
Kit lowered her head. "I have to find my son."
"You will," he said. "What's your name?"
"Kit, I'm Harland. I'll be happy to talk to you, explain everything once we get into town and get you situated. In Maltese."
"We're in Colorado?" she asked. "We were flying east."
"Maybe they changed course because of events on the ground. Warnings broke on the news just after midnight. Folks out east are probably sleeping through this."
"My God, what is happening?"
"Still trying to figure that out."
Kit looked out the window. "I saw nuclear explosions."
"From what I heard, two went off near Cheyenne Mountain, one north of Denver, and two weapons that caused minimal damage exploded over Denver as well. They're thinking chemical and biological. I was hunkering down. Moving what I could to my shelter when the fire chief came to my door. He asked if I was in the mood to go help a plane full of dignitaries and special personnel that were crash landing on Elliott. By the way, your pilot did a great job putting down that plane on the highway. Could have been a heck of lot worse. There were a lot of survivors."
Kit exhaled. She searched within herself for the mother son connection. Also that sibling connection. Her emotions more than likely jaded her intuition.
"I'm not a dignitary," she said. "I'm not that important."
"I beg to differ. You're more important than a dignitary. You're a survivor, unfortunately it's just the beginning for all of us. And…" he pointed ahead. "We're here."
The town of Maltese was for the most part dark. There were a few windows with artificial light, but not many. A couple emergency spotlight poles, the type construction workers used at night, were just outside the main road that led into town. It was hard to gauge exactly what the town looked like.
Harland told her in preparation for the bombs, they shut down and protected the grid, they wouldn't get things running again until things calmed down. Just because Colorado Springs was hit already, didn't mean another hit wasn't coming.
Kit didn't think like that. In her mind when the bombs fell, they fell, there would be no more bombs and war would be over.
"Where are we all going?" Kit asked Harland.
"It depends. Everyone is suppose to stay indoors, out of sunlight and preferably in shelters until radiation reaches tolerable levels. Critical injured were moved out to the hospital here and in Elcort. The fire station has a set up for those who have minor injuries. Our school basement is a shelter. Some of us are offering to take folks in."
"So my son is in one these places, my brothers as well."
"Yes and the more time that passes, the more people that will find their way to the small towns from Colorado Springs. We're pretty good here. Joe Miess, the science teacher, thinks the mountains may serve as protection. But that's only theory."
He pulled the truck in front of the hospital. "They aren't gonna let you stay here. If they do, it'll be to help out. If you don't find your family in here, you have to pick your battle. The fire station, or the school. Time is running low and they aren't gonna let you out easily until the radiation falls."
"What about you?"
"Me, well, I'll let these good folks at Central Medical handle the immediate problems, then I'll relieve them and do the later. I'm headed home, taking my doses of potassium iodide and staying in until I can cover up enough to be safe. A sick doctor isn't any good to sick patients."
"You're a doctor?"
"I am." He flipped down the sun visor and pulled an orange card from the strap. After opening the door for interior light, he looked down at the card.
It was the first time she really got to see him and Harland looked every bit like he sounded. Very down to earth, strong, salt and pepper hair, probably in his sixties, He looked more like a rancher than a doctor.
"So far so good," he said of the card.
"What is that?"
"Personal radiation detector card. Works like a mood ring. Lets me know when the radiation is heavy in the air." He smiled. "Those guys at the crash site were passing them out left and right." He put the card in his front pocket. "Let's go look for your boy."
Kit couldn't have asked for a better person to go into that hospital with. The frazzled nurse knew Harland well and made time to talk to him.
"We have maintenance blocking windows and moving everyone into the halls," she said. "We have the staff right now. I thought you were hunkering for a few days at least."
"I will," Harland said. "Cindy, how many from the crash came in?'
"Seven," Cindy replied. "Seven critical, one person is fine, he was just helping folks."
Kit heard 'he' and immediately thought maybe it was Zeke, or one of her brother's.
"Elcort Medical took in seventeen critical. I think about a dozen went over to the fire station," she spoke as she walked. "The rest were divided between the elementary school here and the one in Elcort. I did hear they took some folks to Schriever. Sorry I can't help out more. Wish I could. I can only confirm what's here. You're welcome to look for your son," she said to Kit. "We have two in surgery now. The remainder are in triage."
"I can take her," Harland said. "The two in surgery?"
"Both women," Cindy replied.
"Thank you." Harland placed his hand on her shoulder then showed Kit the way to Triage.
"How's that card looking?" Kit asked.
Harland pulled it out of his pocket. "Same. Not shading yet." He pushed the doors open. "I'm going to guess these people in the halls are from the plane. It's only five so this gives us some time."
It took all of thirty seconds to know that none of those people in the hall were Zeke, Mark or Regis. A part of her felt relief, but the other grew more concerned.
"I have an idea," Harland said. "It could save us time and eliminate a place. Obviously they're communicating with Elcort. How about I find Cindy, we try to reach out and maybe we can see if your son and brothers are there. Maybe they got some names. It's a long shot, but worth a try."
"Yes, that would be great."
"What are their names?"
"Zeke Meyers, Regis and Mark Rolland."
"I'll be right back." Harland walked away.
Kit took that moment to catch her breath. One second she was on the plane, the next she crashed and now was on a whirlwind frantic search for her family.
"Nine F," he called out. "Nine F."
Kit wasn't sure who was calling out, but she turned toward the voice to see him approaching her. It was the Captain from the plane, the same one who took a seat right before they crashed.
"I am so glad you're all right," he said.
"Thank you."
"I was worried. You weren't breathing."
Kit snapped her finger. "Abe, right? You're the one who put oxygen on me. Thank you. Thank you so much."
"You're welcome. I didn't know if you had any more injuries. I wanted to stop here before going to the school to look for you."
"For me?" Kit asked. "That's right you said you'd find me."
"You also asked me to look for your son."
Kit's heart skipped a beat. "You looked for my son?"
"I did."
"Thank you so much."
"Listen," he held up a hand to her. "It may not be good."
At that second, Kit's excitement nose dived to the pit of her stomach. "What happened?"
"I looked. There were only four children on board. I found the little boy, he was about five, he didn't make it."
"That is so sad. I'm sorry you had to see that."
"I'm sorry for you, too."
"What do you mean?" Kit asked.
"That was the only male child."
"Oh," Kit exhaled heavily. "No, my son is seventeen."
"Oh wow." Abe stepped back. "Here I was looking for a kid. I… didn't see any teenagers. I looked everywhere."
"You did? You looked everywhere?"
Abe nodded. "Until they made me leave."
"My son was two rows behind me."
Abe shook his head. "I didn't help any injured there. The more seriously injured or killed people were up front, first class and the cockpit."
"So those in the main cabin survived?"
"Well, pretty much. Except the back end. The tail end broke off. Probably when we hit. Anyone seated in the back more than likely got tossed out or…" Abe stopped and looked at her. "What's wrong?"
He saw it, he had to, because Kit felt al
TEN – Left Behind
The taillights of the last of the rescue vehicles seemed to be swallowed by the black of the night as they drove off into the dust and darkness.
Regis stood alone.
There were so many trucks, too many, it was as if they knew the plane was going to crash. There were military vehicles, military buses, local fire departments and not to mention numerous locals with their pickup trucks. Regis heard someone say there were a hundred and eighty people on the plane. With all the ready hands, the rescuers swept in, collected passengers – dead or alive – and moved right out.
Regis wasn't surprised at all that they were in Colorado, after all, Dalton had etched that information on the black third page of the novel, Alas, Babylon.
'We are being evacuated as part of COG ,' the note read. 'Course changed. Destination NM. Nuclear attack imminent.'
A paperback, Regis placed in his back pocket.
It was still there.
Some people probably wouldn't understand COG, but Regis did. Continuity of Government. Because of his father, he was very familiar with the term COGCON. Continuity of Government Conditions. There were five levels in getting the government ready. He guessed, with the soldiers, they were in level two. The highest level, which was zero, was the full on evacuation of the president and his successors.
Considering they were so close to Colorado Springs, more than likely the pilot sent out a call for assistance. However, in Regis' opinion, there were far too many rescue workers for a handful of solders. Somebody important was on that plane.
Whoever that was didn't matter to Regis, because he had his own people that were very important to him.
He was grateful to Dalton for giving him that information. Mentally Regis was preparing when he read the words. It still didn't lessen the shock of seeing the mushroom clouds glow against the nighttime sky.
That information allowed him to snap into thinking and reasoning mode when the plane sailed to the ground.
The nearest Regis could figure was he was in a good spot on that plane. Yes, he felt the bumps and jolts but he was snug in a safe position. In fact, his entire row on both sides were unscathed. Seats weren't moved, no one was injured.
Regis didn't have a scratch.
The second he realized that he started to pray, but noticed Dalton was freaking out. The young soldier fought with his seatbelt, legs kicking.
"Hey, hey, calm down. Okay?" Regis told him. "I'll get you out."
"It's over. They did it," Dalton said emotionally.
"It's not over. Not by a long shot. We're near NORAD, these were strategic hits. That might be all that's done."
"My family…"
"Son," Regis took a calm fatherly tone. "The best way you can help your family is to do your job. Alright. Now let me undo this for you."
Regis undid his belt and Dalton stood quickly and pushed his way through the dark plane.
He tried to look around, to see anything. He needed to find Zeke, Mark and Kit, but he couldn't see a thing. He followed the directions of screams, which only brought him two rows back when a bloody hand reached out to him screaming for help.
So many people screamed for help.
The woman was on the floor, trapped not only by a seat, but also by two people on top of her.
More than anything he wanted to walk away, say "Sorry I have to find my family." Instead he found himself helping the woman. Trying to convince her to stay calm and lift not only the weight of the bodies, but the airline seats. She was stuck, and the blood just flowed.
He attempted to call out for someone to help him, but his calls were lost in the cries from everyone else. "
Before he knew it, rescue workers ascended on them like the cavalry and someone was there to assist Regis in a matter of minutes.
"Are you hurt, sir?" the one rescuer asked.
"No. Not at all."
"After we get her out, you need to get on one of the trucks."
Regis started to say he couldn't, but the seat was lifted.
They freed the woman, but it was obvious to Regis she wasn't going to make it. The gaping wound in her stomach bled profusely. Another worker came over and they carried her out.
Regis watched and was about to turn back when he saw two workers carrying Kit.
"Kit!" he called and tried to push his way up front. He couldn't get through and she was off the plane. He grabbed a man who looked like he wore a captain's shirt. "That woman they just took out. Is she…"
"No, she's fine. She's fine. Excuse me," he said and rushed away.
Okay, Kit is good , Regis though. Now I have to find Mark and Zeke. If I'm fine they are.
Zeke was sitting close to Kit, he didn't see him, so Regis opted to search for Mark. The farther he made it to the back of the plane, the darker it was. Not even emergency lights worked.
To him it looked like a wall of darkness until he not only felt the cold breeze, but saw the lights.
Head lights from the rear of the aircraft. That was when he knew, the back of the plane, the section where Mark was seated… was gone.
His hand gripped a seat and a pain filled his chest.
"Mom! Mom!"
Regis spun around and he saw him. He sighed in relief. "Zeke."
Zeke looked his way, "Uncle Rege."
Rescue workers shove by them both, but Regis managed to make it to his nephew. He embraced him. "Oh my God, are you okay? Are you hurt?"
"I hit my head, but I'm fine," Zeke said. "I can't find my mom."
Regis nodded as he held the boy's shoulders. "They took her out already. She's fine. I think a minor injury."
"Uncle Mark?"
"The back of the plane is gone. I'm going to go look for him."
"I'll help."
"No, listen, you get on a truck and you go," Regis said. "You have to find your mom. She'll be worried."
"If you are able bodied and can walk," A man shouted. "Please evacuate the plane now. We need to clear the area, ASAP."
"Uncle Rege?" Zeke asked.
"Go. Please. Go."
"You have to come."
Regis shook his head. "I can't. He's my brother, my little brother, for the last couple months I abandoned him when he needed me. I will not abandon him especially now, because I feel he needs me."
Zeke embraced him and reluctantly left with the last few people.
Regis stood alone in the plane. The only light was a single erected spotlight outside.
The rest of the workers carried out the few remaining injured and deceased. Regis listened to the sounds of people shouting for survivors to hurry.
He made his way to the back of the plane, hoping that maybe Mark flew upward and was unconscious somewhere.
"Sir," a man called. "You need to leave the plane."
"I'm looking for my brother."
"There's no one left."
"He was in the back, Have you found it?" Regis asked.
"It's about three quarters of a mile back. Everything is scattered. We don't have time to check that debris field."
Regis nodded. "Do you have a flashlight?"
"Sir, I cannot urge you enough to get on a vehicle. It is only a matter of time before radiation hits."
"Do you have a brother?" Regis asked. "A younger brother."
"I do."
"What would you do? Would you get on a truck and hope for the best, or take a chance and find him?"
The worker just looked at Regis and within a few minutes, he was handing Regis a spot light style flashlight, handed him an orange radiation monitor card, and surprising Regis, he took off his radiation suit.
"Listen, you have an hour of oxygen. I would wait until you absolutely have to and put that on. Stay due north on the highway and you will make it to Schriever, walking, in less than an hour," he said. "Watch your readings. Your body can only take so much."
"Thank you, Thank you so much, Sir." Regis placed the suit near the plane where he could find it.
"If you can't start walking, come to the plane, block yourself in. "
"I will, thank you."
Regis was moved and touched by the goodwill of the worker, and even more so when he drove Regis to the debris field.
After all the trucks had left it was completely dark. He could see the spotlight stand still by the plane, at least he wouldn't lose track of that.
And with a single flashlight in hand, determined and worried, Regis began his search for his brother and he wasn't going to leave, no matter what the cost to him, no matter how long, Regis wouldn't not stop until he found him.
GROUND ZERO CITIZEN – Two
Washington D.C.
Due to the early morning hour, Terrence questioned how many people would actually know about the attack on America. That question was answered by the time he pulled into the loading area of the hotel. Typically if he arrived that early, there was no movement and most of the hotel was dark. Not on this morning. Lights were on, people buzzed about leaving, trying to get a taxi.
News had broken, people were aware.
Terrence couldn't imagine any attack on D.C. coming before daylight. That was absurd. From every book he ever read, to movies he had seen, attacks came during the day. Even Pearl Harbor happened in the morning. Then his mind raced to the attacks of 2001. It was still dark on the west when the east was hit. There was no true time clock when it came to attacking. The enemy wasn't going to wait until everyone was up and ready for the news.
He wasn't the only one with the idea to gather items from the hotel as opposed to hoping for the best at the local market. Employees who knew of supplies were loading up their cars. No one really bothered to stop them.
When Terrence arrived at the back door, one of the maids was carrying an arm full of boxed cereal. Another employee came out with oatmeal and crackers. Terrence didn't say anything about it, they were obviously taking items from the general storage. Those items were used to stock the complimentary continental breakfast and snack counter.
Terrence had a key to the kitchen storage. So did security. Terrence didn't see any of those guys running out the back. He figured, they like him, were going after the good stuff. He made the decision to go back out, turn down the alley and park by the catering door. He blocked that off with his car, took his keys, raced inside and grabbed the flat dolly. No one said anything to him as he raced down the hall that ran behind the banquet rooms. In fact, a lot of employees looked scared when he walked in.
One of his kitchen workers froze in his tracks, as he carried items in his arms. "Sorry, Chef," he said. "Please don't stop me. I have a baby and I got to get them out of the city."
"That's fine. Go," Terrence said, pushing his cart. He stopped and looked back. "Matt."
"Take that out and come back in. Take some stuff from the back with me."
"Thanks, Chef. I will."
Terrence made it to the back storage. He was a smart man. He knew he should only make one trip back out to his car with supplies. Any more, he stood the risk of being robbed or his car stolen. Plus, he didn't have a big vehicle. He didn't have much room.
He loaded four cases of water, large cans of fruit, crackers, two huge jars of peanut butter and a few other items. Matt came into the room as Terrence finished taking what he would take.
"Keep that door open for others," Terrence said.
"What if this doesn't happen and we all get fired?" Matt asked.
"I don't think that's a worry. I have to go. Good luck to you."
"Chef, where you headed?"
Terrence shook his head. "I don't know. I just have to put distance between me and this city." Without saying anymore, Terrence rolled that dolly down the hall, barreling by everyone and making them move out of his way.
He hustled back out the door tossing everything in his car. He left the dolly right there and took off. It was only a few minutes, fifteen tops but everything was already out of control.
Sirens blared, police cars flew down the streets, people raced around in a panic and it was still dark out. He made it to the 495 and traffic was still moving. The freeway was the quickest way for him to get back home. He could have taken side streets, but with all the makings of pandemonium, Terrence wanted to keep moving.
He called his wife, he wanted her to be ready for whenever he got there. He needed her and the girls, along with his mother at the door.
It took three unanswered calls and finally Macy answered the phone.
"Terrence, what's wrong?" she asked, not even bothering to say hello.
"Mace, listen to me. I need you to wake the girls and momma, get dressed, grab a few things from the apartment and…"
"Whoa. Whoa, Wait. Terrence, what the hell?"
"Listen to me, in case we lose connection. Get a few things not much, clothes, blankets. Just grab. Flashlights and lighters, too. Everything. We have got to leave the city baby, and we have to do it now. We're under attack."
"Washington D.C.?"
"The whole country. Baby… they dropped nukes in Montana already."
"Oh my God."
"I got supplies from work, we'll be good, we just need to get far away from D.C."
"How much time do we have?"
"I don't know. It's getting crazy out here. I don't want to leave the car alone for a second. I'll be there in twenty-five minutes. And baby, grab my gun."
He hung up the phone and said a prayer that he'd make it to his family in time.
He lived in a neighborhood southeast of downtown the complete opposite end of town from where his hotel was located north of the city. His apartment was on the third floor of an eight story building. It took Terrence a little longer than he anticipated, but he finally pulled in front of his building. The neighborhood was quiet as if they still were unaware, unlike three miles away. He popped open the trunk and started to move supplies from the back seat into there.
Macy, the two girls and his mother were in the entranceway waiting when Terrence pulled up. They raced from the building as he was moving items.
"Just squeeze inside, doesn't matter, just get in," Terrence ordered.
Once they were all in the car, Terrence didn't wait to see if everyone was buckled. He peeled out.
"How are we on gas?" Macy asked.
"Nearly a full tank. We're good."
"Where we gonna go?"
Terrence's mother leaned forward. "Uncle Leo lives in West Virginia. We ought to head there. Go west. That's our best bet."
Macy nodded her approval.
"Daddy, I'm scared. What's going on?" his oldest daughter asked.
"It's gonna be okay," Terrence replied, then watched his mother place her arms around both girls as she sat between them in the back.
In a whisper, Macy asked. "Is it? Is it gonna be okay?"
"It has to be."
"Have you been listening to the news?"
"Yeah, I'll put it back on. I just don't want to scare the kids," Terrence said.
"Oh my God, this isn't happening. This can't be." Macy brought her hands to her face.
"Forty minutes ago they took out NORAD," Terrence paused. "It's happening."
He placed on the news to stay informed, and with a feeling of desperation and fear, Terrence moved quickly to put distance between his family and the city.
ELEVEN – Target
"They're sealing up," the fire chief told Harland. "You can check. Make it fast. I want to get home."
Kit went inside and down to the hall below the fire department to check the survivors to see if any of them were her son or brother. Harland spoke with the fire chief, while Abe stayed at the top of the stairwell eavesdropping on their conversation.
The elementary school had already moved everyone to the bottom floor and into the halls to protect from radiation, they weren't letting Kit in, they were hunkered down.
This was the last stop for at least a week, probably longer. Abe guessed Kit was going to stay at the fire station, especially if her son was there. He himself was going to take Harland up on his offer to go to his place and shelter there. Abe had lots of questions, ones that could get answered easier in a small group situation rather than being one of many sleeping on the floor of a place used for wedding receptions.
Harland was monitoring the news when it broke, Harland knew the state of the country better than Abe, because he was up in the air in an evacuation that went bad.
Now Harland talked in depth with the chief.
"Protect your devices," the Chief told Harland. "Don't be confident yet."
"How am I supposed to run my filtration? I have to run it at least three times a day."
"Then I don't know what to tell you," Chief said. "Run it and hope for the best. Keep what you can in a faraday."
Harland groaned. "Well this sucks donkey balls. How long you think?"
"Three days we should know what was hit, what was not and if it's over. That's word from Civil Defense."
Civil Defense? Abe thought. Was there even a Civil Defense anymore?
He was under the assumption that Civil Defense went out with the cold war and came in as Homeland Security.
"Do we know if we shot our load?" Harland asked.
Abe didn't get to hear the answer, Kit returned.
"They aren't there," she said.
Abe stood from the top of the step where he was seated. "I'm sorry. At least you know they aren't injured, right?"
"Yeah, my choices dwindled down to they're alive and fine, or dead."
Abe cringed. "Don't… don't think like that."
Harland interrupted with, "We have to go. Head out now."
Abe looked at Harland, nodded then turned back to Kit. "Good luck."
"You aren't coming?" Harland asked her. "Are you afraid of me?"
"No." Kit shook her head.
"Him?" Harland pointed at Abe.
"I don't want to be a bother. You have helped me enough and I'm afraid my mood is horrible."
"It's not a party you're spoiling," Harland said. "But suit yourself. I'm sure it's cozy down there. Of course my place is like… what's that fancy first class Las Vegas hotel? Riviera, yeah, my place is the Riviera compared to that."
"Um, Harland?" Abe said. "That hasn't been first class since 1955. They also tore it down."
"You don't say. Now for sure my place is top notch." He paused and took on a serious tone. "Come back to my place. Once the danger has passed that no more bombs are coming, I'll start radioing out. We'll find your family."
Kit glanced to Abe as if seeking permission for some reason, then agreed to go. She apologized to the fire chief for not staying, and she, Harland and Abe left the fire station.
On the walk out, Abe thought about what Harland said.
'Once the danger has passed that no more bombs are coming…'
It was baffling to Abe that it was even a possibility. The bombs could fall again? Even if the only place hit was Colorado, Abe knew nothing was going to be the same again.
The moment they got into the truck, Harland pulled out the orange radiation card. His exhaled conveyed frustration. "I didn't think it would come this fast."
"How bad?" Abe asked.
"We're at twenty R's. We gotta get below. Within a few minutes that can be as high as five hundred. Not good. Let's hope that doesn't happen." He put the truck in gear, backed out of the spot in front of the fire station and hightailed it out of town.
He drove out of the small town, down a dark road, and turned only a few minutes into the ride into a long driveway. At the end, even dark, a single story home was visible. On the property was a shed and beyond that a barn.
Harland pulled to the barn and into through the open doors, parking his truck. He handed Abe and Kit each a flashlight, popped the hood, stepped from the truck and grabbed a silver blanket from the ground. He lifted the hood of the truck all the way, covered the engine with the blanket and shut the hood as best as he could.
"This way, hurry," he instructed. Harland closed the barn doors and led the way toward the house.
The three flashlight beams danced across the darkness.
The shutters on the outside of the house were closed and Harland took them to the rear of the home where there were a set a Bilco storm doors. He pulled out his keys and unlocked them, then stepped to the side.
Kit watched as he pulled a large rod from the ground and it extended it a good three feet. Next to that was a garden gnome, Harland lifted it to expose another rod.
"Antenna and monitoring," he said, then with a grunt opened the left storm cellar door. "Go on. Go down.
Kit stepped down first, then Abe. A small battery operated light was in the stairwell and gave enough light to see their way down.
After stepping through, Harland paused before closing the door and looked out.
Noticing he did this, Kit stood next to him. "What is it? What's wrong?"
"See that. We just made it." Harland pointed then aimed his flashlight outward. It looked like snow making its way through the beam of light. "Fall out."
He closed the door and slid the safety bar across.
They descended eight steps, which led to another door, Harland unlocked it and pulled it open. "Welcome home."
They stepped into a small lit office, not very big. Another door was straight ahead in the eight by eight room. There was a single desk flush against the wall and to the right of it a radio set up. Harland locked the interior door. "My calculations were off, damn it." He walked to the desk, lifted the bottle of water and tossed it to Kit. He then lifted a pill bottle, opened it and shook tablets in his hand. He handed one to Kit and one to Abe. "Take them. Potassium iodide, it will help thwart off effects of radiation."
Kit did as instructed then handed the water to Abe. "What do you mean your calculations were off?"
Harland reached up to what looked like a blind or projection screen, when in fact it was a map of the United States. He lowered it and secured it. "Just my estimate of where fall out would hit and when."
Kit noticed next to Colorado Springs he had drawn a lasso that extended east. Within that loop were different shades. "What is that?"
"My fall out estimate." He pointed. "We're here on the cusp of dangerous and deadly winds which could take it either way."
"Any way to know?" Kit asked.
"I'll do a reading in an hour. You two can go into the shelter through that door and get comfortable. I wanna do this while it's fresh." On the desk was a small cardboard box and a tablet. Harland lifted the tablet and pulled red topped push pins from the box.
"I think I'd rather watch," Abe said.
Kit observed as Harland began to mark the map. Putting pins in around Denver and Colorado Springs, then various other areas.
"Jesus," Abe exclaimed. "How do you know about the other places?"
"Why Montana?" Kit added.
"Yeah, Montana…. That's a silo alley up there. We have lots of warheads ready to launch." Harland explained. "These…" Harland pointed to Denver and Colorado Springs. "I pretty much saw. The others… I heard about on the news…" he pointed. "California, Kansas… Alaska… go figure. Those were announced about an hour before you crashed. Maybe more. News was still on. In case you're wondering Canton, Ohio is still standing."
"Why Canton?" Kit asked.
"World News Network moved their broadcast from there. As of last report there were no major cities hit."
Kit placed her hand on her chest and exhaled.
"Yet." Harland said. "Don't know if you saw the rockets' red glare streaming upwards… we unleashed a hell of a bay of weapons from this end, now either we are being proactive, or we are giving all we have because of what was incoming. We don't know."
Abe asked. "Is there any way to know?"
Harland pointed to the radio. "I'll call out here soon. The grid has been off to protect it, or else I'd check the television. Power went down in this town as a precaution about fifteen minutes before the bombs fell. You know, theory, anything running will stop running forever."
"So last you heard it was strategic hits only," Abe said. "It's possible then that might be all there is?"
"Possible," Harland said. "Unlikely considering what we sent out. I'm gonna guess it went all out."
"All out, meaning all out nuclear war?" Kit questioned.
Harland nodded. "That's my guess. Like I said, just from here I saw hundreds of missiles leave. If they weren't defensive then when the enemy sees what's coming their way, they'll match tit for tat."
"Who is the enemy?" Kit asked.
"Shouldn't it be who isn't the enemy?" Harland raised an eyebrow. "Now, this is gonna sound odd, but you two really have been through a traumatic experience. That adrenaline will slow down and you will start feeling that plane crash. You look like shit, both of you. Why don't you go in the other room, sit down and I promise I'll be right in. I have about eight more to mark."
Kit nodded her agreement and reached for the wooden door, pausing before she opened it. "Harland, thank you. You have things pretty decked out here."
Harland smiled. "If you're impressed with the war room office, wait until you step into the Riviera."
"Was this a hobby of yours?" Abe asked. "You know being one of those prepper people?"
"Hobby?" Harland chuckled. "If it is, then the whole town are hobbyists. No, we're just realist. Everyone around here is. Be prepared. The couple that owned this house before me built all this. I just made adjustments."
"Was it because you knew something like this would happen?" Kit asked.
"I hoped it never would, nah, I think everyone took precaution because they know. Unless you didn't notice, we're pretty close to a big target in the US. When you're that near a bull's eye, you want to be ready in case that poison dart ever comes. Sadly…" Harland took a push pin and placed it on Jacksonville, Florida. "That dart arrived with a vengeance."
On the other side of the office door was the main room of the shelter. It was clean, plain and didn't have any basement musky odors. There were no pictures on the walls, or decorations.
The large room was an open floor design. To the right looked like a living room with a couch, two chairs and coffee table, an old television and stacks of books. Across the room a kitchen area was nestled in the corner.
"No worries," Harland said. "This place was designed for four. So there's plenty of room. This is the main room. We're not that far below ground but we're insulated." He pulled out his orange card. "Oh, yeah, we got a zero on this. That's a good sign." He waved out his hand. "Cabinets are stocked and behind that door there is another room," he pointed to the door near the kitchen, then walked over and opened it. "It's all storage, water and food." He closed the door. "I got my well water permit three years ago and it made this set up a whole lot nicer. Still I would watch water consumption. Use what we have in storage for drinking, wash with the rest until we can test the well after this mess. It should be fine, but you never know."
Harland crossed the room, pausing at a small hallway. "Bathroom down there with another small storage space. We keep games, books, blankets and some clothing. We never knew who would be down here with us if something happened."
"I'd love to change my clothes," Kit said. "They have blood on them."
"You're welcome to take a look," Harland replied. "Abe, I'm not sure anything will fit you, but you can check. I don't know what Betty picked up at the thrift store."
"Betty?" Kit asked. "Is that your wife?"
"Bettina. She passed away six years ago. So suffice to say nothing in that room is fashionable."
"I'm sorry your wife passed," Kit said.
"Yeah, me too." Harland said with a deeper gravel to his voice. "She was a good woman who was retired from the military two days when she just didn't wake up. She was only fifty-four, way to young." Harland paused, then cleared his throat and regained his composure. "Generator is down that hall, too. For now, I'm only going be running it every couple hours. So for the next couple days, the air might get a little stale and we'll use lanterns. Just as precaution in case we get hit again. It's an inverter generator so it has some parts that can be hurt by an EMP." Again, he moved to the far corner by the living area. He turned the knob on a door and pushed it open. "Sleeping room. Two bunk beds. Sleeps four. Don't know how much sleep we'll all
"Thank you for this," Kit told him.
"Yes, thank you." Abe repeated.
"Not a problem. I'm happy to have you. It would kind of suck being by myself down here," Harland said. "Hey, you hungry? I'm hungry." He inched to the kitchen. "Before all this started I made a cheeseburger casserole. Thought I'd have it the whole week. I make a mean cheeseburger casserole. Since fridge space is limited to that little box over there what do you say I fix us up a plate?"
"I would like that," Kit replied.
"Me too," said Abe. "Would you mind if I checked the storage for something to wear?"
"You go right ahead. Betty marked the boxes."
"I'll check for you, too," Abe said and then left the room.
Kit followed Harland over to the kitchen area and slid in at the table while he pulled out items for the meal. "What kind of doctor are you? A GP?"
He appeared to search the wording, his first word flowed out of his mouth almost like a groan. "Well…. A general practitioner is vague. But yeah, for the last couple years I was mostly a GP. Before that, most of my career, I was a Pediatrician."
"Really? A Pediatrician?"
"What?" Harland placed a pan on the stove. "I don't look like someone you'd take your kids to?"
"You look a little gruff…" Kit held up her hand. "No offense."
"None taken. Kids loved me, just so you know." He leaned toward his casserole and took a whiff. "Smells good. Hope you're hungry."
"I am. I feel guilty being safe and for eating."
"Why is that?" Harland asked.
"Because I'm alive in here while my family is…"
"You can't change right now where your family is, or what happened. No amount of obsessing is changing their destiny. I know that's a hard pill to swallow. After a few days, after radio contact, we can gauge what's happened. Then go back on and look. They were taken from that plane, just like you. Where they are now is where they're going to stay."
"I am trying to remember that."
Harland handed her a glass of what looked like wine and then a small plate of his casserole. "How are you feeling?"
"My head hurts, ribs, back, they all hurt. They're nothing compared to what my heart feels though."
With an 'hmm' and a nod, Harland sat down. "I can imagine."
"My mother was home in Seattle with my daughter who is pregnant. I don't know if they got the warning, if there was one, or even if Seattle is still standing. She lifted her glass and took a sip of her wine. "Add that to me having no idea what happened to my son or brothers. My son and brothers were only two and three rows behind me."
"I thought…" Abe's voice entered the room. "I thought you said your brother was in the back."
"One of them was," Kit replied. "I had two brothers on the plane. One was three rows behind me."
"Oh my God." Abe walked more toward the kitchen.
"What?" Kit asked.
"Yeah, spill it," Harland said. "What do you know?"
"I don't know if I know anything. Just… after they carried you out some guy was pretty frantic and grabbed me. He asked about you, I guess he thought you were dead. I told him you were fine, He looked relieved, but I didn't have time to talk to him since I assumed he wasn't your son and I was looking for your kid."
"What did he look like?" Kit asked with a slight rush of excitement to her voice. "Do you remember?"
"Um sort of. Middle age, probably fifty. Stocky, bald, I remember that."
Kit gasped in shock. "Was he wearing a yellow golf shirt?"
"That… I can't tell you."
"It had to be Regis," Kit said. "It had to be. Why else would some stranger ask about me? Did anyone else ask about people being brought off the plane?"
Abe shook his head. "Not to my knowledge."
"This man, was he hurt?"
"Actually, not at all."
Kit placed her hand on her chest and sat down. "Thank you."
"I don't know for sure if it was your brother." Abe joined her and Harland at the table.
"I know." Kit nodded. "I feel like it probably was. I also feel so much better. I mean a lot better."
Kit did. Neither Harland nor Abe asked why she felt better. More than likely they assumed it was because her brother was possibly not only alive, but unscathed. That was part of it and also that it was more than likely Regis. If it was him, and Kit was certain it was, then that was the best person to be standing unharmed. Instantly she felt her son was safe because Regis was there. He took the big brother role very seriously. He was always the protector, the one to make sure and shoulder the burden that everyone was all right. He did that his entire life. Kit was positive, that Regis would do all he could to find out about Zeke and Mark. He would do everything in his power to find out what happened to them, even if it took staying behind.
TWELVE – Last Second
Red Sweater woman was twisted as if she didn't have a bone in her body. Her legs were behind her head, and she was the first passenger from the tail end that Regis stumbled across. The sight of her frightened him because he knew she was seated next to Mark.
She could have been Regis and he knew it. Had she taken Mark's bribe of fifty dollars, he would have been in that part of the plane, in that seat.
How did it happen? How did the plane break in three? That was exactly what it did. The clear sky once filled with stars was now blackened out by what Regis could only figure was smoke. It made it impossible to see anything. Even the spotlight on the stand by the biggest section of the wreckage seemed to disappear, depending on which angle he walked.
He had to keep track of that light. The radiation suit was back in the plane and it was his only guidance to getting near the road, because the main cabin of the plane was on the highway. The nose, which included the cockpit was somewhere else and the tail end was four hundred feet away. Tossed aside and forgotten about, that end left a mine field of debris that Regis tripped over.
Each passing minute seemed like an hour. They dropped him off close to the debris field. But in the night, it Regis was searching blindly, even with the flashlight.
He moved slowly, swinging his flashlight left to right. Being especially careful in his search after seeing Red Sweater woman. He stopped every few feet and checked that orange card. It was only a matter of time before it shaded in and let him know that radiation had arrived.
If Red Sweater woman was there, Mark wasn't far away.
It didn't look or feel good to Regis.
There was no discernible sound, or movement.
He feared the worst for his brother.
Was he a fool for putting himself at risk? Regis didn't think that. He wanted to find his brother and find him alive. Even if Mark was on his last dying breath, then Regis would be with him.
He could see the shadowy outline of the back end of the plane and the closer he got the more
bodies he came across.
The plane didn't break up mid air or explode, so the bodies were still intact. Just in bad shape. Seats were scattered along with bags, and Regis made it to the tail end.
It was upside down and wires were strewn across. Two bodies were still in seats, but there was no one else in the plane.
Eight rows, twenty four seats, twenty-four people and he had counted nine so far.
Where was his brother?
"Mark!" Regis cried out. "Mark!"
Please hear me, answer me, or let me see you, Regis thought.
He would search a little more then he would head back to the plane to put the suit on. He was running out of time.
There were so many items that scattered around that piece of wreckage. The light of the beam moved about them. A purse, phone, a coffee pot and then… the book.
His flashlight beam caught it and Regis heart sunk to his stomach as he dropped to his knees.
Alas, Babylon .
The book was intact but covered in blood. He lifted it into his hands and felt the dampness of it.
"No. No." Regis crumbled, he clutched that book. Red Sweater woman was there, the book, others, where was his brother. In one final emotional cry, he screamed. "Mark!"
His head lowered.
Regis lifted his eyes and they widened. He hurriedly and clumsily stood. "Mark!" Suddenly filling with enthusiasm, he moved the flashlight around.
"Rege! I can't see anything where are you?"
"By the tail! Where are you?"
"I don't know!"
Rege, still holding the book began to move his flashlight around. "Can you see the spotlight?"
"Are you hurt?"
"I don't think. I feel like I'm in a black pit."
"Stay put. Don't move. Just let me know when you see my flashlight." Regis took a second to think. He knew that the spotlight was already fading for him, so for Mark not to see it or his own flashlight, he had to be behind the tail end.
Hand against the plane, Regis moved toward the back.
"I see your flashlight!"
Regis moved only a few more feet, then lifted it up some. "Can you still see it?"
"Yes. I'm coming that way. Don't move."
Regis' heart raced, he lifted his head to the heavens and said, 'Thank you' as he moved the flashlight left and right as a guide for Mark. Within a minute the beam caught a figure and reflected off of something yellow.
Then Mark emerged from the darkness.
Regis screamed. "Oh my God, you're alive. You're alive." He grabbed on to his brother and felt Mark's arms wrap around him.
"I was knocked out," Mark said. "I woke up and it was just black. I thought I was dead. Then I heard you."
Regis pulled from the embrace and shone the flashlight on his brother. His face was scraped and cut and hair matted with blood. "Why are you wearing a life jacket?"
"I don't know. I put it on as protection."
Regis extended his hand behind Mark's neck and pulled him forward, kissing him on the head. "We gotta get out of here. I mean fast. Can you walk?"
"Yeah. My leg hurts, but I'll manage. Please don't tell me we're the only two survivors."
"No." Regis took his arm and moved him along, Mark limped some. "Kit's injured, but fine. Zeke is fine, too. They went with the rescue crews."
"Why didn't the crews wait?" Mark asked.
"I'll fill you in." Regis guided him along. "See that light, that's the plane. We need to get there, follow the road."
"Jesus," Mark stopped and looked down. "That's the lady next to me."
"Mark, we have to hurry."
"I watched her die you know."
"Mark… please."
"Why are you dragging me?" Mark stopped. "I'm trying, it's hard to move. My legs hurt. Rege, if everyone left… why are you here?"
Regis exhaled and pursed his lips. "I couldn't leave you behind. What would I say to Mom?"
Mark embraced him. "Thank you."
"Now can we please get going?"
"Where to? They left us."
"They didn't leave us. They had to get to safety. Mark… something happened that caused our plane to crash." Regis tugged his arm to get them moving again.
"What?" Mark asked. "Was there a bomb on the…" he paused, then fluttered is lips. "What the hell?" He kept fluttering his lips as if something was stuck to them. "Fuck, this burns."
Hurriedly, Regis swung the light to shine on Mark. "Oh my God."
"What is this?" Mark held out his hand. "It feels like sandy ash."
"We don't have time. We have to hunker in the plane. That's fall out." Regis pulled mark once again, only this time he nearly ran.
"Fall out? From?" A beat. "Oh shit."
"Yeah," Regis said. "Now do you see why we have to get to the plane and why everyone left?"
"Not everyone." Mark pointed. "Look."
Hating to do so, Regis stopped, He could feel the flakes hitting against his body, causing a tingling burning sensation as it touched any exposed area. He thought maybe his brother saw someone. If that was the case, if another survivor of the crash was left behind, then Regis had to help them as well. That wasn't what Mark saw.
Beyond the spotlight pole, coming closer were two lights.
The rescue party returned, Regis believed, and it couldn't have been better timing.
The deadly radiation had arrived and the fall out was evidence of that.
Regis waved his flashlight as a signal as he and Mark hurriedly made their way to the vehicle.
The vehicle drove closer then stopped.
"Thank God," Regis said. He lifted his arm high, waving the flash light.
The door to the military humvee opened and the drive stepped out. "Hurry!"
Injured or not, Regis pulled Mark into a mad dash to the vehicle.
"Dust off!" the driver order then got back in.
Mark and Regis arrived.
"Just take off everything you can. Down to your drawers," Regis told Mark.
Mark nodded and lifted off his shirt. He slipped out of his pants and jumped in the back seat.
After removing his shirt and pants, Regis got in and breathed out. He was winded and adrenaline caused his heart to race out of control. "Thank…" he shut the door and paused when he saw the driver.
Dalton, the young soldier from the plane, the one who sat next to Regis, he nodded, put the vehicle in gear, turned the wheel and accelerated. The ass end of the humvee swing outward as they made it to the highway.
"Thank you," Regis said.
"When I looked for you and they said you stayed behind to search for you brother, I came back to help," Dalton said. "You were good to me on the plane. I'm glad you found him. Why is he wearing a life jacket?"
"I don't know. Maybe it saved him." Regis said. "You are in the nick of time, too."
"That's an understatement."
Mark leaned between the seats. "Where are we going?"
"To base. We'll all have to be decontaminated. We've been exposed. Hopefully not much," Dalton said. "Then again it may not matter."
"What do you mean?" Regis asked.
"They may have hit NORAD, but they didn't take out our systems." Dalton shifted gears and picked up speed. "They just tracked seven hundred and thirty-two incoming missiles.
Mark sat back. "Oh my God."
"Seven hundred and thirty-two missiles… heading where?" Regis asked.
Dalton looked at Regis, then to the road ahead as he pushed humvee full speed. "Everywhere."
GROUND ZERO CITIZEN – Three
His options were limited for getting west of the city, and ideally that was where Terrence needed to get his family. East was Andrews Air Force base and Annapolis, all potential targets. Without knowing how long they had, it was all a crap shoot on which way to take.
His mother, June, argued that they should go south, while Macy insisted on going north into the city and crossing over. To Terrence that was insane, and they'd be in the worst place possible if the bombs landed.
What truly was insane was taking the Beltway, but it was the only way and for a mile or two traffic moved well, and then just as the sky lightened, everyone merged and it became a nightmare.
There were accidents, arguments and cars just stopping. What was wrong with people? Why would they stop to fight, they should just move, and make it out of the city.
Once they made it across the Potomac, Terrence pulled off the first exit south of Alexandria. He figured his best bet was try to take side streets and keep moving.
As he hit the light off the ramp and prepared to turn left, the long beep of the emergency broadcasting system played on the radio.
At first his instinct was to hit the brake, because every part of Terrence froze.
"Oh my God, it's happening," Macy said in a panicked voice.
After a brief moment, Terrence hit the gas.
'Attention citizens of the Metro D.C. and surrounding areas, this is not a test,' said the automated male voice. 'You are urged to seek immediate underground shelter. Avoid windows, if at all possible… .'
Terrence wasn't the only one who heard the warning. In a split second, everyone seemed to abandon their cars and run. Others were flying off the exit. They were in a business and office district. It was chaos, people broke windows to get inside businesses.
"We have to get off the streets," June urged. "Get below, but get to cover."
"We can't abandon the car, we have supplies," Terrence argued.
"Abandon the car, grab what we can and hope for the best," his mother said.
"Look." Macy pointed. "Up there. A parking garage. It has a ramp down."
"Lower level. Perfect." Terrence slammed his foot into the gas pedal and jolted the wheel to get on to the sidewalk, he hit into three parked cars while trying to get to that garage.
Then as he felt the 'home free' feeling, when he turned to get on the driveway, the car just stalled.
"What happened? What happened?" Macy asked.
The girls screamed.
"Are we out of gas?" his mother question.
"No," Terrence said. "Out of time."
Their car was still in drive gear and aimed down the ramp of the garage, Terrence yelled, "Macy, sit here. Everyone else down." He opened the car door, jumped out and without waiting until Macy climbed over to the driver's seat, giving it all he had, he pushed the car in hopes it would coast and pick up speed to make it all the way down the sloped entrance.
The first flash came, reflecting off the side view mirror, nearly blinding Terrence and it caused such a heart racing fear, a ringing filled his ear drums.
A split second later there were two more pulses of light, and then another.
Flash, Flash. Flash.
At the bottom of the thirty foot slant was a wall where the driveway turned right.
"Turn the wheel!" Terrence shouted, as he felt the car move on its own and slip from his grip. He tried to grab on, but the momentum was too much, the car sailed downward and Terrence fell to his hands and knees.
On his stomach, he lifted his head in enough time to see the car veer right, with the driver's side of the car scraping against the wall.
They made it.
Terrence scrambled to stand.
The triple play of booms rang through the air, vibrated the ground and a pressure filled his head. Before he could run, a super speed hurling wave of energy belted into Terrence, lifting and launching his bulky six foot four frame from the ground, spinning him like a top before slamming him back first into wall of the driveway bend.
Terrence was immediately disoriented, he didn't feel any pain. There wasn't time for that. Unknown to him that energy blast also acted like a tide, as fast as it came in, it sucked back out. In an attempt to stand, the reversal caught hold of him. He struggled with everything he had, but it carried him forward, then picked him up again and throwing him back.
This time the blast was full force. It didn't last a moment or a few seconds, it kept going, hitting Terrence with hot air that moved hundreds of miles per hour his way.
He turned, rolling his body into a fetal position and facing the wall as it battered his back. It wasn't a fireball, for that he was grateful, but it carried heat and he could feel his clothes start to singe. It was so loud, he tried to cover his ears.
It lasted a minute, but it seemed so much longer and finally it was done.
Terrance uncurled his body and sat up.
He was alive. He still wasn't feeling any pain, he supposed that would come. When he stood he instantly ripped off his shirt. It was hot and smoldering.
Back against the wall, he could see the top of the driveway. It was smoky. Sounds began to carry to him, howling wind, people screaming, continuous car horns blaring and Terrence was driven. He had to see it for himself.
He needed to see.
His right leg didn't want to move and his side hurt, yet, Terrance staggered up that first ramp of the driveway to get to the street level.
At first he saw nothing. It looked more like an earthquake had hit. Debris and papers filled the streets, some of them ignited and on fire. A few cars had been tossed and rolled. Windows were shattered and door frames hung down.
A woman and her young son raced by Terrence into the garage. It didn't even register to him that she ran right into him. He pivoted his body and when he did… he saw.
He stepped further into the street and stopped.
Terrence couldn't move, he couldn't breathe.
In the distance, reaching high, all a different shape and size were three mushroom clouds.
Black and orange swirled through them almost angrily as they burned their image into the sky. Even ten miles away he could hear the inferno of them. Whirling, howling.
The vision of the destruction was magnetic, pulling at him to watch, but Terrence knew he couldn't. He hurried back to the garage. He had to check his family. Make sure they were okay and alive. Although, after what he just witnessed, he wasn't sure 'being alive' was all that great of a thing.
THIRTEEN – Turmoil
After she had eaten and had two glasses of wine, Kit sat on the couch. It was hard to believe it was only four in the morning. From the time they crashed to the time she got to Harland's bunker, everything was rush, rush. Of course the red eye didn't help, her body was still in night mode and desperately needing sleep. She got comfortable on the sofa, rested back her aching head and fell asleep.
It wasn't restful because she dreamed. They were horrendous dreams. One was of her daughter pushing a baby on a swing and being flash burned by a nuclear warhead.
After three or four sequential nightmares, Kit had enough and sat up. At first she really believed everything was a nightmare. The crash, the bombs, but in the dim light of that bunker she absorbed the reality of the situation.
It really happened.
She didn't remember having a blanket, someone, Abe or Harland must have covered her. She was warm and the air felt stuffy. Not moving caused her body to go into some sort of mode and there wasn't a part of Kit that didn't hurt.
She sat on the couch, catching her breath, not wanting to go back to sleep. Only a lantern perched on the counter lit the large room, and Kit reached for her water on the table.
Her hands trembled, and she brought the liquid to her lips.
She had a complete list of names in her head of people she worried about and was scared for. Her daughter, Jillie and her mother were on that list.
How long had she been asleep?
She so badly wanted to check her phone, but she didn't have it. She had nothing from the plane, nothing that she brought with her.
As she felt the water hit her stomach, her head pounded and throbbed with each ache, and then Kit felt something else… sick.
It started as a churning in her belly, then swelled up her esophagus.
She grabbed the flashlight from the coffee table and after stumbling some, she raced down the hall to the bathroom.
She barely made it, dropping the flashlight on the floor as she threw herself around the commode.
She vomited violently, unable to control it and even after she emptied the contents of her stomach, her body still fought to get something out.
Every dry heave caused her head to pound in pain like she had never felt.
Hating to do so, she flushed once, but her head nearly sealed off the toilet. She couldn't stop heaving.
"Hey," Abe called softly. "You all right?" He stepped in and bent down for the flashlight.
"No. I'm sick. I'm really…" Kit lifted up and heaved forward. Nothing emerged. "I think I have radiation sickness."
"Hold on, I'll get Harland."
She nodded and fought the gagging. Abe returned a few minutes later with Harland. He handed her a bottle of water, as Abe helped her to her feet.
"You don't have radiation sickness," Harland told her as they escorted her to the living room.
"How do you know?" Kit asked. "You haven't checked me. My head hurts so bad and I am so sick."
"You don't have radiation sickness," he repeated. "I know this because you were barely exposed and second, you hit your head. You probably have a concussion. That can cause all those symptoms." He helped her to the couch. "Plus, my God, woman, you were in a plane crash and we're at war. You're worried about your kid, your brothers, and family. That alone could make you sick."
"You're not."
"Hard to get sick when you have no one to worry about," Harland said. "Besides, none of this is bothering me. What bothers me is some assholes decided tonight was a good night to end the world. Now…" he urged her to lay down. "Get some rest."
"I can't. I don't want to. I'd rather try to stay awake. Are you sure I don't have radiation sickness."
"I'm positive," Harland said. "Stay awake, but try to do so laying down. Down," he ordered.
Kit rested back on the sofa.
"And you too," Harland pointed to Abe. "You've probably seen better days."
"We all have. Were you able to get anything on the radio?" Abe asked.
Harland nodded. "I was. I was reaching different operators, getting info. Until it all stopped."
"How is that possible?" Abe questioned further.
"What? Losing contact?"
Abe nodded. "Yes."
"Hell, son, it's very possible when war is everywhere."
"Is it?" Abe asked.
Harland sat down. "Yeah, it is. Last attack came about an hour ago. We were able to intercept about forty percent of their incoming, but that still left a few hundred nukes sailing our way. Plus… radio chatter has it that they doused everything up the middle and bigger cities with biological weapons."
"Jesus." Abe sunk into a chair.
"Not confirmed. But when something explodes with minimal damage to buildings, you have to wonder if the real effects of that bomb are gonna happen in a few days," Harland said.
"What have you confirmed?" Abe asked. "I'm not asking that sarcastically, just curious what we know for sure."
Harland exhaled, sat down and folded his hands. "We know for a fact, New York, Washington D.C., Los Angeles, Cleveland, Norfolk and a bunch of other places were hit with two or three nukes each. Not like one wouldn't do the damage."
"This is insane."
"It is. They tried to hit NORAD again, missed the mark by thirty miles. That could have been us if they missed the opposite direction."
Kit sat up some. "Are all the locations safe? The base, Elcort."
Harland nodded. "Yes."
"What now?" Abe asked. "What do you think will happen now?"
"Now… we wait. If nothing happens in a couple more days, no more strikes, then this part is done. We help the injured and treat the sick," Harland said. "President was moved so we still have a branch of the government. I suppose he'll muster what he can of the troops, get them topside for aide in our cities and the rest and those on ships, overseas, probably use for the ground war phase."
"Wait?" Kit waved her hand. "Ground war? No. No way."
"Yeah," Harland nodded. "You would think, they nuke us, we nuke them, everyone shoots them off, and the thing is done. Grab our sticks and stones and start over. I doubt that would be the case. At the very least they'll mobilize ground troops here as a means of defense."
"This is crazy," Abe said. "It really is. Wasn't all this enough?"
Harland shrugged. "I don't make the rules. I mean it can be. It really can. Everyone that was hit may look around, say, 'oh shit', and concentrate on their own countries, in a perfect world, everyone will realize how stupid this is. You know, this is not a perfect world. Unfortunately, even under best case scenario where war is done, forgotten, we all lick our wounds and start again, nothing will be the same or easy. Sadly, for all of us, this story…" Harland said. "Has no happy ending."
FOURTEEN – Waiting
The first time Regis got a good look at Mark after the crash was when they pulled into the base and were taken to decontamination located in a bunker. His little brother was caked with blood and dirt, that it was no wonder Regis couldn't see him in the dark.
Immediately after decontamination, they were given clothes, and brought into a small medical room, where blood was drawn and wounds treated.
The two copies of Alas, Babylon would be another day before they were returned to Regis. He was worried more about those books
Regis wasn't even aware he had an abrasion on his cheek until the nurse told him. Mark, on the other hand would need checked out by the doctor. They were pretty certain he had broken a rib, or two.
It was all part of the integration process into the shelter. Regis was antsy. He not only wanted to see Kit and Zeke, he believed they needed to see him and Mark as well.
The room was small, two narrow single beds separated only by a lone night stand. There wasn't much room to move around and it didn't look like it was their permanent place. Regis imagined some huge room with all the plane crash survivors set up on cots.
Mark looked around as he sat on his bed. "Hey, do you think that maybe Deana has a psychic intuition, and put us on a plane that was going to crash on purpose?"
"What?" Regis asked and nearly chuckled out the word.
"Deana. Our sister. The evil one."
That started Regis thinking. Not that he believed for one moment Deana dubiously placed them on the fatal airline. He couldn't believe he hadn't thought of his sister. They all fight, but they still love each other. Deana was on the East Coast about thirty miles outside of Washington D.C. Was she fine? Hopefully she was far away from any bombs that fell over there. For as 'evil' as Mark liked to jokingly portray her, Deana wasn't. If she survived, Regis was certain she would be the first one on the front lines. Putting her nursing skills to great use.
He couldn't believe he hadn't thought of her. Too much happened, too fast. Nor did he think of his mother and niece. They were outside of a major city as well. Hopefully they were fine. Hopefully they knew what to do. His mother was an exceptionally strong woman. She of all people would know how to survive. He didn't give much thought to his ex-wife, or where she was, not that he didn't care, but Regis didn't place her top of his priority.
Mark snapped his finger. "Rege, you with me? Are you really thinking about that?"
"No." Regis shook his head. "I mean I'm thinking about it, but no, she wouldn't put us on that flight, unless she was saving our lives."
Mark looked curiously at him. "Rege, honestly, I'm a little confused here. Do you know anything? I mean, I figured, key words, fall out, decontamination and that tidbit about seven hundred missiles was pretty foretelling. How the heck did we end up crashing in Colorado?"
"There's this thing called COGCON, it's the…"
"Continuity of government," Mark winked. "I listened to Dad."
"Good, well, you don't need me to explain. Anyhow, we ended up on a plane part of COGCON. I guess it was evacuating essential personnel, families, there weren't enough soldiers on the flight to be a deployment. We were supposed to land in New Mexico, I'm betting the war started earlier than they expected."
"This all had to be last minute maybe. Best they could do for folks in the area. Which makes sense why they were buying seats."
Regis nodded. "Exactly. Securing lives while leaving the others behind."
"How did you find out?"
"That soldier that came for us. He told me. He was a mess," Regis said. "A barrel of nerves. He confided in me."
"No shit? Man, he really took a chance doing that. I mean, that's classified information."
"Yeah, but what difference did it make? We were in the air. We'd find out soon enough."
"Dude, we survived a nuke and a plane crash, how lucky are we?"
Regis shook his head. "We're in the middle of all out war, nuclear war, I wouldn't say we're lucky."
"Yeah, we are." Mark nodded. "I'll keep reminding you of that."
"I don't doubt you will. However…" Regis said. "We were lucky to be on that flight. I mean that was lucky."
"Nah that was the only part that wasn't luck."
"How do you figure?" Regis asked. "The plane was an evacuation plane."
"Exactly. We were meant to be on that plane."
"Why do you say that?" Regis asked.
"Think about it. One word," Mark said. "Dad."
GROUND ZERO CITIZEN – Four
The underground garage had an 'L' shaped driveway. The first part was the steeper slope where a wall marked the turn to more gradual ramp into the first level.
Every step Terrence took down that driveway, he kept envisioning those nuclear explosions. They were haunting to watch as they burned and see how quickly a rising glow of orange formed around the skyline.
It was the end of the world as he knew it. Terrence was frightened. Never in his life had he had so much uncertainty of what to do next, as he did walking back down that ramp.
There was no doubt, Terrence was injured. His body slammed pretty hard into the wall and his back stung some. It burned like the time he was at the beach too long and his shoulders took in too much sun.
The last he knew his family was fine, it was only a few minutes earlier, there was no reason to believe otherwise. He had given the car a shove and watched it make a tight turn and scrape against the wall. It as an older model, if his wife did indeed slide into the driver's seat, then she was able to pump the brakes, or turn to avoid crashing. None of that crossed his mind until he was returning to them. Perhaps justifying in his mind why he ran out to see the explosion, rather than run to them.
Just as he made it mid way down the ramp, he saw his car. As he suspected his family was fine. Macy stood outside the car, beside the open rear door. He clearly saw his daughters huddled around his mother. The car had collided into some parked cars, but it didn't look too damaged. That was a good thing, they would need a place to sleep.
As soon as they spotted him, his family ran to him.
Terrence cringed as their arms wrapped tightly around him. His wife to one side, his mother to the other, both daughters grasping for his waist. He didn't let them see him cringe, because he didn't want them to know he was hurt.
"My God, Terrence, I thought I lost you," Macy held tighter. "I looked back and all I saw were things blowing in, but no you."
"I'm fine," Terrance kissed the top of her head.
"Did you see anything?" his mother asked. "Was it a nuclear warhead?"
"It was three."
Macy gasped and stepped back. "Three? There was three? Are you sure?"
"Yeah." Terrence nodded. "Can we…" he moved from his family's embrace. "Can we just take a moment? I need a minute. I have to catch my breath. Then I need to try to come up with a plan."
"We're alive," Macy said. "Isn't that enough of a plan for now?"
"No, it's not. We weren't expecting this, not today, not tomorrow and certainly not in our lifetime." More than getting his head straight, Terrence was injured, and he needed to stop for that. As much as he needed to assess the situation, he needed to assess his body.
"Baby, you're bleeding." Macy reached up to his cheek.
"I'm fine." He pulled her hand away.
"No, you're not. Let me get you some water."
Terrence wasn't going to argue with that, not at first and then he finally noticed. They weren't the only people in that garage. "Mace," he called her name as she headed to the car. "Stop."
She tilted her head with a curious look and walked back to him. "I need to get your head clean."
Terrence moistened his sore and bleeding lips, lifted his eyes, peered around then lowered his head toward her ear. "Grab the partial bottle from the front seat and use it sparingly."
"But, Terrence we…"
"Mace." His whisper was firm, and he shifted his eyes so she could see he was looking around. "Get the half empty one only."
Macy nodded her understanding and went back to the car.
Terrence had his family's well being and survival to think about. They were surrounded by terrified strangers.
He didn't know these people, or what kind of situation they had placed themselves in. Until he figured it out, or attempted to, he wasn't showing his hand.
Terrance and his family may not have been the only ones who sought shelter in that garage, but until he knew better, he wasn't taking a chance of being the only person down there with a car full of survival supplies.
After he got his head together, dabbed his wounds sparingly with water, put on a shirt and used that tiny square clean up wipe from Barbeque Bill's to wipe his face, Terrence took in his surroundings. Macy, his mother, and his daughters, Mylena and Kira, stayed in the car, at Terrence's request. Just until he could figure out the next step.
He knew very little about nuclear weapons, only the knowledge he gained from movies and so forth. He knew there was radiation, that it was dangerous and they couldn't be out in the streets, but for how long?
What he wanted to do was open his trunk and look in the back seat to count everything he had. Terrence got a ton of supplies from the hotel, and if used sparingly, he could stretch it out. In the middle of the garage, that wasn't an option. Not with everyone around. It was obvious the people down there didn't retreat to the garage prepared. They going there was a last minute decision, like Terrence, to get to safety. He hoped many of them, did like he had done and packed their car with supplies. That way he wouldn't feel bad for having food.
After a few minutes, he caught his breath, put the car in gear, and with Macy behind the wheel, he pushed that car away from the ramp and to the far end of the garage.
It wasn't that much of a distance, but far away from open air and deep enough into the garage to set up a space for him and his family.
"Why are you doing that?" one man asked. "Just leave your car there."
Terrence didn't reply. He stayed focused on getting his family back deeper. Ideally, going one level down would be best. In order to do that, he'd have to empty out his car and all the supplies.
Pushing the car took a toll on Terrence and he started to feel the pain. Hating to do so, he got four ibuprofen from his wife's purse. He dreaded taking them because he knew he'd probably need them more later on. Terrence needed something for the pain, because he needed to keep going. He knew what was above, he didn't know what was below. He placed the keys in his pocket so no one but him could get into the trunk. Even though their supplies were in the backseat, the bulk of them were in the trunk. After making sure his wife and kids were okay, he handed his mother the gun because he knew she wouldn't hesitate to use it.
"What are you doing?" Macy asked. "You think these people are gonna come after us?"
"I can't take that chance."
"Look around. They're scared. They're hurt, they aren't coming for us."
"If they know what we have, they will."
"You honestly think tomorrow you will be able to open up a can of soup and eat it knowing these people may not eat?" she asked.
"I'll think about that tomorrow, right now, I have to think about today. I'll be right back."
"Where are you going?" Macy asked.
"I need to see how many people are here and what's below. I'll be back." He kissed her on the cheek, then reached into his car's glove compartment and pulled out a small note pad and pencil.
Terrence realized it seemed like a trivial thing to do in the wake of the attack, but really it wasn't. His family's safety and survival was foremost important.
He counted the people in the shelter, including his own family. There were twenty-seven people. Of them eight were women, nine were men. Seven were small children under the age of twelve and there were two teenagers.
First place he walked was to the stairwell, he opened the door and looked in there… no one.
He stopped at the elevator after leaving the staircase and pounded on the elevator door.
"Anyone in there?" he asked, then pounded again. "Anyone?"
When satisfied that the elevator was empty, he moved back to the stairwell.
"Excuse me," the man called out. "Hey, excuse me." He ran up to Terrence. He looked young to Terrence, but he knew the man wasn't a kid.
Terrence stopped and looked at him.
"Can I ask what's going on? Are you looking for survivors?"
"No, I'm just seeing who is all in the garage. I don't want any surprises while my family sleeps."
"I'll go with you."
"No need." Terrence opened the stairwell door. The man followed.
"I'm Murphy. Just called me Murph." He flicked on a flashlight. "We're going to need this. There aren't any lights in here."
Terrence nodded a thanks.
"What's your name?"
"Why do you care?" Terrence reached the bottom.
"Man, we are all in this together."
"No, we're not. We're just in the same garage after a nuclear explosion."
"That's makes us all together. We gonna need each other," Murph said.
"I don't need anyone but my family."
"Really?" Murph asked with a hint of sarcasm and just as Terrence opened up the door, Murph shut off the flashlight.
Terrence waited for his eyes to adjust, but they didn't. Everything was pitch black and he couldn't see a foot in front of him. "Shit."
"What was that you were just saying? More than you want to admit…." Murph turned on the flashlight. "We really are all in this together."
FIFTEEN – Connection
Harland needed sleep, and Abe was just too worried about everything to even close his eyes. He was also the only one of the three to have slept before the flight, so in a sense, even though injured, he was well rested. Harland asked him into the little office so he could explain how things worked. He showed him how to take a radiation reading, check the radio, mark the map and fill in the time line book.
"I'll be sleeping," Harland said. "So it's super imperative that you mark the reading at 9:23 am. I realize that's still several hours from now, and I may be up, but just in case that is an important time to take it. Give or take a few minutes."
"Why that time?"
"It's the seven ten rule," Harland explained. "Radiation falls every seven hours by ten. No doubt an hour or so later, after that seven hour mark, it will increase some when the radiation from the west gets here. That's why we need to watch it. So we know when it's okay for me to go to the hospital. We also get to see if it jibes with what Schriever sends us."
"You know, not saying you're right or wrong, but I'm surprised you aren't at the hospital already. I saw this movie once." Abe said. "The doctor was caught in the nuclear blast and made his way to the hospital and was on hand to help."
"A huh." Harland nodded. "I saw that same movie. What happened to the doctor?"
"He died."
"From radiation sickness. An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure. This… staying under, is the prevention. There's no cure for radiation. Just treatment, and the injuries around here are minor. In a week, it's gonna be hell out there."
"I understand."
"I think you do, but in case you don't…" he reached into the drawer and pulled out a book. "This is interesting reading. Ignore the drawings though, the book was published in the eighties." He yawned. "Wake me if you need me, or if something important comes over the radio."
"You want the generator shut off at all?"
"No, we'll chance it and gamble. Leave it on for a spell. Kit needs the fresh cool air." Harland turned toward the door.
"Harland, are you sure she's okay?" Abe asked. "Not second guessing your medical experience, but she doesn't seem well."
"No, she's not. She has a head injury. I saw that when I looked at her."
"Should we be waking her?"
Harland chuckled. "Actually, that doesn't do anything. Keep an eye on her. Really we just have to wait. It can get worse, it can get better. Whatever the case, there's nothing we can do right now. We can't take her out in this. Not yet. Her level of sleepiness will tell and speaking of sleeping…"
"I'm sorry. Get some sleep."
Harland gave a wink and a nod, and left the office.
Abe sat back in the old beat up chair, swinging left to right, fingers flipping through the self help surviving nuclear war book. It actually looked like interesting reading and would educate Abe. However, Harland's system was an education in itself. He marked everything down and kept a time line.
The first bombs started falling at a little after one in the morning, Pacific time. Colorado was hit at 1:53, then not more than a couple hours later they fell everywhere else.
Harland had the radiation level taken an hour after the bombs at 500 Rs. Abe wasn't sure what that meant, but 500 didn't sound too high, maybe they lucked out. Of course, he would look in that book.
He heard the door open and thought Harland forgot something, but he turned and saw Kit walk in. "Hey, I thought you were sleeping?"
"I woke up again."
"How are you feeling?"
"Awful. I have coffee for us." She extended a cup. "Thinking maybe the caffeine might help."
"Thank you. Here…" Abe stood and pulled up a chair. "Sit."
"Thanks," she said. "How are things going?"
"I just took a shower, it felt so good."
Kit sat down, the second she did, she saw the survival book. "Oh, wow, my father had this book."
"Really?" Abe returned to his chair. "Harland suggested I read it. Is it any good?"
"I guess, my father swore by it. My father wanted me to read it. I didn't. Of course, he gave me, Alas, Babylon at Christmas and I never read that. I was reading it on the plane. Sadly, I was on my way to his funeral."
"I'm sorry to hear that. Wait. Alas, Babylon ." Abe crinkled his brow.
"That is pretty ironic don't you think? You're reading a book about nuclear war when it actually happens?"
"What makes it even stranger is he had things underlined."
"Like what?"
"I can't recall right now. Things are fuzzy, but I know he underlined Alas, Babylon and the word missiles."
"Wow." Abe whistled. "That is really foretelling. Almost psychic of your father."
"Never knew him to be psychic, just prepared for war. Then again, that was his job. I think. Not sure if that's all his job entailed."
Abe laughed. "What did he do?"
"He was Secretary of Defense."
Abe's eyes widened. "Dennis Rolland is your father?"
"Was. Is."
"I am so sorry about your loss. He passed three days ago, right?"
Kit nodded.
"Well that makes it even odder," Abe said.
"Why's that?"
"All those seats they were buying at the gate, saying they were overbooked. They weren't overbooked. They were for essential personnel and their families. It was an evacuation flight. I learned as soon as I boarded that the flight was part of COGCON. Which is…"
"I know what COGCON is. That's just even weirder." Kit shook her head. "My father would have been essential personnel. I guess in his own way, he was insuring our survival. He always said he would. We were meant to be on that plane. Although to be honest, if I had a choice…" She leaned back. "I'm not so sure I want to be a survivor in this madness."
SIXTEEN – Discovery
Regis had fallen asleep and Mark was glad to see him resting. He looked worn out. It took the nurse in a military uniform to come in, hand him two pills in a little shot glass looking cup, and ordering him to rest.
"You were in a plane crash, in case you don't recall," she said.
He took the pills, rested back and was out in ten minutes. Mark didn't know if it was the medication, or exhaustion.
Then while Regis slept, she proceeded to hook not only Mark up to an intravenous line, but Regis as well.
"Can I ask why?" Mark asked her. "Do we have an infection?"
"You both were outside longer than others. We don't know to what extent, or how much exposure to radiation, if any, you got. There's no test, we look at white blood cells. Right now it's too early to tell, so we are being proactive."
"Are we contagious?" Mark asked.
"No. Not at all. We just need to observe you for twenty-four hours before we let you move into general population. This is for you, not them. Okay?" she spoke gently.
"Okay," Mark nodded. "I'm just anxious to see my family. We should be together."
"You have family here?" she asked.
"Yeah, they were on the plane. My brother saw them both. My sister was carried out, but my nephew was fine and walked."
"We have a few people here from the plane, that's it. I can check for you if you want."
"That would be great. Only a few? I thought there were a lot of survivors?"
"There were,' she said. "Unfortunately, we had to call in the volunteer fire departments from two towns, along with volunteers so it would be a fast rescue. A lot of survivors are in the two towns near here."
"Shit. What if they're there?" Mark said.
"You'll find them easily. We are in radio contact. No worries, if they're fine, they aren't going anywhere."
"I appreciate that."
"Now, I need you to rest. I realize it's early morning, but you have a few fractured ribs. I can get you something to help you sleep."
"No, no." Mark waved out his hand and lay back, cringing a little in pain. "I'm fine. I won't have any problems."
"Do you need anything else? Are you hungry?"
"You know what? Yeah, I actually am."
"How about I get you some broth? Something easy."
"That's sounds great."
"Be right back." She smiled and walked out.
"She's really nice,' Mark thought as he relaxed and closed his eyes. The moment he did, there was a knock on his door. "That was fast." He inched to sit up. "Come in."
Apparently, the nurse didn't have the broth right outside the door like Mark thought, because it wasn't her that entered.
Mark knew who the man was, he had met him a few times, but usually under political circumstances. The older, debonair gentleman, despite it being war, still looked every part Vice Presidential, down to his dress shirt and tie.
"When I heard Dennis' sons were here, I came immediately," Vice President John Conway extended a hand to Mark. "Don't get up."
"Okay, I won't. Wow… I thought you would be in some real secure bunker out east."
"The president is," John winked then nodded his head to a sleeping Regis. "Is he all right?"
"Yeah, he's was given something to help him sleep."
"So I hear…" John sat on the bed. "That you were thrown from the plane and Rege stayed behind to look for you?"
"Isn't that something? What's a big brother for? Thank God that soldier came back for us."
"Dalton, yes, good young man."
"What are you doing out this way?"
"I was at NORAD," John said. "They put all members of the executive branch in different locations as a safeguard."
"Continuity of government."
"Exactly. Good thing we moved on it. We had unconfirmed reports for almost a week that this was going to happen. The president attempted to talk to the other side of the world, they denied the rumors. We were diligent, but couldn't fire offensively."
"So we fired defensively?"
John nodded. "When we did, I was moved here. Just as a precaution. When I heard you were here at the same bunker, I thought I better get my butt in there to check on you. Dennis would want that."
"Yeah, he would have. So… wait. A week? You guys suspected this for a week? Then my father was aware?"
"Of course. He wasn't allowed to tell you. Hell, your father predicted this was a possibility back in December when Russia started moving their stockpile. They claimed it was disarming, maintenance, whatever, but your father insisted within six months it would happen. Here we are four months later."
In his shock, all Mark could mutter was, "Alas, Babylon ."
"Excuse me?"
"My father gave me a book at Christmas called: Alas, Babylon ."
"Nuclear war?"
"Yeah, and in the book, the brother… Mark, set up a way to warn his family if an attack was coming."
"You think that was a way for your father to warn you?"
"I kind of do now," Mark said. "Can I ask you something?" Was it a coincidence that we were on the evacuation plane?"
"No. Why would you ask if it was a coincidence?" John shook his head. "You had been booked on that plane for two full days. We had eighty seven other people in the radius to get on that plane. Unlike you, most of them knew nothing until they got to the airport."
"What do you mean unlike me? I didn't know anything until we crashed."
"No one told you? You were supposed to get a call." John said. "Mark, you were placed on that plane as part of COGNON 1."
"No, I was on that plane going to my father's memorial service. My stepmother booked the flight. Deana didn't even want me to go."
"Probably because no one had told her yet either. She's tough."
"John, what's going on?"
"Oh boy." John ran his hand down his face. "Mark, your father's death was part of a proactive defensive move and diversionary tactic."
"I don't understand. Did he not have a heart attack? Did someone kill him?"
"What? No." John said in shock. "He was moved to New Mexico."
"Oh my God… are you saying my father isn't dead?"
"He's very much alive."
Mark's mouth dropped open and he was stunned, completely stunned. He rested back and looked over to Regis, wishing he was awake. He spent a good two days crying when alone about the loss of his father. Feeling utterly heartbroken. Now in wake of this new revelation, Mark honestly didn't know how to feel.
GROUND ZERO CITIZEN – Five
Terrence and Murph examined the bottom level of the garage. There were no people there, at least none that they could see, only four cars. If being below ground was important, that was the level to be. It had no windows, the ceilings seemed secure and high enough. Plus, with the ramp, Terrence believed they could light small fires for light without the smoke being a problem, as long as they built them near the ramp.
The metal garbage can near the elevator would be perfect for that, Murph suggested, then said, "I might be able to rig something up with a car battery and headlamp. At least for some light."
"Can you do that?" Terrence asked.
"I believe so, yes. Not like it's my training, I'm a copywriter, but hey, I'll give it a shot. I like messing with cars. Worst case, we alternate running the headlights on cars. There's what about twelve upstairs? We have light. We should move everyone down here."
"You say 'We', I'm still not sure I want to be part of a big plan."
"You need to stop, okay. I meant it when I said we're all in this together. We're all shaken and we're all scared. We all probably have assets, knowledge and skills that can keep each other alive until we can figure out what would be our next step."
Terrence honestly didn't know what he could contribute, other than his cooking skills, his size was about the only other thing that could come in handy, but even he wasn't sure of that. His body hurt badly. He had been slammed against that wall and his back singed by the blast of hot air. He felt physically battered.
"What makes you think everyone is going to go along with this all for one survival plan?" Terrence asked.
"I'm not sure they will. We're down here together, why wouldn't we work together to stay safe and alive? There are a lot of kids here. I have none, but they need to be our priority. There's only one way to find out. Let's go up and talk before panic sets in." Murph placed a hand on Terrence's back, causing Terrence to jump a little. "You hurt?"
"I'll be fine. Let's go." Terrence nodded and they walked back to the stairwell.
Including themselves there was nearly thirty people. Upon returning, the numbers had dwindled, at least ten people were gone. Terrance spotted the two teenagers with a man walking toward the ramp that went to the street.
"Hey," Murph called to them. "Wait. Stop. Where are you going? Walking out there is walking into death."
The man only looked over his shoulder. "We don't need this shit. We'll find a place pretty fast. Good luck."
"What the hell?" Murph tossed his hands up. "Dude, I'm really serious. There's radiation…."
Terrence held his hand out to Murph. "They're not listening."
"Jesus." Murph's hand landed against his thigh with a slap and he spun to those in the garage. "Listen, I know everyone is scared, but I know we can't do this unless we pull together."
Murph's voice faded to the back of Terrence's attention as he finally noti
The way his family stood and acted mirrored everyone in the garage except one man.
What had he done? Terrence wondered. The man stood center where most people gathered. Like Murph he wore a dress shirt, only he still had on his tie as if he expected to go to a meeting at any moment. He wasn't a tall man, in fact he was short and on the portly side. A man in his forties, salt and pepper beard and a goatee that looked deliberately styled into a sharp point at his chin.
"Shut up!" the man yelled at Murph. "Just shut your mouth. You aren't organizing anything. You will do like the others, and leave."
That was when Terrence saw it. The man had a gun. He lifted it and aimed it at Murph.
"Take your chance out there, or take a chance you get shot."
Others may have cowered, for some reason it didn't scare Terrence, it angered him. He was already not in a good mood from being injured and hurt. He wasn't thinking when he blurted out at the man. "Are you fucking shitting me?"
The man turned his gun on Terrence.
Macy gasped loudly and Terrence heard it, along with a peep of 'Daddy' from Kira.
"Am I shitting you?" the man asked with edge. "Who the hell do you think you are? Do you see the name on this building? Keith Hoffman and Associates. I am Hoffman, this is my building and my garage. My wife and I don't want you people here. Get out."
"You're serious?" Terrence walked towards him.
"Terrence," Macy scolded.
He ignored his wife as he neared Keith.
"What are you trying to do? Intimate me?" Keith blasted. "I have the gun."
"You want to shoot me?" Terrence's words increased with intensity. "You want to shoot these people if they don't go out there? What the fuck is the matter with you?"
"Terrence!" Macy yelled.
"No one is going anywhere," Terrence said.
Keith shook his head and released a nervous laugh. "Don't test me."
"Test you? The world blew up and you want to be some sort of inhumane asshole. Give me a break. The next time you want to be a threatening prick…" Terrence blasted, "Check the safety on your gun." After that, Terrence gave the man pretty much the last of everything he had in the form of a single punch. It landed squarely to his jaw, sent Keith spinning to the floor and the pistol dropped from his hand.
Terrence swept up the gun, placed it behind the waist of his jeans, then reached down, pulled Keith by the collar, slid him over, propping him up against a car. He looked at Murph. "Finish what you were saying."
Feeling like he was the one that was hit, Terrence walked over to his family. He dismissed his wife's reach, not because he didn't want her comfort, but he didn't want her to know he was winded. He merely leaned against the hood of the car, as Murph spoke.
Murph nodded at Terrence, then spoke to the group. "Listen… I don't know much if anything about nuclear weapons. Collectively maybe we can all put our heads together, a think tank of sorts, share information we have or learned in our life. I know the radio said to stay below and avoid going outdoors at all cost. Try to stay below at least a week. Like I said I don't know much, but I know radiation kills. We have to get as far from it as possible. Because of Mr. Hoffman and Associates, there are now…" Murph looked around. "Fifteen of us left. Our best bet is to move one level down. What we need to do is work together."
"It's not as dark up here," a woman said. "That's daylight, fires, whatever. If we can see that, we are exposed."
Murph nodded. "I know. It's dark below. We need to move some cars. Coast them down, use them for light, maybe even a barrier to protect us from people coming in wanting what we have."
"I have nothing," another person said. "I was trying to get out. I have my purse and my son."
"That's okay," Murph said. "There are at least a dozen cars. We scavenge them. Take the seats, find anything we can in them. Put it together. Whatever we have." He turned and walked over to a woman, nodded at her and lifted a small duffle. He returned to his spot and dropped the bag. "When Kathy and I left, we shoved everything we could into bags. This was the only thing we grabbed from my car when we ran down here. There's food in here. We'll share it. Make it work. All I am asking is everyone puts what they have in one pile, then we can ration. A little for all is better than none for some."
"I have stuff," Keith grumbled. "I'm not sharing with you people."
"That's fine," Murph said.
Another man called out. "I drove into the garage before the bomb hit. I have stuff I took from my house. I'll share."
"Thank you." Murph nodded.
Was it selfish? Terrence really did have a lot of supplies. Maybe not as much water as he'd like, but as far as food went, he had more than anyone else. He didn't want to say anything. He felt the stares of Macy, but he remained staunch, arms folded against his body. Perhaps he would hide what he had, that way his family would have enough.
He truly felt that way, but it was brief and his mind instantly changed when Mylena stepped from the family huddle and walked up to Murph.
The ten year old girl looked so innocent with her hair in braids and still wearing her pink barrettes. She reached into her pocket, "I'll share. It isn't a lot, but I'll share." Mylena reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a half of bag of chocolates.
Terrence's heart sunk, especially when Murph rolled her fingers around the candy and said, "You keep that."
Murph stood up straight. "First thing first, let's get the kids down below then anyone who can help, we'll start hitting the cars, maybe getting them down…"
"Murph," Terrence called out, then waved Murph over.
"What's up?" Murph walked over.
Terrence pulled the keys from his pocket and unlocked the trunk. "If we ration just right…" he opened the trunk. "We may be good until we find help, or it's safe to go up."
Murph looked inside, staring at the water, the large cans of food and boxes of dry goods. "Oh my God."
Terrence shut the trunk. "We need to get everyone below, then work on what we all have."
"Thank you."
Terrence wanted to say, 'No, thank you,' but he refrained. The number one priority was to get his family below. If indeed what the one woman said about light being exposure, then Terrence and his family had already been exposed long enough.
Everyone in the garage had been.
Hopefully the plan to get to safer ground wasn't too little, too late.
SEVENTEEN – Not Evil
Deana Rolland needed a break. It wouldn't be long, it couldn't, but she would take a breather. She hadn't stopped at all. Physically she had to take a moment, mentally she hated to do so. When she stopped… she thought.
The world was falling apart and in the brief moments of a break, her heart was heavy and she just wanted to cry.
Why were the last words she spoke to her sister via text so angry and hurtful about their brother, Mark? A stream of irrational text messages that went unanswered. She hoped, she truly hoped that Kit shut off her phone and never read them.
Her words were harsh, hateful.
She absolutely regretted them.
Deana realized that no amount of family drama was ever worth the family coming apart at the seams. Mark's behavior was quintessential, Mark. Did she really think that fighting with Mark, calling him names would make him change?
She should have been more understanding.
After her unanswered messages to her sister, she tried to go to sleep. It was nearly impossible. Fighting with her siblings, the same ones she would have to face the next day. Mentally preparing for her father's funeral.
She was angry at her stepmother for cremating the body before any of them saw him.
There was a slew of things on her mind. All of which paled in comparison to the events that would unfold.
Not two hours after the texts, and a few minutes after she dozed off, Deana was awoken by a continuous knock on her door.
It was the middle of the night and something had to be wrong.
Surprising her, the Secret Service was at her door. She was told to grab a bag and come with them. They explained she was being evacuated.
Deana was smart enough to know what that meant, she had listened to her father every time he talked about it. She knew something was up when he gave her that book.
She asked, "How much time do we have?"
They were reluctant to give her an answer, probably because they didn't have one. Then after arguing, one agent told her, they were only told they needed to have her in a safe place within four hours.
Four hours.
Deana thanked them, grabbed a bag, packed it with a few items that she would need and wanted to save, and then… she declined.
Deana didn't go.
Instead, she got in her car and headed to Mercy Hospital in Alexandria where she was Executive Director of Nursing. A position she had only held for six months. Prior to that she worked in Washington D.C., running an emergency clinic.
She was no stranger to hard work. While going to nursing school she worked as a CNA at a nursing home, then she continued her education from RN to Nurse practitioner.
Instead of saving her own life, Deana opted to save as many others as she could.
How could she, with a clear conscious, leave the city without trying to do something?
She had three hours to put in place some sort of emergency plan.
On the way there, she called the director. He didn't dismiss what she was saying. Then again, he never showed up at the hospital like he said. Deana guessed he took the advance notice and ran to the hills with his family.
That was okay, she took charge.
She called in as many staff as she could, telling them the hospital was on high alert. Between those calls, she requested information from her phone. "Find me effects of radiation. Find me information on fall out."
Deana was on a crash course for nuclear survival.
There was so much to be done. The three hundred bed hospital was nearly filled and not only did they have to move patients to the lower floors and away from windows, she wanted to make the basement area a triage and critical care area.
As soon as she arrived, she initiated the emergency readiness plan. Three hours wasn't a lot of time, but it was more time than most hospitals would receive.
It was all on a wing and a prayer that they would be far enough away from any blast zones.
Everyone dallied at first, until the news confirmed what Deana was saying.
At that point, many people left.
Workers abandoned posts and opted to find their families. Patients who were well enough to walk, raced from the hospital.
She didn't have time to argue or convince them to stay. Deana just kept working.
When the time was at hand and the final emergency signal rang out, remaining patients crowded the corridors, doors were sealed, and Deana was in the basement trying to get the triage center ready.
They were far from prepared when the bombs fell.
The ground trembled, even in the basement she could hear the shattering of glass and people screaming. She absorbed the reality of what happened for only a few minutes and then she continued working along with a handful of triage staff that stayed behind.
In the first hour nobody came.
Then after a few hours, people poured in. They were panicked, crying and hurt. Many covered in fall out. No matter how organized she tried to be, Deana lost control. She hated to do it, but those who had been outside since the explosion were placed in a separate area of the basement. She knew those people, no matter how minor their injuries, weren't going to make it due to their exposure.
The injuries were minor at first. Broken bones and bruises. Deana placed a doctor on glass removal. So many survivors arrived with shards of glass impaling eighty percent of their bodies.
Then came the burns of all various degrees.
Blistering burns where clothing had burned off, and then there were those carried in by family members who were beyond help.
Too close to D.C. they were far enough away to live, but near enough to be flashed burned. Flesh was blackened and charred. It was like nothing Deana had ever seen.
She knew she had to ration medicine, bandages, everything. Despite how the hospital boasted they were ready for a catastrophe… they weren't.
When she had a second, Deana snuck off to the small hall before the boiler room. She sat on the floor and caught her breath.
If she didn't take a break, she wouldn't be able to get one. Her adrenaline would only keep her going so long.
However, those quick moments of solace were done. She brought her bottle of water to her lips, took a small sip, swished it around her mouth and slowly swallowed. She vowed to make that bottle last as long as she could.
Deana placed the bottle in her pocket and headed back to the trenches.
Back to the burns, the blood, the frightened masses. However, Deana knew it had only been several hours and although what she was dealing with seemed bad, it was only the beginning. Things weren't going to get better, unfortunately, they would only get worse.
A lot worse.
EIGHTEEN – Being Personal
Harland was awake before the seven hour reading mark. He lifted the tin coffee pot from the hot plate, swished it around and poured the remainder in his cup before heading into the office.
He asked Kit how she was feeling.
"I'm still sick," she replied, sitting at the small kitchen table. "I'm afraid to eat anything and I'm dizzy. Are you sure I don't have radiation sickness?"
"Okay, you were sick really fast. If you had radiation sickness, for you to get sick that fast you received a lethal dose. About this time, you wouldn't be able to stop throwing up. And, well, if you're exposed so is Abe. He's not sick."
"He's bigger."
"That's true, but he'd be sick by now. You don't have radiation sickness, you have a head injury. I see you are doing some reading." He pointed down to the book he had given Abe.
"I kind of borrowed it from Abe. He saw your entire collection of Walking Dead and started from issue one."
"It's good to know he's at least educating himself in one type of apocalypse. Try to rest today. Okay?"
"Um… Harland, we're in a bunker. What would I be doing to overexert myself?" Kit asked sarcastically.
"Well, you might find yourself wanting to organize one of the closets. Don't be fooled I'm high tech. I have an exercise bike back there that is rigged to vent the shelter in case of generator loss. You might be peddling for a while."
"I may need to do that, organize the closets. Not today." Kit held up her hand. "I promise."
"Good. I'll let you know what the readout is." Harland walked into the office.
A few hours earlier, Kit wouldn't have known, or understood if the readout numbers were good, bad or normal. However page twelve of the book started talking about radiation and she gathered knowledge. She always had an idea of what it was, how bad it was and the time frame to stay safe, but the numbers… were foreign to her.
Reading was easy, because it educated her and didn't wear her down. With the exception of her head, reading didn't bother her at all. It didn't help the fact that it was all surreal to her. She was far from seeing anything. She didn't know if the sky was dark, red, orange…. She only saw four walls.
Kit also cheated and flipped through the pages looking at the diagrams and pictures. She would go back and read more, the pictures gave her a visual. She got a good idea of blast damage and how much the fireball would incinerate, and how much damage blast winds would do. She thought about the people in the cities. The ones that survived the blast, but had no knowledge of what they faced. Like in Hiroshima, how many of them would wander the street clueless that their walking around outside caused their death sentence.
This led Kit to think about her family. She felt lost because she didn't know Zeke's fate. She firmly believed that Abe spoke to Regis, and that helped, because Regis would find Zeke and Mark. Her gut feeling wasn't optimistic about Mark. Something told her things were off and maybe, Mark didn't make it. She was confident though, that had any of them survived the crash, they were surviving the aftermath.
Her mother, daughter and sister were a different story.
Deana lived just out of Washington D.C.… She was definitely in a target zone. Knowing her sister, she was probably already at work when things happened. Hopefully the hospital was far enough away from a blast area. Deana was smart, she possessed great common sense. However, for as harsh and mean as she came across, Kit knew her sister would roll up her sleeves, dangerous or not, and help out those that were hurt, or dying.
She would be a first responder in a disaster.
Her mother and Jillie were a different story. She was positive they were out of blast range, but the bombs came in the middle of the night. Were they asleep? Were they woken by it? Jillie was staying with her mother and that was a good thing, because Kit was positive Jillie had no knowledge about nuclear weapons. It wasn't dinner table discussion. Her mother on the other hand, educated about weapons or not, was a survivor and would instinctively know what to do.
Kit would be toast if left up to her own resources, there was so much in the book she didn't know, then again, there were things she did and stuff her father told her that she placed in the file at the back of her mind.
She tried hard not to focus too much on Jillie because it was painful. Her daughter was her rock, her best friend. Not a day went by when they didn't speak, see each other, or text. Just thinking about her last text message made Kit sad and a tear rolled down her cheek.
"You all right?" Abe asked, startling her.
Quickly Kit swiped the tear, closed the cover on the book and folded her hands. "Yes."
"Is the book that sad?"
"No." She partially smiled and closed her eyes for a long blink. "I was thinking about my daughter and hoping she's fine. This book…" Kit tapped the cover. "Kind of let me know she was out of a blast zone. So that's good."
"That's real good." Abe pulled out a chair at the kitchen table. "May I join you?"
He sat down. "So if the book gave you hope, why are you crying?"
"Because she's my daughter and I love her very much."
"I'm sorry, that was a stupid question."
Kit shook her head. "That's fine."
"Here's another stupid question. You don't talk about a husband, do you have one?"
"There is none. Not anymore," Kit said then held up her hand when she saw him open his mouth. "Don't apologize. My parents raised us right, but didn't raise us to stay married. My parents divorced, we're all divorced. Except my older sister, she never married. My brother Regis's wife left him after their son was killed in combat. He was too deep into his grief to realize the hurt of divorce. Mark thinks marriage has an expiration. Me and my husband divorced a long time ago. We married too young and grew apart. It was amicable. He remarried eight years ago and I'm fine with that. He hated my job."
"Which was?" Abe asked.
"I worked for the Bureau of Tourism."
"Oh, so you're a tour guide."
"What? No." Kit shook her head. "Do I strike you as the type of person that gives tours, or has the personality for it? No, I'm graphic design. What about you? Any family?"
"Just my brother. He's the reason I piloted that flight. I found that out after I boarded. I met your father once through him. It was at a dinner party."
"Wow, really?" Kit asked. "That's amazing."
"Your father was amazing."
"Who is your brother?"
"Ryan Scott."
"Senator Scott, yeah, I know who he is. Small world."
"Not really," Abe said. "Not when you're all on an evacuation flight."
"True," Kit relaxed back in her chair. "So what now? Obviously, your brother is somewhere safe. My family is out there and we are not where we're supposed to be. How do we do this? I mean, will we ever see them again?"
"Yes," Abe answered without hesitation. "Yes, we will."
"How? When the dust settles, things won't be the same. We won't have cars, we can't hop on a plane, and no phones means no communication, so how?"
"I don't know. We won't find them tomorrow, or the next day. It may take months, but we'll find them."
"You know…" Kit's hand smooth against the table as she looked down. "Harland said something. He said, 'There is no happy ending to this story'. Do you think he's right? Maybe we leave the shelter and we just all die."
"I don't believe that for a second. I also think what Harland meant was, there will not be a perfect ending. A happy ending is subjective."
"So we may not find all the colors of the rainbow, but we'll find one part of it in the end?"
Abe shrugged. "I don't know about rainbows. I see the analogy. Make no mistake, it will never be the same. You and I in our lifetime may never see the world recover. Happiness… is what you make it. I survived. I'm happy about that. So for as far as finding that happy ending, I know for me, personally," Abe said. "I'm off to a good start. I'm alive and healthy."
NINETEEN – Clarity
Zeke ate a peanut butter sandwich and washed it down with what he was told was going to be the last of the fresh milk. A supply of which would be gone in a few days. After that it would be reconstituted. He enjoyed every bite and every sip.
He felt like a celebrity. No one knew how he ended up at the Air Force base bunker. Luck he supposed. When all other uninjured survivors were getting tossed in pickup trucks, or on a school bus, he was placed in the back of a military truck with several critically injured passengers. He actually went largely unnoticed until he arrived on base.
Admittedly, he was scared and confused. His mind swam in thoughts about the crash. He remembered how he assumed a brace position and closed his eyes tightly as he held on.
Zeke didn't give any thoughts to a nuclear explosion, in fact he didn't have a clue until someone mentioned it to him when he was examined at the base.
Then he went into full fledged panic mode. Where was his family? He knew his mother was carried out, in fact he tried to find her when they took him and tossed him in the military truck.
He knew his Uncle Regis was looking for his other uncle.
Then someone told him, "Don't worry, everyone is being moved. They're fine. They may not be here, but they're fine."
That didn't sit well with Zeke because he knew his uncle was staying behind.
They were placating him, probably because he was young. They gave him some pants and tee shirts and sent him into a room.
It was by chance a soldier came by and recognized Zeke from the flight. He had a bandage on his head and walked with a slight limp.
"I remember you," the soldier said. "I sat next to a member of your family named, Regis."
"That's my uncle. I can't find him. I think he stayed behind to look for my Uncle Mark. Everyone says he didn't, but he told me he was going to do that."
"Oh my God," the soldier said. "Was that him?"
"What do you mean?" Zeke asked.
"My captain said a man stayed behind to look for his brother who was in the back of the plane. They left him supplies. Do you think that was Regis?"
"It has to be."
Then the soldier said, "I'll be back." Then he left.
Two hours later, he heard from someone that the same soldier had gone out and found two men. It was confirmed to Zeke they were his uncles and he had to just wait until he could see them.
Everyone at that point started being really nice to him. Assuring him his uncles were fine and they were just watching them for signs of exposure to radiation. While he waited to see them, he had a front row seat to the end of the world.
Every soldier and airman there who wasn't on duty all sat in one room around tables. They listened as someone announced over a speaker system the cities that were hit, and the amount of bombs that fell on each.
It wasn't real to Zeke. It couldn't be.
"Los Angeles hit with three, New York four, Washington D.C. three… Dallas…"
There was a sound of stillness to the room. Not a sound was heard, nor a movement made.
Then they brought him his peanut butter lunch as if all was well in the world.
His uncles were resting and he would be able to see them soon. Or so they told him. Until then, there was nothing Zeke could do but eat his sandwich and wait.
"Dad is alive."
"He's alive," Mark told Regis. "Somewhere out there, New Mexico I think."
"Mark, that's insane."
"No, Rege, it isn't. His death was a ruse. Some defensive move and us being on the plane was part of the evacuation. We were supposed to be with him, but the bombs fell early. He's alive. He faked his death and put us through all that shit."
After Mark told his brother, Regis looked as if he not only was in disbelief, but trying to process it.
It was a hard pill to swallow. He was glad his father wasn't dead, nor was he pissed that he put him through the hell of believing he was dead. Somewhere mid conversation the medication they gave Mark knocked him out cold. At least he thought it was the medication. Mark felt groggy, like in a dream state and three times before he finally passed out, he rambled on about something incoherently.
While out of it, Mark dreamed. Reality had slipped into his dreams. He dreamed of the flight of the characters from the book Alas, Babylon . For some odd reason some actor from an eighties movie made it into his dream and he dreamed of the crash. Only he was stranded in the Andes Mountains. The snow pelted him and Mark walked alone, the actor no longer there. With each step he grew colder and colder. His body shook out of control and ached with every movement. Then the dream ended and Mark woke up.
He had never been hit by a truck, but he suspected that was how he felt. To even move a finger hurt. His head pounded and throbbed, sharp pains shot through his gut, not a part of his body didn't hurt, he was so overwhelmingly nauseous that he thought he was going to puke up his insides. On top of all that, he was freezing and his body shivered out of control.
He nearly jumped to a sitting position and everything spun around him.
Mark felt horrible.
What happened?
He reached for a blanket thinking he was uncovered, only to discover he had two blankets over him.
His vision was blurry, but he could see. He turned his head to his brother in the next bed. "Is it cold in here?"
"You're fevered," Regis said. "So am I. That's why you're shivering."
"How long was I sleeping?" Mark asked.
"About two hours."
"I'm sorry… I'm sorry I feel asleep on you. We were talking about Dad."
"That's okay. I'm still processing." Regis said, swinging his legs over the bed and sitting up on the side. "Zeke's here in this bunker. Kit isn't, but Zeke is."
"Here? Is he all right?"
"He's fine. He stopped in. He'll be back." Regis spoke slow, almost dragging his words.
"Are you all right?"
"Not really, no." Regis said. "I'm not feeling my best."
"Oh my God, Rege. I can't…" Mark paused. "I'm so cold." His stomach flopped and he brought his fist to his mouth to stop himself from vomiting. "I feel so bad. I shouldn't have fallen asleep. I knew the second I relaxed everything would hit me." He quietly belched, trying to fight the regurgitation reflex. "Like working out for the first time. The second you go to bed, you feel it when you get up. I guess the crash is catching up to us."
"It's not the crash. I wish it was. I wish it was sore muscles," Regis said.
"What do you mean? What else could it be?" Mark asked.
Regis spoke in a humbled manner. "It's not sore muscles, or post crash injuries. I wish it was. It's not. I think it's radiation. We were exposed, Little Brother," he said. "I think we're dying."
GROUND ZERO CITIZEN – Six
It was turning out to be
Because of the number of women that cared for a child, or elderly in the garage, Terrence led a group mainly of men to drift the cars down to the lower level. Except Keith, his car had keys and wasn't running when the bombs fell, he drove his car to the second level and parked it across the lot from where everyone else was.
Everyone pitched in salvaging the cars for whatever they could find, then everything was counted. They'd make it work.
Despite how sore he was, how badly his back began to really burn and hurt, Terrence pushed on, trying his hardest not to let anyone know he was less than a hundred percent.
Macy really took her job of organizing the supplies seriously. Mylena and Kira sat with his mother while she did that.
Terrence set up fire cans for the evening, April temperatures tended to drop, but for some reason it wasn't cold at all, it was warm. Still, he did so for precaution. When he was done he walked over to Macy.
"How's it going?" he asked.
"Good." She faced him. "Terrence you don't look well."
"I'm fine. Just tired. Do we have a good amount of supplies?"
"Yes. If we ration correctly, even including…" she didn't say his name, but Macy nodded in a point to the other end of the garage. "…him, we can do well for over a week. It's water that is a problem. I mean we can ration to the capful, hell, the Chilean minors survived on less… but we're in a bad situation. People have to wash their hands and face. That's so important that we don't add germs and infection on top of it all."
Terrance ran his hand over his head. "Not like we can run up into the building and turn on the faucet." He brought his hand down and paused. "Or can we?"
"Do you think the water is safe to drink?"
"No. But there has to be boiler or water heater. That water in there is safe."
"Can you find it?"
With the utmost certainty, Terrence said, "Yes." Then walked immediately across the garage to Keith.
"What do you want?" Keith snapped, he apparently was organizing what supplies he had.
Terrence looked down to the measly amount. "Is that all you have for you and your wife?"
"I'm not giving it up."
"I'm not asking you to. That's not enough. We have to be down here at least a week and…"
"We'll make it work."
"Man, forget your pride, think of your wife. You have to…"
"What do you want!" Keith blasted.
"Is there a basement, or boiler room?"
"What? So you can move everyone in there?"
"No, so we all have water. I want to go check it out. Make sure the intake valves are off and…"
"It's not your water to take." Keith cut him off. "You don't touch it. Also, I want my gun back."
"You'll get your gun back when I know you won't be aiming or shooting at anyone." Terrence walked away.
As he did, Keith yelled back. "I'll find it. I'll get it and when I do, you'll be the first person I shoot."
Terrence ignored him. He wasn't the least bit worried about Keith getting that gun, it was secured in the car that had the supplies. Someone would be on watch. However, he wanted to find that boiler room, or basement.
After grabbing a flashlight, Terrence headed into the stairwell. He knew it was going to be dark, wherever he went, the last time he was on the first garage level it was pitch black. The smoke and debris had blocked out the light. It had been two hours and Terrence didn't expect it to be any better.
The first stairwell level had no basement door, he climbed up one set of stairs to the first garage level… no door.
He thought maybe it was in the garage or a separate stairwell from the first floor of the building. Hating to go anywhere near the surface, Terrence knew it was imperative that he find the tank and shut of any valves that could bring contaminated water into the boiler or heater.
As he ascended the next flight, he heard it.
At first he thought it was more bombs, then he realized it was thunder. He climbed to the first floor of the building, opened the door and was immediately hit with a temperature change.
Almost like a sauna and the first floor of the office wasn't pitch black, it had a glow to it.
He would only be street level a moment, what could it hurt and Terrence turned, and walked down the hall, following the glow.
Each step he took, he heard the rain. It was heavy and it sounded as if it fell hard and steady.
That had to be a good sign, it had to be. Rain was washing it all away.
He emerged into a small open area, probably the reception area and he could see the street. A hot mist blew in with the slight wind along with the smell of burning rubber. He covered his mouth, with the flashlight still lit in his hand he walked to the door frame of the busted double glass doors.
Outside he watched people move on the street, small fires burned. Across the way he could see people huddled inside the building.
He also saw the orange and yellow glowing fog hovering above the street. Terrence figured that would go away soon with the rain.
Stepping outside he felt the heat increase, it had to be over a hundred degrees. The rain sizzled against the ground and was so heavy it stung with every drop that landed on him and rolled down his face.
Turning to his left, Terrence took in the vision of the sky. Dark as night and it was only five pm. In the distance a burning glow illuminate the sky.
The world was on fire.
It was time to go back in.
Turning, Terrence saw it in the lit beam of his light.
The rain. It looked different. He ran his hand down his face then shone the flash light on it.
The rain was black as tar and the puddles formed with black liquid.
Instantly Terrence panicked and ran back inside. What was he thinking? What was wrong with him? He didn't return to the garage, instead he sought out the rest room off the reception area. He flew inside, set the flash light on the sink, pulled off his tee shirt and turned on the faucet. He splashed his face frantically, but the water slowed down and stopped before he could wash off his arms. He spun, grabbed the flashlight and pushed open a stall. He shone the light in the toilet bowl, the water was clean and Terrence dropped to his knees by the commode, he frantically used the water in the bowl to wash his arms, head, face and hands. When he was done, sitting on the floor, he leaned against the stall and immediately sprung forward as the metal of the stall stung his back. His insides trembled and Terrence wanted to scream over his own stupidity.
He took a moment then decided against looking for the water heater. He would do so when he had a clearer mind. Right then and there he needed to see his family.
He also needed to rest.
He went to the second garage level, and went to his car, to find another shirt. After he placed it on both Macy and his mother asked if he was alright.
Terrence simply replied, "I'm tired. I need to rest."
He looked around. Kira, his youngest was curled up on a seat that had been removed from a van, and Mylena was seated on a van bench seat perched against a wall near their car.
Terrence saw enough room there and joined her. He sat down with his side against the seat, facing her. He was afraid to put his back against anything.
"Are you okay, Daddy?" Mylena asked.
"Yeah, baby." He reached across and stroked her hair.
"Don't you feel well?"
"I'm fine." He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. "I'm tired. I need to rest. It's been a long bad day."
Terrence leaned to his side, placing his head against the concrete wall. It was cool and felt good against his head. He may not have been truthful to his daughter about feeling well, but he was telling the truth about it being a long bad day. For Terrence it really was a long day, he just didn't realize how bad it actually was for him.
TWENTY – Life or Death
Up until that very moment in time, Deana regretted never having any kids. Now she found herself thanking God that she had no children to worry about. She hadn't prayed in years and the words she muttered weren't for help, they were, 'Thank you.'
Her faith was tested earlier in life when she was young by things she'd now considered drivel. She went back and forth between 'is there, or isn't there' a God. If indeed there was a God, then Deana couldn't wrap her head around the fact that he would let this happen.
She was well aware that she was taught that God gave man free will. Free will be damned, it was beyond that. If there was a God, he should have stepped in and stopped this, instead he abandoned man.
If mankind was so stupid to blow themselves up, then perhaps humanity deserved what it got.
Maybe not all of humanity. For sure the lawmakers and leaders. Certainly not the child that lay on the operating table before her.
Procedures were raw and not as sterile as she liked. Deana wasn't a doctor. She was a nurse practitioner who hadn't had hands on interaction in years, she had gone the administration route. All the doctors were busy and those seasoned nurses that remained suddenly got their field MD, whether they liked it or not.
Her heart broke for the little girl that she worked on. The child was no more than three years old, someone found her on the street. The person that found her and brought her in said she had been tossed among the rubble, probably from the blast winds. Her leg was broken in two… literally, her skull fractured and the skin on her face and chest badly burned. Yet, she was still alive, fighting and breathing… whimpering in pain.
Deana's heart broke for her.
She sedated the child heavily while she worked on her leg and an aide cleaned her wounds.
The entire time the little girl they called Mary was sedated, Deana begged in her mind for the child to pass. 'Please little one, let go. Go in your sleep so you don't have to wake up and feel anything.'
That wasn't going to happen, it was too easy.
Little Mary, who did nothing in her life to deserve the pain she was destined to suffer. She was strong enough against her injuries, however, she probably wasn't going to be strong enough against the radiation sickness that would soon pulverize her tiny frame.
Mary would be like many others.
Horrifically sick.
Early after the bombs fell, the initial patients seeking treatment were cuts from glass, minor wounds and burns. With each passing hour the severity increased. By evening throes of people who were closer to D.C., but survived the blast, were making their way through the ruins, unknowingly trudging through high levels of radiation.
The evening patients came in covered with a black soot.
Deana knew that the highest levels of radiation came after the first hour, pretty much anyone that came in before evening received a lethal dose. By nighttime they were already exhibiting signs of severe radiation poisoning. She told another nurse that those who came in that first day, who walked outside and were exposed, wouldn't last seventy-two hours, if they were lucky. That was the reality of it. Another reality was the patients already in the hospital, moved to the hallways or not, were exposed to radiation. Although low levels it would still accumulate, and sadly within five days they too would suffer the consequences.
It was a mess. They were too close to the city to be safe from lethal doses, and even if they were spared because radiation moved east, they would get fallout from other areas.
The truth was, hoards of people came to the hospital, but too many to help and shelter properly. They had to close the doors and turn people away. People didn't leave, instead they camped out just beyond the door, huddled by campfires consisting of contaminated wood. Injured and scared they waited for a bed in the hospital to open up. A bed that would become available only when somebody died. Unfortunately, those outside the door in the radiation wouldn't live as long as those inside.
Deana made decisions that she never would have believed she would have to make in her lifetime. If it was up to her she'd squeeze them all in, but there wasn't enough room. Those who crowded the corridors, garage and basement, were waiting for help that was beyond those inside to give. Bodies burned so badly they weren't recognizable. Charred and sick, there was nothing that could be done for them accept to try and make them comfortable. Then came the moral dilemma. Use what little mediation they had on those who would die anyhow within twelve hours, or save it for someone who would live?
Some workers said to help, give them what they needed to be pain free, while others simply stated, give them a blanket and walk away.
All of her life, Deana knew exactly where her path would take her. Never did she go on a whim, or be spontaneous. She was always in control. At that moment she just wanted to scream, cry perhaps and run away. She didn't have a clue what she would do one minute from the next. Like with the child before her, she made the decision to take it patient by patient, case by case, who to help, who not to help. For now all she could do was her best, never stop, just push forward. That was all she could do. She struggled against working in an automatic mode, but somehow that seemed the safest route. It kept her somewhat emotionally detached. As long as no one she knew walked into the hospital, Deana would be able to keep it together.
Five Days Later
TWENTY-ONE – Realism
It took a few days, but Kit finally got into some sort of steady routine in the bunker. Her sleep schedule was more normal and her body started to know day from night, despite the fact that there was no sun, or windows.
Her headache finally subsided and she focused more on staying busy rather than the pain in her head. She spent a lot of time slowly organizing that storage closet, learning about those in the shelter. She was surprised to find out Harland's last name was Cooper. For some reason she assumed he had a first name like Joe, or Sam.
On day two they had made contact, although briefly, with several of the survivor stations in Maltese and Elcort, along with Schriever. Just when Kit thought to ask about her son and brothers, they received word to shut down for a day, there were possibly more incoming missiles.
That was a frightening day.
To hear more were coming just astounded her. When would it stop? Would it ever stop? Was it the mission of the enemy to beat the United States into submission? If so, what would that accomplish? There would be nothing left to conquer.
When they powered back up, they had lost radio communications with Schriever. For sure, Kit believed more weapons were used. The fire station in Elcort reported they hadn't seen any flashes, or heard any explosions.
"It's possible they went radio silent," Harland said. "No explosions, I'm gonna guess that's the case."
"When will I be able to go to these places and look for my son and brothers?"
"Give it a week, levels might drop enough that you can go out and not absorb too much radiation," Harland said.
Then he indicated that the levels were already following the seven ten rule nicely.
"At least I don't fear radiation sickness anymore," Kit said.
Harland tilted his head with a, "Well."
"What? What?" Kit panicked.
"No, you don't have it." Harland waved his hand. "You really weren't exposed too much if at all. However… there are some who probably were exposed. Funny thing about radiation. There's a latent stage when the body is breaking down, but the person feels fine. Then bam, one week later, you're bruising, bleeding, your hair falls out…"
Kit cringed. "Why would you tell me that?"
"You asked."
"No, I didn't."
"I read that book," Abe said. "The part about radiation. I thought that happened right away."
"Only in really high doses," Harland replied. "That dose kills you in a few hours, or days. It's that middle exposure that's bad. Fifty percent chance of beating it with, or without medical help. Low doses, you're body recovers. It doesn't really have that big misleading latent phase, like the moderate dose tends to."
"I feel bad for those people," Abe said. "I mean, they probably think they're fine."
Harland looked at Kit. "Yeah, me, too."
He was joking of course. In Kit's opinion it was in bad taste because he knew how neurotic she was about it.
Harland was an honest entity and whether he really knew what he was talking about when it came to radiation, nuclear war and so on, he sounded as if he did. For the most part he shot down a lot of what she speculated. Abe was no help, he claimed he didn't know enough to make the call on who was right, or wrong.
It made interesting conversation and helped the time pass. There was and would be a ton of time to pass.
Over breakfast, they sat around the table. It was their routine. Eat, discuss, argue, go about a task, repeat.
For all the things Kit said and Harland counteracted, he never shot down her hopes of finding her family, or even making it out west to Washington State. He actually told her when it was all said and done, when it was safe to go look, he'd help her devise a plan.
Safe was the definitive word. They weren't just dealing with radiation.
"Good news," Harland stepped from his office into the main room. "Nicely down to three rads." He walked to the coffee pot, poured a cup then joined Kit and Abe at the table. "Couple more days we may get down to one. Just as predicted. Don't hold me to that. We're still getting levels from the west. But if it drops to one, we should be able to go look for your son,"
"Three?" Abe asked. "I read in the book you can go out for short periods of time if it's under eight."
"You can. To be safe, I'd advise not to. Time can get away from you. If you go out, stay indoors for just as long if not longer, as you were out." Harland replied. "Avoid long periods of daylight and sun."
"There is no sun," Kit said. "We're probably in nuclear winter."
"If that happens," Harland said. "It will take a while, and it'll be more of a drop in temperature. There's also just as much chance of a nuclear summer. Which is just the opposite. I imagine the sun is out today, it's maybe no more than an overcast day. But bright."
"You don't know that," Kit said.
"Sure, I do."
"How?" Kit asked.
"I went out to get an accurate reading today."
Kit gasped. "Harland, that's dangerous."
"It's fine. I'm older. For some reason radiation absorption is lower for seniors. "Besides, at this point, I'd have to be living outside for a few days straight before I started…"
"Doctor Cooper!" a male voice in the distance, called out.
Harland stood up. "What the heck?"
Someone pounded on a door.
Bang-bang-bang-bang. "Doctor Cooper."
"The storm doors," Harland said and went to his office where the main door was that led out.
Kit and Abe quickly followed.
When they arrived in the office, Harland had opened the main door, then indicated for Kit and Abe to stay back.
"Stop pounding!" Harland hollered and walked up the steps. "Who's there?"
Kit listened as Harland unlatched the lock and the door squealed as he opened it.
"What's going on?" Harland asked.
"It's bad, Dr. Cooper. We have four or five workers at the hospital and we have a ton of sick that came from the Colorado Springs area. Elcort said they are overrun as well. Doc, some of these people are bad. I mean, hurt. We don't know what to do."
"Head on back, I'll be right there," Harland said.
"Thank you. Thank you so much."
The Bilco door slammed and Harland came back down. "I'm going to grab some stuff and head to the hospital."
"You sure it's safe?" Kit asked.
"Yeah, I'll be fine inside the hospital. It's not that big. I can't imagine them taking that many in. They'll have to send them to the fire station, or school."
"If it's that safe," Kit said. "I want to go."
"I can't take you to look for…"
"No." Kit shook her head. "I want to help. You need hands."
"Me, too," Abe said. "Put me to work. We're healthy and fine. Let's us help."
After a moment, Harland nodded. "That'll be great. I appreciate it. Before we go, we put an extra layer of clothes on, just to be safe. On the way there, I'll give you the best crash course I can."
Kit followed Harland's advice and quickly sought out those extra clothes. There was no hesitation for her to go and help. She hadn't reached the point of stir crazy yet and unlike so many, they had been protected from the worst of it. What Kit didn't realize was they were more sheltered than they knew.
The crash course in the car and the book would do nothing to prepare them for the hard reality they were about to face.
TWENTY-TWO – Nearing
Never in a million years would Regis had imagined that he would utter the words; "I'm killing my father," so soon after learning his father hadn't really died.
He was still processing that.
When Mark told him his father's death was staged in order to make the country appear vulnerable or weak while they worked on an offensive and defensive plan to the impending attack, Regis didn't buy it.
Then the Vice President reiterated that.
Reality sunk in.
Of course, when he learned that information, he was quite sick. For two days after the crash, Regis could barely get out of bed without the urge to vomit. Then they pumped him with fluids, blasted him with antibiotics and gave him and Mark something called Prussian Blue, a medication they gave them daily.
Both of them, sick as dogs a few days ago, were out of bed feeling more like themselves.
In fact, Regis really felt like himself. He was irritated.
He was angry that his father 'faked' his death. He understood the reasoning, but why exclude his family from knowing the truth. The anguish they all felt was some sort of mental abuse, Regis, grateful his father was alive, wasn't easily going to forget.
The nuclear holocaust was fast working his nerves and he was short tempered. He knew it was still unsafe outside, yet, he learned after getting out of bed, his new friend Dalton, who was just as sick as Regis, had gone AWOL.
He went to search for his family. While that didn't surprise Regis, he just didn't understand why Dalton couldn't wait.
To Regis, that was stupid. A sick Dalton was no use to his family.
Then there was Mark. He bounced around the base shelter as if he were on vacation. Yes, they knew Kit was alright, or suspected she was, but wasn't Mark worried about his son?
He told Regis he was, but was certain his son was alright. After all, they had been in Spokane and last Mark knew Spokane wasn't hit and far away from anything that was.
"As soon as we can, I'll go looking for him." Mark said. "I'll head out that way."
"How?" Regis asked. "How do you plan on doing that? Walk? Drive? Do you know what happened?"
Regis was pretty sure Mark didn't have a clue other than asking those in the command center, "Is Spokane still good?"
The command center was pretty open and Regis went in there a lot. He looked at the map a lot, staring at the dark spots over Seattle and Washington D.C. Did his mother and niece make it to safety? Did Deana get out of Washington? Did they have warning?
They had to have.
The bombs didn't all fall at once. They came in waves.
The first and second were strategic hits aimed mainly at military installations. The second wave were major cities, and the third and fourth waves were a bunch of smaller cities here and there. There were reports that Denver, Kansas and Miami were hit with some sort of biological weapon. The effects of which, Regis was sure would be felt everywhere.
Nothing had happened for days, there were rumors that the United States unconditionally surrendered. What that meant, Regis didn't know. They were rumors spread by a bunch of frightened people, and rightfully so.
Yet, he noticed a buzz about the bunker. The soldiers started preparing for something. Regis didn't know until his nephew told him what was going on.
At that point, the father in Regis took over when he realized his nephew only knew, because he nephew planned on being a part of it.
"No," Regis told him. "Absolutely not. You will stay put until we can go find your mother."
"Uncle Rege, isn't this the best way?" Zeke asked. "I'll be out there."
"You think you'll find your mother that way?" Regis asked.
"Yes." Zeke nodded. "I'll be going to all the shelters and hospitals around here. I'll find her."
"You'll find her by staying put. No."
"I'm not enlisting. I'm not going out to fight in some war."
Regis saw it on Zeke's face, the boy instantly regretted saying that. Regis flashed to his own son. He was proud of him. His son served his country with pride, just like Zeke wanted to do. "You aren't," Regis said. "You're going out into something just as dangerous. A world torn apart by war. Beside, you're seventeen years old. You need parental permission."
"To help out people? Pap, told me to help. I spoke to him on the radio. He said that it was a great idea and he'd see me when he came up here. I'm only helping until then."
That was when Regis thought, "I'm killing my father."
"He's coming here," Zeke said. "He wants to bring us all back to New Mexico with him. He said he'll help find mom. We'll all be together."
Regis closed his eyes. "No we won't. Your sister, my sister… my mother. I don't think we'll ever all be together."
"You can't think like that, Uncle Rege. You can't."
At that moment, Mark entered the room. Regis's attention was drawn to him for a moment, he looked pale. He didn't move or act like he was sick, but he looked it.
"I just…" Regis said to Zeke. "I just don't want you to leave. I want us to spend as much time as we can together while we can."
Zeke smiled. "We will."
"Hey," Mark interjected. "It's okay, Rege. You can stop worrying. We beat this. We will be together. All of us." Mark reached out and squeezed Regis shoulder. "We survived a plane crash, nuclear bomb and some radiation. I told you I'd keep reminding you of that. We're out of the woods. We need to focus on our next step."
Out of the woods? Focus on the next step?
Regis just stared at his brother and then his nephew. In spite of everything, they remained optimistic. More so because they were staring at clean, bright walls, a hundred feet or so below the surface.
Regis wasn't optimistic. He couldn't be. A war was still happening above them whether the bombs stopped, or not. As far as beating everything, Regis wasn't sure about that either. That weighed heavily on his mind and played a factor into wanting his family to spend time together. Time was something Regis wasn't sure that he had. How could he be out of the woods if they were still treating him and giving him medication and antibiotics for radiation? More so than the medicine, the abrasion on his cheek was a screaming tell tale ominous sign. It had been almost a week and not only was it not healing, it was getting worse. That told Regis more than anything else ever could.
GROUND ZERO CITIZEN – Seven
Terrence believed, that how his daughters lived and survived the rest of their lives depended on what they learned and saw in the aftermath of what happened. In the days following; did they see hate, or desperation? Did they learn humanity and strength? He tried to instill values in them to make them strong, and to teach them selfishness isn't always the best way to stay alive. Terrence quickly learned that.
He went into the garage caring only about his family and himself, and within hours he saw those around him as human beings.
A lot of that had to do with Keith, who even nearly a week later, hadn't changed his tune. He was stubborn and mean, selfish and starving. His wife was so weak
For the most part, with the exception of a respiratory infection those who remained in the shelter were healthy.
His own family held up well. His mother ate very little giving most of her rations to the girls. Terrence begged her not to do that, but she didn't listen. Mylena and Kira were her babies. She loved them more than life itself.
Each day Terrence made it a point to sit with his daughters individually, give them time, talk to them and teach them something. They were opposites. Mylena at ten was smart and quiet. She worked on a quilt made up of seat covers, it was her new daily project. She didn't play with the other children. That was really never her thing. Terrence talked about different recipes he had made. Explaining how he cooked them and told how each had a story behind it. Like the time he met the television chef and showed him how to make a good wing sauce.
Mylena had patience and could listen to her father for hours.
Kira, on the other hand was a typical child of eight with a short attention span. Except when it came to her made up games, which she played often. Each day she'd think of something new to play. Her newest game was bowling. She used empty water bottles as pins and a large empty fruit cocktail can as the ball.
He talked to the girls each morning, afternoon and evening, savoring his time with them.
Terrence didn't know how much time he had left.
He was sick, very sick, in a way he never thought was possible. He tried his hardest not to let his girls see and was grateful that it was dark on that level of the garage.
Even though the temperature was warm, Terrence dressed in thick layers. He shivered a lot and he needed to cover his back. The minor burns there didn't heal, within three days they blistered then bled. Now his skin was peeling from the wounds. His arms and neck were discolored with splotches, blisters formed in the corner of his mouth and he wore a baseball cap to cover his splotched hair loss.
"Baby, please lay down," Macy told him. "Please. You cannot keep going like this."
"I have to. I can't stop. I don't want to stop."
"It's okay to be sick. It really is."
Terrence shook his head.
"You're still the strongest man I know."
Terrence knew his mother heard their conversation. Her eyes were dark and sad. He was her son and he knew his sickness was killing his mother.
He walked over to her and sat down by her. She grabbed his hand.
"You do what you need to do," she told him. "I am so proud of you. I really am."
"I wish I could do more."
"You've done enough. Have you eaten?"
"Mom, I can't keep anything in, or down."
She took a deep breath through her nostrils and tapped their joined hands. "When I did my daily walk I was talking to Marge over there. She said, from what she read before, we should be able to leave the shelter tomorrow for fresh air. Even if only for a little bit. The hospital is only eight blocks from here. You should go there. Maybe they can give you something?"
"I doubt it, but I'll think about it."
Terrence's eyes strayed across the garage to Keith. "What is he up to?"
Keith was pacing around his car, looking at everyone, then back to his car. Then he looked at Terrence.
"He doesn't know what to do with himself. He's starving."
After she said that, Terrence looked at him. Keith was gaunt and acting antsy. His wife barely moved as she sat sideways in the car. Terrence stood up and walked over to the blue Toyota where they kept the supplies. He grabbed a package of crackers and a can of tuna.
"What are you doing?" Murph asked.
"We are using his water from the boiler. This is not the world we will rebuild. We don't let people starve. Even if they are assholes." Food in hand, Terrence walked over to Keith's car.
"What? What do you want? Keith snapped.
He set the food on the trunk. "Feed your wife. This is insane. Eat something."
Then Terrence walked away. It wasn't that he didn't want to say anymore, he actually wanted to respond to Keith when Keith muttered something. However, Terrence didn't hear him. He was too consumed with the feeling of nausea and stomach cramps that took over his thoughts and attention.
He did what he normally did when that happened.
Terrence moved calmly to the stairwell and once inside, he stopped, hunched over, waited for the current wave of 'sick' to subside and then with all the energy he could, he walked to the main floor of the building.
More than anything, Terrence wanted to make a bed on the carpet just outside the men's restroom, but he couldn't, even though he had gone up there many times. It was another way he covered up how sick he was.
No one went up there. They used the makeshift potty created in the other stairwell. It was a good thing, because it was horrendous in that men's room.
The second Terrence opened that door he was blasted with a putrid odor. One he had created over the course of a few days. The smell didn't help his control, and he flew into the first stall. It was a bend over then sit situation, he hurled what little contents that were in his stomach, then before his gut screamed out of control, he hurriedly sat down to allow his bowels to violently cramp out all that they could.
He felt as if he were going to pass out, with a faint feeling he swiped the back of his hand over his mouth.
That was when he saw it.
He was vomiting blood.
"Jesus, I'm dying." Terrence closed his eyes.
How much more could he take?
He stayed there a few minutes trying to regain his strength, then when finished, he washed his hands with sanitizer, put on his strong front and headed back to the stairs.
He was midway down when he heard the shouts and screams.
Murph was arguing with someone. Angrily, too.
A single gunshot energized Terrence and he raced down the steps. When he emerged into the garage he saw Keith walking backwards, holding a bag and aiming his gun.
"I won't miss next time," Keith said.
"Terrence," Murphy called out, holding on to his bleeding head. "He took food. He got his gun."
Terrence spun and started to run toward Keith's car.
Keith opened the driver's seat, tossed in the bag and aimed the weapon at Terrence. "I will shoot you. The safety is off."
Just as he decided he didn't care if he got shot, Terrence barreled forward and Keith jumped in his car.
The only working car.
He turned over the engine and just as Terrence arrived, Keith pulled out in reverse.
That was when Terrence saw… Kira.
Kira wasn't far away. She stood by her little water bottle bowling set up and was totally unaware what was coming her way.
Keith didn't look, he didn't care. With screeching tires, he peeled backwards. The rear end of his car plowed into the child. She sailed backwards, slamming into the garage wall and dropping lifelessly to the ground.
Keith sped from the garage.
"No!" Terrence yelled. His bellowing voice cutting through the cries and screams of everyone there.
Macy screamed hysterically and ran over to Kira at the same time as Terrence.
"My baby, my baby, my baby." Macy dropped to her knees and cried out.
Terrence's mother wrapped her arms around Mylena shielding her from the horror.
Little Kira lay like a tossed rag doll and Terrence was afraid to check.
Macy scooped the child into her arms, rolling Kira to her chest as she rocked back and forth. Weakly, Terrence lowered. He didn't know what to do, or what to say, his heart broke in a million pieces. He reached out his hand and Macy stopped rocking.
"She's… she's alive. She's still alive!" Macy tilted her head. "I can hear her breathing." She placed her hand on Kira's chest. "She's still breathing."
Terrence placed his trembling hand by Kira's mouth and felt her breathe, at least he believed he did. Her forehead bled, and a tiny bit of blood seeped from her mouth.
Immediately, he stood. "I need a blanket," he called out. "Macy, I'm gonna take the baby."
"What? Where?"
"The hospital. It's only eight blocks away."
"I'll take her," Murph said. "You're not in any shape. I'll take her for you."
"No, she's my child, I will carry my child." Someone handed Terrence a blanket, he didn't know who, and he reached down lifting his daughter into his arms. "She weighs all of fifty pounds, I can do this."
"I'll go with you," Macy stood.
"No, stay here. It'll be crazy. Stay here where it's safe. I'll be back." Hurriedly, he threw a blanket over Kira and took off from the garage.
It was as if he weren't sick, he was fueled by adrenaline and fear for his child. With Kira close to his chest, he ran across the garage, up the ramp and outside.
Even though it was overcast, it was still hard to see and it took his eyes a few moments to adjust.
"I'll get you there," he said with each step. "I'll get you there."
Terrence didn't get to see much of his surroundings, whether they were burnt, crumbled or destroyed, he was focused on getting to the hospital. He knew exactly where it was, having worked in that section of town before.
He ran at a good speed the first block, and slowed down just a little for the next. By the time he hit the third block his pace had decreased to a fast walk and his arms ached and hurt. Block four, he struggled to hold his child, but pushed forward. On the fifth block he staggered, knees giving out, his chest was heavy and his head spun. Just when he was so close, two blocks, Terrence dropped to his knees.
His fifty pound daughter in his arms felt like five hundred pounds. He tried and tried to stand. His heart broke again and he sobbed with each vain attempt.
"Please, please don't let me fail my child." He pulled her close. "I'm sorry, baby, Daddy will get you…"
Then his eyes saw it.
Keith's car. It had been abandoned at a pile of rubble, unable to pass, and the doors were open. Could it be, that was where he was headed?
That thought gave him strength because this time he was motivated not just with worry, but anger for the man that did this to his daughter. His car was in the area, that meant he was too, and after Terrence got Kira to the hospital, he would find Keith.
First he had to stand.
It was enough to get him to his feet. It was tough, it took everything he had, but he did it. Terrence didn't move as fast as he did when he left the garage, but he stayed balanced and focused and made it to the hospital grounds.
A sour and rotten smell filled the air from the dead bodies that surrounded the hospital grounds. Bodies lay on blankets, sleeping bags, they all huddled together. At one point they were alive and while waiting outside they died.
There were people alive, so many, they moved in groups, staggering. Some badly burned, some barely able to stand. They weren't moving toward the hospital, they were moving away from it.
Terrence moved against the grain of human traffic. Why were they leaving the hospital? They bumped into him, didn't they see he was carrying a child. It was almost as if he were invisible.
"Watch where you're going," someone said.
"They aren't taking anyone," another said. "Don't bother."
What? It couldn't be happening. How could a hospital not take people? Surely that person had to be mistaken, T errence thought. Then he saw the front door, it was boarded up from the inside. That alone told him there were people in there. Doctors, or nurses.
They didn't have every entrance secure, they couldn't and Terrence would find a way in.
His chest ached and his breathing was strained, he was on his last bit of strength and he knew it. If he didn't get Kira into the hospital and to help, they would both die.
He didn't even know if she was still alive. He hadn't heard her moan or make any noise, he didn't even know if his daughter was still breathing. Yet, he had to try to get her help.
On the far side was the ramp to the underground garage. No one seemed to be going there, and to Terrence that was a possible way in.
When he arrived at the parking garage entrance, he saw why. The ramp was a morgue, all bodies. They weren't discarded like trash, they were neatly placed in rows. It was obvious they had been carried out.
The garage wasn't blocked off. He had a clear shot, he just had to make it through the bodies. His legs were like rubber and his arms weak as he inched his way there, trying not to step on anyone, Terrence saw two workers. They wore blue paper hazmat suits, and their faces were covered with masks. They carried a body out from the hospital.
One worker had the legs, the other the shoulders.
"I need help," Terrence called out.
"We aren't taking anyone, yet," the one worker said.
Terrence kept walking their way. "Please, please. Just help." He was so desperate, he had never felt such desperation in his life.
"Sir, please step back."
"If you can just…"
"One hour," the other worker said, it was a woman. "We need to clear people to make some room. We'll open the doors in an hour or two."
"I don't think my daughter has an hour."
The worker carrying the feet, lowered the body and turned around. "We are trying…" She paused. "Terrence?" She pulled down her mask and rushed his way.
Terrence felt his heart sink and he lost his breath when he saw her. He had known her for years, shared many holidays with her, and became part of her extended family when her father put him through school. "Deana. We were… we were in a garage, she was hit by a car."
"Which girl?" she pulled the blanket down. "Oh my God, Kira." Her hand reached inside. "She's still breathing." Then her eyes locked on Terrence. "I have her. Give her to me." She looked over to the other worker. "David! Help."
Terrence relinquished his daughter into Deana's arms, and when he did, he just dropped to his knees, both in weakness and relief.
Deana handed Kira over to David. "Take her in. I'll be right there." Then she reached down and grabbed Terrence by the arm. "Come on. Let me help you."
"You already have." Terrence said. Emotionally exasperated, with Deana's help, he struggled to a stand and walked into that hospital a lot more hopeful than he was a few minutes earlier.
TWENTY-THREE – Breaking
Deana had been fine. She kept her strength, her wits, and moved in almost an automatic mode with each patient. Visually examine, wound care, bandage, repeat. She built a wall of strength and believed she would make it through. In less than twelve hours it would be one week since the attack. They lost over two hundred patients in three days. Most from severe wounds, a lot from radiation poisoning. Deana kept trudging through and would as long as those she treated remained nameless, faceless strangers. She was mentally prepared for the next wave… until she saw Terrence. He wasn't a nameless, faceless stranger. He was a man she had known for years. She heard his name first as the man who made this unusual wing sauce. Her father took a liking to him and before Deana knew it, her father had taken the long sitting college fund Mark never used and gave it to Terrence.
Though she didn't think he ever saw it that way, Terrence was inducted into their family as the fifth sibling. There wasn't an event he wasn't invited to, nor did he have an event that he didn't invite Deana to. She looked at him like a younger brother. Her siblings were out west, Terrence was there.
She had just spoken to him a week earlier, congratulating him on getting the White House job. He, of course, credited her father. Deana had no doubt he got that job on his own. Not only was he an amazing chef, he was a good caring man, dedicated father and husband… and now, that man, her adopted brother, was dying. Deana didn't need to examine him, or run blood tests to know. The sores on his face, the darkness under his eyes were a tell all. Yet, Terrence refused to show how badly he felt.
And Kira… poor little Kira. Deana had taken the weekend off to care for Mylena and Kira while Terrence moved into their new home and out of their old apartment.
Deana wanted to cry, scream, and beat her fist against the wall. When she uncovered Kira from the blanket she felt that wall of strength crumble. The emotional attachment to the girl made her want to run, but instead she examined her. There wasn't a doctor available and Deana trusted no one else to do what was needed.
It wasn't good.
Kira had multiple fractures of her skull and cerebral fluid leaked from her nose and ears. She bled internally and she labored in her breathing because one lung was completely deflated. All vital signs were low and without an x-ray, Deana didn't know for sure, but she was certain her back was broken.
Medication was scarce, but Deana gave Kira pain medication and oxygen.
It was comfort care, not a cure. She had the little girl moved to a private corner with a drapery for privacy. Deana didn't think Kira would make it through the night. Then again, things could change, she could be surprised, after all Baby Mary was still alive and Deana had written her off.
She had to break the news to Terrence. When she stepped from the triage area to find him, she was shocked at the number of people waiting to be seen. They lined up at the garage waiting for a doctor. So many people, Deana should have expected that when they opened their doors to the injured and ill. Although, she had no idea how they were going to medicate them.
She ignored their pleas for help, and pushed her way through the people. Finally, she spotted Terrence. She whimpered in pain at the sight of him, then inhaled a bit of bravery and walked to him.
"Hey," she said softly.
"She died, didn't she?" Terrence asked.
"No. No she didn't. I have her in a private area. It… it doesn't look good, Terrence." Deana touched his arm. "I have her comfortable. It's a wait and see right now."
Terrence brought his hand up and squeezed the corner of his eyes.
"I know you are ill."
"I'm fine."
"Terrence, I have medication that can give you some relief. Take it and sit with the baby, okay?"
"Yeah." Terrence emotional once again, only nodded.
"Macy, Mylena, your mom?"
"They're… they're fine. A little weak, but fine. We managed to get out of the city and below. I just did some stupid shit in the name of my family. That's how I got this way."
"I would be surprised if you didn't."
"I told them to stay put for now."
"Good. I need you to rest. Stay with the baby and rest. What happened? You said she was hit by a car? I didn't think cars were running."
"This one was," Terrence said. "It was off when the bombs hit. The guy stole our food and was driving out of the garage when he hit her. He just kept going."
"Oh my God."
"I had the chance, you know, to kill him early on when he was trouble."
"That's not you," Deana said.
"If I had, my daughter would not…" Terrence paused.
"What is it?" Deana asked.
"Him. He's here. There." Terrence brushed by her.
"Terrence!" she called out, but he ignored her. She watched him rage across the crowded room to a man seated on the floor, holding on to a woman. It was as if he wasn't even sick, Terrence grabbed the man by the collar, lifted him, and like a locomotive with a driving force, carried him ten feet and slammed him into a wall.
Deana ran over as Terrence held the man there by his throat.
"You son of a bitch!" Terrence blasted. "You did this to my daughter."
"I didn't…" The man choked. "I didn't see her. I swear. I'm… I'm sorry."
Terrence tightened his chokehold on the man and Deana did nothing to stop him. She reached out to Terrence, but retracted her hand.
"Sorry isn't good enough." Terrence graveled, "My child is dying now because of you." He squeezed tighter and the man's face turned red.
Deana didn't know how Terrence had the strength. He held the man to the wall with one choking grip and revved back his fist.
The man repeated, "I'm sorry. Please don't. My wife needs me. Please…"
Terrence stopped. "More than anything I want to hurt you. I won't. You have to live with this. I won't let my last act be me taking another man's life." Terrence said passionately. "May God have…"
Deana raced forward because she saw it happening. She was too late. Terrence completely released his grip of the man, swayed some, staggered backwards, then toppled to the ground.
TWENTY-FOUR – The Move
'I don't know where to begin, or to explain why I did what I did," Mark's letter read. 'I was an idiot and I hope you will forgive me. I know it might be too late. I pray this world is kind to you and that you rise above all that we let bring us down….'
Then he had to stop writing. His head was pounding. It was the kind of headache that spread from temple to temple, making his cheek bones feel as if they were broken. Mark couldn't even move his jaw without pain shooting up into his skull.
The headache was the mildest of all that ailed him.
Eight hours earlier, he woke up and was glad to be in that large room with six other people, instead of the closet size medical room. He was elated to know that Spokane was still safe and his child, more than likely, was alive and well.
If there was one thing he was sure of it was that his ex-wife would keep little Mark safe. She was smart and knew things. She was one of those people who always had two weeks supply of food. A part of him felt guilty for not being overly worried, he attributed that to his gut instinct telling him his son was fine.
Then Mark started feeling sick again, and suddenly he doubted that gut instinct and attributed the positive attitude to the fact he was safe so was everyone else.
Zeke was fine and healthy, he looked it and Mark was glad about that. Regis on the other hand was sick, too. He appeared sick, moved like he was sick and started getting purple splotches. The only difference between them was Regis didn't act sick. Then again, he just sat in that control room listening and watching.
As the day winded down, the less Mark talked. His throat felt swollen and he coughed a lot. He couldn't even finish the broth he had for evening meal, it came right back up.
By night, he was out of the large room and back in the medical area again. An intravenous in his arm, but it kept failing. They said his veins were weak.
When did it happen? How did he turn so fast in a snap of a finger? The nurse explained to him that they suspected he had radiation poisoning, but there was no way to be sure without watching his DNA. It was a wait and see and now… they saw.
He had been in what was called the latent stage, and while he felt fine, it was like a viral hacker entered his body and snuck in damage without notice.
"How bad is it?" Mark asked.
"We don't know. It's hard to tell," the nurse said. "We don't know how much exposure you had."
"I was out there the same amount of time as my brother."
"Each person is different. Some people recover, some don't. The next few days will tell."
At least he would live a few days, if the nurse was right. Mark doubted that because he felt like death.
Soon his every thought was consumed with his son and he grew angry with himself. How selfish he was. How unbelievably selfish. He didn't even think about his actions or how they would affect his son. He said goodbye, believing he would be back.
Now he pictured his son crying and alone. A seven year old boy lost in a devastated world. If something happened to his mother, would little Mark find food? Would he know not to drink water?
It was those thoughts that prompted him to start that letter. Somehow, someway, he would get the note to his son.
While sitting there trying to think of his next line, the door opened and Regis walked in.
"Hey, Little Brother." He shut the door. "How are you feeling?"
"Like shit."
"I'm sorry." Regis sat on the bed.
"How are you feeling?"
"Like shit." Regis smiled.
"I have an IV if you wanna share?"
"No, I'm good. I came to check on you and to see if you want some updates and know what's going on."
"Yeah, I would."
"They haven't confirmed whether or not we surrendered and are occupied. I would hope and think we aren't, that the other countries have just as much to clean up."
"That would suck if they didn't."
"Tell me about it," Regis said. "Zeke, despite my protesting, is moving out tomorrow. He volunteered to help with aid stations and move people to smaller, less populated areas for help."
"That's not a bad thing, Rege."
"I know. I'm just scared for him. He thinks he will be able to find Kit that way."
"Well, we know she's in one of two towns."
"I'm sure we'll find her because our father is arriving tomorrow."
Mark sat up some. "He is?"
"He is coming up and they are locating all those people who were supposed to be in New Mexico, they're moving them and us down there. Here. There. I don't get why it matters?" Regis leaned forward as if he noticed the notebook on Mark's lap. "What are you doing?"
"I'm writing a letter to Markie."
Regis nodded.
"I'm such an asshole, Rege, I am. So much wasted time. "
"There's still time left," Regis said. "Maybe after we get you down there and you get better, then we can go north to Washington and look for Markie. Hell maybe even dad knows where he is. None of us talked to him."
Mark shook his head.
"No? Dad doesn't, why would he?"
"No, I hope he does. If he doesn't, I don't want to go to New Mexico."
"What do you want to do?" Regis asked.
"I don't think I have the time you think we have. I think… as soon as I can, I want to go try to find Markie. Give him this letter." Mark laid his hand on the notebook. "Even if it's the last thing I do."
TWENTY-FIVE – Red, Blue, Green
When Abe first met Harland, he found it hard to believe he was a doctor. Although he did first encounter him at the hospital. Harland was on the gruff side, didn't use big impressive words and spoke short sentences. He was a simple man, but a highly talented one at that.
Even in the shelter, he struck Abe as the crazy kind of guy who lived on a farm growing weed and waiting for the end of the world. That was just Harland's preferred environment. Once he was in his pocket at the hospital, he transformed into a medical professional.
When they arrived at the hospital that first day, Abe wasn't worried about radiation or anything, he was just glad to be productive again. Kit was, as well. It seemed as if all her neuroticism about getting ill went out the window when she really saw the ill.
Her first words upon arrival, matched Abe's thoughts. "Where did all these people come from?"
The town of Maltese wasn't tiny, under six thousand residents, a lot of which were military personnel. The town had been spared, so where did the people come from?
"Ignorance," Harland said. "A lot of people just thought after a day or two it was fine to come out. Now they're feeling that. The injuries, the really sick people, they're from outside this town. Yesterday, emergency services started going out at night, looking to see if people were walking, camping, making their way from Colorado Springs."
"That was good thinking," Abe said.
"Well, if you look at it. If you were spared and your city blew up, where would you go? The next town. How would you get there… walk."
There were actually a lot of volunteers, but Harland and another doctor were it as far as physicians. There were some nurses and they were needed on the floor and in the emergency care places.
Kit was given the task of checking people in and taking names. That way those with any medical experience could help out elsewhere.
Abe left the hospital and went to the elementary school. They had to move those who had taken shelter there to other areas, and prepare the gymnasium for patients. They only had forty-two cots and Abe was told that wasn't going to be enough.
How would they get more? He questioned that. They were making a lot of space, and were getting a pretty big set up ready. He learned after a few hours, that Schriever had gone 'radio silent' to the small towns, but opened up communication to inform Maltese they would be a bringing in supplies to make them an official medical station. The elementary school was the point of interest.
Abe did what was asked of him and kept working. It kep
Since he didn't plan on dying anytime soon, he had a lot of years that he had no idea how he would fill.
Was just surviving enough? How was that possible? He just knew anything the first wave of survivors did was going to set in motion the survival of generations to come. Abe and so many had their work cut out for them. Like right there at the elementary school, Abe would do his part.
Kit was given what she thought was an easy job. At least when she was told what she would do, she thought it would be easy. A sit down job holding a pencil, and taking names.
She also was inside, so Harland said she didn't have to run back to the shelter after an hour, but she would have to go back and spend twice as much time back there as she did working.
If she took names for six hours, she had to go back to the bunker for twelve.
Radiation accumulated and Harland didn't want her sick.
She was one of five check in people. She was told hundreds were going to be registered, so she would be busy.
Still… easy job. Then she found out what all it entailed. Kit was on the front lines. She was the first person to make the determination of treatment, comfort, or death.
The job wasn't easy, at least not emotionally.
She was give a clipboard, an instruction sheet with questions, stack of index cards and three Sharpie markers.
Red, Blue, Green.
Kit was to take down the name and chief complaint, then write those on the clipboard and the index cards. After that, she would ask the questions, depending on the answer would depend what marker she used and where she would send the patient.
"Name?" Kit asked.
"Janet Long."
"What brings you here, Janet?"
"I'm not feeling well. I can't keep anything down and I have this burn that keeps getting worse." Janet extended her arm and pulled back the makeshift bandage. When she did, she lifted layers of skin. Her hand and forearm was black and peeling, it oozed blood
Kit wrote down two words, 'burnt and sick.' Then she pulled forth the questions. "How long have you been outside and not in a shelter?"
"We stayed in a basement the first two days then walked here."
Kit calculated four days. According to the questionnaire, any individual exposed for any length of time the first week post bomb was to be asked if they had been vomiting, and, or, had diarrhea, If yes, any unexplained bruising, rash, bleeding or hair loss?
Yes to any of those… their card was to be marked with a red X, then give the card back to the person, and send them to the where the fire truck was parked outside.
It seemed every single person was getting a red X.
After a couple dozen red X's with only a blue, or green here and there, Kit realized what the colors meant.
Fix, treat, comfort.
Green, blue, red.
The ones marked green would get treated and sent on their way, the ones marked blue would get medicated, the ones that were red, were pretty much being sent somewhere to be made comfortable. In another words, to die.
So many people, it couldn't be right. Survivors like Janet Long were walking and talking, she wasn't dying.
However, her body was.
The silent, invisible killer ravaged her body and soon it would take its final toll.
It all made Kit sick to her stomach to know how many people just didn't have a chance. They would be spared as much suffering as they could, that was it.
There was no hope.
After a couple hours, Kit noticed that she went into this automated mode, moving people through the lines as quickly as possible and without any affliction to their voice. She did so until a teenage girl weakly and innocently said, "Thank you. I'm really scared."
Kit stopped and her heart crumbled. She looked at the girl and realized she stopped looking at the faces.
With compassion, Kit reached up to the girl and grabbed her hand. "It will be alright."
Kit took a moment. Her line would move slower, but as hard as it would be she decided she would stop being robotic. She wouldn't look at these people as numbers. They were someone's mother, father, brother, sister… child.
Her child.
As much as she could, she would treat them with the compassion, respect and dignity each person deserved.
She couldn't fix them, treat them or cure them. She decided being kind and warm was the least she could do for them.
TWENTY-SIX – Second Level
It took four people to lift Terrence from the floor and place him on a gurney. He was bad. Deana was told by a doctor to let him go, clean him up, make him comfortable and allow him to pass. She couldn't accept that. Even though her medical knowledge told her Terrence wasn't going to make it, Deana had to try.
She cleaned his wounds, bandaged his burns, and gave him intravenous fluids, antibiotics and blood. All of which she did in hopes that he would at least live until the next afternoon, until Deana could find his family. She couldn't do that after dark, it was too dangerous, but she was willing to take a chance and try after the sun came up.
For the night, she placed him in the curtained off section with Kira. Their cot style beds nearly touching. Terrence lay on his side facing his daughter and his hand rested on hers. That was how Deana left him for the night while she worked and eventually rested a couple hours.
In the morning, she was fearful, especially when she walked in and saw he hadn't moved. She moved closer, pulling out her stethoscope to check on both Terrence and Kira, when he murmured out a groggy, "Thank you."
Silently she exhaled and walked around to check Kira.
Terrence watched. "How is she?"
"She's still hanging in there, but…" Deana shook her head. "I'm not going to lie to you. She's not well."
Terrence closed his eyes and his face tensed up in pain. "Is she gonna leave us?"
"I will say this. It's not good, but after things I have seen, I won't say for sure, anything is possible"
Terrence opened his eyes and looked at her with curiosity.
"Right after everything happened a little girl was brought in. She hasn't spoken, I call her Mary. She was burned, I had to amputate her hand and her leg. I didn't think she'd make it through the surgery. However, here we are and she is still fighting for her life."
"We all will fight for life," Terrence said.
"Like you. You are a fighter. How do you feel?"
"I actually feel better."
That didn't surprise Deana. She knew after the blood, antibiotics and fluids that he wouldn't be better, he would feel stronger. "Good."
"I have to go." Terrence tried to sit up.
Deana pushed him back. "You aren't going anywhere."
"I have to get Macy, I have to…"
"No." Deana stopped him. "I already planned on going to get her today. In fact I'm leaving here in a few minutes."
"I can't ask you to do that."
"You're not asking, I'm volunteering. You stay here and rest."
Terrence appeared reluctant when he nodded. "Do I have to lay here?"
"I wish I had a book. Something so I won't sleep. I don't want to sleep."
"Can I ask why?"
"Because just in case one of us goes…" he looked at Kira. "I want every single second and minute I can get."
"I understand. Hold on, I think I have something." Deana walked from that little corner and across the garage where she kept her things. She had only a few minutes to pack a bag and she had placed a book in with her items.
She returned to Terrence. "I have one. Excuse the irony of it and well, realism now. It's all I have. My father gave this to me. Said it was his favorite." She extended the book down and Terrence smile.
"Yep. Looks familiar. Alas, Babylon ." He didn't take it.
"You read it?"
"Read it? A million times. I couldn't believe your father hadn't," Terrence said. "We were talking one night, I had that on me. He said he never read it and I gave him that exact book as a gift. I think that's the one. Check the inside back cover, if it's the one that I gave Dennis, then it will have a Preston High School stamp and T. Hill written under."
Deana flipped open to the back cover and gasped. "This is yours."
"Talk about an ironic full circle." She placed the book next to him. "Take care of it. I'll be back with your family." She began to leave.
She stopped. "Yeah?"
"Your father was a good man. You take after him."
Her lips immediately pursed and she tried to fight out the sad pout. Instead she forced a smile, nodded her head and left.
It was only an eight block walk, but since she didn't have a clue what was out there, she hadn't a clue how long it would take.
Deana packed a few medical supplies and put them in a side purse which she wore under her coat. She brought a flashlight with her because that man who hit Kira with the car told her it was dark, he also gave her directions and offered to go with her.
She declined and headed there alone.
There was a dim feel to the day, heavily overcast and even though it was spring, it was cold. She layered her clothing, wearing a men's heavy coat and a knit cap. There was a stew of odors in the air, a mixture of death, burning and sewage.
There were so many dead rats, Deana had to watch her footing.
The buildings were mainly intact except for busted windows. Some had scorch marks. People made camps inside the buildings, some were on the streets, and others lived in cars.
Those barely stood, or barely moved. They were dirty and scared, their faces held confusion. As she walked down the street, they watched her. How different she must have looked.
She kept moving, it was only eight blocks.
The further she walked from the hospital the more bodies she saw. They died in the middle of the street, leaning against a building, or huddled together with others.
Just about at the garage, she stopped when she could see the huge dark cloud in the distance hovering where Washington D.C. was. She didn't realize until that moment how truly close she was to the blast and how lucky she was to be alive.
When she arrived at the garage, she hesitated and wondered if she was misled. There wasn't a soul around and the building looked still.
She looked down to the address she wrote on her glove and it matched the building. After turning on her flashlight she headed down the ramp.
The first level of the garage was empty and semi lit from the daylight that seeped down the ramp. She crossed the garage and headed for the ramp that led to level two.
At the top of the ramp she heard coughing and could see a hint of light.
"Hello!" Deana called out. "Hello!" She didn't think about her safety, she should have. Deana could have been jumped or attacked, but at that moment it didn't cross her mind.
As she reached the bottom of the ramp she called out again. "Hello! I'm looking for Macy Hill!"
As she emerged to the second level she spotted a small fire burning in a can, there was one light in the corner, it looked like a headlight.
There were at least a dozen people, some sat on the floor, some on seats taken from cars.
"I'm looking for…."
"Deana!" Macy shouted.
Deana swung the beam of her light and caught Macy heading her way. She was followed by Terrence's mother, June and Mylena.
Macy gratefully approached Deana. "I would hug you, but I'm a mess."
Deana didn't care, she reached out and embraced her.
"What are you doing here?" Macy asked.
"I was working at the hospital when Terrence came with Kira."
Macy whimpered and covered her mouth. "He made it. I was so worried. I should have gone with him."
"Stop," Deana told her. "It is mass confusion at the hospital, but he made it with her, yes."
"How is she?"
"She's hanging on, but she's been seriously injured, Macy."
Macy sniffed and nodded. "I know. I knew when he left with her."
Deana could only imagine what Macy was going through. Macy looked drawn and gaunt.
"My son?" June asked. "How is my son?"
Deana paused before saying anything. "He's sick, as you know. Probably a lot more sick than you thought. That's why I came. I'm here to get you. You should come with me," Deana said. "There isn't much time."
TWENTY-SEVEN – Arrival
During the time that Kit spent inside Harland's shelter, she had a hard time distinguishing day from night. She relied heavily on a clock to tell her if it was morning or evening. Still, she had trouble and got confused. But there was no problem whatsoever knowing it was nighttime when she arrived back at the bunker after a full day's work at the hospital.
She herself checked in over one hundred and forty people. When Abe arrived to bring her back, the line was still long.
He didn't speak much about what he did, only that they were preparing the school gym and already didn't have enough supplies for everyone.
So many didn't get a bed, or cot. They ran out of sleeping bags and the sick were laying on the wooden gym floor covered by coats and anything else they could use for blankets.
They were hopeful and optimistic that when aid arrived the next day, they would bring enough supplies. It was heartbreaking that those who sought comfort, for their final hours, or days were left to find it on a hard cold surface. Some were so sick, they didn't even notice.
It had been one week since everything happened and during that week, Kit went from in shock, to indifference as she sat in the shelter unaware of the extent of other people's injuries.
Then after several hours, she spun into depression. The enormity of everything slammed her. How precious human life was and it was discarded so easily by people with a chip on their shoulder.
The United States launched as well.
For the differences everyone face, they all were the same. Struggling, destitute and dying.
Everyone was dying. Just some more quickly than others.
Kit slept a good bit of time. She didn't know if Harland came back at all.
Fully dressed and ready to go back out, Kit waited on Abe.
He finally stepped into the main room. "Bathroom is free if you need it?"
"No, I'm good. I showered last night," Kit said. "There's coffee left on the burner in a pot if you want the rest."
"Thank you," Abe walked to the stove. "Are you okay?"
"Yes." Kit embraced her cup with both hands. "No."
"No? What's going on?" Abe sat down with her.
"Everything. Yesterday. Going back."
"You don't need to go back."
"Yeah, I do. We're alive and healthy."
"Actually, you're not," Abe stood her. "You are still suffering from that head injury."
"I'm fine. Compared to everyone else, I am really good." She sighed. "What's next? That's what keeps going through my mind. What's next? This time next week, the following week, so many people are going to be dead. What happens then? How do we process it? Do we bury the dead, or just leave them be and go to another place."
"I don't think anyone has thought that far ahead."
"They should. There should have been a plan. There was a plan for localized natural disasters. Terror attacks. Hell, there is a list of Presidential and FEMA directives that lay out in detail everything that would be done in case of all out global catastrophe. How to keep the government going, keep a portion of population alive. Yet, there is probably not one that say what the plan is after."
"I'm sure there is," Abe said.
"I'm sure there isn't. Want to know why?" Kit asked. "Because no one believed it was going to happen. They should have. Right now everyone is preoccupied with helping the sick and injured, or being one of the sick and injured. What about after? Where do we go? Do we fraction off, start making our own communities. What are you going to do after the last person dies?"
"Find out where my brother is. Where they evacuated him and if he's safe. Then… help you find who you need to find. That's all I have to do."
"That's probably what most people will do," Kit said. "Searching for families. We will be a society of nomads, moving from place to place looking for loved ones while fighting for scraps of food."
Abe exhaled loudly and shook his head. "Wow, you are really deep in thought on this."
"I am. What about these people that will suffer long term? This isn't Hiroshima, Nagasaki or any war torn city, there's no United States to go in, bring aid and help clean up."
"We don't know that," Abe said.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean… we don't know what's out there. We got our missiles off the ground, who is to say they hit. Who is to say there isn't another country waiting for the chance to come in and clean up what they won."
"Can that happen?"
"It's possible."
Kit stood. "I could see that happening if a few bombs fell, but we're talking thousands. There's no dusting off so easily." She took her cup to the dishpan. "Okay, I'm gonna try to shake this mood before we get to town. These people don't need someone mean and miserable taking their names and determining if they go Red, Blue or Green."
"It's okay, Kit, it really is to feel this way." Abe placed his hands on her shoulders. "You're thinking ahead. It's mind boggling because there is no precedence on this. There's no way to predict an outcome. Why don't you make it easy on yourself?"
"How would I do that?"
"Think ahead, but only until tomorrow," Abe said. "One day at a time, because you don't know what each day will bring."
A military truck rolled loudly by them just before Abe and Kit parked in front of Central Medical.
"I guess they're here," Abe said. "That's a good thing."
"More hands, maybe? Then I can go searching for my son and brothers."
"Look, I will make it a point, one way or another to go to Elcort today, as soon as I can. If they aren't here, they have to be there. I'll come get you."
"I appreciate it." She opened the truck door. "Good luck."
"You too." She stepped from the truck and let another military vehicle pass her. She watched it move down the street, a few people were in the back.
Someone spoke over the loud speaker, giving directions on where to go. Kit didn't need directions, so she didn't pay much attention to the details of the voice.
"If you have a Two card, please look for the station marked Two. If you have a Three…'
He repeated his words.
Kit walked inside, expecting the worst. So many more people, she could only imagine how bad the line was. Immediately she saw Harland. He didn't look too bad for someone who had been working nonstop. Although his blue scrubs were soiled.
"There you are," Harland said. "Did you get some rest?"
"I did. Thank you. Am I on check in?"
"Not today."
"Those of you with the number One, please report to the emergency entrance." The voice continued in the background.
"How long has the announcing been going on?"
"About two hours. I stopped listening," Harland said.
"So what am I doing?'
"A lot of these people have already been screened and placed on trucks. They are using a numeric system. Three being our red. I need you to make sure people are in the right places. Double check the card they are wearing around their necks."
"Please do not switch lanyards with someone else…" the male said.
Harland pointed upwards as if to a voice in the sky. "Lanyards. That's it. That's what they're called. He's right. We have people switching."
"Okay, I'll get on…" Kit paused and spun around as if searching.
"If you believe you are marked in error…"
"What's wrong?" Harland asked.
"We will know upon examination ."
"Oh my God, the voice. How did I not recognize it?" she pushed through the crowd.
"Kit!" Harland called out.
She couldn't see, she looked left and right around people. Call out again, please call out again so I can find you, she thought.
"Kit." Harland stopped her. "What is going on?"
"The voice. The guy calling out. That's my son."
"Are you sure?"
"This way," Harland led her away from the crowd and outside. "We'll circle around. He's making the announcements as the trucks drop off."
"Did you see him?" Kit asked as she walked hurriedly with Harland.
"No. I didn't pay attention to what he looked like," Harland said. He hurried her around the building to the front. "Why would your son be making announcements?"
"Maybe he was at Schriever and they recruited him." Kit saw a military truck dropping off a few people.
"There." Harland pointed. "Is that him?"
Kit inched forward and her heart sunk. The man holding the bullhorn wasn't her son. How could she be so mistaken? How could she not know he own kid's voice. Then again, she didn't recognize it at first.
"No," Kit said. "I would have sworn…."
Kit's eyes widened and she turned to her left.
"Mom!" Zeke raced to her
Breaking away from Harland, Kit ran to her son. Immediately they embraced and Kit shrieked with emotional glee. She grabbed hold of her son and wouldn't let him go.
"I knew I heard you. I knew it." Kit pulled away. "Then I looked and it wasn't you."
"Oh. My announcer shift was done. I was just on my way to look for you here." Zeke grinned. "Oh my God, mom, I am so glad you're okay."
Harland approached. "This is the boy, I assume?"
"Yes. Yes he is. Zeke this is Dr. Harland Cooper, he really kept me safe and got me back in shape."
"Thank you, sir. Thank you so much," Zeke shook his hand.
"Aw, well, you're mom is pretty tough. She didn't really need me. What are you doing here working?" Harland asked.
"Schriever needed help, I volunteered. I figured it was a good way to look for mom," Zeke said. "My Uncle said she was alive, but didn't know where they took her."
Kit gasped. "You know where your uncle is? Regis?"
"Both. We're all together."
"Both? Mark is alive? His part of the plane broke off, Abe said. Mark's alive. They both are." Kit whimpered, overwhelmed by the good news and she placed her hand to her chest. "I am so blessed."
"Mom," Zeke suddenly took on a serious tone. "They're… they're sick mom. They're pretty sick. It hit them bad yesterday and…"
"What do you mean sick?" Kit asked.
"Radiation. They're vomiting and in pain, they aren't healing, they have these marks. We thought they beat the exposure, because they got sick right away. Then when they got better, we were relieved."
"The latent stage," Harland said to Kit. "I told you about that. I don't understand, they had the area cleared before the radiation arrived. You were on a base with a bunker. How did they get exposed?"
"Uncle Mark was thrown from the tail end. Uncle Regis refused to leave until he found him."
Harland closed his mouth tightly, nodded and placed his hand on Kit's shoulder. "Maybe you should find a way to Schriever and not worry about all this."
Kit could barely speak. Overrun with emotions she just nodded. "I'm going to head to the school and get the truck from Abe. Is that okay?"
"Absolutely," Harland said then looked to Zeke. "Can you take your mom there?"
"I'm sure I can."
"Let me write down directions for you," Harland said. "I'll be right back."
Near breathless, Kit faced Zeke. "How bad are they?"
"Getting worse, but their spirits are good."
Kit closed her eyes in pain. "Are they as bad as some of these people?"
"I would label them a two."
"Two," Kit whispered. Thinking a 'two' was their blue and that meant there was hope.
Harland returned with a slip of paper and handed it to her. "Very basic. If you can't find the truck, let me know, I'll get you one."
"Thank you," Kit kissed Harland on the cheek. "Thank you for everything." She faced Zeke. "You ready?" Kit started to walk.
Kit stopped.
"Before we go…" Zeke reached out and grabbed her arm. "There's something else you need to know. I won't tell you what it is. Just be prepared for a shock."
TWENTY-EIGHT – Librarian
Regis took a shower and felt a lot better. He applied the ointment to his facial wound, but forewent the bandage. Maybe some air hitting it would heal it.
He was able to keep some ginger ale down along with the pain medication. The crisp clean new clothes gave him a slight rejuvenation. He hoped it wasn't going to be short lived, he was going to enjoy feeling semi normal for as long as it lasted.
He made his way back to the room he shared with his brother and found Mark in the bathroom. The door was opened, Mark, too, had cleaned up. He wasn't leaning over the commode, instead he was in front of the mirror, a finger in his mouth.
Regis stood in the doorway, leaning against the arch. "Everything okay?"
"No." Mark spoke muffled with his fingers moving in his mouth. "Thirty-one thousand, three hundred and two dollars. That's including interest, on my teeth and…" he grunted and withdrew his fingers from his mouth. When he did, blood seeped over his lip. "They're still coming out."
He showed Regis the tooth
Regis cringed. "Aw, gees, Mark stop that."
Mark spit in the sink then rinsed his mouth. "Third one today. They wiggle more and more when I touch them."
"Quit touching them."
"Aren't yours?"
"My teeth?"
"Yeah, aren't they loose?"
Regis chuckled. "No, I don't think so. Then again, I'm not touching mine."
Mark grabbed a towel and wiped off his mouth. "I guess we won't be seeing dentures anytime soon."
"Who cares?"
"Did you see this?" Mark pulled on the back of his hair and a small clump came out.
"Mark! Stop that. Seriously."
"Oh, that's right, you don't have that problem." Mark said about Regis' bald head. "You always said you wish you had my hair." He extended the clump to Regis.
Regis pushed his hand away. "I'm glad you're in a better mood."
"I'm still sick as a dog, but not gonna mope anymore. We have a plan, right?"
Regis nodded. "Yes, we do."
There was a single knock on the door before it opened.
Regis leaned back to look. "Oh my God, Kit."
"Kit?" Mark asked.
Kit's emotional gasp was the only sound she made when she barreled into the room, she immediately embraced Regis, then grabbed onto Mark.
After the initial reunion, she stepped back, looked at each of her brothers and started to cry. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
"No." Regis reached out to her. "It's okay. We may be sick, but we resolved a lot of things."
"Did Zeke find you?" Mark asked. "He volunteered hoping he'd find you."
"He did. Right away," Kit told them. "I was volunteering."
"Where were you?" Mark asked. "I mean, they radioed the hospitals for us, the fire stations."
Kit waved her hand. "I was in a basement bunker."
"Well, we're here," Regis said. "We're together. We not apart, we know each other is fine."
Mark scoffed. "That remains to be seen. You aren't losing your teeth."
"Why are you two out of bed?" Kit asked. "The only way you are going to beat this is rest, take in lots of fluids, there's a chance, but you have to rest and give your body a chance to heal."
Regis shook his head. "They don't know how much we got. They know it wasn't enough to kill us right away, but it was enough."
"No," Kit argued. "I refuse to accept that."
Mark breathed out heavily. "We can beat this. There is a chance, but honestly, Kit, I don't want to spend that time laying in a bed waiting to find out if I will live, or die."
"What choice do you have?" Kit asked.
Mark looked at Regis and then back to Kit. "We're going to Spokane. There's no report that it's been hit. I want to see my son. I need to see my son."
"I'll go. Me and Zeke will go…"
Regis shook his head. "You can't. Levels are low but still high enough to get sick. They'll be better in a few days, but we don't want to wait that few days."
"This is insane. You aren't well. I don't understand," Kit said. "It's over a thousand miles away. You can't walk. How are you going to get there?"
"We're getting a helping hand," Mark replied.
"Who?" Kit asked. "Who's doing this for you?"
Regis pointed behind her. "Him."
Kit turned around.
Their father was standing in the d
Kit was frozen in her stance, eyes wide open. All she could do was mutter out an airy and confused, "Dad?"
GROUND ZERO CITIZEN – Eight
Terrence wept.
Kira had taken her last breath.
She never opened her eyes, stirred, moaned or spoke. The last thing Terrence ever said to her that she heard was when he said he'd be right back and they would play.
He blamed his sickness, his vanity, had he not run upstairs to hide that he was ill he would have been on that garage level when Keith took the food.
He would have taken a bullet before Keith would have taken a step to get into his car.
All that was heartbreaking hindsight.
Through some sort of twisted fate, his daughter survived the bombs only to have her life cut short by greed.
Kira was one of millions of children who died. That didn't help Terrence feel better. She was his daughter, his baby girl.
Terrence was reading her the book when it happened. Skipping words that were too grown up as if Kira heard them, maybe she did. He mentioned how Dennis had underlined words, and even said to Kira, "I wonder if he knew this was going to happen and this book was his warning."
He flipped a page and that was when it happened.
Terrence didn't notice she passed, he felt her go. He was holding her tiny hand in his hand while facing Kira when he felt the life slip from her. Her hand just stopped feeling the same.
He wanted to call out, but didn't because he feared someone would come and move her. He wasn't ready to let her go, not yet.
The last time he saw anyone was when Deana was in his curtained off section, and that was a while ago. His IV bag had run dry.
Soon enough someone would come, he wasn't prepared for that.
A part of him believed his daughter's death was a blessing, that she would be spared living in a savage world where people fought for every scrap of food, where war was the act that killed humanity. Another part of him was angry because death robbed her of the chance to make the world a better place through life.
Terrence just stared at his daughter. She looked peaceful and that pained him. It was that moment of losing his child that he fully understood why someone would take their own life. To escape a pain that was too hard to even fathom.
Deana had told him she never knew what hit her, he prayed that was the case.
He wasn't ready for someone to come, he especially wasn't ready when that person was Macy.
From the second she walked in, all he could think was, My God, she is so strong.
She presented strength. She whimpered once upon seeing Kira, then sniffed in hard, holding back the tears.
"Is she gone?" Mylena asked. "Is my sister dead?"
"Yes, baby, she is," Macy answered. "She's in a better place."
"But she's not with us." Mylena said.
"No. No. No," June, Terrence's mother cried out painfully. "Not this baby. Not her. Oh my God."
"Mama," Macy whispered. "It's okay. Look around. She really is in a better place than all of us."
June covered her mouth, shook her head and nearly buckled to the floor. She was crushed and Terrence could see that.
He felt like a failure for being unable to save his daughter. His entire family was suffering in all ways imaginable, while he was facing the easy way out of pain.
He was dying, and with the pain his body felt both physically and emotionally, that death couldn't come soon enough.
TWENTY-NINE – From the Grave
Kit wrestled with her inner reaction and how she should feel about her father's sudden appearance. She wasn't expecting it. Why would she? Her entire family believed he was dead. While, she was very glad that he was alive, she was angry because of all he put them through. Then again, the pain of his death in a way prepared her for more emotional hardships.
The first thing she thought was Deana, her sister lived in the same area, surely she knew her father was still alive.
"She didn't. She couldn't," Dennis said. "The only one who knew was Sandra. I attempted to have Deana evacuated, but she didn't go."
"When they attempted to get her, did they tell her why?" Kit asked.
"More than likely."
"Then she went to the hospital. She had to."
"I tried to get your mother and Jillie evacuated, but when my men showed up they weren't there. None of them."
Kit looked oddly at them. "Where did they go?"
Dennis lifted his hands and shrugged "It was right after you all left. There was no news of anything yet. I don't know where they would go at eleven at night."
"You had to know for months," Kit said. "I mean that was the reason behind giving me the book, right?"
"I gave all of you a copy of that book. As soon as I suspected it was on the horizon, I wanted to plant the seed. I should have told you, but I didn't. I figured you kids would have read it long before that and called me. Only one person did."
"Your mother. I didn't confirm, or deny. She was always smart about that stuff. It wasn't supposed to happen this way, Kit."
"What? Your death?"
He had explained the 'why' of his death, but she supposed it was more than just a matter of offensive psychological warfare and she was right.
"Everything. The war, my fake death. No one expected this war to expand onto American soil. It was localized, it was strategic. There were waves of attacks that no one knew about. When we saw the way it was escalating, we thought news of my death might make them underestimate us. There was reliable Intel that the full scale attack was coming. So we moved into the evacuation plan. We were very offensive in this war and it backfired. By the time we got what we could into the air, we were launching defensively. They had taken out so many of our silos."
"Daddy, I am having a hard time believing that as Secretary of Defense you let it get to this point."
"Kit, I believed, we all believed this would be a ship for ship, base for base, limited civilian exchange. We watched them move thousands of warheads. Our Intel was wrong and we learned it too late."
"What do you mean?"
"When we received the actual information that they had launched, we tried to confirm. We could not get a confirmation. So we took out several military installations and four cities. They hadn't launched. When they did, they hit our bases, our silos and two dozen of our cities. More were coming. We barely got our missiles in the air, and most of them were just intercepting the incoming. Then more came again."
"Jesus." Kit covered her mouth. "We fired first. We started it."
"We did. Now, our coasts are reduced to rubble and a lot of our mid west was hit with a biological weapon that we still can't get a grip on. You were supposed to arrive in New Mexico, when that didn't happen, the first safe day I could, I headed north. My plan was to get you, your brothers and Zeke and bring you back to New Mexico to the facility."
"You said, 'was'. What changed?"
"Because we need to think of the American People, in three days the President will be signing a conditional surrender."
Kit had to catch her breath. "So those rumors were true."
"It was a loss for us and theirs was a pyrrhic victory at best. The U.S. is at Mexico and Canada's mercy for help, thank God they are reaching out. All of us hit, all countries, are relying on the help of those who were smart enough not to push a button. After that surrender a lot of that aid will be arriving, some has already arrived. Following the conditional surrender the country will be occupied for a period of five years."
"How will that work?" Kit asked confused.
"I don't know. We assume and hope that it will go the same way, it did in World War II when we occupied Japan and Germany. They rebuild, they move us to a sovereign state, I suppose. I don't know, I really don't. I should, but I'm dead to them all. The president doesn't want me to reveal myself because many of the heads of state will be charged as war criminals. Me being one of them."
"It's ridiculous."
"What is?"
"This was a nuclear war. Jesus, this isn't a game. You talk surrender, asylum, I think you're talking because you don't know. You aren't seeing what's out there. There's no bouncing back."
"We can't think that way. We're picking up the pieces now."
"No, it's a bandaid. It will only stick for so long." Kit asked. "I have seen the people that are pouring in from Colorado Springs and that's only one city. I can't imagine what else is out there."
"We need to be positive."
"It's hard to be positive when there aren't enough healthy people left in the world to help." She closed her eyes and took a breath when the word 'healthy' slipped from her lips. She immediately thought of her brothers. "Do Mark and Regis know this?" she asked.
"I told them all this today. They have a lot on their minds. I'm going to get them as close to Spokane as possible. There is transport bringing some political heads to Canada for asylum. I'm sending them on the first one."
"I'm going with them. I need to find Jillie."
"I understand that," Dennis held up his hand. "I really do. I can't, or let me be clear, I won't authorize you to go on that run. In order for you to do that, you'd have to be outside and exposed for days. It's to dangerous. Your children need you to not get sick. Maybe the next one, if the levels drops."
"Then have Regis and Mark wait. I can help them. It could be worse on them if they go."
"It could be, but on the chance they don't have that much time, do you want to take that away from them? I'm told both of them have a forty percent chance of survival. They need to do this. Mark needs to find his son and Regis needs to be with his brother."
"So you're going to Canada now?"
"I won't be staying. You can go there, too, anyone can go there and request asylum. I want to go and get Zeke situated there with Colonel Daniels and another senator."
"You want to take Zeke to Canada? No." Kit shook her head. "No. I will take him with me to look for Jillie."
"Kit, listen to me." Dennis placed his hands on her arms. "We don't know what this occupation will bring. It could be peaceful, it could be bad. Zeke is a young man. We don't know what their plans are. Nothing could happen and Zeke could be fine, but there is a chance he will be recruited or put in a work camp to rebuild. Let him go to Canada. Let him be young. For the most part, Canada is unscathed and a good bit of their nation has communications. You'll find him. You will. He needs to go."
"He won't want to," Kit said.
"If you tell him he needs to, he will go."
"What about you? Will you eventually go back to Canada?"
Dennis nodded. "Eventually. Not yet."
"Then what are you doing?"
"A parent, no matter how old, wants what is best for their children. They need to know their children are alright. Like you and Mark, I have a child out there, and like you and Mark," Dennis said. "I'm going to go find her."
Kit was given the details, who did what, how much damage, but it didn't matter. It was all politics and she wanted to focus on the human side of it. The politicians weren't. They weren't seeing what happened to our world.
A large portion of the world had been buried by their own hands and now were at the mercy of those who would come and help.
The richest country in the world, would now be impoverished, starving and more than likely under some sort of military rule until things were put back in order. No doubt, the news of surrender wouldn't be taken so easily by some. There would be those who would rise up and fight, a resistance.
Of course, there was no news media so it was word of mouth, or they'd see for themselves.
Kit would see for herself, because she had every intention of going to look for her mother and daughter. Her father believed he could get her on a transport to Canada and that would get her closer to Washington state, but that would be after the surrender and during the occupation. There were risks.
By the time she had finished speaking with her father, Mark and Regis were packing, the first run was leaving in an hour, and she was waiting on Zeke's return.
Kit had totally forgot that Abe had drove to the base with her. Until she walked by him. He was in a small cafeteria style room, sitting at a table, sipping on a cup of coffee.
"Shit, I'm sorry." She walked up to him.
He stood. "That's fine. How are you? That was uh… quite the shocker."
"The fact that my father is alive, or we lost the war?"
"Both, but looking around, knowing all the damage, did anyone really win?"
"What are you going to do now?" she asked. "Isn't your brother in New Mexico?"
"My brother is here. He's leaving for Canada in an hour."
Kit folded her arms tight to her body. "Are you going?"
Abe shook his head. "No. I know why my brother is going. I can't help rebuild my country if I'm not in my country."
Kit heard Abe's words, and believed he was sincere about rebuilding his country. 'Rebuild' was a word that Kit heard, but it wasn't one she believed would really happen. How could it? It wasn't like the previous wars where it was only cities in a few countries. This war brought nations to their knees. The entire effort would eventually prove too much. Thousands of cities in the US were destroyed. Millions of people were dead and millions more would die. It was already beyond anyone's help, they just didn't know it yet. Canada, while mostly unscathed wasn't truly the Promised Land. For as much aid as other countries would give, they would need it for their self eventually. How long would it take for the effects of the war to be global? Temperatures would drop, crops would fail. Too much land that grew the majority of the food was destroyed and there wouldn't be any more extra crops, or food.
There was no happily ever after following a nuclear war. It wasn't fantasy, there was no drop a few bombs, then just dust off and move on like nothing happened.
It was over.
The life she knew was over no matter how badly everyone ran about trying to grab pieces.
Einstein once said he didn't know the weapons that would be used in world War III, but he believed sticks and stones would be used in World War IV.
How true that would be. The world would digress. There wasn't an option here.
One day things would be better, but that wouldn't happen in Kit's life time. In order for that to happen, things would have to get worse, a lot worse. That was the world Kit and her family faced. Unlike Abe, Kit's mission wasn't going to be to rebuild her country, it was going to be to resolve her life. To find her family and survive the best she could. It wasn't going to be easy. She would take it one step at a time, one day at a time.
That was all she could do.
THIRTY – Decisions
Not everyone was going to Canada. The flight that left Washington carrying essential personnel and family was supposed to arrive in New Mexico. Efforts were underway to retrieve those who survived the crash from Maltese and Elcort and get them to New Mexico. If her daughter was with her, maybe Kit would have been one of those people who opted to go to New Mexico. Bury herself away below the ground and a clean bunker. Forgetting all the horrors of the world above her. But she couldn't. Jillie was out there, her mother and sister were out there. She had to put that forefront. She had to find them, or at least give it her best shot.
Kit was at base when the first truck of twenty people arrived on base from Maltese to take their spot in the bus going south. They acted as if they were rescued. Rescued from what? To be rescued would mean to be taken from a dangerous situation. They were going to a clean, maintained bunker, but even that wasn't a long term solution. It was more of preserving. They would be safe and fed, working to build a new society, while the rest of the world just crumbled apart.
They had given them the small room just before the bunker exit. Kit wished there was just more time to say their goodbyes. She supposed that no matter how many minutes the clock said they had, there would never be enough time. This would include a final farewell. A part of her felt selfish, because she knew how sick her brothers were, especially Mark, she looked at him and knew his last moments were coming, there was no denying that. Mark was thin, his hair gone in patches, his face was pasty and sores covered his body. She wanted those moments with her baby brother. She wanted to take back every single time she fought with him when they were kids, but there was no taking it back. This was it. Regis, her big brother, she wanted that time with him as well. She felt a little bit more hopeful about Regis he didn't look quite as pale, quite as weak, then again, Rege was always hiding things very well.
"The plane will land outside of Boise," Dennis said to Mark and Regis. "A supply truck will get you as close as they can to Spokane."
Kit asked."Is Spokane fine?"
"We never received word it was hit," Dennis said. "Boise wasn't hit. So that's hopeful."
"Even if it was," Mark said. "I have to go."
"I know you do," Kit kissed him on the cheek. "You do what you need to do. Know that I will be there soon, so don't leave."
"I'm not going anywhere." Mark's voice was hoarse as he spoke.
"What about you?" Regis said. "How are you getting there?"
Dennis answered that. "There is suppose to be another craft going to Vancouver in two weeks. Hopefully we can get her on that."
"That's… if things aren't halted after the surrender," Regis said. "There's a chance she won't have a way north."
"I will." Kit stated. "I'll find a way. It may take longer than two weeks, but I'll get there."
Dennis looked down at his watch. "We need to get you on the plane and I have to get on that bus, so I need to get my things together."
"No." Zeke shook his head. "I'm not going to Canada."
Kit turned to him."You heard what your grandfather said. We don't know what is going to happen when the occupation occurs."
"If it occurs," Zeke argued. "I'm still not convinced any country hit by nuclear weapons has the time or resources to invade our soil."
"It's not an invasion," Dennis corrected.
"Whatever you want to call it, I'm not going," Zeke said. "My mother and sister are here. We don't know what's going to happen. We can speculate, but I'm not leaving on speculation."
"The surrender is not speculation," Dennis said. "It's the only way to get aid to this country."
"If I may…" Regis spoke up. "Kit, can I give you one last piece of brotherly advice?"
"It is not your last," Kit said adamantly.
Regis winked. "Okay, but let me say this." He shifted his eyes to Zeke. "Don't send him to Canada."
"Regis," Dennis scolded.
"No, dad," Regis argued. "The kid has a point. President signs the surrender. What if no one shows? It's a screwed up world right now. Half destroyed, dying. All good intentions aside, or not, the aid may not come. It's conceivable for them to save their resources for their own people, so Canada shuts down their borders. Then what? How will she get to Zeke, or find him?" He turned around to face Kit. "Send him to New Mexico, take him with you, leave him on base or in that town, but don't send him anywhere you can't get to. You don't know where he will be after he crosses the border. Don't lose track of your only son."
"I'm not father of the year," Mark added. "However, our big brother is right. Sorry, Dad. If you were going, I'd say yes, but you're not. He'll be alone without family. He is still a kid."
Kit looked at her father.
"You do what feels right," Dennis said. "You're his mother."
"Mom?" Zeke pleaded. "Please."
Her oldest brother in all his wisdom was right. Kit would figure something out, but sending him to Canada wasn't an option.
Kit simply said to Zeke, "Say goodbye to your grandfather and uncles please, then wait for me in the hall."
Zeke said goodbye but he didn't leave, he waited in the doorway for his mother.
The farewell was bittersweet because Kit knew that she would eventually head to Spokane, but didn't know if she would ever see or speak to her brothers again. It wasn't as hard saying goodbye to her father, she knew she'd see him again.
One day.
She wanted to cry, but she didn't. She conveyed her gratefulness to her brothers for being there for her and she told them she loved them. They repeated the sentiments. To Kit there was just something so final about it all. As if when they left they slipped into a thick gray fog and she would never see them the same way again, if at all.
She watched the bus leave and her brothers board the smaller aircraft, then Kit left the base with Abe and Zeke.
Abe was quiet in the truck, not saying much, dealing with his own goodbye to his brother. He simply said to Kit, "You made the right choice about Zeke."
Just outside of Maltese, they spotted a man on the side of the road. He carried a backpack and waved them down. He didn't look well and said he was heading to Maltese for help. Abe sat with him in the back of the truck and they headed to town.
Kit hadn't noticed when they left, but the Sherriff had set up two deputy cars on the two lane road a quarter of a mile before Maltese. As Kit slowed down for them, an officer waved them through, possibly recognizing Harland's truck.
"Mom, thank you for not sending me away," Zeke said.
"Uncle Rege had a good point, but I can't take you with me to look for Jillie. Not yet, not at this point, so please don't ask."
"You can't go alone."
"I'm hoping Abe will go, he's a really good guy. If not maybe Harland knows someone in town."
"Why can't I go?"
"Because I don't know what's out there. No one knows what's out there. If you go, you'll try to be brave and I'll worry."
"What am I supposed to do? Sit back, and wait and worry about you?"
"Yes, that's exactly what you're supposed to do." More than anything Kit wanted her son by her side. She knew going with him she'd worry to much about making sure he was fine, fed and safe. Despite being seventeen, he was still her child. She needed her mind to be on finding her mother and daughter, not worrying every minute about keeping Zeke safe.
When they arrived at Central Medical, they were able to swing through the drop off. Abe took over driving, while Zeke helped the man inside with Kit.
Harland was there in the thick of things and made eye contact with Kit. He looked at her with surprise.
After instructing Zeke to, "Get him checked in, please," she walked over to Harland.
"That was fast. Everything alright?"
"No. My brothers are bad." Kit's voice quivered. "Mark especially. Zeke said he'd make them a blue code, but sick wise, he's far worse than anyone I checked in yesterday."
"Where are they? Why did you leave?" Harland asked.
"They left."
"Excuse me?"
"My father got them on a transport going north to Vancouver. When the transport refuels, Mark and Regis are heading to Spokane to find Mark's son."
"Wait. Wait. Your father. I thought he was dead."
Kit held up her hand. "Long story. I'll share it later."
"Okay, I can wait. Considering your father was part of the government, I'm sure it's a dozy. Where is he now?"
"On his way down to New Mexico, then he's leaving to search for my sister."
Harland nodded. "They came and got a lot of the plane survivors. Not all, but a lot. I'm going to take it you didn't go because you have a search of your own to do."
"Yes, in two weeks another transport is going north. I'm hoping to catch that. If not I'll find another way."
"We'll make sure of it." Harland then gave an up nod of his head toward Zeke. "What's going on with your son?"
"My dad wanted me to send him to Canada. My brother suggested I not lose track of my son."
"Smart man. What now?"
"Well, I have to find a place for me and my son while I wait out the two weeks."
"You can stay at my place," Harland said. "We should be able to move up into the house soon."
"I don't want to put you out."
"You're not. So don't think it. What about in two weeks? What are you going to do with the boy?"
"I think I'll take him to Schriever," Kit said. "He can stay there while I search."
"You might be gone a while. I mean realistically Kit, if there is no transport, you search camps, you could be gone weeks, months."
"I know."
"Why not have him stay here? He can stay with me. I give you my word, I'll watch him. I'll put him to work, but he'll be safe here."
"Harland, I can't ask that of you."
"You're not," Harland said. "We'll need him around here. We're gonna start our long term plan for the town and lots of hands are needed. Trust me."
"I do. And…" Kit exhaled. "I accept. My mind is so cluttered right now, I think I need to work and help out."
"You sure?" Harland asked.
"Yes. Very. Thank you for everything,." She started to walk but stopped. "Harland? What's next?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, what's next? I mean, what do you think is the best we can expect"
"That's an awfully big question, Kit. I'm sure some are preparing long term and some are only looking at what tomorrow brings. No one can say. I can say this. I don't know what will happen with the rest of the country, but here in Maltese…" Harland said. "It'll be tough and hard work, but we're gonna be okay. I believe that."
A part of Kit did too. She didn't worry about Maltese. She saw how they got it together to help others. It was the rest of the country she was worried about and she hadn't scratched the surface of knowing the reality of what was beyond that small county in Colorado.
THIRTY-ONE – Hurtles
It was a Thursday, at least Regis believed it was Thursday when they left Schriever. They rested on the plane, even though the bench seats were uncomfortable. Regis truly believed some car or truck would be waiting there to take them to Spokane. A truck was there, he drove them as far as Ritzville, Washington, but he then had to go west on I-90 to deliver supplies.
Even though Mark's son lived in a house with his mother off of I-90, they were still over fifty miles away.
On foot.
The flight was hard and the six hour drive in the front seat of the supply truck wasn't easy. Both Regis and Mark were sick. Mark barely stayed awake and rested his head on Regis' shoulder the whole drive.
Stan the driver was kind, asking if they needed to stop at all. Regis knew they had to push forward.
Arriving at Spokane was starting to become more of a dream that a destination. By the first evening they were in Ritzville so they stopped there for the night.
A hand painted sign read, 'No Stragglers' and a man in a pickup truck at the exit stood watch. He insisted he was following the rules for his town, but offered to let them sleep in the truck until day break.
That was the first night. The sun rose and set three more times and they were felt no closer to Spokane than they did when they stepped off the plane.
They ate crackers and water and soft foods because they were unable to chew, or keep anything down. Every part of Regis' body hurt, his legs weakened after a hundred feet of walking, they spent more time stopping than they did walking.
They had the highway to themselves and it was for the most part barren. A few abandoned cars were scattered about and they took advantage when they found one.
What were they thinking? Regis wondered. They were so weak to begin with, did they actually think they'd make it all the way there?
Regis never said anything about quitting, neither did Mark. They'd move forward for as long as they could. Even if Regis wanted to quit, he wouldn't. For Mark's sake, they kept moving.
Each foot, each mile, they staggered. Legs wobbling, until they reached the point where they held on to each other, locked arms, just to keep standing.
Mark whimpered when he saw the 'seventeen miles' sign.
"I can't. I can't." He stopped, dropping to his knees.
"Okay, we'll stop, come on." Regis helped him up. "We'll rest over there."
"We been walking for four days. We aren't going to make it."
"Rege, I'm so sick."
"I know, me too." Regis led him to the side where they rested against the metal barrier on the shoulder of the road. "Sit. We'll take a break."
Mark waved sluggishly. "I don't think I can."
"We're close. We're so close." Regis said, reached in his bag and pulled out some water. "Come on. Take a drink."
Mark shook his head.
Regis then sipped the water and swished it around his dry mouth. He could feel the sores in his mouth tighten each time he moved his jaw. After another drink, he forced the bottle to Mark's mouth.
Finally, he sipped and coughed half of it out. Swiping his hand across his mouth, Mark closed his eyes and groaned. "I thought we'd get there. I did. I'm sorry I did this to you."
"No, no. I want to be here."
Mark dropped his hand to the road. "I just…"
His fingers made a scraping sound and he lifted his hand. "What's this?" He lifted his hand showing the gray substance on his finger tips. "Why is there ash?" He squinted his eyes then moved his leg back and forth. "There's ash everywhere."
Regis was getting ready to answer, then he heard it first, the sound of a motor, he looked left to right, then saw a truck coming down the highway.
It took everything Regis had to stand, but he did and waved out his arms.
An older woman drove the pickup truck, and she slowed down. The back of the truck was filled with wood.
The window wound down. "I haven't seen anyone on this road in days. You headed to Four Lakes?" she asked.
"No," Regis said. "Spokane. We need a ride."
She stared at him for a moment and shook her head. "I can take you as far as Four Lakes."
"That's still ten miles out," Regis said weakly. "Please, my brother needs to get to his son. We came all this way from Colorado."
"I can't take you to Spokane," she said. "I really can't."
She hesitated then said. "Get in."
Regis grabbed the door and lowered his head. "Thank you. Thank you so much." After opening the door, he hurried to get Mark. Though still sick, he felt energized.
The last leg of the journey wasn't going to be so hard after all. They would be there soon.
They made it.
It was a few days shy of two weeks since the bombs had fallen. Though traces of radiation still lingered in the air, Deana moved people from the basement to the floors of the hospital. Not many of the floors, just enough to clear the overflow.
She didn't have a choice. There were so many sick and injured they covered the entire area outside. Along with respiratory ailments, cholera had spread.
How did she get to that point?
Macy looked horrible, she had dropped weight, battled minor radiation sickness and just didn't look well. She started volunteering just so she could be near Terrence. His mother and Mylena rarely left his bedside.
Deana needed Macy's help, but wanted her to leave. For her safety and health, as well as June and Mylena's.
Terrence was the first person they moved to an upper floor.
During the week that he was there, they pumped him with antibiotics, gave him blood and did all that they could.
Terrence was knocking at Death's door, but apparently death wasn't ready to let him in. One doctor gave him a fifty-fifty percent chance of survival, and if Terrence maintained his course he was going to beat it.
He had a long road ahead of him. He'd be weak and ill for awhile, but he stood a chance of living. In fact, they believed he was going to survive.
"Take a break," Deana told Macy. "Walk with me."
Macy wiped the sweat from her brow and accepted the hand sanitizer offered by Deana. "Something wrong?"
"No, not at all. You need a break."
"I like to keep going. Plus the stories are fascinating. There's a man in there…." Macy spoke as she walked. "That saw D.C.… Said it's rubble, but you can still make out the capitol dome and part of the Washington monument."
This caused Deana to pause. "You said the dome and Hiroshima came to my mind."
"Mine, too." Macy stepped though the doors and outside. "Even this is bad."
Deana looked around, she didn't do that much. It was clear that even twelve miles from the bomb, the area was hit with a hard blast wave. Most windows were shattered, some buildings toppled from the damage. Everything was dusty and dirty.
They walked across the grounds, passing people who had set up camp.
"At least the fires stopped burning," Deana said.
"This world will never be the same. What are we supposed to do?"
"Honestly." Deana faced her. "I think that after things calm down, after a lot of the death has passed, we all should head west."
"West? Why west?" Macy asked.
"Because I think most damage is on the coast and north of here. It's a guess. My father once gave me a map that showed the best places to be it the event of an all out nuclear war."
Macy laughed sarcastically. "Really, is there such a place?"
"Okay, well, areas least likely to be hit. I think we should head that way. I'm sure there are places that aren't destroyed. In fact, that map is at my place and that is the reason I called you out here."
"You want me to get the map?"
Deana shook her head. "No. I want you to take Mylena and June and leave the hospital. Go to my place. You'll need to take my car, it's in the garage. It might be tough to navigate until you leave the area, but I'm sure, if this area is still standing, my place is fine."
"Someone could be in there."
"Yeah, there may be and it might be looted. If it's not, it's the best place for you to be with the kids. Not here. Every day it gets worse. Every day you are here you stand a chance of catching something that isn't curable right now under these circumstances."
"Yes. It's getting bad. So go. I have Terrence and I will keep an eye out for him. I'm sure Mr. Leonard has my housing plan locked down tight. He knows you so there shouldn't be a problem."
"I don't want to leave if Terrence could die."
"I can't say for sure he won't, but I can say for sure, he wants you to put Mylena first. Get her out. Stay…" Deana blinked twice at the odd sound of loud motors. Rumbling motors of diesel engines. She hadn't heard any 'car' sounds in days. She turned her head when she heard air brakes.
"Oh, wow." Macy stepped forward pointing to the street. "Military trucks. Big, ones, too."
Deana peered out to the eight vehicles pulling up and stopping by the hospital grounds. Large trucks with canvas covering. "It's the military alright. Unfortunately…" she looked at Macy. "It's not our military."
Her name was Catherine and she offered to take Regis and Mark to Spokane. Just before they arrived, just before they could see for themselves, she told them, "Spokane is gone."
Mark's head bounced with the movement of the truck, he was barely conscious and unaware of anything that was being said.
"How?" Regis asked. "We heard it was spared."
"The bomb landed a few miles north of Spokane, most of it was just blasted away. It came in the middle of the night. There was no warning. Most people never knew it happened. I wanted to let you know. I can turn around."
"No," Regis said, holding his brother close. "We need to find his home."
"It's going to be hard. There are very few landmarks left."
"Is the highway still good?"
"For the most part."
"Then we'll try. She lived on this end of the city, maybe their area was spared."
Maybe their area was spared.
That was wishful thinking.
Catherine was wrong, there were some landmarks that survived. A part of a sign, skeleton remains of a brick building. The entire residential area was flattened, as if a tornado swept through or an earthquake. Cars were rolled on their sides and tossed about.
Catherine was able to make her way down the exit, the street was covered with debris.
"See that yellow sign?" Regis pointed to it. "That's the muffler place. If you can get us close, Mark's house was three down from there."
Clearly there were no houses. There was nothing but that sign. But it was enough of a landmark to get Regis there.
"Just get us close."
Catherine nodded and drove as close as she could, putting the truck in park. "I can wait. I'll help you…."
"No, you can go, thank you so much." Regis gently nudged Mark. "Hey, we're here."
Mark had slipped out of it, he was confused and he looked around. "We're where?"
It registered, Regis saw it. Marks hands gripped to the dashboard. "It was supposed to be here."
"I know." Regis opened the door. "Let's go, Little Brother."
"Are you sure?" Catherine asked. "I can help you and I'll wait."
Regis helped Mark from the cab of the truck, secured his arm around him. "No, Catherine, thank you. This is the end of the line for us."
"Good luck."
Regis nodded and closed the truck door. He turned and began his walk. It wasn't far, he could make out the outline of the muffler shop. Holding on to Mark, they staggered through the debris that ranged in size from matchsticks, to entire walls.
He didn't hear Catherine leave for a while. He guessed she waited in case she was needed, or they changed their minds.
That wasn't going to happen.
The small residential street had once consisted of wood frame houses. Now it was flattened, for the most part there was nothing recognizable.
The house wasn't far from that muffler shop, in fact, Regis remembered parking there when Mark had a party and he drove all the way from Tacoma to attend. He hadn't been at Mark's before and almost walked up to the wrong house. He remembered the white column poles on the next door neighbor's fence. One of those poles still stood, giving Regis his marker.
Mark's house was blue, and when Regis saw a few broken slats of blue siding, he knew he arrived. "You're home," Regis said sadly.
Finally it seemed as if Mark snapped to reality, he slowly stood upright, stepping from his lean into Regis.
Like a newborn infant trying to cry, Mark made a weak, aching sound of pain as he walked forward away from Regis to the larger mound of debris.
"Mark," Regis called out.
Mark kept walking, then he stopped, his arms extending, and with a long, agony filled cry, he dropped to his knees.
It was the last of his energy, the last of his soul screaming out, and Regis knew it.
"Markie!" Mark screamed, then the scream turned into a sob. "Markie."
Frantically, his arms moved as he tried to dig through the rubble and Regis hurried to him.
"I have to find… find him." Mark moved a board, then another, he tried to stand but fell back down. His hands bled from glass he grabbed.
"Stop." Regis knelt next to him. "Stop. We don't know. They could have gotten out."
Mark shook his head. "It doesn't matter. He'll never know. He died not knowing how I felt. Thinking… thinking I left him."
"No, he knew." Regis wrapped his arm around Mark.
Mark slammed his hands to the debris, once, twice full strength, then the strikes slowed down. "It's over."
Regis didn't know what to say, he felt destroyed. Nothing he could say to his brother would help. They made it to their destination, but they didn't find resolve, they only found more loss.
Regis just pulled Mark closer.
"I love you, Rege."
"I love you, too, Little Brother."
"Thank you for being here."
Regis could hear it in Mark's voice, it was getting softer, more breathy.
"I wouldn't be anywhere else," Regis said.
Mark leaned nearly all his weight on Regis., His head moved to his brother's chest. "Do you think we should have stayed with dad?"
"No. Not at all. This is where we need to be." Regis rested his hand on Mark's head.
"Yeah, I guess you're right." Mark slid down, and almost like a child, he curled into a ball on the ground, resting his head on Regis' lap. 'I'm so tired, Rege. So… tired."
"Then you sleep. Just close your eyes and…." Regis paused. He knew. Mark's hand dropped and there was a stillness and calm. "Sleep."
Regis choked on that final word. His throat tensed up, his closed his eyes tightly, and leaned forward bringing Mark into him.
His baby brother was gone and all Regis could do was clutch his brother and drown silently in the pain.
GROUND ZERO CITIZEN – Nine
"There are two positive things about the occupation," Deana had said to Terrence.
Occupation? What did she mean?
Terrence was ill. Each day he fought to feel better. A good day consisted of him sitting up for a few minutes without aching, or wanting to vomit.
She explained, even though he listened with a half ear, that the two good things were medication for him and she was relieved of duty… for now.
"I slept for eight hours, Terrence. In a cot, after I showered and was given a hot meal. They need me strong," she said. "They need me elsewhere and strong."
Terrence tried to register what she said. She visited him often, sometimes sitting with him for hours. Then again, he had no sense of time.
She looked better, Terrence knew that. Not as tired, or pale.
Deana told him that the occupation was mainly in densely populated and effected areas. "Which is good," she said. "I told Macy when things calm down to head west. I wish I could go with you. My heart says to do that, but I have to help. I'll be leaving. I don't know where I'm going."
Terrence teetered between thinking the information was real, or part of a dream. Deana was there, Macy wasn't. That didn't make sense. Where was his wife?
He drifted in and out of consciousness for a while. Opening his eyes when some man who barely spoke English talked to him and explained his condition. At one point, he swore Deana said goodbye.
Then one day Terrence woke up and felt nearly one hundred percent better. He was clear, lucid, his stomach didn't cringe. He had been moved from the dark hospital room to some sort of ward. There were so many cots around him.
Terrence was one of them.
He sat up and looked around, it took a few times of blinking to get his focus. It was a huge tent with white walls. Cot-style beds lined both sides creating an aisle in between. He saw one worker, wearing brown and tan camouflage military pants. He tried to take in the sounds, he could hear shouting outside, trucks revving engines and what sounded like bricks dropping.
He swung his legs over the bed and noticed he wasn't connected to an IV, it was the first time in a while.
"Ex…" Terrence cleared his throat, calling out to the medical worker. "Excuse me."
The man was four beds down, he turned around, set down his clipboard and made his way to Terrence, lifting another clipboard from the bottom of the bed.
He had an olive complexion and dark hair, to Terrence he looked Italian and even the accent sounded like it. Then again, Terrence wasn't really that good with visually guessing where people were from.
"How do you feel?" he asked, placing the stethoscope to his chest. "Deep breath."
"Good." He felt Terrence's neck, then underarms, he pulled a pen from his pocket and made a notation on the chart.
Terrence saw the date. May first. He couldn't believe it. It was the tenth of April when he arrived at the hospital. He had been there three weeks? A part of him thought it was longer. Still three weeks since he gave into the sickness and nearly a month since the bombs fell.
"Your blood work is good," the man said. "Clothes for you." He tapped a plastic bag at the bottom of the bed. "You may go home if you wish."
"You're kidding, right? Home? Where is home now?"
The man walked away.
"Where am I?" Terrence asked, then gave up when he wasn't getting an answer. He removed the hospital gown and opened the plastic bag. It was sealed, and in it were a shirt, pants and shoes. He began to dress, hoping the clothes fit him. As he pulled the tee shirt over his head he noticed the note on the night stand and he lifted it.
It was from Deana. It was brief and stated she had to leave, she didn't know where she was going, but it was somewhere south. His family was safe at her house. She wished him luck
He folded the note and placed it in his chest pocket, then finished dressing.
Walking was difficult, his legs were weak and he swayed a lot. Before he reached the entrance to the tent, he was stopped by a woman.
She, too, was dressed in a uniform, only she wore a button down jacket with rolled up sleeves. When she placed her hand on his chest, he saw it. The 'Italia' patch. He was right, but why were Italian Soldiers there? Surely, Italy didn't bomb them.
"No," she said.
"That man said I could," Terrence pointed back.
"Sit." She inched him back to an empty bed. "Sit."
She handed him a bottle of water, a spoon, a three inch high, pop top can and something that looked like a biscuit. "Eat. Then you can go."
"Thank you." Terrence did feel hungry and his mouth was extremely dry. He took the first few gulps of water so fast, it formed a knot in his stomach. He curled his finger around the ring to pop open the can, it looked like thick vegetable soup. It took only a couple spoonfuls to finish it. It didn't taste bad. After another drink of water, he placed the biscuit in his mouth. It was hard to the touch and difficult for Terrence to bite because his teeth felt loose. He placed it on the table, nodded to the woman and opened the door to the tent.
The moment he stepped outside, he was stunned. As a child he was fascinated with the story of Rip Van Winkle, the man who slept for twenty years. Terrence felt like him.
Busy was the best word he could use to describe the scene before him. Men in hard hats moved about shouting orders, bulldozers lifted concrete into trucks, some just shoved debris into a pile, while workers erected tents in the nearly cleared spots.
He couldn't stop looking around. Five feet into his walk, the same woman from the tent shoved a small box in his arms.
"Food. Good luck."
Terrence could only nod his thanks. He was speechless upon the discovery of where he was. The skeletal remains of the buildings around him gave him a pictorial reality of how bad everything was. He didn't need a map and he didn't need to ask anyone.
Terrence was in a foreign aid camp smack dab in the middle of Washington D.C.…
THIRTY-TWO – Names and Luck
The two week transport to Canada didn't happen. She had hoped it would, but learned from Schriever it was delayed. Things had slowed down in Maltese, a lot of people that had come from Colorado Springs had passed away and they dealt with a lot of mass graves.
It was a different world in Maltese, far removed from anything except radio contact with Elcort and Schriever. The base didn't divulge information, but Maltese and Elcort hadn't seen or heard of an occupation and Kit deducted the reason for the delay in transport was because there was no need to run across the border. That still didn't take away the fact the she had to search for her daughter.
Harland helped devise a plan to get her close. To take a car, siphon gas where they could, because there would be a lot of abandoned cars. Also, some towns remained intact, and like Maltese still had a gas supply.
Zeke still wanted to go, and nearly did when Abe started to feel ill. At first Harland believed it was low level exposure to radiation, but he had gotten an infection from working with bodies. Then the transport was delayed and Zeke was off the itinerary.
Finally, Schriever radioed to say they were sending a small plane to Canada and it would refuel in Boise if she still wanted the ride.
Abe was feeling better, and was ready to go. Although he didn't look it. In the weeks since the war, he had lost a lot of weight. No longer was his chest barreling, his face was drawn and thin, he had aged a few years.
Harland packed them supplies and made sure they were armed, especially being on the road.
"What's the plan?" Harland spread out a map. "Zeke and I need to know and we also need to know you aren't going to vary far from the plan. Make a plan, stick to it, come back."
Kit nodded. "After Boise we are going to head to Spokane, probably take the supply truck as far as we can."
"Then what? Walk?" Harland asked, then shook his head. "You need to find transportation while there. You'll be at an air field outside of Boise, there has to be something. I have two, five gallons gas cans, take them with you."
"After Spokane," Kit said, "We'll backtrack and take 90 to Tacoma and Olympia."
"Most cars will be on those roads. Every chance you get, you get gas. Ration your food, you don't know when you'll get stalled," Harland said. "If your family is not in their homes, look for aid stations, community places. Don't lose sight of your vehicle, or direction." He folded the map. "Finally, listen very carefully to what I am going to tell you."
Kit saw the serious look on his face as he handed her the map.
"This may sound harsh, but keep your expectations low. A lot of bombs fell out there, especially on that side of the country. What you've seen here is pretty mild. Don't stop for long, don't turn over every stone. I know you want to find your kid, but you have one here." Harland swung out his hand pointing to Zeke. "I'm gonna keep him busy, we have a lot of ground to overturn for planting, but I can't keep you off his mind forever. You need to focus on getting back here. You still have him."
Harland was right, Kit knew it, but she had to try to find Jillie, or at least some indication of what happened to her. She felt prepared for whatever she learned.
He was also right about another thing. What she had seen so far was mild and what was ahead, what she would see, like the fate of her child, Kit would do her best to prepare for it.
Not including Kit and Abe, the transport plane had nineteen people. She didn't know who they were or where they came from, no one really spoke. When they landed to refuel, she learned there was no supply truck. Supply trucks taking aid out west were halted by the occupation. The occupation was focusing on hard hit areas and encouraged those less impacted to store their own supplies.
They were lucky when a man at the airfield gave them a small car. He wasn't sure how well it would make it in areas that had a lot of rubble, but on unaffected roads they would be fine.
He told them that according to his supply drivers, the roads going west were good until the areas hit by bombs.
They left the airfield shortly before nine in the morning and expected to be in Spokane by mid afternoon. While driving was fairly easy and smooth, they stopped to siphon gasoline and continuously fill the tank. Operating on the belief it would eventually all run out on them.
The closer they got to Spokane, the more they saw handmade signs posted over exits, warning people not to enter the towns. No gas, no stragglers.
Then after a town called Ritzville, Abe spotted something else and pulled over.
"We just siphoned, we're good," Kit told him.
"I saw something."
Abe opened the door and stepped out, Kit followed him. He walked back a few feet and to a stranded car on the side of the road. "There." He pointed.
Kit gasped in shock when she saw the names Regis and Mark, written in the dirt on the car door.
"They rested here," Abe pointed. "Against the car."
"That meant they were walking."
"Yeah," Abe replied solemnly. "They did this for you. They knew you were coming. They weren't in any condition to walk, Kit. We may have to keep an eye out for them."
"It's been three weeks, Abe."
"I know."
"I hope they made it. I really do." Kit walked back to the car and got in.
They continued on, more diligent about looking out.
Every couple miles they'd see another car or truck with their names on it. It showed how frequently they stopped. Then the handwriting grew worse, the stops were closer and the names transformed into only initials.
Then they stopped.
Kit knew something was up when they went four miles without a name.
Either Regis and Mark had gotten a ride or they went off to the side of the road, unable to go on.
"There's a town two miles ahead," Abe said. "Let's try there. Maybe they got a ride there."
"The town is probably shut down."
"We can still ask. We don't need to go in."
They pulled off the exit for Four Lakes, leaving the car behind just on the outskirts on the residential town. It was more of a community and the town square was small. Unlike all the others, Four Lakes wasn't closed off. In fact, people were on the streets in tents. It was a chilly day and people sat around camp fires, all of them looked at Kit and Abe as if they were aliens.
Abe stopped before a family, that was camping outside a beauty salon. "Are you folks from here?"
The man shook his head.
"Have you been here longer than three weeks."
Again, the man shook his head.
"Anyone you know been here that long?" Abe asked.
"Try there," the man spoke and pointed to the coffee shop.
"Thank you." Abe crossed the street with Kit.
"Please don't tell me they're selling coffee in the middle of all this," Kit said.
"I doubt it."
"I was joking."
Abe stopped. "That's the first time in a while you haven't been serious. I'm glad."
The door to the coffee shop was open and the front window boarded.
When they stepped in, the conversation stopped. It seemed as if the twelve people there were having a meeting.
An older man at the table looked up. "We're low on everything. We can't give, but there is space out there if you need to rest up."
"We're not here for a place to bunk," Abe said.
"I'm looking for my family," Kit added. "My brothers. They came this way. They were writing their names on the cars and it stopped a few miles back. We were thinking they may have come here, or stopped here."
"A lot of people come through here," he said. "Was it just the two of them?"
"Yes." Kit nodded. "They were walking. They were sick. Their names…"
"Rege and Mark," a woman spoke up then emerged from the back of the room.
"Yes," Kit said excitedly. "That's them."
"Catherine," the man at the table said. "Were those the two men a few weeks back you were talking about?"
"I believe so. I gave them a ride." Catherine walked up to Kit and Abe. "I saw them on the side of the road. I offered to bring them here, but they wanted to go to Spokane. I even offered to wait for them, but they wanted to stay. I can show you were I took them."
"Oh, no need. Just knowing they got there is good," Kit spoke upbeat and pulled out the map. "I have my brother's address and I'm sure I can find it."
Catherine gently lowered the map. "The map isn't going to help you. I think it would be easier for me to show you."
If it was under any other circumstances, Kit would have been suspicious, but there was genuine concern in Catherine's eyes and voice and that worried Kit.
It was supposed to be unscathed, spared by the bombs. It was supposed to be a gleaming city still standing.
It wasn't supposed to be gone, but it was.
Like she did with Regis and Mark, Catherine broke the news to Kit and Abe on the short drive there.
A misguided missile or perhaps on purpose, whatever the reason, the bomb fell just north of the Spokane, obliterating most of the city.
"They weren't well. They weren't well at all, I could see how sick they were." Catherine said. "I felt really bad leaving, but they didn't want to come, or have me wait. There was a lot of love between them, you know, you could feel it. My heart broke for them. I knew what they would find."
Kit didn't know what to say. She just stared out the window watching the destruction as they drove by. She kept her arms folded tightly to her chest. Abe reached over, giving a gentle reassurance squeeze to her shouldar.
It was three weeks. Where did her brothers go? Did they even leave? If they stayed, how did they survive?
At least Mark found resolution. It wasn't what he wanted to find, but he knew the truth.
That was what Kit aimed for in her search for her own child.
Catherine stopped the truck. "This is as far as I can drive. They walked down that way."
She shut off the truck and stepped out.
Kit opened the door and she and Abe followed Catherine.
She had a sick feeling in her stomach, a sad one as well, and as she walked closer, she saw that her brothers never left.
A figure of a man, covered in a blanket sat in the middle of a flattened home.
"Rege!" Kit called out and picked up her pace.
"Kit." Abe tried to stop her.
Kit ran, but only a short distance. Twenty or so feet away she could see a pair of legs crossed at the ankles, they extended from Regis' side from underneath the blanket. A back pack was next to them, and it looked like Regis moved slowly back and forth, front to back.
"Regis." Kit ran again. A few more steps and she stopped cold when she heard the growling.
"Stop." Abe grabbed hold of her shoulder.
Kit ignored him and inched closer learning Regis wasn't moving, it was two dogs, one a smaller German Shepherd, the other a terrier. They defended their meal as they viciously tore into the bodies of Regis and Mark.
"Get away!" Kit screamed as she bent down lifting a small piece of wood, while running she hurled the wood at the dogs, hoping to scare them off. "Get off him!"
The wood landed a foot from the two dogs, but it didn't scare them off. Instead, it sent the dogs rushing her way. The Shepherd leapt at Kit, its front paws slamming into her and sending her back.
She heard the firing of a gun, but Kit couldn't see what was going on. She tried to fight off the dog, who snapped for her face while snarling. His jaws were dripping saliva, his breathe was rank smelling making her gag.
He was too heavy and she lacked the strength to push him off her. She didn't know how long she struggled with the animal, it could have been only a few seconds, but each one was terrifying.
The dog was lifted from on top of her and she saw Abe. He had the dog, but it wasn't an easy fight for him. He threw it to the ground and reached down for something. As his hand gripped a piece of debris, the dog stirred to his feet and lunged for Abe.
A single shot fired and the dog, flipped back, landing on the ground.
Out of breath, Abe looked at Catherine. "Thank you." He helped Kit to her feet.
"We've been having problems with dogs. They're pretty rabid," Catherine said.
"You okay?" Abe asked Kit.
"No," Kit whimpered, staring at the bodies of her brothers.
Regis' body was now slumped over.
"I'm sorry," Abe said.
"I am, too."
They were her brothers; yet, Kit could only get so close. She just couldn't bring herself to look. It pained her to think of how they died, how they suffered at the end, and for all their struggles, to have their bodies desecrated by animals, just seemed cruel and wrong.
It would be dark soon, Kit knew staying wasn't an option. There was no way to dig a grave. Catherine retrieved a tarp from her truck, they covered Regis and Mark with that, then buried them beneath debris. It was the best they could do. Then Kit silently said her goodbyes.
The only thing that made it bearable was that the two of them had healed the rift between them and they found peace. Their entire lives they had their ups and downs, like most siblings. Still, they were brothers and dying in each other's arms was their final symbol of that brotherhood.
THRITY-THREE – Kicked Out
Kit still had a hard time believing there was an occupation. She hadn't seen any signs of one. No foreign soldiers, military trucks, none of that until they nearly reached Seattle.
There, thirty miles outside of Seattle, at an interchange for the town of North Bend, a road barricade was erected and Kit and Abe were forced to leave their car behind.
They turned around, parked it on the side of the road by the other vehicles that were moved, took the keys and hoped that it would be there when they returned.
At the check point, they were asked their names and if they were trying to return home.
The soldier working the gate wasn't friendly, but he wasn't mean either. When Kit told him she was searching for her family, he informed her there were over forty camps set up on the outskirts between Seattle and Olympia.
If she had to, she would check them, but she wanted to check her mother's home and Jillie's apartment.
The thirty mile hike wasn't going to be easy because they were forced from the street when the sun set. They were stopped, loaded into the back of a military truck and taken to a fishing depot, where she and Abe sat inside the emptied store with ten other people while a guard stood on watch.
The only positive thing about that was they didn't have to use their rations, they were given food.
No one in the store knew what was going on and no one talked much except to say they were all looking for people. They all, like Kit and Abe, were waiting for sun up to move on.
When morning came and the guards opened the door, they all filed out.
"It's amazing," Abe said as they walked.
"What is?"
"How is anyone going to find anyone if they're all out looking."
He had a valid point.
"You know," Kit said. "No one ever thinks these things will really happen. You imagine they could, you hope they don't and think they won't. So no one really plans. It's not like people going about their daily lives stop and somebody says, "Hey, in case of a catastrophic event let's meet here". I suppose some people might. Realistically, they don't. We also kind of think… the nukes fall, but no one's left so why prepare."
"I think in time we're going to find out the pre-war thought process was pretty skewered."
"Why do you say that?" Kit asked.
"I mean, bombs fell, people lived… but I think the vision of a barren world is something that will eventually happen. The days of operating as a society as a whole are over. People will eventually fraction off. There's no coming back from this, no matter how hard we try."
"But they are trying," Kit said. "Look around."
Abe chuckled. "I see what looks like, to me at least, any scene we saw on the news after a disaster. Think major earthquakes, tsunamis, Red Cross comes in, nations send help, but this is too big."
A strange voice joined the conversation. A husky male voice, slightly out of breath. "You're right."
Both Kit and Abe stopped walking and looked.
A man, probably in his sixties, stood right behind them. He had stopped as well. He was a tad overweight, probably was much bigger before the bombs fell. Oddly, he wore a white button down shirt that was loose on him, and a pair of tan pans with a belt pulled tight to keep them up. He had a full head of gray hair that was just wiry and everywhere.
"Mind if I walk with you?" he asked. "My name is Jonas."
"Um, sure," Kit said.
"Thanks." He walked next to Kit. "They notice you more when you are alone."
"Who notices you more?" Kit asked.
"The soldiers, workers, citizen patrol, whatever the hell they are."
"I'm Abe, she's Kit," Abe said. "I saw you last night in the store."
"The holding. That's what I call it." Jonas said. "This is my fourth time through this passage."
His words made Kit pause. "Fourth time?"
"Yeah, I make it so far then I get moved out. I get taken to the Agrarian border, that's all the area outside of the safe occupation," Jonas said. "I think the occupiers see a Mad Max world out there. It's not. Not yet. It will be in time. When people get desperate."
"Why do they escort you out?" Abe asked.
"For refusal to work. Pretty much if you are healthy and not relatively old they put you to work. It's not a bad deal from what I saw, as long as you do your job. Just everyone has to work. Whether it's clearing out rubble, finding bodies, distributing rations, street patrol, refugee placement… all jobs that are supposed to get things as close to normal. I don't have a problem with working, I just need to find my wife and get her out of the area."
"Wouldn't working help you find your wife easier?" Abe asked.
Jonas shook his head. "No, because you have to stay in your area, that's the only way to keep track. You sign up and if you change your mind, it becomes like a prison sentence. You don't sign up, they take your food and drive you out. Half these people," Jonas indicated to those walking. "Will be picked up the first time they set foot in a camp."
"You seem to know a lot," Kit said.
"I talk a lot, as you can tell. I talk to people. Second time through, I asked a lot of questions to any workers who would talk. You'll check camps as well. Everyone does."
"I plan on checking my mother's house and my daughter's apartment."
Jonas lifted a finger. "That was my first thought. Go to the house. Hell, I was certain we were far enough away. But the house was empty. Here…" He pulled a map from his back pocket and opened it. Areas were crossed out. "These are the sections they have done, that I know of. Even if the houses are still standing, they have been hitting viable neighborhoods, seizing property. They moved the owners out, inventory the home, then redistribute the property to refugees of the bombs. Sometimes two or three families are placed in one home."
"That's insane," Abe said.
"That's the new America." Jonas folded the map and put it into his pocket. "There's a chance that your mother's house wasn't seized, and she could be there. If it was seized like my home, she was moved to a camp and given a job. Only I haven't figured out which camp my wife is in, and I have to before this all falls apart."
"Why do you say that?" Abe asked.
"Goes along with what you were saying when I interrupted. It's too big. Right now, those soldiers, they are coming from about twelve different countries. There isn't enough, that's why they're only focusing on the coastal cities and relying on civilian help. Pretty soon, the civilians are gonna say, "Hey why am I doing this?" and they'll stop. These countries sending boots here, they don't have the resources to keep sending. They don't. I haven't seen a single Russian soldier. Wanna know why? They have just as big of problems as the US. Bet me a dime for a dollar these boots here, are there as well. So that's why I said you were right, this wasn't an occupation like an invasion, it is a short lived aid initiative."
"What if you're wrong?" Kit asked.
"It's speculation," Jonas said. "Sure. I could be wrong, they could stay strong move the effort Midwest and start taking that land, but whose gonna work it? They won American and don't know what to do with it. It would be like winning a big old yacht when you live in the desert and you don't have the means to lug it to water. Eventually it will wear down and you'll have to abandon the idea."
"Or sell it," Abe said.
Closed mouth, Jonas nodded. "Oh, wouldn't that be a dozy if they sold us to someone else. Now that's possible. I didn't even think of that." He clapped his hands together. "Now, where are you searching exactly?"
"Outside Tacoma, North Puyallup."
Jonas whistled. "That's another thirty miles. I'll probably depart from you before that, I got a camp that I need to check about fifteen miles from here. Do you mind if I keep walking with you?"
Kit shook her head. "Not at all, you've been very helpful."
Thirty miles didn't seem that far, but knowing the obstacles ahead, the ones Jonas told them about, a part of Kit wondered if they'd even make the thirty miles before they, like Jonas, had to start all over again.
GROUND ZERO CITIZEN – Final
A trip to get rations from what was called zone four, took all day, an hour walk to and from, two hours in line minimal. Terrence still wasn't a hundred percent, but he wanted to go instead of Macy. He preferred she went to the ration center nearer the house. Plus, he had Murph with him. He was glad for that. Murph had a presence about him that seemed to divert problems. He and his wife joined Macy while Terrence was still semi conscious. He had made it to the hospital to check on Terrence and Kira. Deana suggested her home was big enough to house them all. Terrence knew not to get comfortable. Just before they left for rations, the housing relocation team stopped by to inform them the neighborhood would be taken into possession in ten days and the houses redistributed to those waiting on a list in a camp.
If the families wanted housing they needed to go to a camp.
There was no way. Terrence and Murph had been stocking supplies and planned to head west within the next few days.
They just needed to get every item they could.
Unlike the previous two trips, there were problems and fights. Rations were cut. Terrence was angry, not because he got less rations, but rather people were getting handouts and should have been grateful for them.
No one had to give food and water. It wasn't the US government handing it out.
Still, Terrence knew it was running low. Soon enough there wouldn't be hand outs and Terrence wanted out of the city before that happened.
"Ok, so." Murph shook the box. "It's light, but I think we should have enough. I'll go out tonight and scavenge."
"Man, I hate when you do that," Terrence said. "All they need to do is bust you after dark for looting. You'll be shot dead."
"I'll be careful."
"Careful isn't always gonna work. We need to work on the cart tonight or we'll be carrying all this on foot."
"Not for long," Murph said. "I'm confident once we get out of the area, we can find a car."
"We'd have Deana's if they didn't take it."
"You heard the rumors. The occupation doesn't go into West Virginia," Murph said. "We'll find something there."
"Let's hope," Terrence replied. "Still it's a long walk with a kid and an old woman."
"Don't let your mom hear you call her an old woman. She walks to Zone six for rations."
"Yeah," Terrence said almost iffy. "I'm not sure I want her, Macy or your wife going out anymore. I mean we're playing the system to get stuff, already. With rations cut after what a few weeks? It's gonna get bad. It's not worth it, there has to be food out there, somewhere."
"We can't take that chance. We don't know what's out beyond this point."
"There has to be something better." Terrence stopped and looked around. "There just has to be." The war had hit everyone in a different way, people began to destroy what the bombs didn't. They gutted buildings to make a living space with no attempt to do any better, they didn't clean up. They barely lived like humans, more like rats, they roamed the streets and the pavement was their bathroom. They scurried about when authorities walked by. It was such commonplace to be screamed at with people begging for food, and even being accosted, that Terrence got to the point where he stopped giving. He went from ignoring those who got hostile to shoving them away.
They just didn't care. It was as if they were waiting and death was just a matter of time.
To Terrence humanity quickly turned as rotten as the stench that filled the streets.
He was glad that Deana's place was more in an upper scale neighborhood. The only thing they worried about were looters.
Finally, they arrived back at Deana's townhouse in the gated community. The gate was locked, not that it entirely secured the community, but it gave people a sense of protection. Everyone took turns watching that gate.
When they arrived, Douglas let them in.
Terrence opened the flap on the box and handed him two cans of meat. "They shorted rations. No bread products."
"That's fine. I appreciate it,' Douglas said.
"Did my wife get back?" Terrence asked.
"Safe and sound about thirty minutes ago." Douglas started closing the gate. "Oh, hey, Terrence. Some guy was here. I didn't let him in."
"Good," Terrence said and started to walk.
"He asked about Deana."
Terrence stopped.
"He said he went to the hospital to find her, she wasn't there," Douglas said. "I told him occupation moved her."
"Did he say why he was looking for her?"
"Well, he claimed he was her father, but I remember hearing her father died."
Terrence's eyes widened. "How long ago was he here?"
"No more than ten minutes ago."
"Do you know which way he went?"
"Down Walnut…" Douglas stopped talking when Terrence handed Murph a box.
"Take that in, I'll be back." Terrence opened the gate.
"Terrence," Murph called out. "Her father's dead."
"No… he's not." Terrence shut the gate, said no more and kept on running. He had to find out.
He never believed that Dennis had died. Never. He was training at the White House for his new position when he learned of Dennis' heart attack. In fact, he was doing inventory when Terrence swore he saw him getting in a black SUV the day after the news of his death broke.
He never said anything to anyone at the White House, but he told Macy and Deana, they semi believed him until Sandra insisted that he had died. She saw his body. It had to be someone else.
"Sometimes, when we lose someone, we want so badly to see them once more," Sandra had said to him. "You loved Dennis, Terrence, it wasn't him. I'm sorry."
In fact, as Terrence ran down Walnut street, he started to wonder if that was the case. Did he want for him to be alive so badly, that he believed he wasn't dead?
Terrence was a smart man.
Dennis having a heart attack and dying a few days before all war broke out. It had to be a political move. Something he hadn't thought about until that second when Douglass said, 'He claimed he was her father."
Walnut street was a residential street. Many of the homes were occupied by survivors of the bombs. It was easy to tell the homes that still housed their original owners. Those homes were boarded and locked up tight.
At the end of the street, just about to turn the corner, Terrence saw a man walking along. He wore a long overcoat, carried a camouflage backpack and wore a knit cap.
"Hey!" Terrence shouted. "Hold up."
The man kept walking.
Terrence tried to pick up the pace, but he had a hard time catching his breath. "Wait. I can't catch you."
The man turned the bend.
Hands on knees, half bent over, Terrence hollered. "Dennis!"
He would give it another few seconds, then try to follow once more. Then Dennis returned from around the bend.
He looked at Terrence, paused, then picked up speed rushing Terrence's way.
Terrence felt instant energy and raced to Dennis, whole bodily embracing him. "Oh God, I knew it," Terrence said. "Everyone said I was nuts. I knew I saw you."
"Terrence, my God, it's good to see you alive." Dennis stepped back from the embrace and squeezed Terrence's arm. "I'm gonna assume you look better than you did a few weeks ago?"
"Yeah. I feel a lot better, too." Terrence stared at Dennis. What had he been through? The once prestigious looking politician was pale and thin, a gray beard spread across his chin and cheeks. "I'm sorry Doug turned you away."
"No, it's okay. Deana wasn't there."
"I owe my life to Deana. I do. She saved me, let us live in her home. Have you been out here all this time?"
"Yeah, about six weeks now, trying to get to D.C.…"
"So you've seen what's out there? Is it better? Better than here?" Terrence asked.
"Depends on what you consider better. Some places yes, some… no. Do you know where she is?" Dennis asked. "Do you know where my daughter went?"
"Not specifically. She said they were moving her south. She has to be at a medical camp."
"Then I'll start searching them. At least she's alive."
"She is very well, too," Terrence said. "Maybe you shouldn't search. Stay put. Stay close. She'll eventually come back."
"No, I have to look for her. This whole rescue and aid thing is going to fall apart and she'll be out there. I have to find her."
"Then search tomorrow. Rest today. Come back, have a meal, get some sleep. We'll make sure you have enough supplies. What do you say?"
Dennis nodded then embraced Terrence again. "You're a good guy."
Terrence didn't respond to that. How could he? He never thought whether or not he was being the good guy, he just did what was right. When it came to Dennis, there was no question.
Dennis was worn out, tired, Terrence wasn't sure how far he had traveled, but he was certain not finding his daughter was devastating.
Terrence wanted to do what was right by everyone. He had saved enough provisions to gamble and move west with his family. He would do that. He also wanted to do right by Dennis, a man who went out of his way to do right by Terrence.
Terrence would make sure he had what he needed and the directions to find Deana. There was also a lot of people that were alone in the gated community. Terrence would find someone to go with Dennis, bribe them with food if he had to.
If he couldn't find someone then he would do all he could to convince Dennis to help him secure his family somewhere and then Terrence would make the journey with him.
There was no question about that. The world was different, but Terrence really wasn't. He suffered a great loss, but it only made him stronger. If Terrence changed at all, it was for the better. He searched for the good instead of only seeing just the bad. There had to still be good out there.
Prior to the bombs, Terrence's goal in life was to have a good job, make a lot of money, and provide a better life for his family.
Now his goal was to keep his family safe, alive and wanting to survive. After all he had been through, all the uncertainty in the world, those were things he was positive he could do.
Terrence would.
THIRTY-FOUR – Scorched and Enlightened
They had spent three days with Jonas. He was a good man and positive his wife was alive. He had checked twelve of the camps and was counting on her being in the last place he looked. He was also certain he would be kicked out again and nearly as positive that Kit and Abe would be kicked out as well.
"Don't get discouraged," he told them. "Just come back in."
Kit wondered if there was something about Jonas that drew attention. She and Abe had hit two camps before even getting to Puyallup and not one soldier or worker asked for their work orders, or asked to see that wristband that all the workers seemed to wear.
They searched every bed, every cot and walked through the large square tents where people had set up temporary homes.
No one said a word to them.
Their days were spent walking, stopping, walking some more. At least eight hours a day was in a holding place while it was dark. Most of the time it was an old store, garage, or house. Never anything outside in the open. The truck would come, order them to get in, take them to a holding place, and let them go at dawn.
Kit wondered how she and Abe were able to be so unnoticed.
The last thing Jonas said to them before they parted ways was, "I pray you never get to the edge and see what was done to our world. Right now, we're surrounded by a lot of area unaffected by what happened. Don't go to the edge."
Kit believed 'the edge' was some sort of metaphor.
She soon found out that Jonas meant it… literally.
It took seven days to get to her mother's house in Puyallup. The residential neighborhood was largely unscathed, sans a few broken windows. No occupation take over or possession had occurred. Her mother's house was fine, the door was unlocked and the house empty.
Kit had no delusions of walking up to the house and finding her mother. The entire house was untouched. No furniture moved, pictures still on the mantel. In fact, they were certain her mother survived.
It was evident that she had taken refuge in the basement. The windows were blocked out, empty cans were used as tiny fire cans. Abe said there was definitely more than just her mother down there. Kit didn't want to get her hopes up that it was her daughter, it could have been anyone.
Her mother lived through the bombs, stayed below then left.
Was she sick? Hurt?
There were eight camps around the area, and Kit would check each one.
She took a few photos of her mother and Jillie, because it would be easier to ask people if they saw her if she had a picture, then they headed more toward the heart of Tacoma to look for Jillie.
Jillie's apartment building was scorched. The entire surface of the building facing Seattle was blackened and the windows blown out.
The whole area was decimated. No one would have survived the heat of the blast.
The bombs fell at night, while people slept. Every resident of that building would have died before they knew what hit them.
Was Jillie one of them?
Kit didn't want to believe that was true, after all, her father said he tried to evacuate her. Maybe she had left. Maybe she was the person in the basement with her mother.
Standing at Jillie's apartment, Kit learned what Jonas meant about the edge.
From where she stood, she literally was on the edge… the edge of destruction. Vashon Island was gone. It took a direct hit. The entire body of water that surrounded it extended out. It wasn't an airburst, it was a surface burst that caused a crater so wide and deep, it made the island look as if it sunk.
Unlike in Spokane, there was no rubble, no smashed buildings and houses, everything was just obliterated.
They stayed there staring out like some sort of post apocalyptic tourist and then they moved on to whatever camp was next.
That was when Kit realized why they hadn't been stopped.
It was Abe.
He was ill. He coughed a lot, was thin and pale. Kit had spent so much time with him, she hadn't noticed how bad he was until he was pulled aside at the camp.
No one ever stopped them because they probably assumed Abe was looking for medical attention.
They apprehended him immediately and because of all the highly contagious and infectious diseases that bred post bombs, they placed him in a mandatory quarantine for ten days.
They wouldn't even let Kit near him. They did however give her updates after she fibbed and said he was her husband.
They had to rule out any communicable disease and hopefully he would recover.
Hopefully? Was he really that sick? Was Kit that caught up in her own search that she didn't notice her new friend was dying?
What did he have? They said he was fevered and his lungs were filled with fluid. They were near certain it wasn't Cholera, but they couldn't be sure. Typhoid wasn't ruled out. She learned that Cholera was an epidemic in the camp and already had taken the lives of over two hundred people. It seemed like a lot until Kit learned there were over five thousand people in that camp.
If her mother and daughter were anywhere, they were there. She would use that ten days, while waiting on Abe to look.
Ask every single person that she could, if they saw her daughter or mother, show them the picture.
It was a football field full of tents just for those transitioning, meaning those who were healing and those who were moving on. Outside the stadium where even larger housing tents.
Kit went from sun up to sun down searching.
She looked in every tent, every cot, every injured person. Heartbreaking as it was, she searched the burn ward, trying to find something in those so disfigured that they were unrecognizable. Any of them could have been her family.
Kit didn't find them.
No one saw her daughter, or mother.
She did gather information on where the other camps were and made squares on her map.
One woman had told her about a huge camp that was made out of an old warehouse sections, it was six miles north and was almost all transition people. More than likely if her mother or daughter were there, they would have moved on, but perhaps someone had seen them.
During the ten days, Kit didn't find her family, or anyone who knew about them. She however did a lot of thinking. She had been so focused on her daughter and mother she barely thought of anything else.
She reflected on how she had gotten to know Abe. He was a quiet man who had dedicated his life to his career. He didn't have anyone except his brother and that was why he stuck with Kit. Where else and what else did he have to do?
Before he was quarantined, they found their own holding place until dawn. It was after a hard day of walking. Watching people reluctant to join tent cities, camped out in the streets, eating out of cans, some of the cans being dog food. It hadn't even been that long. How much longer would it be before there was no food?
They saw children on the street alone. Watching the military occupation gather the children as they cried for their parents.
They were dirty and hungry and needed love and there wasn't enough arms left in the world to hold them.
It was a desolate world, gray in color, dark
While discouraged about the long term outcome of the human race, she told Abe. "It's screwed up. You know we run into people who say they are helping the occupation, but plan to go off on their own. Some like Jonas, just want to find their family and see what tomorrow brings. Some people think they have it together. The truth is they can plan this, plan that, go here and there, but there is no certainty that it will work."
"Well, I'm certain," Abe said. "I have been thinking of a long term plan."
"You have a long term plan that you're certain will work?"
"Yep." He nodded. "I want to get a yacht, a big one and find an island. Wanna come?"
"Oh, yeah, sure." Kit chuckled. "You got that yacht idea when Jonas used it as an analogy for winning the war."
"Yep." He smiled.
She never did bother asking if he knew how to drive a yacht, if that was even what manning a boat was called. She liked his plan. If she ever found her family or learned of their fate, she would make it an option, no matter how outlandish it was. Abe probably did know where there were islands. After all, he probably flew over many.
Then there was Deana. She had to be alive, probably working herself to death helping others. For as mean spirited and angry as Deana projected, she had a good heart. Did Kit's father ever find her, or come close?
Deana was her only sibling left. Regis and Mark were gone. Her last vision of them burned in her memory. She would never forget, their bodies facing the rubble, huddled together in an embrace, dying in a quest to find Mark's son.
Kit couldn't let her quest end in her death. It was something she had to think about. Each day she searched was a day she took a chance that anything could happen. It wasn't as if she were alone, she still had Zeke. She was certain beyond any doubt, that Zeke was fine. Harland was taking good care of him. Probably working him hard, but her son was fine.
She had to remember he was out there, too.
All the time she spent alone without Abe, while he was quarantined, filled her with a sense of missing people and sadness. She missed her daughter with all of her heart and wanted so much to find her, but at what cost to Kit and even more so, what cost to Zeke?
On the tenth day, Abe was released from quarantine. The doctors wanted him to stay, but Abe refused. He looked gaunt, his speckled gray hair was even more gray and he lost at least ten more pounds. His thin arms were bruised from intravenous lines.
There was no way, if he didn't eat right or rest properly that Abe was going to keep any strength.
He wanted to leave the camp as soon s possible, and urged Kit to gather her belongings.
It wasn't much, it didn't take long, and they were back on the road before noon.
"I'm sorry," he said to Kit. "I'm sorry they kept me away for so long."
"Don't be silly, you were sick," Kit replied. "This was a big camp. It took that long to check everybody."
"No luck?"
"Where now?" Abe asked. "Olympia?"
"I highly doubt they are all the way done there. There is still another big camp near Tacoma and more we haven't hit in Seattle."
"If we don't get kicked out," Abe said.
"They didn't kick us out because they thought you had some sort of contagious disease, and were looking for help" Kit said as they walked. "I got news for you, you don't look much better. We aren't getting stopped."
"Gee thanks. Do I look that bad?"
"Yeah, Abe, yeah you do."
They headed toward the large camp Kit had heard about. Although, they didn't really have a clue where it was Kit figured they'd keep heading north, eventually they'd stumble across something that big. They had a proximity, not an exact location.
During the six mile walk, they had to stop several times. Abe kept losing his breath and strength and would break into coughing fits.
Kit was angry not at Abe's illness, but at herself. She was pushing him, even if he wanted to do it. She was debating on turning him into the next camp for being sick, just so he could get more treatments. She would search on her own. She'd rather have him mad at her than die on her.
Kit couldn't take another person dying on her.
The fourth time they stopped to take a break, a citizen patrol worker spotted them and recognizing how ill Abe looked, said there was a camp a mile ahead that had medical resources. He even offered to see if he could find Abe a ride.
They declined, but wished they would have when they arrived at the Fife Industrial Park and saw the huge group of people.
Was there that many people needing shelter and help six weeks after the bombs? It seemed insane. Of all the camps, they never saw such a large group waiting. It was so big, they couldn't see if indeed there was a camp ahead.
They all were crammed close together, where had they come from? There was a lot of mumbling and chatter.
Finally, Kit asked a woman. "Is this the only camp near here?"
"I guess," the woman said.
"So this is the line to get in?"
"No." She shook her head. "Everyone is waiting to look at, or post on the wall."
"I'm sorry… the what?"
"The wall," the woman explained "This is the biggest one I have seen. People searching for family, they post here, or look. There's another down in Olympia, it's nowhere near this big. This one's about a hundred feet. I was here last week, took me almost an hour to look through every sign or flyer. I'm hoping my husband saw my sign."
Kit looked immediately at Abe. "Jonas never mentioned a wall."
"He probably never made it here," Abe said. "Do you have anything to write on, to leave a sign."
"I have pictures I took from my moms," Kit said excitedly. "I can use one of those."
The woman turned around to Kit. "Don't forget to date it. Let's them know how long ago it was you were here."
Kit thanked her.
She was excited at the prospect of looking at the wall. It actually invigorated her, the entire process of waiting. She even laughed at Abe's joke that it was the new era of social media called posting on walls.
How true that was, especially when Kit realized people weren't mumbling, they were 'passing on' names.
It was extraordinary.
"James Price, twenty-four, brown hair, green eyes." And the name would repeat over and over as people passed it on.
Mary Higgins, fifty three gray hair, short.
Mary Higgins
Mary Higgins….
"I met a Mary about that age down near Parkland," someone shouted. "Got a picture?"
It was continuous and almost rehearsed. No one talked over each other and it made Kit wonder how many times these folks had been at the wall.
The names kept coming for the hours that they waited.
Sam Yoakum, Twelve
Regina Stewart, thirty three…
Edward Crafton, forty-six…
Jonas Gibbons, sixty-four, bushy gray hair…
Abe's eyes widened. "We met a Jonas!" he shouted. "That age."
"Do you have a picture!" Kit added.
They never actually saw what happened when someone shouted they had seen the person. But sure enough, people called them forward and parted like the red sea to make room.
They inched their way forward, almost as if they got a pass to move to the front of the line because they had information.
The second Kit emerged, her breath was taken away at the enormity of the wall. It was at least a hundred feet long and ten feet high, it was covered, inch by inch with photos, flyers, pieces of cardboard boxes, anything people could write on.
It wasn't just a wall, it was a well organized search effort. People hadn't given up, not yet.
There was a table in front of the wall, with another short line waiting to get to the two men. A woman was the first in line.
"Did you see Jonas?" the woman, about the same age as Jonas held out a picture.
Abe took it and smiled. "Yes, we did ma'am. He walked with us for several days."
She gasped loudly in relief and hugged Abe, then Kit. "Where?"
"Looking for you," Kit said. "In fact, he keeps getting kicked out and coming back in."
"So he's alive. Is he well?" she asked.
"Very much so," Kit answered. "I would go to the pass."
Abe explained. "The road where they have the first barricade set up."
'I know what the pass is," she said. "So I should go there?"
Abe nodded. "He'll be back through there."
"Thank you. Thank you so much." She turned to the man at the table. "I'm going to mark my sign for him."
The man nodded his acknowledgement, then looked to Kit. "Go on. Check the wall. After you're done, come back here, get in line and we'll do the relay yell for you." He motioned his hand to wave them to the wall.
As Kit and Abe approached the wall, the hollering of names began again.
"I'm so happy for Jonas," Kit said to Abe.
"Hopefully they won't keep missing each other."
"Let's hope. This is going to take forever."
"That's why the line is so long."
Through the corner of her eye, Kit saw Jonas' wife write something on a flyer, then walk away.
The pictures, signs, were heavily overlapped. Abe had to reach up to the higher ones to lift and see the ones hidden underneath. They moved slowly, Kit looked at every single one. So many people, so many faces. There were thousands of faces, signs, box tops, some event tickets, Kit even saw an old Arby's receipt.
Every single person on that wall was loved and missed. Would they ever reunite with those who searched so diligently for them? People who returned over and over to the wall in hopes that somehow the family member responded or someone recognized the name.
How many of the lost family were alive, how many had died. It was mind boggling how enormous it all was.
"Kit." There was something about the way Abe called her name that sent a shock through her and caused her stomach to flip.
What did he see?
Abe was reaching upward and when he pulled back and lowered his arm, he held out his hand. Gripped in his fingers was the torn front cover from the thirty-fifth anniversary paperback edition of Alas, Babylon .
Kit felt weak and whimpered slightly. She peered at the orange cover with the man shading out the nuclear explosion. Under the title, written in blue ink were the words, Holland Family.
Kit reached for it.
"It's dated six days ago," Abe said. "And there's a poem scribbled on the back."
Kit took the cover and turned it over. "It's my father's handwriting."
She read the poem.
Can the life be again
Once it all changes,
Giving up on all that's lost
Can it keep us down,
Or do we bravely move on
Never giving up on hope
~~NM Dulce
"Oh, my God, she did know," Kit said softly. "My mother she didn't figure it out. He told her. He told her in the poem."
"What are you talking about?" Abe asked.
"Look. Look at the poem. It's acrostic." She handed him the cover.
He glanced down. "COGCON."
"NM Dulce is not the author," Kit said.
"It's the place. The CONCON plan. That's where we were supposed to go."
"Exactly, and that's where she's headed. That's why she left this one on the wall. Just… in case one of us came here."
"What about Jillie?" Abe asked.
Kit shook her head. "My mother never would have left if she didn't know what happened with Jillie, or unless my daughter was with her. But why? Why would she leave to look?"
Abe tilted his head. "Where is your father? What is he doing? What are you doing? She's is just doing the same. A parent searching for her kids. It doesn't matter how old or young you are, if your kids are out there, you're gonna look." He handed her the book cover. "So do we head there?"
After a moment, Kit shook her head. "No."
"No. Jonas came through here four times and never found his wife. We were here, probably miles from my mother, and we missed each other. You said it before, if everyone is looking, how will they find each other. Someone has to stop in order to be found. I'm gonna go back to my son."
"Are you sure?" he asked.
"I'm positive. If she gets to New Mexico, they know where we are. If we keep going we're gonna always be one step ahead, or behind. It's not how I wanted this to end, but it is what it has to be." She pulled out the family picture she was going to place on the wall, wrote the words, 'Maltese Colorado' signed her name with the date, and gave it to Abe to place near where he found that book cover.
As they walked away from the wall, a man from the table asked, "Do you need us to call out a name?"
Before answering, Kit looked at the Alas, Babylon cover. "No," she said. "We found our answer."
They had. She placed the cover to the book in her backpack. Abe and Kit moved on.
THIRTY-FIVE – Retreat
The multiple blisters on Zeke's palms were huge and he held his hands under the water to relieve the stinging pain.
Harland peered over Zeke's shoulder. "I have ointment for those."
"I'll be fine. Just trying to cool them off."
"Ointment will work, too," Harland said, placing a towel next to the kitchen sink. "Finish up. Supper's on the table."
"Yes, sir." Zeke wanted a few more seconds with the water, then he used his elbows to shut off the faucet and gently dried his hands with the towel.
"There are other jobs around town." Harland took a seat at the kitchen table, "Other than working on that fence."
"Like what?" Zeke asked, joining him.
"You can work at the school or help with the bodies." Harland dished out the food.
"Chief Rogers said the fence can't wait. The bodies can wait."
"Oh, yeah? Tell it to the bodies. While you're at it walk by and get a good whiff."
"Winter is coming. It will be here before we know it and we need to be protected. That is what the Chief said."
"He's not Ned Stark, or whoever that Thrones guy was."
Zeke laughed. He liked Harland, he liked him a lot. Harland was a good man who kept Zeke busy, and took care of him. They had a routine, got up at the same time, read each night, played cards and without fail, tried to eat dinner at the same time each evening.
"Now pray."
They both bowed their heads for a few seconds.
"Amen," Harland said and began to eat.
"Stew looks good."
"Yeah, it does. Proud of myself on this one. Plus, this will be the first meal in how long that someone isn't knocking on my door or interrupting my…" He paused when he saw headlights outside. "Oh, damn it. Who is it now?"
Zeke leaned back in his chair. "Who in town drives a half car?"
"Better to ask, who in town got access to the gas." Harland stood and then paused. "Well I'll be damned."
"It's your mother."
Zeke jumped from his seat and raced to the door to open it.
"Who is that with her?" Harland asked. "Oh, that's Abe. I hope he's alright."
Zeke wanted to run out to his mother, but before he could she raced to the door, grabbing hold of him tightly and pressing her lips to his cheek.
"Oh my God, I missed you," she said.
"Mom, I was so worried. You were gone a month."
She hugged him again and kissed him. "We had a few problems getting home. We had to keep switching vehicles."
Zeke looked to Abe when he walked in. "Thank you for getting her back."
"It was all her," Abe said. "Trust me."
Harland gave a hug to Kit, then shook Abe's hand. "You okay?" he asked Abe.
"I need a long nap," Abe replied.
"Yeah, I bet. I want to examine you as well."
Abe just nodded.
"Sit down," Harland said. "We're having dinner. Just in time."
"Harland, thank you so much," Kit said, placing her pack on the floor.
"How did it go?" Harland asked.
"Did you find Jillie?" Zeke questioned.
Kit shook her head.
"No. We didn't. But…" She reached into her pack and pulled out the book cover. "We found this on the search wall. People post when they are searching for family." She placed the cover on the table. "Pap gave every single person a copy of this book as a heads up. Only he gave grandma a big heads up." She flipped the cover over.
"COGCON," Harland said. "So you think she went to Dulce?"
"I do." Kit took a seat at the table. "And eventually, I believe… I hope, she'll make her way here. I also think maybe Jillie is with her."
"Mom, how is it out there? What's it like?" Zeke asked. "Is there really an occupation?"
"Yeah, and it's pretty strong. I don't know what is going on elsewhere with it, but they have it secure out west. As far as damage… Seattle is bad. Some places are okay. Some not so okay. People are getting desperate. I think really instead of worrying what's going on out there we should just focus on what's going on here." She grabbed his hand. "We can talk so much more about it later. Right now. Me and Abe are really hungry."
Harland placed plates on the table and sat down. "For what it's worth, Kit, I think it's a good idea that you are staying here. I'm sorry you didn't find what you were looking for."
"No, in a sense I did. I found some peace, if that makes sense." Kit touched the book cover, then moved her hand to her son's. "Right now, with the world the way it is, I'll take what I can get."
It was the best answer Kit could give and she truly believed her words, they came straight from her heart.
When she first arrived at Harland's home, right after the crash, after the bombs, he had said to her, "Sadly, for all of us, this story has no happy ending."
Upon first hearing that, she believed him, but Harland was wrong.
There couldn't be a good or sad ending when the story was far from finished. It never would be. The world wasn't stable. It would be forever changing and evolving. Brought on by a war that wasn't new, just different. People would adapt, heal, rebuild, move on and more than likely, through war, destroy themselves all over again.
Kit was realistic in knowing there was a chance she would never see her daughter, mother, sister or father again. She had accepted that, but she could no longer focus on that. She had to focus on the now and what she had.
For the time being, instead of a happy ending, Kit would be satisfied with a happy outcome. If that meant staying put, rebuilding a small town and holding her son's hand, so be it. Kit would take it.
It the face of it all, Kit was beyond fortunate. The bombs destroyed so much, killed hundreds of millions of people. Yet, unlike so many that had placed pictures, posters and signs on that huge wall, Kit hadn't lost everything. She still had Zeke, and he was more than enough to keep her going.
Thank you so much for reading this book. I hope you enjoyed it. Please visit my website www.jacquelinedruga.com and sign up for my mailing list for updates, freebies, new releases and giveaways. And, don't forget my new Kindle club!
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What Tomorrow Brings
By Jacqueline Druga
Copyright 2017 by Jacqueline Druga
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any person or persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Thank you to Paula and Kira for doubling up and doing this one so we could get it out. Also, for things you have taught me.
Cover Art by Christian Bentulan