by Harley Tate
Don’t stop reporting. Put this out there. The world needs to see it.
If I don’t make it, not your fault. Biggest mistake was walking away from you.
Lainey stared at the message, but she couldn’t see the words. They swam in a sea of tears and she shoved the tablet in Owen’s general direction.
“You okay?”
She threw open the door to the van and half-jumped, half-fell out of the seat. Her feet carried her to the edge of the parking deck and she stood with her face in the breeze as hot tears tracked down her face. Anger. Disappointment. Regret. It all swam inside her, fighting to overwhelm her senses and drag her down to the concrete. She sagged against the hip-height wall and dug her fingers into the gritty ledge.
Rick died because of her and instead of calling her out and cursing her name, he pushed her to keep going. But worse than that, worse than anything he could have said, he...forgave her.
Guilt twisted Lainey’s insides and she clutched at her stomach. They had parted on such bad terms: him accusing her of taking advantage, her denying it. When he’d moved to New York, he stopped returning her calls. Told her to leave him alone. Why didn’t she listen? Why didn’t she honor his request?
Instead, she dragged him into this disaster like a selfish, spoiled brat. Her shoulders slumped and sagged against the ledge as she cried. Tears came hot and fast, spotting her blouse and turning it sheer. She didn’t care. She didn’t deserve to be there. She didn’t deserve to be alive.
A wet nose nuzzled her hand.
Lainey blinked as Bear wiggled his way between her legs and the wall. His tail thumped as he rubbed his head against her hip.
“It’s all my fault.” Her voice cracked on the truth. “I killed him. Me.”
Bear pawed her leg.
“What am I supposed to do now?”
Bear eased past her and trotted a few steps toward the van. He stopped and barked. Lainey wiped at her face. “I don’t think I can.”
He barked again.
“Hey, Lainey?” Owen poked his head out of the van, holding up his tablet. “I think you need to see this.”
She wiped her face, scrubbing off the tears before slicking damp fingers through her hair. “What is it?’
Owen held the tablet out so she could see. “Canada has opened its borders. We don’t need passports as long as we have US identification.” He swallowed. “They’re taking in American refugees.”
Lainey walked toward the van and reached for the device. According to a Canadian newspaper, all border crossings were manned with extra security and makeshift shelters were set up at each location. American citizens could shower, receive a change of clothes, and food.
She tilted her head. “This sounds like they’re letting people in, but holding them in camps of some sort.”
“Wouldn’t you?”
Lainey glanced up.
“I’m surprised the border is open at all. How many Americans live within driving distance of Canada? Twenty million? Thirty? The country will be crushed with a flood of refugees. I can’t imagine they’ll accept us for very long.”
Lainey thought it over. “Canada has what, thirty-five, forty million residents total? And that’s spread out over an area bigger than the lower forty-eight. We’d overwhelm them in a week.” She shook her head. “People will swarm the border. As soon as word gets out that it’s closed, runners will flood the northern plain states.”
Owen nodded. “Mexico’s already shut the border down. Only documented Mexican citizens are allowed to cross.”
Lainey closed her eyes. “They’re trapping us inside. If aid doesn’t flow in, then it’s the end of America.”
“I bet we could still get across.”
Lainey snapped her eyes open. “How?”
He thumped the van. “With this. We’re reporters with on-the-ground footage. If we reach out to Canadian TV, I bet we can strike a deal. Go independent and broadcast from inside the United States. If we drive to Canada, they would have to let us in.”
Lainey thought about her mother and sister somewhere between Chicago and the Lake Michigan coast. “I have to find out if my mom and sister are alive.”
Owen shrugged. “We can make it a road trip. Drive from here to there, reporting on the chaos. Pick them up and head into Canada. We’ll be famous.”
The thought turned Lainey’s stomach. Could she really report on the devastation all around her and use it as a means to save herself? Bear leaned against her as they stood outside the van. Did she have a choice? She cleared her throat. “Put out some feelers. See what you get.”
Owen grinned and ducked back inside, fingers flying over the tablet in his lap. The conversation with the woman outside the gas station sprang to mind and Lainey shuddered. They would be hated. Reviled. People would try to kill them out of rage and spite.
She could never do it.
But what about Rick? She’d begged him to look into her sister’s information. She’d begged him to be her source.
Way back in college, she’d had a professor who explained their role. Knowledge conduits. Impartial conveyors of information. Truth-seekers.
Rick had died for that truth. He’d died because she had tried to live up to an ideal—the whole reason she became a journalist.
If she walked away from the story now, what was the point?
There had to be a way to cover the story and not sell her soul. A way to dig up the truth and stay alive long enough to put it out there. With any luck, she could find her family and keep them safe in the process. She dropped her hands and let her fingers trail across Bear’s fur. She didn’t have to make a decision now.
They could plan for the short-term. Head for Chicago and the last known location of her mother, all while telling the story on the way.
She leaned against the side of the van and called out to Owen. “As soon as you’re done, let’s get back to the apartment. We need to talk to Keith and Jerry and figure out a plan.”
Owen mumbled his agreement from inside and Lainey sent up a silent prayer of forgiveness to Rick. I won’t give up on the story. I won’t give up on you. Not this time.
Lainey exhaled and the knot of tension at the base of her skull eased. It might be a terrible idea, driving a KSBF van across the country to find her family and break a story, but at least she knew where to go.
Chapter Eight
KEITH
Keith’s Apartment
Los Angeles, CA
Tuesday, 6:30 p.m. PST
Keith held the gun low behind his thigh and stepped clear of the wall.
A man stood in the entry of his apartment, staring into the bathroom, mouth hanging open. Moccasins stuck out from beneath plaid pajama pants and a wrinkled shirt spoke of days without changing clothes or stepping outside. Keith tried to place him. A neighbor? Someone from his floor?
Working long hours meant Keith didn’t know half the people who lived in his building. He tried to sound friendly, but firm. “Can I help you?”
The man faltered, stumbling back as he bumped into the open door. He worked his jaw like a fish on land before stammering out a few words. “Hey, uh, are you, uh—” His eyes never left the bathroom floor.
“Can I help you?” Keith spoke louder, clipping the last word short.
Judging by his sunken eyes and pale skin, the guy could be suffering from mild radiation poisoning. Or he could be an addict coming down from a bender. Keith wasn’t sure. They got their fair share of panhandlers and homeless trying to sleep it off in their lobby, but the guy didn’t fit the mold. He tightened his grip on the gun, pressing it hard against his thigh.
Jerry hung back in the kitchen, listening.
“You, uh, got any food?” The stranger fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, folding it back and forth between his fingers.
Keith didn’t answer right away. If he said no, the guy wouldn’t believe him. If he said yes, then the guy would ask to share. Neither option suited Keith. He glanced at Jerry. The older man
shook his head once.
Keith turned back to the man still standing in his entry.
He rocked back and forth and glanced behind him toward the hall. “Please, man. I ain’t got nothin’ left.” He tore a shaky hand through his hair. Did a clump come out?
Keith shifted position, careful to keep the gun hidden. He chewed on the inside of his cheek. “You try the store downstairs?”
The guy rocked forward and back again, rising up on the balls of his feet before leaning back on his heels. “Closed. Has been since the power went out.”
“What about the place down the street or the gas station around the corner?”
The guy scratched at a spot behind his ear. “I ain’t been out. I don’t know about anywhere else.”
Keith clenched his jaw. He refused to help a man who didn’t help himself. “If I were you—”
“Please, man.” He stepped forward, hands out. “I got a wife and a kid. She’s crying all the time. We need to eat.”
“You have a family?” Keith raised an eyebrow.
From the pajamas to the unkept hair and dirty shirt, Keith wouldn’t have guessed the man to be a father. If he lived down the hall, Keith hated to turn him away empty-handed. He’d already failed Daphne. Refusing to help a family with a child wasn’t much better. He opened his mouth to offer up what they had when Jerry eased out from the kitchen.
“How old’s your kid?” Jerry sidled past Keith, eyes never leaving the stranger’s face.
The addition of Jerry threw the other man off balance. He flicked his gaze back and forth and tugged on his shirt again. “She’s, uh, two. Two years old.”
“Talkin’ much?”
“Cryin’ cause she’s hungry.”
“I know the kids at Sunday school, once they get goin’ at that age, it’s hard to keep them quiet. They’ll say hi to anyone and tell them all about their shoes or clothes or what they did five minutes ago.”
The man shifted his weight. “So?”
“Surprised she isn’t here with you. Chance to talk to someone new, that’s all.”
“I told you. She’s hungry.”
“What about your wife?”
“She’s back with the kid.”
Keith glanced at Jerry. He couldn’t make out the purpose of the questions, other than to rile the other man up. Did he doubt the story? Want to see what he’d do if pressed? Buy more time for Lainey, Owen, and Bear to return?
“Where’s your ring?”
The question caught both Keith and the stranger off-guard.
“Huh?” The man held out his hands and frowned at his fingers.
“Wedding ring. You aren’t wearing one.”
“Oh, I, uh—” He shrugged. “Left it back in the apartment. I don’t wear it when I’m at home.”
“You don’t wear one at all.”
Keith cast another sideways glance at Jerry. The older man stood still, calmly appraising the interloper.
After a beat, the guy puffed out his chest and stuck his chin out. “Course I do. How you know I don’t?”
“No tan.”
What? Since when did married guys need a tan?
Jerry pointed at the man’s wrist. “You wear a watch. I can see that. At least you used to.”
Keith squinted. Sure enough, a pale band stretched across the man’s wrist exactly where a watch would have been.
The guy ran his fingers over the strip of paler skin. “Like I said, I don’t wear that stuff when I’m at home.”
“You don’t wear a ring at all.” Jerry held up his hand and counted off on his fingers. “No tan. No ring. No ring, no marriage. Simple as that. I bet you don’t have a kid, either.” When he finished, he hooked his thumbs in his belt loops and leaned back, confident and clear.
Keith swallowed. He prided himself on being a behind-the-scenes guy. Observant, keyed into what a reporter needed from a cameraman. But he’d missed the evidence staring him in the face. Would Lainey have seen it? He wasn’t sure. But Jerry was right; the guy didn’t have a wife or a kid. Just a brass pair and an easy mark. He flexed his fingers around the butt of the gun.
“Do you have anything to say for yourself?”
At first, the man didn’t know what to do. He stared at his fingers, bringing them up to his face as the skin around his eyes pinched. After a few moments, he dropped his hands. “Are you gonna give me some food or what?”
Keith was done. Thanks to Jerry, his little charade had been found out and Keith was out of patience. The guy didn’t have a family. He would fight harder if he did. “No. I’m not.”
“That’s no way to treat your neighbor.”
“I don’t think you even live here.”
“Just give me somethin’, man.”
“Not today.”
The man dug his fingers into his cheeks, pulling down his eyelids as he dragged his fingertips toward his chin. The veneer of politeness cracked as his eyes grew wide and unfocused. “You can’t just send me away. I asked you nicely. You have to give me something!”
“No, we don’t.” Keith stepped forward. He needed to end this, now. “Please leave.”
“No! I won’t!” The man shuffled forward, dirty moccasins sliding across the linoleum. “I won’t leave until you give me some food.”
Keith only hesitated for a moment before lifting the gun. He gripped it tight, wedging the V between his thumb and forefinger as high up as possible on the backstrap. His finger touched the trigger as he widened his stance and aimed at center mass.
At the sight of the muzzle, the man froze mid-stride. He dropped his hands and stepped back, any fight instantly gone. “I didn’t mean nothin’.”
“Get out. Don’t come back.”
He licked his lips and backed up a step. “You shouldn’t point a gun at your neighbors. Just sayin’.”
“You shouldn’t bully people into giving you a handout.” Keith kept the gun trained square on the man’s chest.
Jerry stepped forward, matching the stranger’s backpedal step for step. As he cleared the threshold, Jerry reached for the door. “You heard the man with the gun. Don’t come back. Next time we won’t be so nice.”
He shut the door in the man’s face and turned around.
Chapter Nine
LAINEY
Keith’s Apartment
Los Angeles, CA
Tuesday, 7:30 p.m. PST
Owen opened the door to the apartment and ushered Lainey and Bear inside. The dog headed straight for the kitchen and Lainey trailed after, half-running, half-stumbling as Bear pulled her by the leash. She dropped the handle as she came face-to-face with Keith and Jerry and an open bottle of tequila.
“You’re drinking?” She blinked, trying to make sense of the scene.
Keith clinked an empty glass onto the counter. “Yep. Want a shot?”
“No,” she laughed as she spoke, still confused. “Is there some reason to celebrate?”
Jerry held up his glass and drained the contents. “Just the end of the world.” He set the empty glass on the counter and waved Keith off when he offered more. “Had our first beggar.”
Lainey sobered. “Did you give him anything?”
Keith shook his head. “He lied about having a wife and kid. Looked strung out. I don’t even think he lived here.”
“So when you told him no—”
“It took a little more persuasion than that.”
Lainey eyed the pistol sitting on the counter. “But he left?”
“For now.” Jerry leaned back against the cabinets and crossed his arms. “If he doesn’t come back, someone else will. We’re sitting ducks here.”
Lainey glanced at Owen as he eased onto a barstool outside the small kitchen. Jerry’s sentiments echoed what they had discovered in the news. She turned back to Keith. “Owen rigged up the van’s satellite and we were able to get online.”
“And?”
“It’s worse than we feared.” She ran through the litany of information, explaining how t
he infrastructure of the United States would collapse without power, gas, or water. She saved Rick’s email for last.
Once she finished explaining his theory, Keith whistled. “Do you believe him? That some faction in the US is responsible for all of this?”
“What reason would he have to lie?” Lainey forced herself to remain calm. “He died investigating it. I can’t imagine he’d lie in his final few hours of life.”
“Maybe he didn’t think he was going to die?” Jerry offered.
Lainey shook her head. Jerry meant well, but he didn’t understand the whole picture. “Rick reached out via a phone call. He was being chased, that much was clear. It makes sense that it was someone in the government. All of his sources were law enforcement types.”
“I guess it makes as much sense as anything else. We all wondered why no alerts went out and the threat level never changed.” Jerry turned to Owen for confirmation. “Everyone at the news desk kept asking the same questions: why no alerts, why no instructions from Washington.”
Owen shrugged. “Maybe this is why.”
“Someone in the government covered it up? Are you serious?” Keith rubbed his chin. “I don’t buy it. The British guy had all the data. We saw it sitting right on his desk. If he knew what was about to happen, then surely some members of our government who weren’t in on the conspiracy knew, too. I can’t imagine they would stay silent.”
“But they did.” Owen scooted forward and spread his hands out across the bar. “Think about it. You find out the modern world is about to end and you can’t stop it. What do you do? Incite mass panic and tell hundreds of millions of people they are going to die? Or say nothing and save yourself?”
“That’s what the Consul General did,” Lainey added. “He evacuated and saved his family.”
“Exactly.” Owen slapped the counter in agreement. “Who in the government would be willing to be the fall guy? To be the international face of panic and death? Can you imagine anyone in Washington willing to do that?”
