by James Hunt
“Where are you going?”
“To try and make a call.”
***
The nozzle from the fuel pump clicked to a stop, signaling the cruiser's tank was full. The gas couldn't have been more than a few months old, but she could have been wrong. If the gas was bad, then it would do more harm than good, but it was all she had at the moment.
The cruiser's engine seemed to run smoothly enough as she drove the vehicle back to the entrance of the station. She peeked inside, checking on Emily before heading around to the rear of the building.
Since she couldn't find the satellite phone, she would have to find another way to get ahold of her sister. While she didn't mind making the trek across the rest of the desert without any communications, it would ease her worry if she knew what the hell was going on out there.
Brooke's mind kept going back to the phone call from Eric. She had heard the distress in his voice. She wished she knew what he was saying. She wished she could get in touch with her sister. She wished her daughter wasn't fighting for her life. But the world didn't grant wishes. It only granted action, and right now, she had to find her own answers.
Next to the tool shed was an old radio post her company had installed when it was building the place. She knew that the equipment hadn't been used in years, and she had no idea if it would work or if the equipment would even still be there.
Brooke still had the crowbar from earlier, but she didn't need it. The door to the radio post wasn't even locked.
“Dammit,” Brooke said.
The place had been cleaned out. She doubted the company had come to collect the outdated radios, so it must have been scavenged by whoever had roamed over here in the past few months.
The cabinets creaked as Brooke went through them, trying to find anything useful. After taking inventory, she did manage to find an old handheld radio, which didn't turn on, a circuit board tool kit, and a few empty containers she could use for carrying extra fuel. Whoever had robbed the place must not have had any knowledge of what was valuable. The circuit board tool kit was well into the thousand-dollar price range.
It was not exactly what she was looking for, but the radio might be fixable once she cracked it open and had a look. It wouldn't get much range, but she might be able to listen in on any police broadcasts that were nearby.
***
The radio was in pieces and Brooke was hunched over on the floor trying to figure out which of the components had gone bad. Emily was sound asleep next to her under the cushion of a sleeping bag, but her arms and legs still twitched, still fighting the scorpion venom coursing through her tiny frame.
John hadn't left Emily’s side the entire time she was recovering. In fact, Brooke hadn't even seen him take his eyes off Emily since she had charged him with watching her.
A smile crept onto her face. Her favorite moments of her children were when they were together. It made her feel whole, full. It had been her husband's favorite sight, too. When they were younger, Jason would just sit in the kitchen, looking out into the living room, watching them play. She knew he reveled in those moments. It gave him something to hold onto while he was away.
Brooke hadn’t fully understood that until right then. That force that drove someone forward was different for everyone, but the moment her children had been born was the moment they became her driving force. She had done and would do whatever was necessary to keep the both of them alive. That was the constant in her life.
God help anything or anyone that tried to hurt them.
Chapter 9
Jones sat outside the Oval Office, waiting to speak with the president. He smiled politely at the staff, and they returned more hesitant grins. He'd been waiting for this moment for a very long time. It was a delicate network he had created, but one that he had complete control over. He knew people disliked him, but he didn't care.
When he had been a young boy, he was always very sick, so he spent most of his time by himself in his room, reading books. His favorites had been those of the political figures of the past. He admired the way they could sway people with their words.
Throughout high school, he had developed his talents for speech on the debate team. He channeled all of the pain from the jokes people made at his expense into the ordered forum in which people were forced to listen to him.
Now, years later, he had the ear of the most powerful man in the world. He was the one who helped the president gain favor with both the House and the Senate. He pulled the strings in this administration, and he delighted in the knowledge that he could end it all with the snap of his fingers.
People feared him, but that was the way he liked it. He had no need for friendships or likeability, at least not within the walls of government. The only face of gratitude he was forced to keep was for the public.
That was the one moment he detested more than all the rest. If it were up to him, he would take the people out of the decision-making process. This bill would be the first step toward that. The public didn't care about the matters in Congress. They were all too worried about making sure their own tiny wants and desires were satisfied. Soon their worlds wouldn't matter anyway.
“Congressman Jones, the president will see you now,” the office aide said.
“Thank you.”
***
The president flipped through the congressman's bill. He made it to the last page and looked to his advisers.
“Do you really think this is the best course of action?” the president said.
Joining Jones with the president were his chiefs of staff and the vice president.
“It's radical, Mr. President, but this will save the rest of the country,” one of the generals said.
“The army has already been mobilized to the new border, and we've begun removing what resources we had on the west coast,” another general echoed.
“Congressman Jones has already spoken to the local police commissioners and sheriffs. He's secured their cooperation with agreements for their extraction and a new position in the Northeast,” Vice President Johnson said.
“Is this true, Raymond?” the president asked.
“Yes, Mr. President. The process started weeks ago,” Jones answered.
“That's not exactly legal, Congressman,” the president said.
“What's best for the country is always legal, sir,” Jones replied.
The president gave a weary nod. He rose from the chair, and the rest of the room followed suit. He walked to the window.
“You’re confident the bill will pass in both the House and Senate?” the president asked.
“It will,” Jones answered.
“And Colorado will remain with us.”
“Yes, Mr. President.”
“The martial law sanctions in Colorado were just for show, Mr. President,” one of the joint chiefs said. “NORAD will still be within our borders.
The president turned around and leaned forward on the desk. He pointed his index finger into the pages of the bill resting on top of it.
“If this fails, we won't just have a water crisis on our hands, we'll have another civil war to worry about. Make sure that doesn't happen,” the president said.
“I won't let you down, sir.”
***
When Jones made it back to his office, his chief of staff followed him to his chambers and closed the door behind them.
“We may have a problem,” Ken said.
“What is it now?” Jones asked. “The vote is in less than thirty minutes.”
Ken only had thin wisps of hair left on his head. Jones didn't know why he kept them. They made him look far beyond his age, which was already old.
“Smith met with a large number of congressmen earlier this afternoon, trying to sway their decision,” Ken said.
“With whom?”
“I heard he was able to get Congressman Hunter from North Carolina on board,” Ken answered.
The muscle in Jones's jaw flexed. He clenched his teeth and clos
ed his eyes, trying to control his breathing.
“I want a list of every person he met with. I don't care what you have to do to get it,” Jones said, picking up the phone on his desk. “Cindy, bring me the files on Congressman Hunter.”
***
Daniel flipped through the pages of the bill with Smith. Both of their staff members were anxiously waiting for them to say anything.
Smith tossed the pages onto the conference room table, and they slid across the glossy surface. Daniel closed the last page and rested the bill in his lap.
“Good work,” Smith said.
The entire staff exhaled simultaneously, and Daniel started clapping, with Smith and everyone else joining in. Jake checked his phone and tapped Smith on the shoulder.
“It's time,” Jake said.
Daniel and Smith rose from their seats, and the two of them walked down the hallway together. Smith clutched the bill in his hand and patted Daniel on the shoulder.
“You ready?” Smith asked.
The sour pit in Daniel's stomach was turning into a hurricane. He could feel beads of sweat forming in his armpits. His left hand shook, but he rubbed the wedding band on his finger to disguise it.
“I hope so,” Daniel answered.
The capitol was buzzing. All four hundred thirty-five representatives were present. There was an uneasy foreboding in the air. Everyone knew the true meaning of Jones's bill, but each seemed to be afraid to acknowledge it.
Congressmen and congresswomen formed small groups, talking about anything except the vote. Slack-jawed looks, harsh snorts, and nervous laughter filled the hall.
Daniel and Smith separated once they made it inside, both finding their seats. Once they entered, all eyes were on them. A quiet wave of everyone mouthing their names rippled through the room. The hair on Daniel's neck stood up when he felt the needle-sharp grip of Jones's fingers on his shoulder.
“Hello, Congressman Hunter,” Jones said.
Daniel tried to turn and stand, but he felt the force of Jones's hand keeping him down. All he could do was turn around to look up at the well-preserved face scowling at him.
“Congressman Jones, how are you?” Daniel asked.
“I'm well. Looking forward to the vote and how it turns out,” Jones replied.
Daniel searched for the resolve that he had found earlier in the day at Smith's office, but it was harder to find in his present company.
“I heard you had a meeting earlier today with Congressman Smith. How did that go?” Jones asked.
“You know Smith, all big words and fancy speeches,” Daniel said.
“Of course. And what were these big speeches about?”
The dryness of Daniel's throat became unbearable. He reached for the glass of water on his desk, gulping it down, some overflowing out of the corner of his mouth. He brushed his coat sleeve over his lips, wiping away the lingering droplets.
“I don't think it's a secret that Smith opposes your bill, Congressman,” Daniel said.
“No, I suppose it's not,” Jones said, smiling and patting Daniel on the back.
Then Jones bent down, whispering into his ear, loud enough for only Daniel to hear.
“But there are some secrets that others don't know. Secrets from our past. Secrets from the places we've been. Secrets from walks in the shadows. Secrets like yours, Congressman,” Jones said.
Daniel couldn't move his arms or legs. He was paralyzed. He wasn't sure if Jones was bluffing, but Jones didn't have the reputation of being a gambler. Gambling hinted at a chance of losing.
Jones pulled back from Daniel, laughing loud enough for the groups around them to hear, then started patting him on the back wholeheartedly as if the two had shared a joke.
“Well, Daniel, it's always a pleasure, and I appreciate your support,” Jones said.
The congressmen around Daniel started whispering. Daniel knew exactly what Jones was doing: making a last-ditch effort to try and break what resolve he had left. The only thing he wasn't sure of was if Jones had been successful.
Daniel shook it off. There was no way Jones could know about his past. That was buried. He'd taken the necessary steps to make sure no one found out. Jones was just grasping at straws.
***
The house Beth pulled up to, which straddled the Maryland state line, was dilapidated. The paint curled off the walls, leaving behind black strips of wood and concrete. Rocks and sand filled a yard surrounded by a sagging fence with broken and slanted boards. Pieces of jagged glass from the broken windows lined the porch. Beth peered inside, looking for any inhabitants.
The furniture, floors, and ornaments were covered in dirt. Trash littered the living room, and the only light that was shining into the house was the fading sunlight behind her.
There was no way anyone still lived here, but this was the address Beth had been able to find for Edwin Carlson, the original inventor of the process turning anything from salt water to toxic water into fresh, drinkable liquid. If he wasn't here, then Beth had no idea where to look. The road ended here.
The front door rattled when she pounded on it. Dust disturbed by the shaking fell to the porch floorboards and onto the tops of Beth's polished black heels.
“Dr. Carlson?” Beth asked.
She knocked on the door again, even harder than before.
“Dr. Carlson, my name is Beth Fryar. I'm with Congressman Smith's staff,” she said.
A gunshot sounded, and Beth instinctively ducked, covering her head. After a moment she looked up, checking her surroundings and patting herself down, making sure she wasn't hit.
Then another gunshot blast echoed through the air. It was coming from behind the house.
Beth's heels thumped on the wooden steps as she made her way from the porch to the side of the house. She unlocked the gate latch that separated the front yard from the back. Another gunshot sounded, this one louder, as she made it to the rear of the house.
The backyard opened up into a large field of dirt and mostly dead grass. Toward the middle of the field, she could see a man standing with a rifle, aiming at some objects lined up on a table ten yards in front of him.
“Dr. Carlson?” Beth asked, yelling and waving her arms.
The figure in the field lowered the rifle and turned toward her. She could see him waving his fists and shouting something, but she couldn't tell what it was. He came rushing toward her, but something was wrong. The rifle was aimed in her direction. The next gunshot rang out and hit the backside of the house.
“Holy shit!” Beth said, almost tripping over herself as she ran as fast as she could in her heels to her car.
The man's screaming was becoming louder. Another gunshot went off, and the dirt to her left exploded into the air from the bullet that struck it.
“Jesus Christ!” Beth yelled.
Beth reached into her purse and ripped her keys out. She fumbled them in her hand while making it to the driver’s-side door of her car. The man shooting at her was running through the front yard now, still aiming his rifle at her.
Before she could stick the key into the door lock, the barrel of the man's rifle was in her face. Beth held her hands up, the keys still dangling from her fingers.
“What the hell are you doing on my property?”
Beth could smell the booze on him. His face was bearded, and he had long, matted strands of gray hair. His clothes were stained and torn.
“My name is Beth Fryar. I'm a member of Congressman Smith's staff,” Beth said.
The end of the rifle's barrel made contact with Beth's blouse, flattening her against the car door.
“The same congressman that tried to help Dr. Edwin Carlson pass his filtration process in Washington,” Beth added.
The man's shoulders went slack, and the rifle lowered a bit, but it was still aimed at Beth's stomach. Beth straightened herself, flattened out her suit jacket, and tilted her head up. She knocked the rifle's barrel away from her, and it fell to the man's side.
“Ar
e you Dr. Carlson?” Beth asked.
The man wobbled on his feet, and he used the rifle as a cane to help steady himself.
“Once upon a time,” Dr. Carlson said.
Past the dirty clothes, wild hair, and dark circles under his eyes Beth could see the dim spark of intelligence.
