by Keith Taylor
Processing…
Processing…
He turned to his phone as he waited, staring at the headline on a page that had stopped loading. “Come on, damn it!” To his left he could see that the first few people were beginning to leave the airport and head for the cab ranks. “Hurry the hell up!” Finally the ATM screen refreshed, and he keyed in $1,000, the daily limit on the card.
Processing…
Processing…
Unable to complete transaction.
“What the hell?” He slapped the side of the ATM in frustration, and the machine spat out his card. Now there was a steady flood of passengers leaving the terminal, some of them at a run. The panic was spreading, and the cab drivers were beginning to sit up and taking notice. A couple more minutes and he’d be trapped here without a ride.
He pushed his card back into the machine and keyed in his PIN once again, and as the processing screen appeared he realized the problem. He’d already used the card twice today, once at lunch and once for the Uber ride. That was… what, about $250? Asking for a thousand dollars had pushed him over his cash advance limit.
The screen refreshed again, and with trembling hands he tapped in $700. For a moment the ATM thought about the request, then Jack heard the most beautiful sound he could imagine: the rhythmic hum of bills being counted out within the machine.
He turned back to the rank once again as he waited nervously for the cash to emerge, and his heart sank. Already most of the cabs were tearing away from the rank, some of them loaded with passengers and some empty. A man in a smart suit reached one of the last free cars just behind a young couple with a small child in a stroller, and Jack watched as the businessman shoved them out of the way and tried to climb into the back.
“Hey, this is ours!” the father protested, holding his hand flat against the back door while the man in the suit tried to pry it open.
The businessman didn’t waste any time arguing. He took a step back, sized up his opponent, drew back his fist and threw a clumsy jab. The punch was delivered with no skill or finesse, but it didn’t need any. The young father looked like he’d never taken a punch in his life. He stumbled back stunned, blood streaming from his nose, and tripped backwards over the stroller. His wife screamed with shock as he landed on his ass on the sidewalk, and by the time anyone knew what was going on the businessman was in the back of the cab, tossing bills over the driver’s shoulder until he reluctantly pulled away.
“Damn it,” Jack cursed under his breath as the ATM finally spat out his cash and card. Now there was almost a riot at the doors of the terminal, hundreds of people flooding through the narrow entrance, all of them dismayed at the sight of the empty cab rank in front of the door. There were still a couple of cabs approaching the rank but already a few dozen people were sprinting towards them, abandoning their luggage to gain a little more speed. Jack knew the only thing he’d find if he tried to follow was a fistfight.
“How the hell do I get out of this?” he whispered to himself, scanning around for options.
At street level it was a disaster. The crowd in front of the terminal was already turning on itself. The first few people were reaching the approaching cabs, and it looked like a few were already being kicked, punched and trampled as everyone tried to fight for the doors. One of the approaching drivers saw the mob heading towards him, panicked and began to reverse away from the terminal at high speed. A moment later Jack heard a crash, and he looked down the road to see it had careened into another cab, taking out both vehicles.
A little way down the road was the airport shuttle stop, but there were no buses to be seen. Even if one appeared on the terminal approach right now it would be full three times over before it reached him, and that’s if the driver didn’t flee at the sight of the desperate mob.
How about the highway? Jack knew that the expressway was just on the other side of the parking lot, maybe two or three hundred yards away. Maybe he could hop the fence and try to flag someone down, but who the hell would stop on a highway to pick up a stranger? There was just no way he could—
He froze, tilting his head. At the very edge of his hearing he’d swear he could hear a car horn, and it wasn’t coming from the cabs that were now almost invisible beneath a swarming mound of frightened people. He tried to block out the yells of the crowd and focus on the sound. No, it wasn’t coming from this level. It was…
Holy crap! He’d completely forgotten that the departures concourse was on the second floor of the terminal. One floor down was arrivals, and down there was a whole other taxi rank, much larger than the one on the departures level.
There was a stairway leading down to the lower level on the other side of the street, directly opposite the terminal entrance, and it didn’t look as if anyone else had figured it out just yet. The people on this level were still focused on fighting each other for a space in one of the remaining cabs.
Jack looked around furtively before crossing the street. He turned up his jacket collar against the rain and stepped out into the road as casually as possible, for fear that people might decide to follow if it looked like he knew what he was doing.
As soon as he was out of sight of the panicked crowd he started to run, leaping down the stairs three at a time. His footsteps echoed on the concrete, and in his haste he almost stumbled and fell, but when the street below came into view he was overjoyed to find a half dozen cabs waiting in the ranks. Not only that, but down here there was no crowd. No people at all, in fact. Maybe the news had gummed up the works on the arrivals side. Maybe every newly arrived passenger was still standing at the luggage carousel waiting for bags that would never be delivered, oblivious to what was happening.
Jack didn’t care. Whatever had happened it had blessed him with a half dozen cabs to choose from, and nobody to fight over them. He ran to the rank, yanked open the back door of the first cab he reached and threw himself in. “Just drive,” he ordered, pulling the door closed behind him.
No response. He pulled himself up by the headrest, looked over the back of the driver’s seat and swore. It was empty.
He kicked open the door and climbed back out into the rain, running along the row and peering through the windows of each of the cabs. All empty. “Shit!” He kicked the door of the cab beside him, frustrated, and jumped back with shock as the alarm began to wail.
He looked back and forth down the street in search of a booth, a waiting area, anywhere the drivers might hang out while they waited for fares, but the road was completely deserted. Maybe these cabs were pre-booked, and the drivers were inside the terminal waiting at the arrivals gate.
Just when Jack thought the situation couldn’t possibly get any worse a voice cried out from the level above. “Hey, there are more cabs down here!” At the top of the staircase a tubby, balding middle aged man awkwardly pushed his enormous rolling suitcase ahead of him, carefully lowering it from step to step, his eyes fixed on the cabs below.
It was only a few seconds after he called out that he realized his mistake. A mob two dozen strong quickly joined him on the stairs, crowding around and pushing past him. Even more followed, and it didn’t take a clairvoyant to see what would happen. The man refused to let go of his case, and in the crush he lost his footing on the steps and tripped over his own luggage. He tumbled forward, rolling head over heels on top of his case before vanishing underfoot, lost beneath the human tide. The crowd closed in over him, and just a moment later it was if he’d never been there. People simply stepped over him. On him.
Jack felt his heart jump to his throat. He knew he was out of time. In thirty seconds the cabs would be mobbed. These terrified people would swarm like locusts, beating each other senseless over the vehicles before they even noticed there were no drivers.
He was panicking. He wasn’t thinking clearly, but a little voice at the back of his mind was trying to yell something at him. He was missing something, an important little detail, something he couldn’t quite—
Ah.
The lights.
The half dozen cabs were lined up in single file by the sidewalk, all of them empty, but at the front of the line two solid beams of light were catching the rain as it fell past them. The headlights of the leading cab were on. Jack sprinted down the line, and when he pulled open the driver’s door he let out a triumphant laugh.
The keys were in the ignition. The radio was playing the Eagles, and the wipers were moving in a lazy arc across the windshield.
The quickest runners reached him just as he leaped into the driver’s seat, turned the key and stamped his foot on the gas. He could hear them slamming their fists furiously against the trunk of the cab in a desperate attempt to make him stop, but Jack knew that to stop would mean to lose the car. One man managed to get close enough to yank open one of the back doors, but he wasn’t quick enough to jump inside. He went tumbling across the asphalt as Jack accelerated, and the door slammed closed on a flailing hand.
Even with the windows closed he could hear the people he’d left behind screaming at him, cursing him for abandoning them, and he couldn't help but feel pity for them.
He knew he’d made the right call. There was nothing as dangerous and unpredictable as a panicked crowd, and if he’d slowed to let just one of them climb in he knew he’d lose the car altogether. They’d drag him from the driver’s seat and leave him in a beaten heap in the road without a second thought. Even now in the rear view he could see them fighting over the other cabs, uselessly attacking each other to win a seat in cars that couldn’t move an inch. Just a few minutes ago these had been regular people, and now they’d turned Seattle-Tacoma into Battle Royale. But still...
“Better them than you, Jack,” he told himself. “You had no choice.”
No matter how firmly he repeated it he didn't feel any less of an ass. Deep down he knew he was leaving them to die.
΅
CHAPTER EIGHT
DO WE HAVE WEAPONS?
“UMMM… ISN'T THAT STEALING?”
Karen cracked a smile, turning away to hide her amusement from Emily as the little girl stood with her hands planted on her hips, looking up at Doctor Ramos with narrow, judgmental eyes.
Ramos froze guiltily as he rifled through a handbag he’d found in one of the lockers of the nurse’s changing room. “Well… umm, stealing? I mean, technically it’s not really… It’s a little more complicated than…” He looked to Karen for help.
“It’s OK, pumpkin,” Karen assured her. “These things belong to the doctor’s friends. I’m sure they won’t mind. And we’re not stealing, we’re just borrowing for a little while.”
Emily looked unsatisfied. She glared at Ramos as he slipped a bundle of bills from a purse. “Miss Jessop says it’s still stealing even if you mean to give it back. You have to ask before you take things.”
“It’s fine, honey. We’ll leave a note.” Karen didn’t want to be a bad influence on her daughter, but now really wasn’t the time for a lesson about situational ethics and moral gray areas. Not while a cloud of radioactive fallout may be drifting towards them across the Pacific.
The temptation to run as soon as they’d seen the news had been almost overwhelming. Doctor Ramos had tried to lead them out of the hospital right away, and after seeing the news Karen was sorely tempted to run as fast as her aching ribs would allow, but she knew that would have been a mistake. If they’d run when her gut told her to she’d be out on the street right now in a thin cotton gown open at the ass. She’d have no shoes, no cash, no phone and no clue in which direction to move, and the moment the world decided to hit out at her she’d be down on the canvas with the first punch, with Emily beside her.
No, running blind was the worst thing they could do in a situation like this, because it would just as likely lead them towards danger as away from it. Her father had taught her that. He’d always said that only two types of people came out the other side of a crisis alive: those who kept a level head and those who got lucky, and since you couldn’t count on luck you should bank on brains. The most important thing, he’d said, was to take a long, slow breath. Don’t let panic and fear dictate your first response. Assess your options. Establish your priorities. Prepare for what’s to come.
Then start running like hell.
While Ramos continued to pick through the lockers, all the while blushing under Emily’s judgmental gaze, Karen tugged on a set of clean blue scrubs from a stack by the door, and a North Face fleece jacket she’d found in one of the lockers. Beneath a row of plastic seats by the door was a pair of scuffed black and white Converse, and she sighed with relief when she held one against her foot and found they were close enough to the right size. She pulled them on and tugged sharply on the laces, wincing at the stabbing pain in her chest as she leaned over. “Found anything useful, Doc?”
Ramos tossed an empty purse back into a locker and moved onto the next, prying the flimsy lock open with a long steel ruler. “Looks like around a hundred thirty in small bills and maybe ten bucks in coins, but I’m just gonna take the bills. I don’t want to run around with my pants weighed down with a pile of nickels.”
“What about cigarettes? Any in there?”
“Yeah, there are a couple of packs. I didn’t know you smoked.”
She laced the other shoe, struggling to breathe as she bent double. “I don’t,” she lied. She’d always kept her smoking from Emily. “But cigarettes could be useful for barter. And keep any lighters you find, they’re worth their weight in gold. How are we for food and drinks?”
Ramos pried open the next locker door as he nodded towards a small rucksack on the table in the center of the room. “I put it all in the bag. Neither of you guys are diabetic, right?”
Karen shook her head.
“Thank goodness for small blessings. Nurses live on nothing but junk. They need quick blood sugar boosts to make it through their shifts, so they eat like kids on Halloween. There’s nothing in here but candy and soft drinks.”
Emily’s eyes lit up. “Candy? Awesome!”
“You say that now,” Ramos chuckled, “but come back to me after living on nothing but chocolate and Skittles for a few days. You’ll be begging for an apple.”
“Nuh uh.” Emily was beaming now, her issues with theft long forgotten. “I could eat chocolate for every meal if mom let me.”
“We’ll find some tinned food as soon as we have time to stop.” Karen grabbed the bag and rifled through the candy bars. “Find anything we could use as a weapon?”
Ramos frowned. “Umm, no. I mean, I wasn’t looking. Do you really think we need weapons?”
Karen shot him a withering look. “We heard the news ten minutes ago, Doc. We’re good people, and we’re already stea— borrowing stuff. Imagine what bad people will decide to do when they realize the rules aren’t the same today as they were yesterday.”
Ramos’ face fell. “Well, I… the police will still be around, right? And the army?”
Karen shook her head. “If they’ve evacuated the hospital it means they’ve evacuated the rest of the city. Or tried to, at least. There won’t be any cops out there. We’re on our own.” She pulled herself to her feet, again wincing at the pain. “Do you have any painkillers? I’m really struggling here.”
Ramos patted his pockets. “You should have told me,” he chided. “Are you having any trouble breathing?”
She shook her head. “No, I’m breathing fine. I’m just having trouble with the knives stabbing into my chest when I move.”
Ramos nodded. “The Caldolor will be tapering off now. The stores have been cleared out of anything useful, but…” He pulled a blister pack from his lab coat. “Aspirin?” He tossed the pack to Karen. “Sorry, it won’t do much to take the edge off, but it’s the best we have. You’ll just have to tough it out for now. We’ll get something stronger when we find a pharmacy.”
Karen popped two pills from the pack, washing them down with a Mountain Dew from the rucksack. “I have an entire hospital to myself, and
the undivided attention of a doctor, and all I can get is Rite Aid aspirin.” She shoved the soft drink back into the bag. “Hell, I had some of this stuff in my damned handbag.”
As she carefully hefted the rucksack over her shoulder a thought occurred to her. “Wait, where is my handbag? Did anyone pick it up?”
Ramos shrugged. “From your car? I don’t know, I wasn’t there when they brought you in to the ER. If the EMTs found it in the wreck the nurses would have stashed it in a drawer in your bedside table.”
Karen took Emily’s hand. “OK, then let’s get moving. We’ll run by my room, pick up my stuff then head out of the city. Do you have a car?”
Ramos shook his head as he followed her out the door. “I only live a few blocks from here. Never really needed a car in the city. I just ride the bus when I need to get somewhere.”
“Damn. How about…” A thought occurred to her, followed by a jolt of shame that it had taken this long. “Wait, do you have any family we need to find?”
“In the city? No. I got an ex-wife in Tucson, but… well, if she got nuked it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.” He noticed Karen’s stony expression. “Sorry, bad joke. No, there’s nobody. I have a grown son, but the last time he bothered to call home he was backpacking in Spain. I’m guessing he’s well out of harm’s way. How about you? It’s just Jack and Emily, right?”
“Yeah, it’s just us.” They reached her room and she rushed over to the cabinet, hunting through the drawers for her handbag. “Aha! Here we go.”
She dropped the torn bag on the bed, pulling out a pair of broken sunglasses, her purse and a shattered compact that had left the inside of the bag coated in a layer of peach colored powder. Eventually her probing hand found the comforting shape of her phone, and as she pulled it out she was relieved to see that it had survived the crash. The Gorilla glass had cracked in a spiderweb pattern, but it still seemed to work.
She activated the screen. One missed call from her mom. She tapped the number, and after a moment of silence a recorded voice played in her ear.
