California

by Jamie Lee Grey

  A slight haze filled the air. Smoke? Hopefully, the officials were telling the truth – that they’d gotten some of the fires contained, and expected to get them all put out this afternoon.

  But what if they were just saying that to calm people down? To make sure they didn’t panic and cause traffic jams and wrecks, or go looting or whatever?

  California had become an increasingly dangerous place over the past few years. Crime, drugs, gangs and racial violence were downplayed in the media, but everyone had noticed and worried about it.

  For a moment, she wondered if she and Zach ever would return home. Their neighborhood was pretty quiet, but what if it got evacuated and then looted? Or what if it did actually burn?

  What had she left there that she would need or miss? She had minimalist tendencies, so she didn’t own a lot of stuff.

  There was one painting though, that she would feel very sorry to lose. It was an original 1976 T. Wistrom depiction of a lighthouse and seagulls. Her grandfather had given it to her. It was a peaceful, calming painting with overcast blue skies, a rundown fence on the beach, and perfect water reflections.

  Why hadn’t it occurred to her to grab that one off the wall? It was small, maybe 16”x20” and wouldn’t have taken much space in the pickup. She could have wrapped it in a heavy towel and put it in a box.

  Well, next time, she’d be sure to take it. If they ever had to evacuate again.

  Traffic crowded her as they approached I-580. If everyone would just calm down and give each other a little breathing space, they’d all get where they needed to go.

  She tracked along behind Zach, with one white van between them.

  As a semi roared up behind her, she tightened her grip on the steering wheel. Did he think she could drive faster if he intimidated her?

  Fortunately, she didn’t have to drive the motorhome. Or manage Tim and Duke, either. Just maneuvering the pickup through this homicidal traffic was bad enough.

  Normally, she could drive from Mill Valley to Lake Tahoe in less than four hours. The way things looked at the moment, it’d be at least eight. Possibly longer.

  Her phone buzzed on the passenger seat. She reached over and peeked at it.

  Another Nixle alert.

  Zach signaled for the exit onto Sears Point Road, and she flicked on her blinker, too. Then her gaze dropped back to her telephone.

  “Traffic delays in Vallejo due to accident on I-80.”

  Vallejo was just across the county line in Solano County, and they were headed straight for it. With any luck, though, the wreck would be south of where she and Zach would merge onto I-80. That might even work in their favor, if it held back the traffic that would otherwise be breathing down their necks.

  Or, the opposite could be true, and they’d get snarled in the backed up traffic on I-80, or waiting to merge onto it.

  Katie crossed her fingers and prayed at the same time.

  Minutes later, traffic slowed to a crawl as she drove onto the overpass. The merge lane onto the interstate was backed up. It crept forward at a walking pace. Looking down on I-80, the southbound traffic had come to a complete stop, but the north-bound traffic was slithering like a snake, and about as fast.

  Well, at least their lanes were moving. She needed to go north, to Sacramento. Pity the poor souls headed south to Berkeley or Oakland.

  After about ten minutes, she was able to creep the truck onto the interstate. With all the other creeps in the state.

  Good thing her parents and siblings didn’t live here. Two years ago, her sister had married a Canadian and moved to Montreal, and soon after that wedding, Katie’s parents had up and retired to Costa Rica. She and Zach had flown down with Timothy last year to visit them. They’d tried to persuade her and Zach to move down there.

  If it weren’t for Zach’s job at the church, they probably would have. She’d give up her journalism job in a heartbeat. She was sick of it, anyway. Except for when something exciting happened.

  Like now, for instance. She was sure the newsroom was abuzz with chatter and telephones ringing and photographers headed out to film the fires and… yeah… today would be a good day at work. And she was missing all that to be stuck here, crawling along the interstate with half of the rest of the population.

  She sighed.

  How long had it been since she’d talked to Zach? Half an hour yet? She glanced at the clock.

  Close enough. She turned her walkie talkie on to see if he was there yet.

  “Zach?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How’s it going up there?”

  “About the same, I guess, but Timothy is hungry.”

  She’d made sandwiches, but it wasn’t like Zach could walk away from the wheel and give one to their son.

  “He’ll just have to wait. I don’t want to get off the interstate,” Katie said. “We’ll never get back on!”

  “Yeah. You tell that to a four-year-old.”

  She cringed. “I’m sorry. I’m hungry, too.”

  “You sure you don’t want me to stop somewhere?”

  “No!” She glanced in her rearview mirror. Traffic was packed into the lane as close as railroad cars on an oil train. Every car was practically attached to the next vehicle’s bumper. “Seriously, Zach. I don’t think we’d ever be able to get back on the highway.”

  “We have to eat sometime. And Timothy will have to use the bathroom pretty soon.”

  She groaned. It was true. It’d been about an hour, and he’d been drinking a lot of water.

  “Let’s try to get to the far side of Sacramento. After that, it should be clear sailing.”

  “Fine,” Zach huffed. “Next time, you get the kid and the dog and the RV. I’ll take the truck.”

  Katie grinned. He didn’t really mean that. “Deal.”

  “You can turn off your walkie, but keep an eye on my turn signals. I’m not gonna let him pee his pants.”

  “Please don’t. Over and out.”

  “Out.”

  She dropped the radio into one of the cupholders. Moments later, her stomach rumbled. Yeah, it was past lunch time. She couldn’t wait to get out of this traffic and up to the mountains.

  Peace and quiet and barbequed burgers sounded pretty good about now.

  A siren cut through her thoughts. So much for peace and quiet!

  Where was it, and which direction was it going? She checked her mirrors, then turned and looked over her left shoulder. Maybe it was in the southbound lanes. Good luck if it was. They were moving about five miles per hour, while her lane was progressing between ten and fifteen.

  The siren grew louder, and then she saw flashing lights in her rearview mirror.

  ***

  Alana found herself amazed at how quiet it was inside Marine One as the helicopter took off. The sound-proofing and insulation were nothing short of magic.

  Moments after they were airborne, she watched the Washington Monument come into view, then felt the bird bank and saw the Capitol. The decoy helicopter matched their movements, its shadow darkening the Mall lawn as the two choppers turned north. It was a beautiful Saturday.

  A Marine approached and spoke to the president in hushed tones.

  Basilia’s jaw dropped slightly as the man spoke. He handed her a satellite phone. Then she waved him away like a fly, and lifted the phone to her ear.

  “Omar? What is going on?”

  Omar. Perhaps it was Omar Salem Tamir Abdullah, governor of California. Basilia’s home state.

  Alana watched the president’s face as she listened in silence. Her gaze dropped to the floor, then flew to Alana, then bounced out the window.

  “Slow down. I don’t understand,” Basilia spoke precisely, as if Omar were speaking a foreign language. “Are you saying these fires were set intentionally?”

  Basilia reached for a glass of sparkling water as the man responded.

  “And how many did you say?” She took a sip, then sputtered.

  “What? Who is doing this?�
� Her left hand gripped the armrest, her fingers digging into the soft white leather.

  Alana felt her chest tighten. Something big was going on. Sounded like arsonists in California. She reached for her diet cola.

  Whatever it was, it was going to wreck their weekend.

  That much was as plain as the blue sky outside her window.

  After a few minutes, the president ended the conversation. She turned and stared out the window, her jaw muscle flexing like she was chewing ice. But she wasn’t chewing anything. Except her thoughts.

  Alana tried not to watch. She was dying to ask for details, but knew better. After the president sorted it all through her brilliant mind, she’d explode with information and ideas and action. Until then, it was best to sit quietly and leave her alone.

  Those who took a different tack always regretted it. Alana had seen it too many times to count, beginning when they were roommates at Georgetown.

  Instead, she picked up her phone and checked for news in California. She hadn’t clicked open the first story when Basilia’s voice broke into her thoughts.

  “Some crazy idiots are lighting fires. All up and down the California coast!” Her dark eyes flashed. “Hundreds of them!”

  “Hundreds?!” Alana sat up straight. “Do they know who? Did they catch them?”

  “No. They don’t know yet.”

  “Probably those crazy patriots,” Alana volunteered. “This will be the end of them, finally. Prison forever.”

  “Don’t we wish.” Basilia gave her a withering look. “They wouldn’t do something that stupid.”

  “All they do is stupid!”

  “Well, they’re not going to burn up their own backyard.” Her eyes turned toward the ceiling, as if she’d find the answers there. “No, it’s not them. It’s something worse. Far, far worse.”

  Her fingers touched her lips and remained there for a moment. Then her cunning eyes met Alana’s.

  “But maybe we can put the blame on them. What’s that old political saying… never let a good crisis go to waste!”

  Chapter 5

  Nadir Abdullah forced himself to eat nearly all his lunch. Today, he and his father dined alone on the verandah, as his mother was still in Iran, visiting her brother’s family.

  During the meal, his father spoke very little, his brow wrinkled in thought as he gazed out on the lush gardens behind the governor’s palace. No doubt worrying about the fires.

  The silence suited Nadir, who hoped to avoid any revelations, and the inevitable conflict that would accompany them, as long as possible.

  An app on Nadir’s phone buzzed, and he rose abruptly. “It is time for prayer.”

  His father looked at him blankly, then nodded.

  “Yes.” He pushed away from the table. “Of course.”

  Together, they entered the palace and made their way to the third floor, where their prayer rugs lay facing an eastern window.

  Standing on their rugs, they lifted their open hands to shoulder level and said, “Allahu Akbar.”

  Then they crossed their right arms over their left across their chests, and quoted the first chapter of the Koran, before bowing toward Mecca.

  As they proceeded through the rituals of the Dhuhr prayers, Nadir felt energized. It was good he was sharing these prayers with his father on this, the most important day of their lives. As they knelt for sujud, Nadir loudly repeated his praise to Allah.

  If it became necessary to tell his father about his involvement with this weekend’s jihad, surely he would understand – and even support Nadir, after he took a moment to contemplate his actions. Father was a dedicated Muslim, after all.

  And the Prophet, peace be upon him, described jihad as the peak of Islam.

  As they competed their second tashahhud in a seated position on the rugs, Nadir decided he’d never felt better in his life.

  Strength and vitality coursed through his veins, and purpose filled his days. He was living out his destiny, at this moment. On this day.

  He and his father raised their right index finger in devotion.

  And in his case, allegiance.

  He was sorry when the prayers ended. It was perfect having his father beside him today.

  And it was good, so very good, that he’d convinced his mother to go to Iran this month.

  His father excused himself and hurried downstairs to deal with his crisis. Eventually, he’d learn that there was nothing he could do about it. In the meantime, it looked good to have the governor’s office appearing to be running point on solving the problem.

  And it gave Nadir a front-row seat to all the information and intelligence that was generated… which would give him a head-start in countering anything that might hinder the work this afternoon.

  ***

  It looked like an ambulance, and it was trying to get into the far left lane. Finally it weaseled its way in there, pushing obedient motorists into the adjacent lane. The one Katie was in.

  Great. She and Zach would have to squeeze more cars into their lane, slowing to a practical standstill.

  As the emergency vehicle approached, Katie plastered her pickup to Zach’s bumper. The left lane traffic could get in behind her, or in front of Zach. But it didn’t look like many of the motorists were going to get out of the far left lane anyway.

  And what was the ambulance going to do about that?

  Jerks! Somebody might be dying, and most of these drivers didn’t give a hoot.

  She couldn’t wait to get out of there! Her gaze drifted across the dash. Maybe she’d find some news on the radio, if the geniuses running the stations realized there was a serious problem in California.

  As she scanned through the stations, the ambulance crept up on her left, barely traveling faster than she was, its siren screaming. She turned off the radio. The siren drowned it all out anyway.

  Just then, she noticed the motorhome was signaling a right turn.

  What? Now?!

  The lanes were jammed. There was no way she could move over. She snatched up the walkie talkie and turned it on.

  “Zach.”

  “Not a good time,” he answered. “We gotta get off the road.”

  “Why?”

  “Talk later. Follow me.”

  With that, he was done.

  He was planning to move that monstrosity motorhome into the crammed right lane, and she had to get the truck over there, too.

  Well, good luck with that!

  She signaled and glanced over her right shoulder. There was no space to move in, but if she could get into that lane, she could hang back enough for Zach to move over in front of her.

  Since no one was responding to her signal, she drifted the truck toward the right, edging onto the white stripe separating the lanes.

  “C’mon, people!” She watched her mirrors, and looked over her right shoulder. “Somebody let me in!”

  The screaming ambulance pushed its way forward, inching up even with Zach.

  That thing was gonna give her a migraine.

  Finally, a granny mobile slowed almost to a stop, and Katie moved over in front of her. She eased back enough from the red SUV ahead to allow Zach to slide into the lane in front of her. He left his turn signal on, so Katie did, too.

  She followed him onto the highway’s shoulder, and flipped on her emergency flashers. As soon as they stopped, she turned off her engine and, watching the traffic behind her, slid out of the vehicle and hurried around to the passenger side of the motorhome.

  As she opened the door, Duke met her with a single bark. She climbed up the steps. Zach was already out of the driver seat, unbuckling Timothy.

  “Potty emergency,” he explained, glancing over his shoulder at her.

  “Gotcha.”

  Because the motorhome was eight feet wide and the road shoulder was so narrow, it felt like the motorhome was almost sitting in the traffic lane. Hopefully, all the drivers had their eyes on the road. It’d just take one with his face in a cell phone to smash into t
he pickup or the Winnebago.

  Timothy scrambled for the bathroom, and Katie pulled the sandwiches out of the fridge and handed one to Zach.

  “I can’t wait to get out of here,” she said.

  “You mean off the shoulder?”

  “I mean, away from the fires and the traffic. And off the shoulder, yeah.” She looked into his handsome face. “Blessing?”

  He bowed his head and said a quick prayer, then bit into his sandwich. She’d been hungry a few minutes ago, but now she was losing her appetite.

  “Have you heard any news?” She asked.

  “Just what you told me. It should be on in a few minutes, though.”

  “I just don’t understand it.”

  He set his sandwich on the countertop and reached for her hand. “Baby, I think it must be terrorism.”

  A chill shuddered up her spine.

  “I wish you hadn’t said that.”

  “You were thinking it, too.”

  “Yeah, but it seems like a paranoid or crazy thought, until someone says it aloud.”

  “The media sure isn’t going to say it.”

  Timothy came out of the bathroom and saw the sandwiches. He held out both hands. “Lunch?”

  “Did you wash your hands?” Zach asked.

  Their son dropped his head and turned around, trudging back into the bathroom. Katie and Zach exchanged a look, and Katie rolled her eyes.

  “Hey. How are you doing for gas?” Zach picked up his sandwich and took a bite.

  “Not great. Maybe a third of a tank?” She’d have to check, and then keep an eye on it.

  “We should make it to the far side of Sacramento, then. I’ll need to fill up, too.”

  “Already? You filled it this morning after we left the campground. It’s not like we’ve gone very far.”

  “This monster is lucky to get eight miles a gallon.”

  “Great.”

  Timothy returned with slightly damp hands. “I’m ready!”

  “Hop up in your car seat, buddy, and I’ll give you lunch there at the table,” Zach said.

  The little guy did as he was told, and Katie got him buckled in at the dinette while Zach brought a sandwich.