California

by Jamie Lee Grey

  Now, that was just mean. That guy had seen her turn signal, and moved to prevent her from getting in his lane in front of him. She’d have to wait for his entire truck and trailer to move ahead before she or Zach could get into his lane.

  She slowed down, and Zach noticed and slowed also, but it still took the better part of three minutes before she could get into the right-hand lane behind the jerk truck driver. They’d just missed one exit, and would have to try to catch the next one.

  Her pickup was practically running on fumes. Would it have enough gas to get to the next exit?

  “Oh, Lord,” she whispered. “I need help. Please keep us going.”

  Traffic slowed almost to a stop. Then to a stop-and-go.

  Katie gripped the wheel and stared at the fuel indicator.

  “C’mon, baby. You can do it.”

  Traffic in her lane and the middle one came to a complete halt. The far left lane was still moving, but no faster than Timothy moved when he was told to get ready for bed.

  She glanced at the gas gauge. Should she turn the truck off? Would she have enough gas to start it again?

  Would she run out, right here in the travel lane, not even off on the shoulder?

  Tears saturated her eyes. Nothing was going right today. Nothing!

  She blinked and folded down her sun visor, flipping up the mirror cover. Little red lines streaked across the whites of her hazel eyes. A crease wrinkled her forehead. Even her jaw muscles were tight.

  Taking a deep breath, she prayed again.

  “God, we need help. Please get us out of here!”

  She reached for the key to turn off the engine, but noticed that the white Dodge pickup in the lane beside her began to move. Maybe her lane would, too.

  And then, wonder of wonders, the Winnebago pulled ahead. She gently gave the pickup some gas, as if using a softer touch on the pedal would require less fuel to move the truck. The vehicle inched forward, and soon they were all the way up to five miles per hour.

  A few minutes later, she saw signs for the next exit. But she didn’t see any fuel signs for gas stations.

  She radioed Zach again.

  “Did you see any gas station logos?”

  “Nope. It doesn’t look like this exit will have any pumps.”

  Katie wanted to cry. Instead, she pursed her lips and blinked repeatedly. “I’m almost out of gas, Zach.”

  “Do you think you can make it to the next exit?”

  “I don’t know!” It came out almost as a wail. “What if we can’t?”

  “If the engine sputters, head straight for the shoulder. Got it?”

  “Yeah.” She gulped.

  “And until then, back away from the motorhome a little. If we come to a stop again, you might need a little space to maneuver off the road.”

  “Right.”

  Their conversation stalled like she kept expecting the truck to. Then Zach spoke again.

  “Are you okay, Babe?”

  Tears rushed to her eyes.

  “No! I hate this!” She looked at the traffic pressing in around her, and felt crushed by it. “Just get us out of here.”

  “I will. Quick as I can.”

  They signed off, and Katie sniffled. The landscape looked hazier now than it had even a half hour ago. Smokier.

  Twenty minutes passed before they reached the next exit. And there were Exxon and Conoco signs.

  “Hallelujah!” Katie breathed.

  She signaled her turn, and Zach moved the motorhome into the exit lane, which quickly filled up. Probably with other drivers who were also low on fuel.

  As they came down the ramp, Zach signaled a move into the shoulder area.

  “What now?” Katie turned on her signal, too.

  It was easy enough to exit traffic. Getting back in would be the hard part.

  Zach stopped and Katie turned off her engine and jumped out. She hurried forward, hoping nothing had gone wrong. When she came around the rear corner of the big old RV, she immediately saw the problem. Just ahead, also on the road’s shoulder, was a young woman standing by a beater sedan with the hood up. From her limited vantage point behind the wide motorhome, Katie wouldn’t have seen the woman until they were nearly alongside her vehicle.

  She appeared to be having an animated conversation on her cell phone. Three young children sat in the back seat. She looked up as Katie and Zach approached.

  “Un momento,” she spoke into the phone, then glanced from Katie to Zach.

  “Can we help?” Katie asked.

  She shrugged, then focused on Zach. “You could look. I don’t know what happened.”

  The woman returned to her phone call, so Katie followed Zach around to the front of the car. He wasn’t much of a mechanic, but he wasn’t one to leave a woman stranded by the side of the road, either. He checked some hoses, then looked at Katie.

  “Would you mind bringing me some paper towels from the RV?”

  “Sure.” She hurried past the woman, hoping she was calling a roadside service agency.

  They didn’t have time for this! They had their own problems.

  Still, if she were the one with the disabled vehicle, and had Timothy in the car with her, she’d be glad if someone stopped and offered help.

  Climbing into the motorhome, Katie was greeted with big dog slobber and a whining child.

  “I hafta go!” Timothy said, reaching for the buckle on his safety seat.

  “You stay right there until I get back.” Katie grabbed a bunch of paper towels and used one to wipe off Duke’s jowl drool.

  “No, I gotta go!”

  “Obey your momma! I will be right back, I promise.”

  She hurried out the door, slamming it behind her. It wasn’t like Timothy couldn’t take care of his own business, but she didn’t want a four-year-old roaming around in the RV on the side of the road. She rushed the paper towels to Zach, then jogged back to the motorhome.

  “See? I’m back already.”

  Timothy released himself from his child seat and slid to the floor, then scurried to the bathroom. Katie sighed and absently stroked Duke’s mammoth head as she watched Zach through the motorhome’s windshield.

  Stress tensed her shoulder muscles. Oh, how she wanted to be away from here! Zach was absolutely right to offer help to the woman, but they certainly had enough troubles of their own.

  And now they were losing valuable time. With traffic moving at the speed of snails, it could take all week to get out of the state.

  ***

  Alana peeled her body off the bed and pulled on her shoes. After retrieving her toiletry bag, she headed into the bathroom to freshen up.

  The humongous washroom gleamed of polished marble and glass. She washed her hands with the provided lemongrass soap, then dried them on a fluffy white towel as she considered her reflection in the mirror.

  More lipstick, definitely. She pulled a tube from her bag and smoothed it on, pressing her lips together and studying her hair. Her jet-black, shoulder-length coils didn’t look too bad, given she’d just come off a helicopter. She dampened her fingers and smoothed the curls, relying on the product she’d used to tame them this morning.

  Her cheeks could use just a bit of blush to better define her cheekbones. She’d been fortunate to be born with perfect skin – a flawless tawny brown resulting from the genetic blend of her African-American grandmother and the rest of her ancestors, who were mostly European. Her black hair had come the same way, but the texture was tamed by the intervening generations and their Caucasian influence.

  She squared her shoulders and straightened her back. Time to go see what was happening next door.

  Conveniently, the president’s suite adjoined her own, so she wouldn’t need to deal with the security in the hallway. She strode over to the door between the rooms, and knocked lightly.

  “Enter!” The president’s voice commanded.

  Alana turned the deadbolt on her side and pushed the door open.

  Basilia
lounged on an ivory-colored sofa, her bare feet resting on a crimson throw pillow. She held her cell phone to her hear. Glancing Alana’s direction, she beckoned, then pointed to the chair across from her. Alana crossed the plush carpet and eased into the formal straight-backed chair.

  The president spoke quietly on the phone, discussing last minute changes to her fundraising speech for tonight.

  Ever since their college days, Basilia had always run the show. Now she had every right to. Every expectation that her every wish would be obeyed.

  And it would be, too, right down to the tiniest minutia. Since the previous president’s untimely death a few months ago, she now held the reigns of the country tightly in her perfect little hands. The country? Ha! The whole world!

  As if reading her thoughts, the president looked at her and winked. Alana responded with a smile. Moments later, Basilia wrapped up the phone call and turned her attention to her vice president.

  “We need to keep up with this thing in California. I’m putting you on that.” Her voice softened. “You want to come with me to the fundraiser tonight? The S.S. is pulling out their hair since you joined this trip. Trying to figure out where you’re going to be, when.”

  The way she said it reminded Alana of the Nazi regime.

  “Well, if they can’t figure it out, neither will an assassin.” Alana smiled. “Sure, I’ll tag along.”

  “Good. Why don’t you get some updates on the fires? You can fill me in when the stylist gets here to do my hair.”

  “You got it.” Alana rose from her chair. She returned to her suite and texted her aide, Jason, to contact Interior Secretary Leon Hemsley and the head of CAL-FIRE to contact her with updates on the fires.

  She poured sparkling water into a glass of ice and wandered to the window.

  The city spoke to her. The skyline, minus the original Twin Towers but with the new One World Trade Center in their place, told of its power and resilience. The water and harbor boasted of international business success. Well dressed women on the sidewalk far below, entering gleaming buildings, hinted of wealth and glamour.

  In a few hours, daylight would fade and the city itself would replace the natural light with the twinkling lights of entertainment, activity and nightlife.

  The city never slept. It pulsed with life and light and fame. It was eternal, its heart beating like her own.

  Her phone buzzed. Secretary Hemsley’s office.

  “Vice President Mills.”

  “Good afternoon, Madame Vice President. This is Secretary Hemsley. I have the updates you requested.”

  “Thank you for calling so promptly.” Alana perched on the arm of the sofa. “Go on.”

  The secretary cleared his throat.

  “Uh, yes. It’s worse than we feared.” He paused, then continued when Alana said nothing. “The fires were lit in strategic locations. Places that are out of the way and have taken longer to reach, places that cut off interstate travel, places where smoke interferes with air traffic control –”

  “Hold on.” Alana slid down into the sofa’s embrace. “What are you telling me? How long will it take to put out the fires?”

  A long silence answered her. She looked at her phone. Had their connection been cut off?

  “Mr. Secretary? Hello?”

  “Sorry, I’m here. It’s just that – well, we’re flying in wildland fire teams from all over the western states, but it’s not looking good.”

  “What do you mean, exactly?”

  “We have to prioritize our response. Defend the most important – I mean, the most strategic – locations.” A heavy sigh came across the line. “I’m afraid some smaller communities may be lost.”

  An expletive flew from her lips, but she didn’t apologize. Her phone buzzed, indicating another call. A glance told her it was the director of CAL-FIRE.

  “Keep me updated, Mr. Secretary. Thank you.”

  She swiped her thumb to accept the incoming call.

  “Vice President Mills.”

  “Hello, this is Bob Osgood, director of CAL-FIRE. I understand you requested updates on behalf of the president.”

  “Yes, director. I just spoke with Interior Secretary Hemsley. He tells me we’re going to lose whole communities.”

  “We’re making every effort to contain every blaze. Unfortunately, we’re running out of resources.”

  “The federal government is at your disposal. As you’re well aware, the president is a native Californian herself. Tell me what you need.”

  Chapter 7

  Nadir packed his suitcase as if he were leaving for the three-day trip to Seattle he’d discussed with his family. However, he included a few sentimental items and photos one wouldn’t normally carry for a short vacation. He did not expect to return to California on Tuesday, as his round-trip ticket indicated.

  Or ever, actually.

  A text buzzed his cell phone. From his father, three floors below.

  “Come to my office.”

  Nadir pursed his lips. Now what? Had he figured it out? He’d seemed to be suspicious earlier.

  Rather than comply, Nadir texted back, “I’m packing for Seattle.”

  The reply arrived in an instant. “NOW.”

  Nadir narrowed his eyes. Yes, his father was the head of the household, but Nadir was a man. He was not willing to be ordered about like a child.

  He pushed the call button and waited for his father’s answer.

  “Come to my office, son.”

  “I might miss my flight,” Nadir protested.

  “Your trip can wait.”

  “No.” Nadir’s heart thumped in his chest. “Tell me what you need.”

  “Are you disrespecting me now, at this time when I most need your assistance?” The words sounded like each one was bitten off and spat out.

  “Of course not. You know how much I have been looking forward to this trip.”

  “But you are in my government. And you will help deal with this emergency!”

  Nadir took a deep breath. “There is nothing more I can do. I am a meteorologist, not a fire fighter!”

  “Come downstairs. That is an order!”

  Nadir glanced at the time. He would barely make his flight if he left right now. And his father demanded his presence downstairs. Plus, Kamal should be calling any minute.

  Should he make a run for it?

  Grab his luggage and laptop, and race for the door, then rush to the airport?

  No. If his father had not yet figured out that Nadir was involved in the jihad, he’d certainly know it as soon as Nadir left the mansion. And his connections would be enough to ground Nadir’s flight, or apprehend him at the airport.

  The only thing to do was go downstairs and see what he wanted.

  Perhaps it was something that could be dealt with in a few minutes. Then perhaps he could still make his flight.

  Otherwise… well, there was no use speculating.

  Nadir silenced the secure phone and hid it in his luggage. Hopefully Kamal would leave a brief message if Nadir was not back to answer his call.

  He trudged to the door, then down two flights of stairs in the restored old mansion.

  Taking a minute to calm his breathing, he straightened his back and lifted his chin before knocking and entering the governor’s office.

  His father stood at the window, and did not turn to face him as he entered.

  “Sit down.”

  Nadir stood behind a chair.

  “I said, sit!” His father’s face was dark with coursing blood as he whirled from the window. “How many times will you defy me?”

  Masking his emotions, Nadir sat on the edge of the chair. His voice was calm and nearly level as he spoke. “What do you need, Father?”

  “I need to know what you know.”

  Nadir’s mouth dried, but he hedged. “About the wind?”

  “About the fires!” His father thundered. His eyes narrowed as he approached Nadir’s chair. “And why are you so determined to go
to Seattle? Today of all days!”

  Nadir blinked.

  “You know I’ve been planning this trip for some time.” He spread his hands. “And what more can I do here? Nothing.”

  His father studied him in silence as Nadir’s heart hammered his ribs.

  “You can be by my side during this time of crisis.” He crossed his arms. “You must remain here. With me.”

  “But –”

  “BUT NOTHING!” He roared. “I need everyone on my team. Including you, with your weather expertise!”

  He frowned, then turned away.

  “Besides. How would it look if you went away on vacation in the midst of all this?” He turned back and stared into Nadir’s eyes. “Well? How do you think it would look!?”

  Nadir swallowed. His mind whirled as he considered his options. Finally settling on one, he answered what might be the truth, or might be a lie.

  “Very well, Father. If you want me to stay, I will stay.”

  Eventually, the whole household would have to evacuate anyway, if things went well. Why reveal his cards now, while he could still hold them close to his chest?

  Perhaps the time would come for that later.

  And by placating his father right now, he could still sneak off for the airport in a few minutes. Or in an hour.

  Who knew what might happen between now and then?

  ***

  Katie secured Timothy in his booster seat and exited the motorhome. The Latina was still talking on her phone. Zach was still poking and prodding around the engine of her car. The kids inside looked hot and tired. Katie joined Zach in front of the automobile.

  The woman ended her call. She walked over to Zach and Katie.

  “Did you find anything?” she asked.

  “Not really.” Zach wiped his greasy hands on a paper towel. “Your oil and fluids look okay. Did it just die on you?”

  “The engine was making a clunking sound. And there was white smoke.”

  “Under the hood?” Zach clarified.

  She shook her head. “No. The exhaust.”

  Zach frowned. “Weird. Maybe a head gasket.”

  “Are you a mechanic?”

  “No.” He smiled. “I’m a worship pastor. My name is Zach, and this is my wife, Katie.”