There was nothing to say.
Sudden nausea swelled in her stomach. Turning, she ran for the ladies’ room.
Chapter 22
Brakes screeched as a pickup slammed to a stop inches from Nadir’s father.
Nadir stepped into the crosswalk behind him.
“You’re going to get yourself killed!”
“No.” His father held up the next lane of traffic the same way. “I don’t think so.”
The two hurried across the street.
“This is crazy. Can’t we travel west for a while, so we aren’t nearly getting run over at every corner?”
“Soon.” His father coughed. “The next street, or the one after, I think. It should take us almost straight to the mansion.”
“Good.” Nadir’s eyes burned.
The wind was not just blowing the fire at them, it was blowing the smoke, too. And it was getting heavier by the minute. And hotter.
They hurried to the next corner, and fortuitously, it was the street his father was looking for. So they turned right at that intersection instead of attempting a suicidal crossing of the main flow of traffic. Very few vehicles were traveling north/south, so this crossing was easy. Hopefully the rest would be the same way.
Once they safely reached the far side, Nadir turned and looked back toward the fire. A monster wall of flames chased the traffic down the street.
And it was moving faster than they were walking.
He gripped his father’s elbow.
“We must hurry!”
The old man glanced back and needed no further encouragement. He stepped up his pace until they were almost jogging.
Ahead, the street lights were still on. How long would that last?
At some point, the city would succumb to total power failures – no one would be fixing the lines – and the metro area would be illuminated only by the fires and the remaining headlights.
A man with a big black dog jostled Nadir’s arm as he ran past.
Other pedestrians on the sidewalk moved at different speeds – some slower, some faster. Some pushed strollers or shopping carts full of belongings or pilfered goods. Some gripped leashes of large dogs or small ones. Mothers held their children’s hands.
He almost felt sorry for them. The little children, not the women. They were young and innocent. It was a shame they would have to pay for the sins of their parents.
But that was the way things worked in war.
There would be collateral damages.
Hopefully, he would not be one of them.
His father coughed, then wheezed and coughed some more. He stopped walking. Bent over, coughing.
It was the infernal smoke. Nadir was gagging on it, too.
“Do you have a handkerchief with you?” he asked.
Nodding, his father reached into his pocket, fished it out, and wiped his eyes.
“Use it to cover your mouth and nose,” Nadir urged. “It will help.”
As they continued their trek toward the governor’s mansion, the first doubts crept into his mind. Would they be able to make it?
His father seemed healthy, but he was not young. And smoke was especially bad for the elderly.
Nadir glanced over his shoulder.
The fire grew closer every minute. He coughed, then urged his father to hurry.
They were running out of time.
***
Katie yelped, then pressed her fingers to her lips. A second shot rang out, and the crowd of people around the patrolman began to drop back. Some to the ground.
Who had he shot?
Or had he just made a couple warning shots because the crowd was out of control?
Where was Jennifer?
Katie searched the dispersing crowd, but couldn’t see her. Where’d she go?
The gang banger sauntered back toward his car.
And then, in the bright light of scores of headlights, Katie saw the officer stumble, then fall. He’d been shot!
Several people bent over him, then hoisted him up. Where were they going with him?
The gang banger came around the back of the RV, jamming his handgun into his waistband. He eased into the front passenger seat.
Jennifer came rushing past the motorhome, straight for the pickup. She yanked the door open, and her face was white as paper under the truck’s dome light. She climbed in and slammed the door.
“He shot him!” She yelped. “He shot him!”
Plastering both hands to her ears, she turned and yelled at Katie. “I was right there!”
Ahead, the motorhome began to move forward. Katie turned the key and started the truck.
“He was closing the highway!” Jennifer’s eyes were as wide as San Francisco Bay. “He said it’s impassible!”
***
Turning on cold water in the restroom sink, Alana rinsed her mouth. She never should have eaten any dinner. It was awful coming back up.
Her face looked pale in the mirror. And damp. She’d wash it right now, but it’d turn her makeup in to a horror show.
Sighing, she patted her lips on a soft white towel.
No one had followed her to the restroom, but obviously everyone had noticed her rush out of the PEOC. And they could all guess why.
There was no shame in it, really. Because who could watch those images and not be affected? That was all happening, right now, in California!
Her throat burned. She ran more water and, cupping it in her hands, gulped it down. It only helped a little.
Looking up, she noticed her eyes. Little red lines zig-zagged across white, making her look old and tired. And at the moment, that was exactly how she felt. Old. Tired.
She straightened and dried her hands.
She had to go back to that room. They’d all turn and look at her. Not obviously, but subtly and on the sly. See if she was okay.
See if she’d lost it. Her mind, not just her stomach.
Her head was fine, though. Clear as a bell.
Squaring her shoulders, she marched out of the restroom and down the short hallway to the PEOC.
She inhaled deeply and entered with her head erect. The surreptitious glances began immediately, beginning with the president.
“You okay?” Basilia flat out asked.
Alana nodded. “Fine.”
And that was that. Typical of Basilia – address something straight on, then move on. Except for some concern in the eyes of her chief of staff, her little episode was over.
She took her seat and tried not to look at the television screen across from her. It was still showing video, but someone had turned down the volume.
Around her, conversations swirled and phone calls were made. Her eyes shifted toward the screen, then away. She really didn’t want to see it.
There was nothing she could do.
In truth, there was nothing anyone could do about it.
Besides, the president and the secretary of defense had begun a heated conversation, and Alana was close enough to hear most of it.
“If they do try to close the border again, are you prepared to take action?” Basilia’s piercing black eyes bored into the military man.
“We have several options,” he confirmed. “I think you are talking about the one with stealth bombers.”
“You know I am!” She hissed. “How quickly can you be ready?”
“We are always ready.” He cocked his head slightly. “In this case, we’ve repositioned some assets. I believe we could be closing striking distance within thirty minutes of your order.”
Alana sucked in her breath.
Really? They were talking about a first strike on Mexico? A war on their southern border, with everything else that was going on right now?
Was Basilia out of her mind?
Alana couldn’t help but stare at the president. Jaw tight and tendons protruding from her slender neck, she looked positively fierce at the moment. Maybe she was out of her mind, but she was still in control of the nuclear football.
> Alana made herself breathe. Surely this could be resolved diplomatically.
Like with fifty million more U.S. dollars in President Manuel Gonzales’ bank account in Switzerland. Or something like that.
Chapter 23
Nadir gagged on the hot smoke, but he held hope in his heart. He could see the governor’s mansion now! It was only six blocks away.
His father coughed and wheezed beside him, but did not slow his pace.
They didn’t dare slow down. They could hear the fire now – a terrifying low roar.
Hot wind pressed them on toward home and help. Flaky ash fell from the dark sky, dusting their hair and settling on their shoulders. Occasionally, live embers reached them as well, born aloft by the fire’s heat and carried on the infernal wind.
On the next block, a fire had started in a wood fence. No doubt from one of those embers. It was small, but growing, bolstered by the dry fuel, the hot air, and the wind.
Always the wind!
His father coughed into his handkerchief. He walked hunched over like an old man, his eyes fixed ahead, forcing his feet forward toward that famous residence that signified power and authority. Without his position, perhaps he was just an average man, like the rest surging along the sidewalk tonight.
But his position would save him, unlike these other poor souls.
And it would save Nadir, too.
An ember landed on his ear, and he yelped, brushing it off and cursing. His father continued as if nothing had happened, his hope and his gaze fixed on that mansion. As if it alone could spare his life.
His father coughed again, and couldn’t stop. He doubled over in a fit.
Nadir waited, looking back toward the fire. It rumbled and crackled and spat flames and heat and death.
His father straightened and took a breath. His eyes watered as he plunged ahead.
Only five blocks now.
They passed the burning fence. The next block, and the ones beyond it, glowed with the unnatural light provided by the miracle of electricity.
Nadir sneezed. The mansion would still have power, then. In truth, it would have power anyway, because it had a backup generator. But it was much preferable that the entire neighborhood’s lights were still on.
Somehow, it made it seem that life was still normal, and a monster was not bearing down on them.
The last four blocks passed in a blur as Nadir and his father broke into a run.
Relief flooded across his father’s face as they reached the front gate. They both looked toward the guard shack.
It was vacant.
Nadir grabbed the gate and rattled it. Locked, of course, but he knew that.
“HELLO!” he yelled. “LET US IN!”
He waited a moment and listened, but no one responded. His father bent over and braced his hands on his legs above his knees, wheezing in the smoky air.
“It’s no use.” He coughed. “They are all gone. Evacuated.”
***
Katie stared at Jennifer. Impassible? Impossible!
They had to get out of this state. On this highway!
She shifted into prayer mode.
Dear Lord.
There were no words. Just… Dear Lord.
Help us.
While Jennifer sniffled and babbled, Katie grabbed the walkie talkie. She pushed the mic button and brought it to her chin.
“Zach? Zach, do you copy?”
“Yeah, babe, I’m here.”
“Did you see what happened?”
“I saw it.”
Their line of traffic moved forward slowly, letting in traffic from the left lane, which was still blocked by the patrol car parked across that lane.
“Jennifer said the policeman said the highway is impassible.”
“Maybe he’s wrong.” Zach’s tone was less sure than his words. “Traffic is still moving. If it were truly impassible, we’d all be stopped behind the cars that couldn’t get through. Right?”
Made sense.
“I guess so….”
“We have to keep going, babe. Have you been listening to the news?”
“No.” Maybe she should turn on her radio. She glanced at Jennifer. The woman might freak out if she heard any more bad news.
“This highway is the only interstate that’s still moving in the north half of the state.”
Her eyebrows shot toward her hairline. “Really? The only one?”
“That’s what they said. And the only way out of the southern half is through Mexico. Our people have broken through the barriers at the border, and they’re flooding out!”
“Ironic.” Katie glanced at Jennifer, who silently stared out her side window.
Ahead, the motorhome passed the parked patrol vehicle, and Katie let another car slip in front of her from the left lane as they inched forward.
As she neared the spot where the drug dealer had shot the patrolman, she noticed a dark blotch on the pavement. Blood?
She glanced away.
“Anyway, babe, we just gotta keep going,” Zach said. “Keep praying.”
“You, too.”
Katie set the walkie in a cupholder in the console and glanced over at her passenger.
“You holding up okay?”
Not turning to meet her eyes, the woman sniffled and shook her head. “No. No, I am definitely NOT okay!”
What could she say to that? Jennifer wasn’t a believer. Katie couldn’t console her with things she’d say to a Christian in this circumstance.
Her gaze drifted to her gas gauge. Bad idea! She looked up at traffic ahead of her.
It was challenging enough finding the right words to say to Christians in a time of crisis. What can you say to a non-believer?
***
As Alana struggled with the thought that Basilia was truly considering bombing Mexico into letting U.S. citizens flood across its border, the director of Homeland Security rushed in with the secretary of Transportation.
“Well?” The president asked. “Are the planes landing?”
The director nodded grimly. “Some of them, yes.”
“But we’ve also had crashes,” the Transportation secretary rushed to add.
“How many?”
“Six. So far.”
Basilia cursed, and asked, “Which airports?”
“Seattle, Portland, Reno, Las Vegas, Dallas and Phoenix,” the Homeland director rattled off breathlessly.
The president expelled a string of expletives. The rest of the room hushed in frozen silence. Alana held her breath.
“Well, are you still able to land planes there?” Basilia finally asked.
“We’re evaluating that right now,” the Transportation secretary said.
“I don’t want evaluations! I want answers!”
“Yes, ma’am. We should know something very soon,” she said.
Basilia’s lips drew into a tight line as she glared at her. “Five minutes! Get me something real in five minutes.”
The secretary scuttled from the room like a crab on a hot beach. Alana couldn’t help feeling a little sorry for the woman. Her job was on the line, whether she actually knew it or not. Yeah, she’d better hurry.
Chapter 24
With the fire bearing down on them, Nadir panicked. He had to get in!
But how? The mansion’s fence was eight feet high.
“Wait here. I’m going around back.” He sprinted around the grounds to the rear of the property, where a sliding gate blocked the vehicle entrance.
Located adjacent to another guard shack, this gate was scalable.
He grabbed the black metal bars and shimmied his way up – and very carefully over – propelled by fear and by adrenaline.
Dropping to the ground, he collected himself and ran across the backyard, past the azalea bushes, and to the front where his father waited.
“There should be a button in the guard station!” His father pointed to the vacant shack.
Nadir yanked open the door and let himself in, fli
pping on the lights.
He’d never been in here before. Glass walls provided excellent visibility. Two desks and chairs, two computers, an electronic switchboard of some kind – but how did one open the gate?
A row of buttons on the switchboard were illuminated but not labeled. He dropped into a chair and began punching them, one after the other, watching for movement from the front gate.
Nothing. He’d tried all of them.
Perhaps he’d triggered all the alarms in the house, but he certainly hadn’t helped his father.
Pushing back from the desk, he looked underneath. Another button, this one white, was built into the lower right side of the desk.
He pressed it and heard a satisfactory whoosh!
Standing up, he saw the front gate begin sliding. His father hurried through.
Nadir gulped a lungful of the less smoky air in the guard shack before he went back outside. His lungs thanked him for it.
He joined his father in a dash for the front door.
It was locked, of course. There was no one to let them in, and they had no keys with them.
Nadir looked around for something to break the glass. There was nothing. The planter was far too large and heavy.
He needed a brick or a stick or a rock. Looking back toward the gardens, he noticed the short pole that suspended the hummingbird feeder. That would do it!
He raced over, yanked the decorative metal pole from the ground, and ran back. A jabbing swing did the trick – the glass shattered and the alarm shrieked. He knocked away the jagged glass, reached in, and turned the locks, then opened the door.
Coughing, his father stepped inside, keeping the handkerchief over his mouth. Nadir turned on all the lights and turned off the wailing alarms as his father hurried to his office.
Nadir followed him and watched as he lifted the phone’s handset and pushed the buttons. A solemn look crossed the older man’s face as he listened, shook his head, then hung up.
“I tried 9-1-1. All circuits are busy.” He sighed. “My cell phone was lost in the crash, as was yours.”
California Page 17
