California

by Jamie Lee Grey

  They were closing in fast on the fire.

  Katie felt like throwing up. But she wouldn’t. She didn’t dare.

  She had to guide this pickup safely to the other side.

  Flames blazed from both sides of the highway as they approached the inferno. Grass in the median burned brightly, illuminating the deadly interstate.

  Everyone had their headlights on, but they were hardly needed. The fire lit up the road and hillsides brighter than daylight. Above the flames, black smoke plumes billowed into the sky.

  She fought back her nausea. Dug her fingers into the steering wheel.

  Ahead, Zach moved into the center of the roadway, straddling both lanes. The vehicles behind him merged the same way, creating a single lane down the center of the pavement. Katie fell in line with the others.

  As the motorhome reached the fire, Katie closed her eyes for a moment. She couldn’t watch this. But she had to – she had to keep her eyes open and be ready for anything.

  Beside her, Jennifer let out a sob. She rocked back and forth, moaning.

  The vehicles ahead moved into the line of the fire, straddling the center of the highway in an effort to escape the tongues of flame that reached hungrily toward their vehicles.

  And then it was her turn. She inhaled hot smoke and prayed for help.

  ***

  The president’s eyes queried Alana as she returned from the phone booth. She shrugged.

  “Nothing. A waste of time. I’ll fill you in later.”

  “Thanks for handling it,” Basilia said.

  “No problem.”

  Or was it? She took her seat as those around her carried on with their conversations, discussions and disagreements. Could there be anything to old Jewish prophecies?

  Phhttt! No. They were like the ancient Mayans, whose calendared end of the world on Dec. 21, 2012 came and went, and life went on for everybody except them.

  It was sort of interesting, though, that some ancient Jewish prophet had apparently predicted a country betraying Israel thousands of years in the future, like the United States had this past April. But seriously? Countries betrayed Israel all the time, didn’t they? Wasn’t that like an international sport or something?

  Well, maybe not exactly. Betrayal requires previous agreement or trust or friendship, something which no other countries besides the United States had actually extended to the state of Israel.

  And that bothered her a little. Why should the U.S. ever have been in a position of supporting or defending that little irksome country, when all the other nations in the world despised it?

  That’d really put us in a bad spot when Israel’s enemies decided to attack.

  Alana frowned. Something else was niggling at the back of her mind about the ambassador’s phone call. The Mayans had been wiped out, like lots of cultures over the history of civilization. Israel had been wiped out, too, nearly two thousand years ago. But unlike all those other lost countries and cultures, the Jews had remained intact as a people with a common language, culture and religion – while dispersed all over the globe – and actually came back together as a nation state in their ancestral homeland.

  That in itself was peculiar enough, but… those prophets… those prophecies would have meant nothing if Israel had never been restored. In the present day, who could betray a country that had ceased to exist two thousand years ago? That’d be impossible.

  It’d only be possible, it only was possible, because the Jews had regained their country in the 1940s. Somehow, that lent credence to the prophecy Ambassador Wilford called about.

  What if it was real?

  Nah, it was all crazy talk. She was just getting confused because she was tired. She shook her head to clear the cobwebs.

  More coffee. That’s what she needed. The liquid love of her life.

  “Great news!” The director of Homeland Security announced, breaking into Alana’s thoughts. “The NEST teams are in place!”

  “Good. Get President Gonzales on the phone,” Basilia ordered.

  Her chief of staff made the call, and moments later, the Mexican president’s voice boomed into the PEOC.

  “I understand your nuclear teams have arrived,” he said.

  “Yes,” Basilia answered. “They’re in place, scanning right now. Have you opened your ports of entry?”

  “I’ll be sending a message to the army to do that, as soon as I get off the phone with you.”

  “Thank you, President Gonzales. Good night.”

  As they hung up, Alana relaxed into her chair. Crisis averted. Well, that one, anyway.

  They still had plenty of others to deal with.

  Chapter 29

  Nadir’s fury and fear propelled him out of the governor’s mansion and into the congested street. Smoke seared his lungs and hot ash fell on his head and shoulders. His eyes dried from the heat as he looked to see how far the fire was from the mansion.

  It was not far. Not far at all. Perhaps a half mile, and the roar was like nothing he’d imagined. It was deafening.

  Drivers and passengers abandoned their traffic-jammed vehicles, and the mass of humanity nearly knocked him over. He turned and joined the flood of flesh running away from the flames.

  It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. He was supposed to have flown away this afternoon, and be on his way to Iran by now. How had everything gone so wrong?

  It was his father’s fault. Insisting Nadir stay with him this afternoon. Pretending he didn’t know this crisis was all of Nadir’s making, when in reality, he must have known. Several times, he’d almost revealed his knowledge. Nadir felt confident of that now.

  And, when they finally did evacuate, it was his father who ordered the helicopter to fly in the direction of the fire before taking them to the airport. If he hadn’t done that, then that lunatic never would have shot at them, and the resulting crash never would have happened.

  That was the final blow. The event that signed his father’s death warrant, and possibly his own.

  The old man had turned into such an idiot! He’d die now, alone and huddling in his mansion, but Nadir had to live.

  A live ember landed on the back of his neck. Howling, he brushed it off and quickened his pace. The fire was screaming toward them.

  Nadir coughed and pushed into a sprint.

  Maybe these people around him would die, but not him.

  Not him!

  He had to find a hiding spot. Some secure, sheltered location that would not burn. But where?

  The crowd of rushing residents jostled and pressed against him, slowing his forward progress.

  “Move!” he yelled. “Out of my way!”

  It was preposterous, but he kept yelling anyway. A child stumbled in front of him, and he ran over her. She wouldn’t make it anyway. She’d die in the flames if she wasn’t trampled to death.

  The orange light of the fire behind him lit his path ahead. He plunged forward, determined to survive. Like all the others running for their lives.

  Somehow, he’d make it. He knew he would.

  Far ahead, the concrete jungle of the city promised a possible fortress. Maybe some of those buildings would burn, too. But not as fast, and maybe – maybe – he could find a safe refuge there.

  Hot smoke seared his lungs as he ran.

  Glancing over his shoulder, the fire looked five times as big as it did just minutes ago. Maybe it was growing, but mostly it was catching up. It was running far faster than he could.

  He tripped on an uneven ledge in the sidewalk and sprawled forward, barely breaking his fall with his hands.

  As he tried to push himself up, a heavy foot landed in the middle of his back, pressing him into the concrete. Another rolled over his hip, and a third smashed down his shoulder.

  He had to get up, before these hordes crushed the breath out of him!

  ***

  Plunging through the front of the fire, Katie held her breath and strained to see ahead. How far did the fire stretch along the road a
head of them?

  Wind threw a blazing branch onto the hood of her pickup.

  Maybe she could get it off by swerving or slamming on her brakes. That’d be dumb. There was somebody right behind her.

  If ever there was a bad time to get rear-ended, this was it.

  She did swerve a little.

  Jennifer screamed and looked up. “What happened?!”

  The branch stayed right where it was.

  “Nothing. Just trying to get rid of that branch.”

  “It’ll make the truck blow up!” Jennifer shrieked. “Get rid of it!”

  Katie swerved again. The branch slid a little. One more time, and it slipped off, dropping to the highway. Hopefully nobody would drive over it.

  The wildfire bent and swirled around them as they continued driving.

  How far would they have to drive to get to the other side?

  Sweat dripped from her forehead. Traffic had picked up to about forty miles per hour, but it wasn’t fast enough.

  She fought the urge to floor the gas pedal, swerve into the left median, and race past everyone.

  The air grew so hot in the pickup, she could barely breathe.

  Jennifer moaned and slumped down in her seat.

  Had she passed out?

  Katie risked a glance at her. No way to tell, really. Anyway, she was quiet.

  And maybe being unconscious was the best way to ride this out. Or to die in it. If Jennifer didn’t wake up, she’d never suffer if the truck caught fire.

  Unlike Katie, whose adrenaline spiked her heart rate to the point she felt like it would burst out of her chest.

  A gust of wind pushed a huge tongue of fire across the road immediately in front of her. There wasn’t time to do anything. The truck rushed into it.

  She screamed and clenched the steering wheel.

  The bright blaze fanned over her windshield, blocking her view of the road, coloring her world in brilliant orange.

  And then it was gone.

  She gasped hot air. Tears mingled with the perspiration on her cheeks.

  Ahead, the motorhome plunged on as flaming arms of the wildfire reached out to grab her husband and son.

  “Back off!” She commanded the fire. “In the name of Jesus, you stay away from my family!”

  It was probably good that Jennifer wasn’t awake to hear her. She’d have Katie committed for sure when they reached safety.

  The heat was insufferable. Would this never end? How far could this fire stretch along the road, anyway?

  Katie coughed.

  And then, the pickup’s engine coughed.

  Instantly, she knew why. She’d finally run out of gas.

  ***

  Alana looked into the tired brown eyes of her chief of staff.

  “I need you to talk to Grace Denver,” she glanced at the president’s chief of staff across the room, “and start getting the communications people working on some talking points. And I’m sure the president will want to make a statement as soon as she has time.”

  “I’m on it.” Jason straightened his tie, stood up, and started toward Grace, who was answering a telephone.

  “I’ve got Governor Abdullah on the line,” she announced loudly.

  A moment of relief flooded Basilia’s taut features. She punched the speakerphone button.

  “Governor! We’d heard you’d crashed! Are you okay?”

  “I only have a few minutes,” he said. “I’m speaking to you on a radio from the mansion, and the local police department has connected us through their telephone service.”

  “You’re at the mansion? But the fire –” Basilia looked fully confused.

  “Yes. It will be here within minutes. There is no escape.”

  “A helicopter could be dispatched –”

  “We have tried everything, believe me. You must listen. I only have a few minutes!”

  “I’m sorry. Go on,” Basilia said.

  “I have discovered the leader of the terrorist cell that has done this horrible thing.”

  “Who?” Basilia reached for a pen and paper. Old habits die hard.

  “I will tell you, but you must understand that we cannot place the public blame on him.”

  “WHY? That’s absurd!”

  “Because it is my son, Nadir.”

  Basilia’s mouth fell open, but no words came out.

  “Madame president? Can you hear me?”

  “Yes… yeah, I’m here.” Her eyes drifted around the room and landed on Alana, who just returned her stare in disbelief.

  “You have been my friend in life, and now you must be my friend in death. We cannot allow the Muslim community to take the blame for this.”

  “Whom do you suggest should take the blame?”

  “I have an idea.” He coughed. “The flames have reached the mansion! We are nearly out of time!”

  Chapter 30

  Nadir tried to evade the mobs trampling him into the sidewalk by scrambling toward the right edge of the concrete, which was bounded by a chain link fence.

  If he could get there, maybe he’d be out of the flood of feet pounding away from the fire.

  As he lunged, more people – some of them crushingly heavy – hammered his body like a mallet flattening a cut of meat.

  One of them crunched across his chest.

  Pain shot through his ribs. He could barely draw a breath.

  Reaching for the fence, he linked his fingers through the wires and pulled. He was able to get his head and chest off the ground, but the trumpeting crowd still pounded his legs.

  Gripping higher up the fence, he yanked his body upward. The mass of humanity crushed by him, but stopped driving him into the ground. He held on for his very life, struggling to breathe.

  It seemed the air had no oxygen, only blazingly hot smoke.

  Nadir coughed and choked as he clung to the chain link fence. His eyes burned.

  The fire was less than two blocks away now, and moving like a freight train.

  It sounded like one, too.

  He turned to run, but stumbled as someone smashed into him.

  Again, he fell to the pavement. More feet crushed his legs, then his chest.

  The pain from his ribcage was unbelievable.

  When he tried to inhale, agony ripped across his chest. The godless masses had broken his ribs! Maybe punctured his lung!

  Then the trampling stopped.

  The herd had passed by. He reached for the fence again, and excruciating pain seared into his lungs as he took a breath.

  The heat! The smoke!

  His face scorched from the approaching fire.

  He had to run, but his feet could barely keep him upright, much less take him anywhere.

  The fire gulped up all the oxygen, leaving only hot, scorching gases to fill his injured lungs. He couldn’t run. Couldn’t do a thing, except watch in petrified horror as the fire raced toward him.

  This was his monster. He’d dreamed of it, planned it, organized it and created it.

  And now, it was the master of his fate?

  If only he had remembered to bring his gun, he could have ended this all now. But of course, he hadn’t!

  His head lightened as oxygen left his lungs. His fingers relaxed their grip on the chain link. He sank to the concrete sidewalk, watching the fire rush him.

  His screams were drowned out by the inferno’s roar.

  ***

  The pickup stuttered again. The gas gauge showed an empty tank.

  Oh, no – not now! Tears filled Katie’s eyes. Not now!

  Dear Lord, please make my truck run on air. Or fumes. Or a miracle!

  The Ford hiccupped, then surged forward.

  The air was almost too hot to breathe. She turned teary eyes toward the blazing hills. How much farther did they have to go to reach safety?

  The pickup coughed, and so did Katie. She kept her foot on the gas pedal, and they crept up a hill. As they crested the top, the engine died.

  Flames licked the
grass on both sides of the roadway. She should probably pull over to let traffic get around her. But she still had some momentum, and that fire was alarmingly close.

  The motorhome rounded a bend just ahead of her. Maybe the other side would be fire-free.

  Maybe it was silly, but she just kept her foot on the gas.

  The truck was slowing, though. She’d have to pull over. Right after that bend, because she was almost there. And maybe the fire ended around that curve.

  Rounding it, she saw the fire extended about half a mile more. She’d be stranded in the flames!

  When the engine died, so did the power steering. Just as Katie began turning the wheels toward the left median to get the truck out of the flow of traffic, it began to pick up speed.

  How? Her gaze flew to the gas gauge. No, she was still out.

  Still, the wheels rolled faster.

  What?

  And then she saw it in the blazing firelight. They were descending an incline!

  Oh, thank you, Lord! Her heart and eyes lifted to heaven.

  As they moved downhill, the pickup gained speed, and Katie didn’t touch her brakes until she was almost on top of the van ahead of her. Then she feathered the brakes just enough to keep from hitting it.

  Now that she could see the end of the fire, hope began to re-build in her heart.

  She might make it. She actually might make it! Her family would survive!

  Thank you, Lord!

  Traffic sped up, and Katie rolled with it. Eventually, she’d still have to pull over, but judging by the line of taillights in front of her, she’d escape the fire zone before she’d reach the bottom of the hill.

  She’d be able to coast to safety!

  ***

  Alana flexed her fingers. The governor of California was right – they couldn’t allow Muslims to be blamed for the attack on California. Fortunately, there were a handful of other scapegoats that could readily be blamed. And the president had put her in charge of selecting the best candidates, and wasting no time doing it.