The Fallout

by S.A. Bodeen

  A business card?

  He held up the card, making sure I saw. Then he pulled out a pen, jotted something on the back of the card, and placed it on the railing of the stairs. He looked back at me.

  I nodded.

  He disappeared down the stairs.

  As soon as I could get through the crowd, I headed over there and grabbed the card. I glanced at the back. A phone number. I flipped the card over. The front was a picture of a very nice kitchen with granite countertops. He obviously wasn’t trying to hide from me, leaving the card proved that. But if he wanted to talk, why did he run?

  After the game, we dropped Tony off at the strip mall. Eddy got out for a minute and walked him over to the bus stop. I watched them laughing, and then Eddy waved and walked back to the car.

  I couldn’t believe Eddy would trust him that much.

  As soon as we pulled out of the parking lot, I asked, “Does he know who we are?”

  Eddy said, “No. Duh. He just thinks we’re some rich people. That’s all.”

  Lexie said, “I think he’s cool. You should tell him who we are, Eddy.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  Lexie shrugged. “He wouldn’t tell anyone, I bet.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, why ruin a good thing?’

  I just stared out the window the rest of the drive. Back at the house, I went up to my room and pulled the business card out of my back pocket. The phone number on the back had a Seattle area code. I wasn’t all that sure I was ready to call him up. What could he want from me?

  I flipped the card over and looked at the photo of the kitchen. The top line read, TRINITY CONDOS. Under that were the words: A Luxury Survival Development.

  “What?” My heart started to race as I went to my computer and typed in the website for Trinity Condos.

  The first thing to pop up was a picture of a steel door and the words: Click here if you want to survive. “You’ve got to be frickin’ kidding me.” Still, I clicked and went into the site and read the headline.

  Trinity Condos! Secure, high-quality living during a long-term survival situation. Our luxury condos are built to withstand a nuclear explosion.

  Below that were several tabs. I clicked on the one labeled Amenities.

  Each three-bedroom, two-bath condo contains a five-year supply of freeze-dried survival food per person, for a maximum of six people. The food has a shelf life of 25 years and is stored in oxygen-free containers.

  Dad should have thought of that.

  The description of amenities continued, describing how the twenty available condos were all part of a larger space, which had, among other things, a community library, theater, gym, and … a hydroponics lab. To provide fresh produce for the duration of your underground stay.

  I shuddered. God, it sounded like the Compound. I clicked on the tab labeled History.

  The Trinity Condo units are inside a former US nuclear missile base in rural Kansas, six stories underground with elevator access.

  I skimmed the rest, then went back to the home page and clicked on Prices.

  Prices start at $2.5 million.

  “Holy crap.” Was the guy who left the card the developer of the condos? Did they really exist or was it a scam to get people’s money? If they did exist … it meant people were on their way to being just as nuts as Dad had been. Except that, to my father, survival had turned into a game. A game that needed to be switched up now and then, a game to control.

  But I doubted anyone spending that much money looked at survival as a game.

  Before I could rethink it, I grabbed my phone and dialed the number on the card. There was one ring, then a click.

  “Hello?”

  I said, “You probably know who this is.”

  He breathed out. “Mr. Yanakakis.”

  “Why’d you run?” I asked.

  “What?”

  “If you want to talk to me, which you obviously do since you’ve been following us, why’d you run?” I waited.

  He didn’t answer for a moment, but then said, “You seemed a bit … volatile.”

  Volatile? “Seriously? Why wouldn’t I be! You’ve been following me and my family and—”

  “Please! Just give me a chance to explain.” He sounded desperate.

  Honestly, I kind of wanted to know what he had to say. “Fine,” I said. “Explain.”

  “My name is Tom Barron. I’m a developer.”

  “Yeah.” I glanced at the computer screen. “I looked up your site.”

  “Really?” He sounded excited. “What did you think?”

  What did I think? I frowned. “I think you’re nuts.”

  He was quiet. Then he said, “You of all people should understand the seriousness of the situation.”

  I had to laugh. “Are you kidding me? I spent six years under the frickin’ ground because my father was insane! I think anybody who would willingly shell out millions of dollars to do the same thing is just as nuts as he was.”

  “Your father wasn’t crazy,” said Tom Barron. “Ever heard of Nightwatch?”

  I let the name roll around in my head a bit. “No.”

  “Do you have a computer there?”

  “Yeah.”

  He said, “Look it up.”

  I typed it in and waited. Several sites popped up, some with pictures. “It’s a jet,” I said.

  “Not just any jet,” he said. “It’s the Doomsday Jet. There are some very solid stories to substantiate that it was flying around on 9/11.”

  I was sure that, if pressed, he would turn out to have “solid stories” to substantiate both Bigfoot and the Loch Ness Monster. Still, I wanted to know where he was going. “I don’t understand,” I said.

  He said, “It can withstand a nuclear explosion, never has to land to refuel, and is a flying command post from which the president can command nuclear retaliation.”

  I sighed. “I’m sure all countries have something like that.”

  “On twenty-four-hour permanent high alert? They can scramble Nightwatch with five minutes’ notice. Right now, there are crews sleeping nearby, ready to get it in the air at a moment’s notice. It’s an airborne ark.”

  “So?” I said.

  Tom Barron raised his voice a little. “So it means nuclear attack is just as much a threat as it always was. Our government must believe that, otherwise they wouldn’t have that aircraft on permanent high alert.”

  A chill ran through me.

  He said, “Your father wasn’t crazy. I’m not crazy. These are fearful times. Do you know there are people who spend every spare minute preparing a BOL?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Oh, sorry. Bug Out Location. Somewhere to go when everything collapses.”

  I sighed. “Nothing is going to collapse. People are trying to cash in.”

  “Really?” He paused for a second before continuing. “Look online. Check out some typical seed companies. Even they offer survivalist seeds. Doomsday is coming, and people need to be—”

  “God, just stop.” I shook my head. All those people trying to survive. Underground. I’d been there. Been there long enough to realize survival wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Given the choice a second time? I’d stay outside. Die along with all the people who couldn’t afford a BOL. I’d heard enough. “What do you want from me?”

  “I was hoping…” He trailed off. “I was hoping you, or possibly your whole family, could act as a consultant on the Trinity Condo project. You’ve experienced survival-living underground, you know what works and what doesn’t, and you—”

  “No.”

  “But you would be so valuable—”

  “No!” I snarled. “I won’t do it. And stop following my family or I’ll call the police and take out a restraining order.” My tone hid the relief I felt at finding out the person following us was just an opportunist, trying to cash in. If need be, our lawyers would chew him up and spit him out. Still, I’d rather send him on his way myself, so no one else in my fami
ly would even have to know.

  But he kept talking. “I never planned to follow you. But when I got that tip, I just couldn’t resist trying to—”

  I froze in my chair. “What tip?”

  “Through the YK sightings website. I got a tip that you all were going to that Costco. Of course, I thought it was a joke, people send me tips all the time, but they always turn out to be fake—”

  “Wait!” My throat tightened up. “Someone told you specifically what Costco we were going to?”

  “Yes.”

  I swallowed and tried to keep my voice level, not betray my panic. “Who was the tip from?”

  “I don’t know. I mean, the first one was just an online message, but the second time he called and—”

  Second time?

  No one knew those plans but my family. I gave up trying to pretend calm, and demanded, “Who called? Who was he?”

  “I don’t know. His voice was … garbled, sort of? Like he was using one of those voice scramblers to disguise his voice? Heck, maybe it wasn’t even a man…”

  Oh, my God. Someone, other than Trinity Condo Idiot, was watching us, knew where we were, knew where we went.

  He said, “I hope you’ll think about—”

  “No,” I said. “No frickin’ chance. You’re lucky I don’t call the police.” I hung up. My hands were trembling and my breaths were shallow.

  Who was watching us? What did they want?

  And how was I going to find out who they were, and stop them, before something happened?

  I had no idea.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  I sat there, trying to talk myself through it all. Tom Barron wasn’t a problem. But whoever tipped him off definitely was. Could it be someone in our security force? I went through the faces in my mind. Joe and Sam who minded the front gatehouse during the day; both joked with us whenever we went around them. Neither seemed capable of stabbing us in the back like that. William, the older guy who took over every night: very buff, with a tinge of gray in his hair. He had an adult child with special needs and was always thanking Mom for the job. No way would he risk his paycheck like that. I could be wrong, but my gut felt strongly about those three.

  Then I thought about Lee.

  I shook my head. “No way.” Gram had vetted him herself. There was a family connection, a level of honor, and I was sure he wouldn’t cross that. Other than those guards, and a few other loyal people at YK, no one knew where we were living. No one at YK would risk their well-paying job in order to tip off a guy selling survival condos.

  And then I stopped trying to think of people who would give us away. Why would someone tip Barron off? A commission of some sort? He didn’t mention anything.

  And if the tipster was looking for us, well … obviously he’d already found us and seemed to know our every step.

  He was watching us.

  I went over to my window and looked out, first at the lake, then at the woods. The woods were just outside the fences, but if someone wanted to watch us, that would be a good spot.

  Still, that didn’t answer why?

  Did someone want to mess with us?

  No. Mess with me.

  I had been the only one to suspect being followed, and I was the one who had just found out for certain that we were. Was that planned?

  I went back to my computer and sat down, then swiveled slowly around in my chair. Should I tell Eddy? Mom? Or no one?

  In order to know where we were, someone would have to have connections to YK. “That doesn’t exactly narrow it down.” I stopped twirling and drummed my fingers on the desk. “Who would want to piss us—me—off like this? Who at YK would want…”

  Phil.

  He knew about our new place; he was capable of finding out the license plates of our vehicles. He could have hired someone to follow us wherever we went.

  I thought back to the places I’d been in the past few weeks, other than YK.

  The Progeria Institute.

  People at YK had been aware of that trip, had even arranged for a car. I didn’t know the driver of the company car, and even though Lee ended up driving me that day, Phil could have paid the driver to keep tabs on me.

  I shook my head. Too easy. So many people knew I was going there.

  Costco. No one knew but Lee and us.

  The aquarium. Same thing.

  Someone had to be tracking our vehicles. I glanced at my phone.

  Or us.

  I grabbed the phone and went to Eddy’s room. I held up my hand to knock when I heard him talking to someone. His voice was muffled through the door, but I could still hear what he was saying. “I know! That was hilarious.” He was quiet for a moment. Listening to whoever was on the phone? He laughed. “Totally! We have to do that.”

  I stood there, hand frozen in the air. Maybe he was talking to a friend from Hawaii. I glanced down at my own phone, which held less than five contacts. His probably had dozens.

  I dropped my hand and went downstairs.

  Mom was in the kitchen, waiting for the teakettle to boil. She smiled at me. “How was the ball game?”

  “Fine.” I held up my phone. “Where’d we get these?”

  Mom tilted her head. “Gram bought them.”

  “Where?” I asked.

  “Why?”

  “I just want to know.”

  Mom frowned, as if she were trying to remember. “I think she got them at Costco in Hawaii. They’re not traceable, if that’s what you’re worried about. She made sure of that. They’re just so we could communicate when we’re not together.”

  I asked, “Why didn’t you give them to us then? Why’d you wait until now?”

  She smiled. “I was hoping you’d never leave the house.”

  I smiled back, relieved. Had the source of the phones been YK, Phil could have easily been involved in the phones, somehow added trackers to them. But he was obviously out of the picture. And maybe I was just being paranoid again. Barron could have made up the tipster for any reason. Maybe just to freak me out. Maybe just to make himself seem more serious than laughable, which is exactly what he was.

  The kettle whistled.

  “Making enough for me?” I asked.

  She nodded. “Of course.” She got another mug off the rack. “Lady Grey?”

  I nodded and sat down at the counter. She poured water into each mug, then set one in front of me. She bobbed her tea bag up and down in her mug. “So what’s on your mind?”

  I shook my head. “Nothing.” Part of me wanted to tell her about Lexie’s quest to find her real parents. Instead, I asked, “Do you think that Eddy is embarrassed by me?”

  Mom’s eyes widened. “Why would you think that?”

  I didn’t answer right away, because I didn’t know how to put into words the way I felt. Feeling bad about clothes was so stupid, but that was the only concrete evidence I had; he didn’t want to be seen in the same clothes as me, which actually happened to make complete sense. We hadn’t dressed alike since we were kids, a fact that took the air out of my argument. But he seemed so much happier around Tony. Like he couldn’t relax around me. Couldn’t have fun. I shrugged. “Sometimes … I feel like we kind of cramp his style.”

  Mom stiffened. “Is this because of what he said this morning?”

  “Maybe.”

  Mom set a hand on mine. “We’ve been through so much that we expect him to understand. But we have to understand what he’s been through. He had to adjust to us being gone. And now, he has to do the opposite.”

  “Wouldn’t that be easier?” I asked. “To know we’re here instead of gone for good? To just be normal again?”

  “Who’s to say what’s normal?” Mom drizzled honey into her tea, stirred, and took a sip. “He used to have three siblings, now he has four more. That would be hard enough to get used to. Give him some time, Eli.”

  She was probably right. Maybe Eddy’s normal was him and Gram, on their own, and we had messed it all up. We’d even blown Eddy’
s whole belief of Dad as a hero. And Phil as a good guy.

  I pulled my mug toward me and swirled my tea bag around by the string. Without thinking, I asked, “Do you think Phil is dead?”

  Mom froze, then whispered, “What?”

  “Phil,” I repeated. “Do you think he’s dead?”

  “I don’t know.” She took another sip of tea, then set her mug back down and licked her lips. “Is it wrong of me to say that I hope he is?”

  “No.” I swallowed. “But … I think he’s alive.”

  She looked at me, her forehead wrinkling. “Why do you say that?”

  “Just a feeling I have.”

  She set a hand on my face for a moment. “He’s gone. Whether he’s still out there or … not…” She took a quick breath. “He’s gone as far as we’re concerned. He’s out of our lives. For good.”

  I only hoped she was right.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  I ended up with whatever stomach virus the other kids had, and with all of us recovering, we didn’t go anywhere that week. Besides feeling sick, I was kind of relieved. Going out was stressful.

  I had to be the only teenager in the world who preferred staying home to going out, and I wondered if that would ever change.

  Mom and Lexie were busy planning Quinn’s birthday party, an event that caused a bit of tension in the house, ever since Eddy had asked Mom, “Can I invite Tony to Quinn’s party?”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she said.

  “Why?” He frowned. “We can trust him.”

  Mom shook her head. “I’m just not ready to invite a stranger. The ball game was one thing.”

  Eddy said, “He doesn’t know who we are.”

  Mom swiped her hand through the air. “He’ll figure it out as soon as he meets all of us.”

  “Fine.” Eddy rolled his eyes.

  On Friday, Mom sent Els and Lee out to get supplies for the party. They came home with a penguin cake, and shopping bags from Whole Foods. I helped unpack drinks and whole-wheat buns. There were a bunch of chips and snacks as well.

  Els said, “There are balloons in the car you could bring in.”

  I went out to the SUV and found almost a dozen silver Mylar balloons, all with various designs, all proclaiming HAPPY BIRTHDAY! I grabbed a handful of balloon strings, holding on tight so I wouldn’t lose any to the breezy day. Inside, the kitchen was chaos. Gram was at the oven, checking on her Kalua pork for sandwiches, while Els arranged buns on a glass serving tray. Lucas was running around the tiled floor, Cara running after trying to catch him, both of them screeching so loud that Cocoa was curled up in a corner, looking like she’d rather be anywhere else.