by Mike Chen
Krista dialed and, without much surprise, hung up at the busy signal. Ten more times she tried, and ten more times she got a busy signal.
She shook her head at the absurdity of it; all this time, she’d stayed the hell away from Uncle Dean, not even getting in touch with him after the All Clear, and now a little girl changed everything. She scrolled down the screen, revealing another phone number at the bottom: the hospital’s general line.
The line beeped four times to indicate a long-distance Metro call, then without ringing, the call changed to a chime sound, then a recorded voice. “Welcome to St. Vincent General Hospital of Seattle. If you know your party’s extension, say it now or enter it, followed by the pound sign.”
“Dean Francis.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t understand your request. Please try again.”
“I’d like to talk to my uncle Dean.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t understand your request. Please try again.”
“Uncle Dean. He’s the big-shot who’s always on TV.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t understand your request. Please try again.”
“Dean. Francis. He’s a giant asshole.”
“One moment please.”
Well then, she thought, maybe the computer system thinks he’s a jerk too. “St. Vincent General Hospital, can you hold, please?”
“Actually, no, I can’t.”
“Ma’am, we’re in a state of emergency right now. Can you hold, please?”
“I have my own emergency. I need to talk to Dr. Dean Francis.”
“You and the rest of the world. Dr. Francis is very busy right now. I’m even getting kids saying they need to talk to him.”
“Kids? Was it a girl named Sunny?”
“Lady, I don’t know. You’re wasting my time.”
“No, you don’t understand.” Krista straightened up in her seat, then looked out the window to see a pair of police officers dragging a handcuffed man away. “I need to talk to him right now. I’m his niece. My name is Krista Deal.”
“His niece, huh?” The operator sighed, the sound of low murmurs and occasional screaming coming over the phone. “All right, let me see if he’ll take your call. One second.”
“Thank you.”
A small mob surrounded the officers, yelling and screaming with a misplaced anger, blaming all of their traffic rage and possible dying relatives on two San Francisco cops brave enough to try maintaining some sense of duty.
“Listen, lady,” the operator’s voice fired over the line, “you’re a real bitch to be pulling this right now. What kind of sick pleasure do you get prank calling a hospital at a time like this? I was going to hang up on you, but you deserve to know what a terrible person you are.”
“Wait a minute. I’m just trying to talk to my uncle.”
“Dr. Francis said that Krista Deal died years ago. So don’t even try pulling one on me. I hope... I hope you get this new plague. I’m blocking this number.”
The screen told her that the call had ended as Krista stared at it for options. Frank’s family remained, their bickering silenced, grim scowls all around. “We should leave.” Joe stood up from the couch, groaning with arms stretched overhead. “Instead of waiting around here. We need to get across the Golden Gate to Marin.”
Frank crossed his arms. “I’m not leaving without Moira.”
“I just don’t understand how she could leave during an emergency.”
“The real emergency is a missing girl.” Krista’s phone vibrated, the device buzzing against her palm. “I bet that’s them,” she said, pulling out her phone. “Rob. What happened?”
Even over the phone, frenetic voices continued behind her, heightening what Rob said. “Sunny’s gone. She’s on a bus to Seattle. We have to get there.”
“I think she tried calling the hospital. The operator said a girl called asking for Uncle Dean. Who else could it be?”
“Okay. So at least we know. She’s not picking up her cell phone.”
“How do we get around the lockdown?”
“I’m not—” The sound of shuffling came through and Rob’s voice disappeared. “Oh, wait, Moira wants to say something.”
“Moira?” As Krista said her name, Frank’s entire family stood, forming a half circle around her. Krista turned on the phone’s speaker. “Moira, you there?”
“Krista, get the keys to my Jeep from Leslie. Meet us at the alley halfway down Howard Street, south of the bus station. I might have something that will work, but I have to call someone. I have a plan—you need to trust me.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Frank moved around Krista’s hand and leaned over the phone. “Can someone tell me what is going on here?”
“Frank, there’s no time. I’m parked in the underground garage. Traffic is starting to move. Take the side streets—it’s faster.”
“Right.” Krista reached out her free hand toward Leslie and keys landed on her fingers. “Be there in a few.”
“Wait!” Frank ran up next to her, attempting to match her determined stride.
“Sunny needs us,” she said, her steps accelerating. “If you want to get involved, you’ll just have to follow me.”
By the time Krista got to the elevator and pushed the Down button, the rest of Frank’s family had scrambled behind him. They waited for the elevator. No one spoke.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Moira
All around, noises burst into Moira’s concentration. Police sirens. Screaming. Car horns honking. The occasional breaking glass.
She closed her eyes, trying to blank it out and focus. Rob’s voice trailed back and forth, and despite shutting everything off, she pictured him as he spoke—phone up to his ear, concern stenciled across his face, posture hunched over, hoping against hope that the local police had seen her or some citizen patrol officers reported her.
And then another set of footsteps came in. Soft, almost subtle and tentative.
Moira opened her eyes and whirled around. She expected Frank.
But it was her father.
Moira caught herself before she could sharply inhale. Her mind fired off in a thousand different directions. She tried to picture herself from a few years ago: shaved head, covered in grime, sprinting across rooftops and climbing over burnt cars. She willed that image up to shove anything from childhood aside, but it lost to the flood of rehearsals and studios. The mere sight of her father meant that the battle was already over, and rather than memories of overland survival, all she heard in her mind was a loop of his voice yelling “Again!” Her legs almost went instinctively into ready position to practice a dance routine one more time.
“Johanna.” His voice came out in a grizzled British accent. “You’re here.”
Do something, Moira told herself, and she tried to stand up with a tall, firm posture, though everything felt crushingly small right now. “I don’t know who you are, but now is not a good time,” she said, perhaps overdoing it on the American accent.
“Let’s not do that. Your hair is different. You’ve grown up. But it’s you. Of course it’s you. Any parent would recognize their child’s smile. I guess some things never change. Look, the scar on your cheek, from when you fell at Dawlish Town Beach.” His familiar grimace turned into a smile. “I’ve come a long way looking for you. You look exhausted, Johanna. Aren’t you tired?”
Moira’s mind blanked as the wind kicked up around them, blowing through the alley.
“You know what started all this? Chris. Chris and I were talking about everything. He had pancreatic cancer. Last year, after the quarantine. There we were, two old fools talking about you while he was dying. He wondered where you were. He wondered if you were alive, happy. I wish he could see you now. He passed six months ago.”
Thoughts returned, though they lacked any coherent connection. Instead, a m
ix of memories and questions came to the fray.
“He told me to find you. That was one of the last things we discussed. And now I have.”
“Chris...” Moira realized her posture was shriveled, her legs weak, even her tone was small. She straightened up, thinking about Chris and the mad way he used to chomp on gum, desperate to beat his nicotine addiction. The press conferences, the public search, the reward.
All this was for him?
“But then I got an idea.” Evan leaned back, out of the alley, then waved someone over. A young man stepped into view, and Moira recognized him from the other day, the person with the camera. He pulled a handheld camera out of his bag and pointed it right at her. “The world needs MoJo right now. It needs music. It needs something bright and strong. Think of how we could uplift things. Even with this. Even with all of this. We could broadcast it to so many. Not just music but the story. All the people who listened to you, they’ve grown up. They want you back.”
The words, the tone, the ideas, it all created a familiar creeping tension that locked up her spine and stole her breath. It took Rob putting a hand on her shoulder to break it and ground her back to where they were, what was at stake. “Every emergency line is busy,” Rob said in a calm even tone, as if he understood everything unfolding. “We need to go. We need to do something.”
At the other end of the alley, the familiar putt-putt-putt of her Jeep rolled up, then shut off, followed by several slamming doors.
“The San Francisco Metro’s broadcast group is ready for me. Right now. This is the perfect time. Look at all the attention we’ve gotten. An outbreak is happening and we’re still the lead story. Just look into the camera, say you’re MoJo and you’re back to sing for the world. Right there.” He pointed to the cameraman.
Sets of footsteps trailed forward, along with Krista’s voice. “I can’t get a hold of my uncle,” she said as Rob let go of Moira and greeted her. “But I think Sunny called the hospital.”
“She’s there,” Rob said. “That has to be it. We need to go.”
“I—” Krista started. Though Moira continued staring straight ahead, she heard a quiet conversation behind her, along with Krista’s barely audible “ohhhh.”
“I know who you are,” her dad continued, seemingly ignoring the people behind her. “I found Moira Gorman weeks ago. All this buildup? I have an agreement with the BBC. They weren’t sure about it but I promised them it’d captivate the world. And it has. People want something to believe in right now. They want a good story. We’re here to give it to them.”
“Moira?” Frank called out, approaching. His family followed, though they kept their distance from the scene playing out. “What’s happening?”
“Listen. It’s not just the BBC. We’ve got agreements here in the United States and Canada. They’ve all sponsored this. There’s no reward at all because I already knew who you were,” he said. “We’ve even negotiated contingency plans in case of another quarantine. They’ve learned from the last one about the importance of morale and entertainment. I’ve got it all mapped out. Come with me and you’ll be safe from all of this. The chaos, the survival, you’ll never have to worry about that. Food, medicine, shelter, all of it guaranteed, no matter what happens. Your talent, your story, it will finally be rewarded. All you have to do is say yes.”
Her dad’s words rattled around, a magnetic force that nearly crushed her own thoughts and pulled her back into his orbit. His logic crept at her self-doubt, tugging on little strings sewn into her consciousness since birth, muscles and thoughts trained to exclusively listen.
Everything she’d done, everything she’d built up since dashing out of Madison Square Garden, it all seemed to shrivel away. Of course the world needed hope. Of course the world needed music. Maybe he was right.
Around her, the sounds of chaos amplified, like that first night all over again. Cold nights searching for food overland or sprinting from gunfire, Rob’s stories of the quarantine and the reckless mob that killed his wife, the sheer uncertainty of it all. Could it get that bad again? And yet, here was one simple escape, one way to shield herself from the dangers of a world struggling to find its feet.
“Moira.” Rob’s voice was quiet but even. “You said you have a plan. Help me find Sunny. Please.”
Rob’s voice shook her free, and she looked around at him.
“Go on,” her dad said. “Tell him who you are. Tell the world.” He signaled to the cameraman, who stepped forward. “They want to know.”
Moira turned in a circle, slowly taking in the faces. Her father, ready to pull her old life into the new world. Krista, an almost angry look on her face, but beneath that, the slightest touch of sympathy. Frank, whose expression evolved from the wrinkles of confusion to the wide eyes of disbelief, puzzle pieces locking into place.
And Rob, a quiet determination coming through with steady breaths and sharp eyes.
“I know...” she started. The words pulled everyone in, each presence leaning closer as if the world depended on what she said next.
Maybe it did. At least the world that mattered.
“I know someone who can help us.” Moira’s chin jutted out just slightly as she looked over all of Frank’s family. “He lives off the grid. Up by New Sacramento.”
Frank broke forward out of their small semicircle. “Off the grid? What are you talking about? Who are you?”
Butterflies tore through Moira’s gut, the chaos of the city pale in comparison to the tug-of-war she felt. Her past. Her present. Her future. They all fought for control. “I owe you the biggest apology.” Moira turned from Frank, unable to meet his eyes. Stability over love. In that moment, she wished she’d never bought into such a thing. “Because I’m not who you think I am. I never was.”
“You are my daughter.” Evan Hatfield’s tone shifted, filled with creeping irritation that would soon turn to fury. He was right: some things never changed. “Look at everything around you. The chaos, the fear. The world needs MoJo. It needs you.”
Moira’s body shifted as she faced her father. If Narc was here, he’d tell her it was Code Polka Dot. Not from a collapsing building, not from wasteland gang members and raiders, but from what was at stake, what needed to be done.
Sunny. Sunny was who needed her. “We need to go,” Moira said. “It’s about noon. We can get to Seattle by early morning if we leave now.”
Everything went quiet, as if all the chaos and noise around them got put on mute for a minute. Her dad stepped forward and took in a breath. “I understand,” he said, a gravelly tear to his voice.
Moira looked up. Had she been too quick to judge him?
“Sounds like your friends need your help. It’ll be the perfect way to start your comeback. I’ll announce that I’ve found you today. And once you’ve sorted that out, you can tell your story—”
“No!” Years of suppressed rage, all the things that he’d built into her to keep her in line, manage her responses, they finally broke through with an outburst that caused Frank and Rob to wince. “You will not use me anymore.”
Krista, though, didn’t seem surprised.
“And I’m not hiding anymore.” She took in a deep breath, blowing it out slowly as she closed her eyes. “I used to be Johanna Moira Hatfield,” she said, her voice taking on its full native English accent. “Before the End of the World, they called me MoJo. But I left that life at the first chance I got.” Her attention turned to Frank. “I tried to start a new one. One without any connections to the past. And, Rob, I’m sorry to say this, but to get there, I lived overland during the quarantine. Narc, the man we need to see, is an old friend. He taught me how to survive during that time—”
Rob’s face fell into quiet shock, his voice lowering to a level barely audible above the city chaos around them. “You were a looter.”
“Yes. Rob, I looted as we made our way to California, but
we were survivors. We did what we had to. I’m sorry, Rob. I know how you feel.” She put a hand on his shoulder. “That was a long time ago, it doesn’t matter now. Narc lives on the remains of the UC Davis campus. He can get us what we need to travel north.”
“You lied to me,” Frank said, his voice broken and gravelly. Behind him, little sobs came from his mother, head in hands.
“I lied to everyone,” Moira said. She looked over at Krista before lingering on Rob. “In one way or another. I wanted to live another life—a normal life.” She turned back to Frank. “You’re the most normal person I’d ever met. That’s a compliment, it really is. But I need to be the real me. At least for now. Not who you thought. Not the Johanna he wants. Someone different. Someone who’s going to help find Sunny.” A short laugh escaped, and Moira felt her cheeks burn. “It’s funny how easy it is to turn off my American accent.”
They stood, seemingly divided into teams, Krista finally breaking the stalemate. “We’re wasting time. Even if we get to Seattle, I don’t know how the hell we’re going to get to my uncle.”
“We’ll take my Jeep to handle the off-road parts. It’ll also look less conspicuous to any looter gangs.” Moira pulled Rob toward her. “Rob, we are going to find your daughter. We’re going to get help and find Sunny and everything will be fine. Okay?”
He twisted to look over the people around him, meeting each one eye to eye. Krista responded with an assured nod, and despite the uncertainty facing them, his lips curled into a smirk. “Sounds like a plan.”
Moira moved around to the driver’s side, and while she put up a brave facade, the shouts from her dad, the cries from Frank’s family, all of it chipped away until she sat down, buckled in. She rested her forehead on the steering wheel. A sharp inhale caused her to straighten up, and she looked right at Frank, who walked up to the still-open door. “Frank, you can hate me now, but I have to do this.” Her fingers tugged at the ring on her left hand, moving fast enough that the swift motion of handing it to Frank happened before she could think otherwise.
“Moira, don’t go.” Frank’s rage disintegrated, swinging his tone into desperation as he took the ring. “Let’s talk about this.”
