Blackout

by Jason Elam

  It took him three hours to run the four and a half miles to the university. When he was still five blocks away, he saw smoke billowing into the air above the buildings ahead. Dread filled his heart. He prayed the smoke wasn’t from the university.

  When he finally came around the last corner, his legs gave out and he dropped to his knees. Flaming wreckage filled Washington Square Park, and the university buildings surrounding it were burning uncontrollably.

  Tom pushed through the crowds of people, calling out Maddie’s name, constantly passing other parents and spouses and boyfriends and girlfriends who were doing the same. Tom stayed there searching until noon of the next day. When he had started his long, lonely walk back to Laura, he hoped beyond hope that he had somehow missed his daughter and that she was now back safe with her mother.

  But when he finally arrived home, Laura was still alone, anxiously waiting for him. She burst into tears when she saw that Maddie wasn’t with him. Tom told Laura that witnesses had reported to him that students had flooded out of the buildings when the crash first happened. Maybe she was with them, hiding in a girlfriend’s apartment. For five days Tom and Laura had waited, hoping and praying that their daughter would come walking through the door. She never did.

  After 9/11, Tom and Laura had had a long conversation with their only child. They all agreed that staying in New York City was like living under a giant bull’s-eye. So they had decided together that if another terrorist attack should ever happen and they had to evacuate the city, they would find a way to get to Laura’s sister’s place in Charleston, South Carolina. And if, for some reason, they got separated, that would be their rendezvous.

  Now they were heading to LaGuardia to try to get on a plane so they could eventually find their way down to Charleston, where hopefully Maddie waited for them. But even as Tom said the words, Keith could see despair in the other man’s eyes. He knew the words were most likely only for Laura’s sake. Tom had been there. He had seen the devastation. He knew the truth.

  Keith had gone back and reported what he’d learned to Coach Burton. The next day, the whole Colorado Mustangs organization had joined the flood of refugees—all except for him. After talking with Tom and Laura, he had spent a long night wrestling with what he had heard. When the morning came, he realized that he couldn’t leave. There was too much to be done here. There were too many hurting and needy people.

  He couldn’t blame the others for leaving. If he had a wife or kids, he would have fought to get the earliest flight available. But as things stood, it was just him. His epiphany had come when he recalled that for nearly a year now he had been praying for a purpose, a way to leave a lasting legacy. Now he had the chance to make a difference.

  Keith had heard from passersby that a large refugee camp had been established near Penn Station. The Army Corps of Engineers had cleared the tracks of the Northeast Corridor and had replaced the electrical engines with diesel locomotives. Now they were running trains every half hour north to Boston and south to Philadelphia. As word got out, tens of thousands of people flooded the area. Soon a large tent city had been established. Food and water were provided by volunteers, and security by the National Guard. That was exactly the kind of opportunity Keith was looking for. So after letting a surprisingly understanding Coach Burton know what he had planned, he said his good-byes to his teammates and set off on the five-mile hike.

  As he walked through the devastated city, he felt himself passing from celebrity to obscurity, from selfishness to selflessness. He was amazed that in the midst of the horror he saw all around him, he was finally discovering peace.

  The past ten days in the refugee camp had been the most difficult of his life. However, he wouldn’t have traded them for anything. One of the blessings of working so hard was that now when he closed his eyes at night, he was too tired to dwell on the vision of Afshin’s lifeless stare or the horrible morning when he had led a solemn procession of his teammates to deliver his dear friend’s body to the gruesome bonfire that had been created to protect the city against disease.

  Keith walked toward the tracks and waited for the approaching train to pull into the station. If Riley could see me now, he would absolutely crack up! I’d probably never hear the end of it.

  He wore a black-and-white checkered vest and a big straw hat that was adorned with a checkered band. His first reaction at seeing the getup was to absolutely refuse to wear anything so ridiculous. But after taking some time to think about it, he swallowed his pride and put on the giant chessboard. Because of the job he had been given, people needed to be able to spot him.

  When he wasn’t serving meals, he was charged with welcoming the volunteers who arrived with every new train. While still on the train, new arrivals were told to look for the greeters in the checkerboard vests. They were there to answer questions and direct them to the processing tent, where everyone would be given their assignments. Regardless, it still didn’t make him look any less like a buffoon.

  The long train slowed next to him. Usually they kept the volunteers in the first car or two, so he made his way in that direction. As he walked, he thought about Riley, as he often did. He picked up a lot of news from the people coming off the trains, and anytime anyone had information about his friend, he stopped them for a longer conversation.

  It was through the new volunteers that he had heard about Riley’s part in stopping the attack on Washington, D.C. It was also through them that he found out about Scott’s injury.

  When satellite communications were first set up in the camp, Keith had sent off an e-mail to Riley to congratulate him and to see how he was doing. Since that time, though, the lines at the computers had been ridiculously long. Besides, those people need it more than I do. They’re trying to set up the next steps for their lives.

  I, on the other hand, don’t have any next steps. Which, when you think about it, is actually not that bad of a place to be. That pleasant thought put him in just the frame of mind that he needed as he walked toward the opening doors and the shell-shocked volunteers who were in the middle of dealing with their first glimpses of just how bad New York City really was.

  Riley’s stomach fluttered with excitement. It always seemed that the last leg of any journey took the longest. Now, as he looked out the window at the familiar sights, it seemed as if he would never arrive.

  Khadi had not been happy about his leaving. In fact, no one had, except for Skeeter, who was as ready to get out of Washington as Riley. But Washington wasn’t his home—would never be his home. His time in that city was a result of duty, not desire. And once his duty was done, he couldn’t wait to put the place behind him. His departure disappointed a lot of people, but he was only doing what he felt had to be done.

  Scott was the first one Riley had seriously disappointed. He had tried to convince him to stay, claiming that he needed his best friend around to cheer him up while in traction at Georgetown University Hospital. But spending the next however many weeks hanging out and playing cards in a sterile white room sounded like pure torture. Besides, Scott was getting daily visits from Tara, so Riley figured he would be well taken care of.

  Leaving Khadi was much more difficult. Her sadness affected him most of all, but it was something Riley knew he had to do. The two of them had been getting closer and closer, and it was obvious to him that if he stuck around much longer, commitments would be made that would take the relationship to a level he could no longer justify with their differing beliefs. Khadi didn’t see it that way—or, as Riley suspected, she did see it that way but just didn’t want to admit it.

  So, obviously, part of what I’m doing is running away, which typically isn’t a good reason to do anything. Sometimes, though, it’s necessary. And I know myself too well to think that I could keep the status quo with her indefinitely.

  His hand reached to his chest, where, through his shirt, he could feel the ring Khadi had given to him before he left. It hung on a leather thong and was inscribed with the Farsi words
for truth, integrity, and honor.

  “These are the words that fill my mind when I think of you,” she had said as she closed his hand over the ring. “The only other man I knew who held these qualities as strongly as you was this ring’s previous owner—my grandfather. He would be proud to know that now you will keep it for him.”

  Riley had struggled to say something, anything. His hand reached to her cheek—her beauty, her strength, her character all overwhelmed him.

  “I . . . I . . .”

  Khadi smiled—a smile full, deep, and rich enough to sear itself forever into his memory.

  “I know,” she said as she took his hand from her face with her two hands. “I do, too.”

  She tilted her head and kissed Riley’s hand gently on the knuckle. Then, after one last long look with tear-filled eyes, she put his hand down, got up, and walked out the door of the coffee shop.

  Oh, God, please let her see Your truth. Bring her into Your Kingdom—first for her sake, but selfishly, for mine, too. I truly believe she’s the woman You have chosen for me, but honestly, I’m getting tired of hearing “not yet.”

  The final person he had disappointed was President Donald Lloyd. Five days after recovering the second warhead, Riley, Khadi, Skeeter, the ops team, and the twentysomethings from the RoU had all been invited to the White House. As they entered the Oval Office, they were greeted by the president, his cabinet, and the majority and minority leaders of the House and Senate. The president expressed his appreciation on behalf of the whole nation and personally shook everyone’s hand.

  “Good to see they took you shopping,” he said to Riley.

  The occasion almost passed without incident. However, when Lloyd was shaking Gooey’s hand, the analyst pointed to the only cabinet member with a scowl on his face and asked, “So what’s with Grumpy Gus?”

  The president turned, then started chuckling. “Secretary Moss does seem a bit ill-tempered today, does he not?”

  Gooey’s voice dropped to a stage whisper. “Honestly? Dude’s always like that. Personally, I just think he’s in want of a mother’s love. Either that, or he’s just naturally a . . .”

  Riley couldn’t hear Gooey’s final word, but evidently President Lloyd could because he burst out laughing. After he stopped, he leaned forward and whispered something in Gooey’s ear.

  “Right on, Lloydster,” Gooey said when the president finished.

  “But like I said, this is just between you and me.”

  Gooey gave the president a conspiratorial wink.

  For the next two days, the RoU gang had tried to get Gooey to give up what the president had told him, but he remained tight-lipped. Finally the secret was revealed when late the second day it was announced that Secretary Moss had been fired and Stanley Porter put in his place.

  Everyone in the office had started cheering, but Gooey just tilted way back in his desk chair, laced his fingers behind his head, and said, “Yeah, ol’ Donny let me know it was coming down the pike.”

  The day after their White House meeting, Riley had been called back into the Oval Office. There, President Lloyd had offered him a position as special adviser to the president on the global terrorist threat.

  Riley was blown away. He thought he was just going there to fill the president in on the details of the operations. It was a very tempting offer.

  The world was a very different place now than it had been just a few weeks ago. Russia, Iran, and all the Arab countries had tipped their hands with their military buildups. It had taken some serious American and United Nations threats to get the various sides to stand down.

  Riley’s mind went back to the telecast of the Iranian president standing in front of the United Nations. All his usual arrogance and bluster were gone. His hands visibly trembled as he spoke:

  “The Supreme Leader of Iran, the leaders, the people, and I myself deeply regret that one of our own people was involved in the horrific and detestable attack upon the nation of America. It was cowardly and against all our nation’s principles. Rest assured, the ones responsible have received the just rewards for their criminal acts.

  “As a nation of peace, we look forward to putting this incident behind us and demonstrating to the world our true desires to be friends and allies to all. As such, we pledge our financial assistance to the people of America, and we put our vast resources at your disposal.”

  At the time, Riley had wondered if the man truly believed the words he was saying, because no one else in the world did. General opinion was that he was forced to speak by the ayatollah, who in turn had been forced by international pressure to ensure that some kind of mea culpa statement was made.

  Ultimately, putting “our vast resources at your disposal” meant a four-dollar discount per barrel of oil. President Lloyd rejected out of hand the discount, as well as any other “assistance” Iran had to offer.

  Word was that the protesters who were filling the streets of Tehran and Esfaha-n and Tabriz were not going away this time without a sacrifice, and when the president returned to Iran, the Grand Ayatollah would be all too happy to give them their disgraced political leader.

  Riley sighed and shook his head. This was the closest I’ve heard of the world coming to a nuclear holocaust. But I’m sure it won’t be the last. He knew all it would take was another hard hit on America, and the sworn enemies would be back at each other’s throats. And he knew that if he knew it, the terrorists knew it too.

  There’s clearly a need and a job to fill. The question is, am I really the guy to fill it?

  After taking a little time to collect his thoughts, he told the president, “Sir, it would be quite an honor to serve you and my country in this way, but I am finished with this world of special ops and terrorism. I’m very sorry, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to decline your generous offer.”

  The president had raised his eyebrows and nodded. “I understand. You have been through one nightmare after another this past year. But would you do me a favor and promise me one thing?”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “Don’t say no yet. Take some time. Get away from all this,” Lloyd said, circling his hand in a way that seemed to include his office, Washington, New York, and terrorism as a whole. “Then, in a few months, we’ll talk again. Is that a deal?”

  Riley reached over and shook the president’s hand. “That’s a deal. Now, if I could be so presumptuous as to ask a favor from you.”

  “Anything.”

  When Riley told him what he wanted, President Lloyd started laughing. “Believe it or not, I’ve already got that in the works.”

  Later that afternoon, Riley got a call from Scott.

  “Dude, I’ll give you three guesses who was just here!”

  “Frank Sinatra.”

  “Too dead.”

  “Jerry Lewis.”

  “Too French.”

  “Cap’n Crunch.”

  “Too animated. But that does remind me that my supply is getting low.”

  “Gotcha covered.”

  “Cool. Anyway, the president of these here United States, Donald Lloyd, was just here . . . in my room . . . to visit me, little Scotty Ross, only son of crackhead Martin Ross and meth tweaker Julia Ross. He only stayed for like ten minutes, but, I mean, dude, it was so unbelievably awesome!”

  When Riley hung up the phone, he had immediately called the president’s office and left a message with his secretary thanking him.

  All that, however, was days and miles behind him. As he gathered his bag and prepared to exit, he knew someday he would have to face the president’s offer and his feelings for Khadi. But not today. Today he had other business to attend to.

  As Riley stepped to the ground, he looked around. Skeeter elbowed him and nodded to his right. Even with his back to them, there was no doubting who it was. Greeting people as they stepped out the other door of the train was Keith Simmons in the most ridiculous-looking outfit Riley had ever seen.

  Slowly, Riley crept up on
him. When he was right behind Keith, he said, “Excuse me, but would you mind lying down? My friend and I have got a real hankering for a game of checkers.”

  Keith spun around. “No way,” he yelled as he picked Riley up in a bear hug. Next he managed to get Skeeter off the ground too, albeit with a lot more effort.

  “What are you guys doing here?” Keith said when he caught his breath.

  “What do you mean what are we doing here? When I got your e-mail, I e-mailed you back and told you we were coming.”

  “Well, no wonder I was clueless. It seems a couple weeks ago my BlackBerry suddenly went on the fritz,” Keith laughed. “But my question still stands. What are you doing here?”

  Suddenly Riley turned serious. “Honestly, Keith, I don’t know. It’s just . . . after all that’s happened, after what I’ve seen, I can’t just go back home and pretend it didn’t happen. You know what I mean?”

  Keith smiled sadly. “I know exactly what you mean.”

  “Besides, Skeeter here lost my keys when I left Alaska, so I wouldn’t be able to get into my house anyway.”

  The three men laughed; then Keith said, “Tell you what, let me show you around. Then we’ll get you two on the work roster.”

  They walked off the train platform together. Riley knew each of them had a lot more to say to the others, but as if by silent agreement, they all decided that the talk of bombs, planes, beatings, and dead friends could wait for another day.

  Jason Elam is a seventeen-year NFL veteran placekicker for the Atlanta Falcons.

  He was born in Fort Walton Beach, Florida, and grew up in Atlanta, Georgia. In 1988, Jason received a full football scholarship to the University of Hawaii, where he played for four years, earning academic All-America and Kodak All-America honors. He graduated in 1992 with a bachelor’s degree in communications and was drafted in the third round of the 1993 NFL draft by the Denver Broncos, where he played for 15 years.