by Roger Hayden
A young woman pulled up behind her with only a few items clutched in her arms. Her hair was ragged, and dirt rested under her fingernails.
“You can go ahead,” Amy said.
The young woman nodded in gratitude, and the cashier scanned the items and placed them in a bag.
“That will be forty dollars and two ration cards,” the cashier said.
The young woman pulled her purse out and set it on the counter. She rummaged through and collected dollars and coins. She handed the money to the cashier.
“I need your ration cards, too, ma'am,” the cashier said.
She kept her head down, her eyes on the floor. Her voice came out in an embarrassed whisper.
“I don't have any left,” she said.
The cashier extended his hand to give the money back to her, and the woman broke down. Tears rolled down her face as she tried to grab her feeble bag of groceries from the cashier, but he wouldn't relinquish his grip.
“P-please,” she said.
“I'm sorry, ma'am, but I can't give you these without the ration cards. I could lose my job.”
The woman was drawing attention from the other lines as people peeked their heads over the checkout line barriers. Amy dug into her purse and then extended two ration cards in the middle of the tug of war everyone was watching.
“Here, take them,” Amy said.
The cashier's eyes grew wide, and his grip on the grocery bag went slack. The young woman pulled the groceries close to her chest.
“Thank you,” she said then hurried outside before Amy could say anything else.
When Amy turned around, all the other customers in the checkout lines were staring at her. She knew why. The act of charity in the current climate was unheard of, which bothered her. Ration cards and generosity were hard to find these days.
Daniel pulled into his driveway and let the car idle before coming inside. He'd been gone for almost a week. He took a moment to take in the sight of his house.
The two-story building was the largest on the block. It had a luscious yard of green grass that stood out among the other homes’ patches of brown.
When he opened the front door, Amy came out of the living room and rushed over to him. She threw her arms around him. He returned the favor.
“I thought you weren't getting home until tomorrow,” Amy said.
“I needed to see you,” Daniel replied. “Have you heard anything from Brooke?”
“I got a text from her last night during the president's address, but then nothing after that.”
She bit her lower lip as she tended to do when she was nervous. Daniel kissed her forehead.
“I'm sure she's fine. All of the cell towers are down in the region, so unless she has access to a satellite phone, she won’t be able to reach us anytime soon,” Daniel said. “Where are the kids?”
“They should be coming home from school any minute. They'll be excited to see you.”
The worries of the Capitol and the rest of the country began to take a back seat. Daniel was home now, and all he wanted to do was cherish this time for as long as he could.
5
Brooke checked the battery attached to the panels. It was only half charged, but it was better than what she had started with. She unhooked the battery and placed it in the back of the cruiser with the rest of the supplies.
She picked up her water bottle and pulled her shemagh down to expose her mouth. She chugged the remaining contents and tossed the container back in her bag.
It could be a long trip to North Carolina if things turned south. Beyond the obstacle of keeping fresh water in her family's systems, she also had to worry about bandits, looters, deadly animals, and the other harsh travesties of the Mojave Desert.
“Okay, we're good to go. You guys have everything packed up?” Brooke asked.
John zipped up his bag and slung it over his shoulder.
“I'm good,” he said.
“Where's your sister?” Brooke asked.
“In the back.”
Brooke walked to the rear of the station. When she made it to the back, she saw Emily kneeling down, hunched over in the corner.
“Em? What are you doing?” Brooke asked.
When Emily turned around, she had tears running down her face. Brooke rushed to her daughter as silent sobs escaped Emily's mouth.
“What's wrong, sweetie?” Brooke asked.
“I w-want t-to go-o ho-ome,” Emily answered.
Brooke hugged her daughter and gently stroked the back of her head, running her fingers through Emily’s hair.
“I know, baby. But we can't right now.”
“When can we?”
The round blue eyes staring up at her were filled with fear and indignation. Brooke knew how hard this was on her kids. John seemed to be handling it okay thus far, but all of this was beyond Emily's understanding. Her daughter didn't understand how deadly the world was or why anyone would want to try and hurt them. All she was thinking about was trying to get back to her friends and sleep in her own bed.
“I don't know,” Brooke said.
Emily sniffled and then buried her face back in Brooke's shoulder. Brooke picked her up and carried her to the front of the station.
John waited by the door and slumped against the wall.
“Grab the map out of the glove box and bring it inside,” Brooke said, setting Emily down on the table.
“Already have it,” John said, pulling the map out of his back pocket.
John slapped the map on the table and spread it open. Brooke tapped on a spot just outside the desert.
“We're right about here,” Brooke said. “We should have enough fuel to make it across the desert if we keep to the southern edge, but once we make it across, we'll be low.”
“Can we make it to Phoenix?” John asked.
“It'll be close, but I want us to stay away from the major cities if we can. We'll try and refuel on the outskirts or any towns along the way.”
“My friend Ashley lives in Phoenix,” Emily said. “Can we stop and see her?”
Brooke held Emily's face in her hand. She smiled at her daughter, trying to look hopeful.
“Maybe, but we might not have enough time,” Brooke said, knowing full well that it wasn’t a possibility.
Before Brooke got inside the cruiser, she pulled the license plate off the back and tossed it into the sand. Once they made it across the border, she would try and steal a new one, but right now, she didn’t want anyone knowing which state she was from.
Despite the terrain, they made good time. Brooke's fingers were sweating in her gloves, but the sun beating down through the windows would burn her fingers if she didn't wear them. Brooke turned the A/C off to help conserve fuel, so the cruiser felt like an oven.
The wheels of the cruiser drove through thick patches of sand. With every turn and acceleration, it sent a spray of yellow and beige up in a tail fin behind them. Brooke watched the compass on the dash, making sure they were staying on course. John spread the map over his lap.
“What's our speed?” John asked.
“We're averaging forty miles per hour,” Brooke answered.
“We're still one hundred miles from Phoenix,” John said. “Mom?”
But Brooke wasn't looking at him. Her eyes were focused on something shining a few hundred yards to the north. It was heading in the same direction they were.
Brooke floored the gas pedal, and the cruiser boosted forward. The compass on the dash shifted south as the shadows in the cruiser drifted along with it.
Her eyes darted between the rearview mirror and the terrain in front of her. She could feel her pulse thump in her neck. Then, through the sand being kicked up behind her, she saw the glimmer of metal coming from a truck chasing them under the desert sun.
Brooke reached down into her waistband, pulling out the revolver. She balanced the gun in one hand and the wheel in the other, struggling to keep both straight.
The vehicle was gainin
g on them. Brooke checked the speedometer. She was pushing sixty. The cruiser bounced over the Mojave terrain, tossing all three of them around.
“Emily, stay down,” Brooke said.
Emily lay flat across the back seat. John reached back to make sure the seat belt was still secure around his little sister.
Brooke knew the increase in speed would drain the gas tank faster, but whatever the reason those people were chasing them, it wasn't one she wanted to find out. She scanned the horizon, looking for any place to hide, but the desert was too exposed. There was nothing but shrubs, cacti, and rolling hills.
The truck was now only fifty yards behind them. They must have been pushing seventy, which was incredibly dangerous for the terrain. If the people chasing them were willing to risk crashing their car, then that meant they were desperate, and desperate people were dangerous.
There was no way of knowing what they wanted or if they were armed. If they did catch up, Brooke knew she wasn’t a good enough shot to actually hit a target at this speed. She handed John the revolver so she could get a better grip on the steering wheel.
“Hang on to that for me,” Brooke said.
The cruiser’s steering wheel stiffened in Brooke’s hands. She floored the accelerator. The cruiser's engine roared from the increased fuel intake, and the wave of sand kicked up behind them heightened.
The muscles on Brooke's shoulders bulged. Every bump and dip they hit tested her strength and at times over took her ability to keep the steering wheel steady.
The cruiser’s nubby tires slammed into a rock that caused the vehicle’s front to pop up then slam back down onto the sand. Their heads jumbled on their necks like bobbleheads.
Brooke checked the rearview mirror again, gauging the distance between them and their pursuers. The other vehicle hadn’t gained on them since she had increased her speed, but she wasn’t sure how long she would be able to keep up this type of pace. Her arms and shoulders were on fire, and the adrenaline in her body was beginning to wear off. Then, in the distance, she could see a beige cloud forming. She squinted and looked at it more closely, making sure it was what she thought it was: a sandstorm.
That was her cover. There was no way her pursuers would be able to find her in that mess. Visibility would decrease to less than a few feet in front of their faces. And even if they kept up their current speed, they would most likely crash.
Brooke checked the speedometer again. She was pushing seventy now. With the number of rocks jutting up from the sand, she wouldn't be able to keep this pace for much longer. If they hit one of the massive boulders at the wrong angle, the axle could snap in half. And that wasn’t something she’d be able to repair.
Their mode of transportation was the second most important thing to them right now, with only water exceeding it. If the cruiser broke down, they would be in trouble.
Brooke eased off the gas, her speed slowing to a more manageable forty-five. The vehicle behind them started to regain the ground it’d lost when she sped up. She watched it bounce violently around, at times almost tipping completely to its side as the driver kept up his dangerous pursuit. Brooke focused her vision forward. The sandstorm in the distance was closing in.
The storm was about half a mile away. The front corner of the vehicle that was pursuing them came into her side mirror. Flashes of the truck’s red paint faded in and out of the waves of sand the cruiser kicked up.
The red truck inched its way forward, finally becoming parallel to the cruiser. A man in the passenger seat had half his body hanging out of the open window. His face was concealed with a bandana and tinted goggles. The only thing that was visible was his black hair, which was blown back by the wind. Grains of sand whipped and ravaged his shirt and body.
Brooke could see a metallic silver pistol waving in his hand. She veered right, attempting to put more distance between the two of them, but the driver of the red truck was quick to react. The sandstorm was only a few hundred yards away now.
Just a little farther.
A gunshot exploded from the red truck, followed by a loud thump against the cruiser. Emily screamed. Brooke floored the accelerator. The sandstorm was less than one hundred yards away now. The gunshots from the truck became more frequent. Brooke swerved left and right, trying to make them a harder target to hit.
Finally, the walls of sand flung them into darkness, and the truck in Brooke's rearview mirror disappeared. She immediately veered south and slowed her speed to a safer level to navigate the storm. She could hear the particles of sand rip across the cruiser, tearing into the paint. Even though Brooke couldn't see more than five feet in any direction, she found herself checking the rearview mirror, looking for any signs of the glimmering metal of the red truck.
When Brooke opened her car door, a cascade of sand fell to the ground. She looked to the west and watched the sandstorm consume the land on its way to the coast. She scanned the rest of the horizon, looking for any signs of their pursuers, but there was nothing but a fresh blanket of sand that concealed all their tracks.
A few bullet holes peppered the side of the cruiser, but it was all just aesthetic damage. She ran her hand over one bullet hole in particular. It was six inches from the rear driver-side door that her daughter was behind. Brooke rammed her fist over the hole, and a burst of sand sprayed off the side of the cruiser. John walked around the car sheepishly.
“Mom?” John asked.
Brooke uncurled her fingers. She let her body relax and did her best to regain her composure.
“Are you okay?” John asked.
“I’m fine, honey,” Brooke answered.
Brooke could see Emily peeking over the back seat. Only her daughter's eyes and the top of her head were visible. Brooke had to keep it together. Now wasn’t the time to unravel.
“Let’s figure out where we are,” Brooke said.
John spread the map out on the cruiser's dash. Emily leaned forward between the two front seats. Brooke ran her fingers along the outskirts of the Mojave.
“We would’ve been around here when the sandstorm hit. Then, based off our speed, we should be”—Brooke ran her index finger south on the map until it landed on the outskirts of Phoenix— “here.”
Brooke cranked the engine to life then checked the fuel gauge. It hovered just above empty. Her race with the red truck had cost her a lot of fuel.
She got out, grabbed one of the spare gas cans, and dumped the fuel into the tank. Then she threw the empty can into the trunk space, where it rattled when she slammed the cargo door shut.
When Brooke turned the engine back on, the fuel gauge hovered at a quarter of a tank. She wasn’t sure if it was going to be enough to get her to a gas station somewhere outside of Phoenix, but she turned the wheel until the compass on the dash pointed east.
6
Eric pounded on the front door to the Fontanne home. Sand drifted from the door to the porch, adding to the growing pile already there. His motorcycle sat parked in the front yard of gravel, dirt, and sand. He pressed his own sand-covered face against one of the front windows. He couldn't tell if anyone was home.
“Brooke?” Eric asked.
He banged on the window. The glass shook and rattled. There wasn’t a car in the driveway, so Eric went around back, looking for any sign that they were still there.
After circling the house twice and checking the back door, Eric determined they weren’t home. Maybe they got out? Maybe Brooke got my message despite the bad cell connection? If they weren’t here, then there wasn’t anything else Eric could do. He put his helmet back on and headed back to base. As he made his way through the streets of San Diego, his stomach turned.
Everything was trashed. What little semblance of civility had remained in the city was now completely gone. He kept his pistol on him, just in case anyone was foolish enough to try and mug him, but most of the people he passed were on foot. He only ran into one other individual driving around. Eric figured everyone else was out of fuel.
; The weekly ration shipments had no doubt ceased since the president’s announcement, so anybody that was still here was either hoarding, was trying to eke out what little life they had left, or had completely given up.
Most of the people probably tried to get out despite the president’s warning that they would be deported back to their regions. Eric just hoped there were enough people left to fight.
The base security was pretty slack when he made it back. It wasn’t due to lack of effort, just lack of personnel. He parked his motorcycle in one of the hangars and walked over to the administration building, where he’d check in before heading to Phoenix for his assignment.
Eric was surprised and delighted to see more men turn up. They were a mix of veterans, retirees, and new recruits that hadn’t even gone through basic yet.
“Nothing like some on-the-job training,” Eric muttered to himself.
There was only one clerk handling the paperwork, so it took a while for Eric to finally make it to the front. The boy was attempting to do four things at once but wasn’t very successful.
“Skeleton crew today, huh?” Eric asked.
The boy cracked a smile, then found Eric’s paperwork and checked him off.
“Here you are, Lieutenant,” he said. “You’re all set.”
“Thanks, kid.”
Eric put his aviators on when he walked back outside. On his way to the aircraft carrier, Eric couldn't stop thinking about Brooke's phone call. Even though he was sure she had made it out, he still felt guilty.
Brooke’s husband, Jason, had saved his life in Iraq. He never got a chance to return the favor, even though he knew Jason never expected it. Since he couldn't find Brooke, the next best thing was to help protect the country she was living in. And the best way for him to do that was to make sure the Mexican military didn’t penetrate their defenses.
When the carrier moved from port and gained the speed necessary for the pilots to take off, Eric zipped up his CWU 27/P flight suit, stuffed the flight plan into his top pocket, and headed out toward his aircraft. There was never a time when he walked out onto that flight deck and didn’t get a shot of adrenaline when he saw his bird.
