Minus America

by E. E. Isherwood

  Kyla was anxious about what they would find, but thanked fate she wasn’t taking her boot in the face again.

  Tyson’s Corner, VA

  Ted had driven the black SUV out of the mine parking lot, onto the rock-strewn two-lane road, and finally onto a larger four-lane avenue.

  “I guess we didn’t need to take the first thing we found,” he said to ER as they drove through the tangle of cars at a busy stoplight. When the event happened, the cars waiting at the light no longer had feet on the brake pedals. Those cars rolled into the intersection and impacted the empty ones blazing through the green lights. The resulting crashes were messy and spectacular.

  “You found a good one. It has air conditioning, at least, and a radio.” The soldier sifted through the FM channels, but the only station still broadcasting was playing music.

  “Must be on a loop,” he suggested while slowing to get around another wreck.

  Ramirez scanned the AM band, but all he found were a couple of stations with short, repeating Emergency Broadcast System alarms. Those were obviously automated.

  “Not a single live person on here, or out there.” Ted pointed to the radio, then the world outside. “Stations on the AM dial could be from several states away. Even if the attack hit all of the country, surely someone had to survive to report on it.”

  It had already been a few hours since John Jeffries attacked the VP, and the start of all the troubles with communications, but so far, he’d learned very little about the extent of what was now clearly an attack on the American homeland. Was it military, terrorist, or other?

  Every civilian in this part of Virginia had been erased. It transcended terror, he believed, because there was no one left to be frightened by it.

  They fell into silence as they drove east toward the big city. Once they reached the interstate, it made it easier to make good time because there weren’t any stoplights. However, it also made it easier to see the countryside around them.

  Fires were spreading.

  “That’s a big one,” he said as he pointed out ER’s window. The fire was a few miles away, but the belching black smoke suggested it was something big, like a factory or refinery.

  Ramirez glanced out his window but didn’t dwell on it. He maintained his forward gaze. “I find it best to focus on what’s in front of us. Let’s get this mission done, then we can watch the world burn.”

  ER hadn’t been quite as humorous since they’d gotten dumped out of the plane, but at least he couldn’t get hurt while sitting inside the truck.

  A half-hour later, they made it as far as the bridge over the Potomac. The concrete span was broad and flat, about twenty feet above the water, with three lanes of traffic and one pedestrian path on the right side.

  Another span carried the westbound lanes on the half-mile trip across the river.

  The Washington Monument loomed tall beyond the far end of the bridge, and the white marble top half of the Lincoln Memorial rose a little above tree-top level on that side as well.

  Of greater concern was the pileup of cars stuffing both directions of the bridge.

  Ted weaved through lighter traffic to about the halfway point, but the far side was blocked solid. Cars had turned sideways, been flipped over, and some had burned.

  “This is a good news-bad news type situation,” ER said when the truck stopped.

  Ted glanced over.

  The lieutenant took that as his cue. “Bad news is we have to ditch our getaway car and walk. The good news is we’ll have our pick of cars once we get to the other side.”

  Ted put the SUV in park, then took the keys. As he got out, he thought he was being stupid. Every car and truck in sight was now free for the taking. However, he felt good knowing they wouldn’t have to ride with ghosts in the SUV. Those other vehicles were now gravesites as far as he was concerned.

  “Grab your rifle,” Ted said like ER might forget his. “We’re almost there.”

  Amarillo, TX

  It only took Brent about sixty minutes to confirm his worst fears. Whatever swooped in and made his friends at the prison disappear, it also affected the towns around the prison.

  Briarville. Red Junction. Eggers.

  All had the familiar stacks of clothing where there should have been living people.

  He didn’t bother going home, as there wouldn’t have been anyone there even before the disappearance. A year ago, he might have rushed home to take care of his old mutt, Rufus, but he’d passed on not too long ago.

  “My life plays like a country song,” he said as he drove back to the prison.

  On the way, he tapped the radio dial to see if there was any news from beyond his grassy piece of Texas, but there were almost no stations on the air. A few buzzed with that annoying emergency tone. One kept saying the name of the station over and over, like it was on eternal repeat of that five-second loop.

  The only station apparently still on the air happened to be one he hated, because they played young-people’s music he didn’t understand. Was it hip-hop? Soul? Pop? He didn’t enjoy the songs, but he let it play anyway. He was certain someone would eventually break in and say what was going on.

  When he reached the prison a short time later, the annoying tunes kept on coming. He punched off the radio in disgust because someone had remixed one of his favorite Supertramp songs into hip-hop oblivion. His temper was also hot because someone chose to play that, rather than the news.

  “Dammit! Everything is run by computers these days.”

  He slammed his beater pickup truck into park, then yanked the keys. The prison lot had emptied by about half from when he stormed out after seeing those tapes.

  Trish’s flashy sports car was gone.

  He groaned as he climbed out of the truck. His arthritis-filled knees reminded him that his prime years were well behind. On the way inside, he tried to stiffen up and not let the pain bother him. It was dangerous to show any weakness to the prison population.

  He walked in the front doors without needing his keycard. Someone had placed a trash can in the doors so they wouldn’t close.

  “Bunch of amateurs,” he complained.

  Sure, he took off without saying good-bye after he saw the tapes, but he didn’t run out and create security breaches like this.

  He pulled the can out of the door so it closed properly.

  “I’m back!” he said to the cameras.

  Someone would come up to greet him. It was protocol.

  He walked past the main hall security booth and did his best to not see the loose clothing on the floor. It was a lot easier to ignore the orange jump suits inside the cells, though he didn’t have any enemies behind those bars.

  Brent continued for the stairs to the sub-level. He’d made it about halfway down when voices cried out from both ends of the hallway.

  “Help us!”

  “They left!”

  “Don’t let us die!”

  He slowed to a stop and looked everywhere for the corrections staff.

  “They aren’t here, boss,” one of the inmates said.

  “They left?” Brent asked with amazement.

  The nearest prisoners nodded agreement as the others quieted down. For the first time since he’d taken the job, he realized that if he wasn’t there to open the doors, the incarcerated men would die as certainly as if they’d been buried alive in coffins. Society put them there to pay their dues, but they were petty criminals, not capital murderers. They didn’t deserve to die for their crimes.

  He trotted to the end of the hallway. No one was inside the security booth. He used his keycard to go inside, then called up the real-time cameras. The only living people in view were the prisoners on his level. The upper cell block was still a thrift shop clothing aisle gone wrong.

  “Fuck,” he whispered. “They all followed me out the front door.” He figured that when he left, the other officers saw their chance to go as well. He imagined Trish leading it all: Old Brent wouldn’t have left unless this was
really bad, people. I say we follow him and leave these men behind.

  He’d caused the panic without even knowing it.

  Brent looked up at the inmates hanging against the bars. Fifty men now depended on him for their lives.

  CHAPTER 17

  Washington D.C.

  Ted took the lead as he and ER ran along the pedestrian walkway at the edge of the bridge. Next to them, cars and trucks were jammed in solid in the three lanes of traffic heading east. It was as if everyone let off the brakes at the same time, then deliberately crunched whatever was in front of them.

  “Obstacle,” he said to Ramirez. Sometimes cars hopped the small metal barrier between the roadway and the walkway, forcing them to go into traffic, or hop over the blockage. The station wagon came over the wall at an angle, which made it easy to climb up the hood.

  He hopped on and scooted to the far side. ER jumped aboard a few seconds later.

  “Look,” the other man whispered. He pointed to the south.

  “Oh, fuck!” Ted exclaimed. “Duck!”

  They both fell off the hood. Ted landed on both feet, but ER came down next to him and immediately slipped on some broken glass. He was on the pavement in an instant.

  “Damn, dude, you didn’t have to hurt yourself.” Ted laughed it off, so the other guy didn’t feel bad. He really was clumsy. “Don’t move.”

  Another bridge was to the south, maybe the distance of two football fields. A convoy of Humvees moved from west to east, heading for the city. Even from this far away, Ted recognized the fifty-cals on top of the trucks: they were ready for battle.

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  He counted ten armored trucks. They crossed the river and went to the south of the National Mall. Since they went in that direction, he hoped those guys were going to a different part of the city. He and ER were headed the opposite way. The White House was north of the mall and Washington Monument, a fact he remembered from flying over the city numerous times.

  “You think they’re friendly?” They appeared to be American, but he couldn’t say for sure. The people inside could be Russians for all he could tell from such a distance.

  “Unknown,” ER replied.

  Ted waited for the engine noise to fade off, then he got back on his feet.

  “We work for the vice president,” he said with some pride. “We can’t get tangled up with other units until we’ve got a better handle on our own reconnaissance.”

  “I like how you think, Air Force.” ER held out his hand, which Ted took to help him get off the ground.

  “I’m going to need a medic sometime.” Ramirez held his palms up. When he fell on the glass, he must have put his hands in the shards because they were pockmarked with little bursts of blood.

  “Remind me to request someone less accident-prone next time,” Ted said in a light-hearted way.

  “You weren’t my first choice, either. I was very comfortable working on the plane and leaving this running bullshit to some other young buck.”

  That made Ted feel pretty good. He was in his forties, not a young buck, either. However, he hadn’t fallen on his ass—twice.

  They ran to the end of the bridge and Ted went right to a small, brown two-door subcompact.

  ER stood outside pretending like he didn’t want to get in. “You could have found a Bentley for us. This thing is trash.”

  Ted realized the Army guy had probably not spent a day in a front-line environment. His reasoning for selecting the car were entirely defensive.

  “This baby is low to the ground and hard to spot. We’ll glide next to the other traffic still on the road, and with a little luck, we won’t be spotted by those guys in the gun trucks.”

  ER brightened. “That’s pretty smart.”

  Ted thanked heaven he outranked the lieutenant. He’d likely have chosen another big truck, and they’d be spotted in a heartbeat.

  The event had taken place at rush hour that morning, so the streets were filled with vehicles heading into the city. A lot of those cars had veered into the opposite lanes when the event took place, but they generally had no difficulties weaving their way through the city.

  “Stay sharp, ER. If you see those other guys, even from miles away, let me know.”

  Ramirez had his window down, and, to his credit, diligently watched the city streets for the big, tan military rigs. Ted looked out his side, and in the rearview mirror, but they managed to avoid seeing them all the way to the White House.

  “At least we know where they aren’t,” he said as they pulled up to the heavy security pylons blocking the street in front of the White House.

  “Did we beat them?” ER asked. “Or are they watching us?”

  Ted put the car in park and turned it off. “You trying to scare the crap out of me? I feel like my skin has been crawling under the surface since I saw the first, uh, invisible person.”

  “You think they’re still here? That would freak me out, too.”

  The soldier had a way of twisting his words. He never once considered that the people were still alive and walking around like the Invisible Man. The notion made thinking about those clothes even creepier.

  “No, I think everyone is dead. It was a weapon, not a setup for a comedy movie. Who would go through all that trouble for a gag?”

  ER laughed. “I would. It would be a legendary prank pulled on millions of fans. I would be laughter’s hero for the ages.”

  Ted shook his head, clearing the doubt from his mind so he could focus on what they had to do next.

  “Let’s get inside and get what we came here for. We can joke about it after we’re back on the plane.”

  Ramirez seemed to take it to heart. “I don’t really think they’re alive. I just wish they were.”

  “Yeah, this sucks,” Ted replied.

  Bonne Terre, MO

  Tabby opened her eyes, happy they weren’t burning because she was underwater. However, new problems were everywhere in her renewed line of sight.

  Audrey flailed like a bass tangled in fishing line.

  Peter struggled with her, though he didn’t have much luck calming the young girl.

  And Donovan kicked and swam under the boat, in the wrong direction; his green chem light rose and fell like a floating ghost.

  All of them, including her, were using oxygen faster than was necessary.

  “Steady, girl. Fix what you can.” She first swam out to Donovan. He windmilled his arms like crazy, but barely kicked his feet to propel him, allowing her to use better form and overtake him. However, when she tapped him on the hip, he curled up in a ball like a roly-poly bug.

  She shifted and shined her light toward his face, hoping to get him to acknowledge her. It took much longer than she’d wished, and they sank halfway to the bottom while trying to talk to him, but he finally looked at her face.

  Tabby held up two fingers and pointed to her own eyes. “Focus on me!”

  Donovan looked from one side to the other, perhaps forgetting where he was. However, when he returned his gaze to her, he seemed to recognize her.

  She motioned for him to follow but didn’t let him go. It took a few more seconds, but the kid finally gave her a thumbs-up.

  After flashing the OK symbol, she let go and made like she was going to swim away. Once she’d gone a few feet, she checked behind to make sure he was there. His red track suit made him stand out in the darkness. He moved toward her.

  “One down,” she thought.

  By the time she got back to Audrey, Peter had her in his arms. Once again, she reflected how surprised she was that the boy was such an asset to her.

  Tabby swam up to meet them and traded OK signs with both.

  “God, please help us,” she prayed. The idea of going on a one-way trip was not sitting well with her, but she was absolutely convinced it was their only hope.

  “This way,” she vocalized with the regulator in her mouth. No one would understand her, but she did it anyway. Tabby pointed the light in
to the dark tunnel beyond the wrecked train engine and then went in that direction.

  When she reached the square entrance, she halted and stood on the hundred-year-old train tracks. The three kids floated in the water like they were in a freeze-frame photograph. It was an illusion created by the clear water and slow movements of the divers in the darkness.

  “Come on,” she waved.

  When she was certain they were going to follow, she turned toward the interior of the mine tunnel. The tracks on the floor went into the darkness, and the horizontal shaft seemed to go straight into nothingness.

  She tried to reflect on where she was, relative to the mine entrance up in town.

  “Am I under my house?” a local kid would often ask while on the tour. Sometimes, the answer was yes.

  But Tabby had gone far into the mine, and direction was impossible to know once you’d gone around a few of the giant stone columns. Even if she had a map of the lake, and had the time to study it, she probably wouldn’t have been able to answer the basic geography question. Now, under stresses beyond her imagination a few short hours ago, it was one of the weird thoughts crowding her brain.

  She looked back again. The kids were in the tunnel, but Audrey appeared to have trouble staying below the ceiling. She’d seen it before; the girl could use some more weight to keep her from floating upward.

  When the girl got close, she pulled off one of the weights from her lead belt and used the carabiner to lock it onto Audrey’s. Tabby was sure the extra weight would do her good, but when she finally looked into the girl’s face, her eyes were terror-stricken.

  Tabby didn’t know what to do, so she reached out with both of her hands and put them on the girl’s cheeks. For a moment, the bubbles coming out of their regulators filled the area with chaos, but when those cleared out, the girl finally saw Tabby’s eyes.

  She smiled at Audrey, wishing she could convey nothing but the word calm.

  Peter arrived and grabbed Audrey around the waist with one arm, like they were getting a photograph of themselves.

  Donovan stood on the track nearby, though he seemed to work to keep his bare feet off the metal and jagged rock.