Minus America

by E. E. Isherwood

  She crouched next to him. “Yeah, but they found the captain. Everything is going to be all right.”

  “Maybe, but I believe what the dead man said. There are imposters on board, and we have no idea who they are. We need to call the military police, or whatever, to come in here and straighten things out. Then the captain can put out to sea. Meanwhile, I just want to go home to my wife and five…little angels.”

  She stood up, aware that she had to do a job. “Where are you hurt?”

  “My butt cheek. I think I caught one while I ran away from battle. Serves me right, huh?” He shifted to reveal smeared blood on the battleship gray deck.

  The staccato of machine gun fire blew in with the wind. The start of the engines seemed to amp up the battle going on topside. She figured Carthager and his Marines were fighting off whatever force came to capture the ship.

  She couldn’t let them down.

  “I’ll be right back. I’m still cutting the ropes. I said I would.”

  “It’s your funeral,” Ben replied with a lethal dose of sarcasm.

  Kyla set the saw next to one of the two outgoing mooring ropes. The tight-wound white line was about six-inches in diameter and had been wrapped in and out of a pair of stubs on the deck, but there were god-knows how many loops lying on the ground nearby. The captain was right, of course. If she tossed all that rope overboard, it would almost certainly get caught in the propellers.

  The tension on both ropes was evident from how they strained with each surge in the engines. The captain was counting on her to cut the ropes so they could escape from whatever force was attacking them from the shore.

  “Don’t do it, Kyla. Let the pros handle this one.”

  Kyla searched her feelings from the morning’s events. The Marines had risked their lives to protect her. Van Nuys was using every crewman to help get the ship out of harm’s way. Explosions and shooting from the ongoing assault on the landing deck indicated their fight wasn’t over.

  By comparison, Ben’s one contribution today was running away when the battle got hot.

  She pulled the cord on the gas-powered saw.

  “Let’s remodel,” she crowed.

  Tyson’s Corner, VA

  Ted started the motor for the SUV but didn’t put it in drive.

  “What the hell is that?” he blurted.

  Up ahead, a cross wind blew in from the right side of the road, carrying debris and dust. Small swatches of blues, reds, and whites swirled around the pavement, or soared in the air above.

  “It looks like someone dumped their trash,” ER suggested.

  “All right,” Ted said after checking his rearview mirror one last time. “We’re going for it.”

  He was worried about what was going to happen when they reached the rendezvous point at Dulles, and whether his gut was right or wrong about Ramirez, but he had to get moving again.

  Ted hit the gas, but they hadn’t gone a hundred feet before he figured out what was flying in the air.

  “Fuck this,” he drawled. “This is unreal.”

  “Ugh,” his passenger replied.

  A kid’s pair of soccer shorts blew onto the hood, then attached itself to his wiper blade, as if it were magnetic.

  The wind carried other pairs of shorts, little shirts, and the odd sock. A few soccer balls rolled in the median, as did several folding chairs.

  “The fields—” ER pointed to the right. Three perfectly manicured soccer fields had been in use when the attack on America took place. Those lost souls had their clothes carried on the wind and deposited on the highway.

  Ted focused ahead as he crossed the blowout zone. A little pink jacket whipped across his field of view, though he did his best not to see it. He also didn’t see the Avengers beach towel on the grass to his right. It had miraculously spread itself out, save for a small corner that remained folded over.

  He was up to sixty-five before he let out the air he’d been holding in his chest. “Wow. Let’s never do that again.”

  ER tested a chuckle, as did Ted. They drove in silence for a few minutes and made good time most of the way. However, Ted had to slow when they came up on several cars still parked in the roadway.

  “Looks like… Oh, not fucking again.” Ted slowed to a stop, then banged on the steering wheel with both hands.

  The roadway was blocked.

  Amarillo, TX

  “Listen up!” Brent yelled to get everyone’s attention.

  When the residents saw him start up the steps, they shouted and cried for him to not leave them to die. They’d watched the other correctional officers abandon them, and they probably had little or no idea what was happening up in the world.

  He was going to make things right.

  “I said, listen up!” His voice carried through the cell block.

  It took half a minute, but they finally settled. He faced two rows of cells with orange-clad arms hanging from the doorways or holding the bars.

  “I don’t know why the others left you—”

  A few men cussed at him.

  “—but I’m not going to let you die in here.”

  A nearby prisoner waved an arm. “What is going on? Why did they leave?”

  Brent took a step down. “Everyone on A is gone. I mean everyone, too. Guards. Residents. Administrators. The only thing left is their clothes.”

  A guy far down the row laughed. “Any naked ladies up there?”

  Not many joined his mirth, which told Brent he had their solid attention. The woman-deprived population would never pass on wolf-whistling at the mere mention of a woman, much less a naked one.

  How Trish handled it, he would never know.

  “There is no one up there. And it gets worse,” he spit out. “There is no one in any town within twenty miles. That’s where I went when I left you the first time. I had to see for myself how far this…mystery…goes.”

  “Fuckin’ A,” the nearest prisoner replied.

  “Fucking A, B, all the way to Z. We are the only people left alive, fellas. I know most of you…” He stepped down to the main floor and paced back toward the guard booth. “Hell, I spend almost as much time with you as you do with each other. From what I’ve seen, most of you got the short end of the stick or made a few bad choices.”

  A few men snickered. “We’re all innocent,” one of them sang. It was the age-old story of the jailhouse blues.

  “I know,” he said with understanding. “And to show you how much I believe you, I’m going to open the cages and let you out.”

  The floor fell into bedlam as people cheered and howled. Some of them also cussed at the top of their lungs. That happened no matter what else was going on. Brent wondered how some of these men got through their parole hearings—they simply didn’t know how to not cuss.

  He shut the door of the guard booth and hit the switch. There was no point to dragging it out.

  “Be free,” he said to himself.

  The prisoners ran for the exit like he was going to take back his offer at any second. Some of them grabbed a sheet or a bowl or whatever little possessions they owned, but most went away empty-handed.

  Ninety seconds later, the hall was completely empty.

  “Well, that’s that.” He felt good about it. Even if Amarillo and the world beyond was intact, he’d seen enough to know a significant disaster had hit the great state of Texas. Those men deserved to be with their families, or, if it was their fate, they could at least be with the remains of their loved ones.

  The warm and fuzzy feeling only lasted until he got about six feet beyond the safety of the guard booth.

  Some of the prisoners had come back.

  CHAPTER 25

  Tyson’s Corner, VA

  Ted sat in the front seat and peered ahead to the blocked westbound lanes.

  Ramirez pointed to the parallel bridge carrying the eastbound traffic. They’d used that on their drive into DC. “Cross the median and go over the other bridge.”

  Ted had alrea
dy turned off the motor. He decided to open the door and step outside. The keys went into his pocket next to one of the Glocks.

  “What’s wrong?” the army guy probed.

  He slammed his door and looked back inside the open window. “Everything! Did you see all those kids? Poof. Gone. My sister said it was just as bad everywhere else in America. What monster could use a weapon that cold?”

  ER eyed his duffel in the back seat, but then grabbed his rifle and exited the truck. When he came around, the weapon was slung on his back. “You want to talk about it, boss?”

  He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I’ve done time in the sandbox, but this is as close as I’ve come to seeing casualties up close and personal.”

  “It gets easier, I’ve heard. It only takes time.” The lieutenant sounded sympathetic.

  “Mmhmm,” he agreed.

  The sun beat down from the southwest, and he was aware he needed to be miles away before it descended much further. Duty demanded he report back in and get the VP to safety, but then he had to protect his family. Seeing those blowing little shirts made him realize everyone he loved was likely dead. Mom. His sister. Cousins.

  His niece might be the only person left in his entire family tree.

  “So, we going to go around?” ER said with disinterest.

  It would be easy to cross the median, use the wrong lanes for a hundred yards to get over the bridge, then get back into the proper ones.

  “I want to,” he said while looking over the scene like a farmer waiting for the rain. “But I’m worried we’ll encounter another convoy, you know? If we’re over there, we’ll be pointed the wrong way. That will get their attention, for sure.”

  He glanced over his shoulder to make sure he’d been heard. Then he went on. “I’m thinking we only need to move that orange sports car a little and we’ll fit on through. If we encounter a convoy, we’ll freeze in place, like before. The important part is we’ll be facing the right way.”

  “Yeah, I guess that makes sense,” ER replied.

  Ted stepped away from the SUV and gestured to the other man’s rifle. “You already have your fire stick out. Why don’t you go over there and start up that little hot rod? I’ll be ready to cross behind you.”

  Ramirez brightened. “Works for me. Anything to get us moving so we don’t miss that rendezvous.”

  He shuffled by Ted and jogged out onto the bridge.

  Ted hopped back in the truck and started it up. However, instead of putting it in gear, he reached back and wrestled with the duffel bag to find the zipper. Once he had it, he pulled it about halfway to the end, so he had a good look at what was inside.

  “Guns,” he said dryly. That was what ER had said was in there.

  Ted glanced forward, worried the soldier might come back to see what the hell he was doing, but Ramirez was now at the door of the sports car. That gave him the confidence he could take a few more seconds to snoop.

  It was hard to see behind the seats, and he wasn’t going to haul the whole thing to the front, so he had to poke around with his hands. He felt the guns near the top, and a few ammo magazines beneath them. However, he recognized the feeling of a leather briefcase at the bottom.

  His heart went AWOL, skipping out on a few required beats.

  Ted craned his neck and opened the duffel as far as it would go. That allowed him to see a black carrying case with a lock at the top. It was very similar to the one he’d seen travel with the president.

  “The nuclear football,” he whispered.

  He shifted in his seat, so he faced forward again. ER had made easy work of the car, and it was now in the right lane, out of his way.

  Ted put the SUV in gear and gave it the minimum amount of gas to move.

  He only trusted himself and the vice president. Jeffries was a high-ranking member of the veep’s traveling staff who’d tossed out his oath to the Constitution of the United States. Ramirez would have taken a similar oath, but there were little things about him that made Ted wonder if he had sympathies similar to Jeffries.

  Carrying the nuclear football without mentioning it … That was a huge red flag.

  Ted closed the distance to his passenger, still going as slow as the truck would allow. Ramirez stood on the deck of the bridge with his hand on the strap of his gun, up near his shoulder. He stood casually, like he was waiting for a bus ride.

  Ted clutched the wheel at the ten and two positions.

  When he was almost there, ER took a step back to allow room for the big black SUV to slide through the other cars.

  “Sorry, man. Can’t take the chance!” Ted gunned the motor and sped right by him.

  “Hey!” ER shouted.

  He had to weave through a couple other cars and trucks to get off the bridge, but it was open road as far as he could see after that.

  The rear window exploded from gunfire.

  “Fuck!”

  Ted crouched as much as he could, but he kept his head above the dashboard to see the road.

  Another shot put a hole in the passenger-side mirror.

  He found the straightaway and smashed the gas pedal to the floor. The big motor seemed to want to sprint, and the speedometer soon went above eighty.

  A third shot went through the passenger seat headrest, then continued through the front windshield.

  “Damn!”

  Ted drove around a curve in the road but was hesitant to sit up straight, even though ER was out of sight. The wind and broken windows made it feel like he was exposed to the world, and he didn’t want to let his guard down for one second.

  “He can’t be US Army,” Ted declared a minute later. “He fucking shot at me!”

  His high speed meant he was going to make it on time, but he still didn’t know how that person on the radio had found out about the vice president’s return flight. Ditching Ramirez was a risk, but if he was legit, he would understand why Ted had to do it.

  The VP was in grave danger.

  Bonne Terre, MO

  Donovan tapped Tabby on the elbow. “Where are you driving us?”

  “The highway,” she said with assurance. “We’ll get over there and then speed away as fast as we can.”

  Bonne Terre was a small town, so it only took her a couple of streets to reach the entrance ramp for the highway. It was disappointing not to see police and fire units at the highway overpass, but they would see them soon.

  “The evacuation must have been huge,” she said in a soothing voice. “I’m sure we’ll see the police in an exit or two.”

  She drove for a few miles without seeing any moving vehicles in either direction. However, as she wondered where all the cars had gone, she came upon the scene of an accident. Two family sedans had run into the grass median and hit each other head on.

  “What are the odds?” Peter asked with a distinct lack of tact. “The whole highway is empty except for where these two crossed over at the same place.”

  Tabby slowed down, but no one was inside.

  “We’ll report this when we find someone.”

  She wasn’t a rule breaker or risk taker, but she drove as fast as she dared. The orange needle on her Ford Focus speedometer hovered near 98 and 99, though the mental limit of 100 beckoned her to break it.

  There were no other cars on the road, so it was perfectly safe, she reasoned, but she held that same speed for many minutes. Eventually, she came upon another vehicle stopped in her lane and she slowed down.

  “Let’s see what this guy knows.” She motioned to the cement mixer.

  “No, we shouldn’t stop,” Donovan complained. “Just keep going.”

  She didn’t want to keep driving. Mom and Dad had to be out there, and the further they got from town, the further she was from home. Her tour guide skills weren’t so good once she left familiar surroundings, so if the construction worker could give her some assistance on where to go, it would be worth the time.

  Tabby pulled up behind the mixer, put her car in park, and got out.
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br />   “I’ll be right back.”

  She jogged up the side of the big white truck because she didn’t want to be outside a second longer than necessary.

  “Hello?”

  She waited for a response, checked around her to see if any other cars were coming, then climbed the step and held the driver’s door handle.

  “Hello?” she said again to be sure. The window was rolled down, so there was no way someone could ignore her.

  The door opened easily, confirming in an instant no one was inside the small, two-person cabin. There was, however, a pair of work boots on the floorboard. A pair of filthy jeans hung over the edge of the front seat. A disgusting and stinky cup of spit-out tobacco drooled its mess all over the cuff of the pants. Finally, a denim short-sleeve shirt had been tossed in front of the steering wheel.

  “Dammit,” she exhaled. “Why did he leave his clothes?”

  She hopped down, content there was no one there, but she froze in her borrowed sneakers as she made a connection.

  Empty set of clothes?

  What, exactly, had been going on back in that pavilion?

  Where were the first responders? The rubber-neckers? The anyone?

  She ran back to the car and got it going again. Tabby accelerated past the truck, giving the teens no chance to see inside.

  “Well?” Donovan asked a short time later.

  “Well, what?” she said as if distracted.

  “Well, what did he say?”

  She breathed in and out like she was running instead of driving. She’d been leaking mass quantities of adrenaline all day long, so she wasn’t sure how any was left. However, the fear and anxiety were back like a bad rash.

  Tabby itched it. “Nothing to worry about. I think the guy ran out of gas.”

  She looked in the rearview mirror. “Audrey, honey, can you take me to your house? I’d like to, uh, get your medication.”

  “That would be great, actually,” she replied. “I’d like to put on my real clothes. I look like a bum.”

  “What town do you live in?”

  Audrey replied, “Arnold.”

  “Got it. We should be there, soon.” It was one of the larger towns south of St. Louis, Missouri, so she didn’t need a map to get there.