by Justin Bell
Passing the old Cavendish place on the left side, she looked at the two cars in the driveway and noted with bemusement that their old 1960s Chevy pickup still sat stranded in their backyard. It was no longer on blocks and looked to be in much better shape than it had been twenty years ago, but it was still right there where she remembered.
It took a handful of minutes to complete the climb and at the diamond-shaped sign which read “No Outlet,” she eased the van right, crunched over a low divot in the gravel road, and trekked forward.
The cabin appeared just ahead of them as the low, thick fog of mid-morning meandered through the trees and lifted up towards the lightening sky. Just through the thinning morning moisture, Rhonda could see the pink sky melting to blue, setting a burnt, dark crust on the outer edge of the puffy fog-fueled clouds.
“Is that it?” Max asked as he leaned forward in his seat.
“That place is tiny,” Winnie remarked.
“It’s got three bedrooms, a full kitchen, two bathrooms, and a basement,” Rhonda said, angling the van to a small cleared spot next to the cabin. She cut the engine and sat in her seat, just looking at it.
From the outside it looked almost exactly the same as it had two decades earlier, a single-story square structure with a low, angled metal roof. Though they called it their “cabin,” it wasn’t a literal cabin, just a smaller house set deep in the mountain wilderness. The siding was real wood, stained a dark brown and a flat, wide porch ran along the near side, then hooked around the corner to the rear, offering a beautiful view of cascading fir trees running down the backside of the hill. Rhonda remembered seeing deer from time to time in those early mornings and had also even seen a bear once. She’d almost spit out her coffee when that had happened.
Had that been her last summer here? Her final trip up the mountain before she went to college? It seemed like a lifetime ago, even though some of those memories still seeped inside her brain like fresh wounds.
Why had she come back? Just to prove that she could?
The morning was quiet and peaceful as it always seemed to be up here, at least whenever she first arrived. The peace never lasted long in the past, but she hoped it would be different now. Lord knew she was plenty different.
Slamming car doors shook her free from her trip down memory lane and she jerked forward, unhooking her seat belt. Bradley was already at the front door, patiently waiting for someone to let him in so he could go pee, and Max was roaming aimlessly around the front yard. As Rhonda stepped out of the car, he bent over and scooped up a rock from the driveway, then cocked his arm back and threw it.
Go figure, she thought, his first ten seconds here and he’s breaking the place up.
To her right, Phillip and Winnie crossed the neatly trimmed grass, approaching the thick woods to the northeast, looking around the corner of the house towards the backyard.
“Home sweet home?” Phil barked from his spot in the yard. Rhonda shrugged.
She strode towards the door and ruffled Brad’s hair as she withdrew her spare key and unlocked the front door.
“Down the hall straight ahead, first door on the right,” she whispered, and he nodded frantically, scurrying away into the house.
The front door led to an opened kitchen area, with a round dining room to the left, and the range and sink entrenched in counters along the right wall. A full-sized refrigerator was on the far wall, with a hallway just to its left which led down to the bedrooms and the bathrooms.
A waist-high bar separated the kitchen from a decent-sized, square-shaped living room where a couch and two chairs sat facing a squat entertainment center. On top of the entertainment center was an old tube television set.
“What on earth is that?” Max asked as he pushed his way into the house, nearly shoving Rhonda out of the way.
“It’s a television,” Phil replied.
“That big thing?”
“That’s how they used to look.”
“They have cable here?” Winnie asked, squeezing her way in behind Max. “Or at least satellite or something?”
“There was an aerial antenna on the roof,” Phil interjected, bringing up the rear as the rest of the family progressed deeper into the house.
“I bet it’s not even high def,” Max scoffed.
Rhonda pointed over towards the kitchen wall where there was a phone handset. “Phil can you call Lydia? She wanted to know when we arrived.”
“Seriously, mom?” Winnie said. “It's like eight in the morning there. Saturday morning at UCLA. You think she's going to want to hear dad's voice?”
Rhonda laughed. “Good point. Give me the phone, Phil. I'll call Lydia. She at least appreciates her mother.”
Winnie rolled her eyes as her mom walked past her back into the kitchen. In the next room the toilet flushed.
“Does this stupid thing even have a remote?” Winnie asked as she fumbled with the cumbersome television set.
Rhonda scooped the phone from Phil's outstretched hand and punched in her daughter's dorm room phone number.
There was a click on the other end followed by a brief hum and squawk of static.
“All circuits are busy now,” a monotone female voice said. Rhonda drew back, clicked the hang up button, then tried again.
“All circuits are busy now.”
“Phil?” Rhonda let the phone drop in her hand and turned towards her husband.
His face was pale, his mouth hanging slack, as he glared at the television.
“Oh my God,” Winnie whispered, putting a hand to her mouth.
Rhonda dropped the phone, sending it clattering against the wall, still tethered to its coiled cable. She stood there stock still, watching the grainy face of the news reporter, only barely hearing the words coming from her moving mouth.
She didn’t know what had happened or what would happen, but somehow, instinctively, she knew life would never be the same again.
***
“Call again, Phil. Please, call again!” Rhonda paced back and forth in the living room, her hands clenching and unclenching.
“Honey, I just did. Circuits are still busy, I don't think that'll change in five minutes—”
“Just try it again, Philip!” Tears streamed down her face as she glared at her hands, unsure of what to do with them or with life in general.
She snapped her head back around as the picture on the television shifted back to the news reporter.
“Details are still scarce at the moment,” the woman reported, “but we can confirm that a series of attacks have struck the West Coast of the United States. Significant explosions have rocked the early morning commutes in Seattle, Portland, and several locations throughout California.”
“Several locations?” Rhonda shrieked to no one in particular.
Winnie sat on the couch, her eyes wide. Both of her hands were clasped to her chest, the sheer gravity of the situation still settling over her.
“Mom, what's going on?” Max asked. He had remained standing, his young body not fully equipped to handle what his brain was seeing.
“This is a joke, right?” Bradley asked, turning towards Max, his eyes pleading. “This has got to be a joke.”
“Channel Four can also confirm,” the newscaster continued, “that the detonated devices appear to be nuclear in origin.”
“What?” Rhonda hissed, a fresh stream of tears breaking free and running over the contours of her smooth face.
“Circuits are still busy, Rhonda,” Phil reported from the kitchen.
“What about my mom?” Bradley said quietly, moving over towards the couch. He sat down onto the cushion, his face still glued to the screen ahead, his legs moving by pure habit.
This seemed to snap Rhonda out of her trance and she turned towards him, walked to his side, and sat on the couch next to him. “I know, sweetie,” she said softly. “We’ll get you home, okay? Nothing to worry about.”
On the television, the reporter looked off screen for a moment, as if receiv
ing instructions from someone.
“Hold on,” she said. “Just in, there was a reported attempt this morning at the Port of Boston, however the attack was thwarted by Customs and Border Patrol agents. We can confirm that there was also an attack in Boston, on the East Coast, but that attack was unsuccessful.”
“What the…” Phil muttered, walking into the living room.
“What do we do?” asked Winnie, glancing around as if someone in the room might have some kind of idea.
“There’s not much we can do,” Rhonda replied, her voice cracking under not only her own emotion, but the emotion of the young boy who buried himself in her arms. She looked over towards Max, but he seemed to be showing no interest in being comforted by her. He continued watching the television with some strange mixture of horror and awe.
“Wait, nuclear!” Winnie shouted as if the news had just sunk in. “That means radiation, right?” Her rapid breath cut through her voice in mid-sentence.
“My Lydia,” Rhonda closed her eyes. “What are we going to do about Lydia?”
Phil walked to the television and twisted the volume dial. They never had found the remote, though they hadn’t looked all that hard since the news broke through whatever innocuous show had been broadcasting.
“Where in California did these go off? Did they say?” he asked.
“No!” Rhonda shouted. “They haven’t said anything. They keep saying ‘several,’ I don’t even know what they mean by that!”
A color coordinated map blinked into view over the newscaster’s right shoulder, helpfully labeled by large, throbbing yellow dots which seemed to be indicating the locations of the detonations.
“California has been the hardest hit from what we know so far,” the news woman continued, “and we have reports that San Diego and San Francisco have both been hit, though as of now, Los Angeles appears to be a relative safe zone.”
“Safe zone?” Rhonda barked. “It’s only 120 miles from San Diego! That’s not a safe zone!”
“Early reports are saying that domestic air travel has been immediately shut down pending further investigation of these attacks, which is adding some challenging obstacles to any rescue or recovery efforts at this point.”
Rhonda pressed her hand to her mouth.
“Video is coming in now, though we must warn our sensitive viewers that what you are about to see could be disturbing to young audiences.”
Phil made no movement and neither did his wife, both glaring at the set, seemingly unconcerned about the children in the room. On the television a shaky cell phone film blinked to life shot vertically. The Golden Gate Bridge was front and center in the picture and they appeared to be on the water nearby.
“Oh no, I can’t watch,” whispered Rhonda, but her eyes didn’t leave the screen.
A faint red glow began to rise, as if the sun itself was lifting from the water of the bay, and then the shock wave rolled over the water, waves rippling violently outward. The person with the camera was knocked back as if they were punched. Muffled voices could be heard as the phone camera drifted away, catching only the vague edge of the cloud and blinding flash which swallowed the Golden Gate Bridge whole.
The camera snapped to black.
“This can’t be real,” Max said again.
“It is real,” Phil replied. Seeming to realize that he was actually talking to his son and not some stranger, he turned towards the boy and took a step his direction, swallowing him in an aggressive bear hug.
Rhonda looked down at Bradley, who still looked to be in a trance, then peeled herself away and walked out into the kitchen, over to where the phone rested. Without even speaking she picked up the receiver and punched Lydia’s number, though she knew what she would hear.
“All circuits are busy now.”
She set the phone down without even looking at it, mesmerized by the scene on the television.
“We do not have final numbers of expected casualties,” the newscaster reported, “nor do we yet know the impact of surrounding areas, but we strongly advise anyone within five hundred miles of coastal California to please seek immediate shelter. If you have anywhere safe to go, go there, but go there calmly and do not panic.”
“How far can radiation go?” Max asked, pulling his face from Phil’s shirt, which was now damp with his tears. “Can it get us here?”
Phil glanced over at Rhonda as if this thought had simply not occurred to him until now. His face was slack, his eyes narrowed, and if it were possible for more color to drain from his cheeks, it would have.
“It would take days if not weeks for it to get this far, honey,” Rhonda replied, hoping her lie sounded convincing, because the truth was, she had absolutely no clue and the possibility was almost too frightening to bear.
She gestured towards him and Phil nodded, pulling away from Max.
“I'll be right back, kiddo,” he said, tapping his only son on the shoulder and navigating his way out into the kitchen. Rhonda pushed out the front door and out into the yard, Phillip close behind her. Before she even got five steps, she turned back towards him.
“We need to do something, Phil. We can’t just sit here.”
“Do what?” he asked, shrugging his shoulders. He explained himself further as he realized he was sounding insensitive towards their older daughter. He embraced his wife in a hug as he spoke. “I’m worried about Lydia, too. Petrified for her. But we can’t exactly drive west into a fallout zone, can we?”
Rhonda wiped a tear from her cheek. “Air travel is shut down. What about trains? Cars? Trucks? Is everyone just stranded there?”
“They could be anywhere. If they shut down air travel, I’m not sure where she might end up, or even if she can get out of the city.”
“Oh my dear God. What are we supposed to do?”
Phil placed his hands on his hips, lowering his gaze towards the cut grass. He could see the faint droplets of dew still clinging to the blades, and everything seemed as if it was crystal clear and frozen in time. This is how he got during these times. Sure, his strategic planning meetings covered completely different subject matter than he was dealing with now, but even as he stood there, his mind started putting some pieces together, forming a picture and a process. A way to move on.
“First priority I think should be going into town. Buy some supplies for the long haul, just in case,” he shot her a look as she began to argue, but she rethought her rebuttal and clamped her lips closed. “I’m sure there’s some local law enforcement in town, too. Maybe they know something?”
Rhonda drew a shaky breath. “Do you think that’s wise?” she asked. “We have no idea what’s going on out there or how these people might be reacting. Being near other people could be…dangerous.”
Phil looked at his wife and for a brief moment, he thought he saw her eyes shift right, as if looking towards the trees, expecting people to be milling about in there.
“Everyone is in the same spot we are, honey,” he replied. “They’re just all looking out for themselves. Plus, it’s early, maybe people haven’t checked the news yet?” He hesitated before speaking again. “I hate saying this, but Max, Winnie, and Brad are our priorities right now. I know it sounds cold, but…”
Rhonda nodded slowly. “No, I get it. They’re here with us and we can’t take them somewhere unsafe. But we have to try to figure out if she’s okay.”
“We shouldn’t stop trying the phone. I don’t know of any other way we can get in touch from all the way out here, unless someone in town’s got Internet access. Maybe we can check that and see if we can get a message to her that way? Or get to somewhere with a phone signal so we can send a text?”
Rhonda nodded again, then suddenly blew out a long, throaty breath. “Do you think she’s okay, Phil? Is our baby okay?”
It was Lydia’s first year at UCLA and her mother had been struggling a little bit. It didn’t help that Lydia had been the only one of her three children who she felt especially close with, a relationsh
ip that existed as close friends, not just mother and daughter. Winnie had always been closer to Phil, and Max was an island unto himself. An island in especially choppy, unpredictable seas.
“She’ll be okay,” Phil replied. “If these are suitcase nukes or whatever they’re called, they’d be much smaller than full blown missiles.”
Rhonda rolled her eyes and chuckled. “As if you know what you’re talking about, Phil. This isn’t some stupid Tom Clancy book.” She turned away from him, though inside she was thankful for him at least attempting to ease her fears. He did try, though generally he stumbled around, groping desperately for some kind of comforting words. That sort of thing wasn’t in his wheelhouse.
Phil stood out in the yard and looked out into the trees, trying to focus on the spot he had seen Rhonda looking. He saw nothing and heard less, but felt a little unsettled just the same. Standing out in the yard, looking at the wilderness, life as he knew it seemed the same as it was an hour earlier, but he knew it was a front. And he knew that even though he was trying to calm his wife’s nerves, the fact that there had been so many successful attacks all in a single morning meant that the only country he’d ever known was under active attack.
And more attacks would be coming.
Stepping up to the front door, he went into the kitchen in time to see Rhonda hang up the handset again and swipe at her tear streaked face.
“Bradley,” Rhonda asked, moving towards the living room. “Were your mom and dad staying home this weekend?”
Brad sniffled and looked over towards her, nodding slowly. “I think so, yeah.”
Rhonda knew that home for Brad was downtown Denver, and her stomach lurched at the thought of one of those devices detonating there. Was any city truly safe?
“New reports from boots on the ground,” interrupted the newscaster, who seemed to know she was interrupting something. “We are hearing reports that there has been another device detonation. This time in Las Vegas, Nevada.”
Rhonda gasped. How many would be dead by the time it was all said and done? The numbers were nearly unthinkable.
“We don’t have casualty counts as of yet, but everyone is fearing the worst—”
