“Girl’s good with her hands,” Yo-Yo said, licking his lips.
“Both of you turn around a couple of times, nice and slow.”
They did as they were told. Tanner didn’t see any additional weapons or ammunition on them.
“Stay here ten minutes. And I mean ten minutes. I’ll leave your ammunition over by the Vietnam Memorial. Friendly word of advice: don’t come looking for us.”
“Sure, brother. Why would we come looking for you? Just don’t forget to leave the ammunition. Bullets are hard to come by around here, DC being what it is and all.”
“They’ll be there.”
Tanner and Samantha slowly backed out of the structure, neither of them confident that this would be the last they would see of Lars and Yo-Yo.
They hurried along the edge of the Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool. It was the first time either of them had ever been close to the two-thousand-foot-long body of water. There was no temptation to drink from it, however, as there were dozens of bloated corpses floating on the surface.
Tanner tossed Yo-Yo’s magazine out into the pool.
“Hey,” she said, “you told them—”
“They should be thankful I sent them on an Easter egg hunt instead of beating them to a pulp. I chose the softer, gentler approach that you’re always hounding me about.”
“I wouldn’t have minded so much with them. Especially Yo-Yo.”
Tanner snorted. “Now you tell me.”
“Do you think they’ll follow us?” she asked, looking back over her shoulder.
“Not if we hurry.”
They broke into a jog, and a few minutes later were stepping into the World War II Memorial. The elliptical memorial consisted of forty-six pillars adorned with bronze wreaths, all surrounding a pool of stagnant green water. They quickly ducked into a small walled-off service area and turned back to watch the Lincoln Memorial.
After a short time, Lars and Yo-Yo came out, took a quick look around, and hurried off to the north, presumably to find their ammunition.
“I think we’re clear,” he said.
“Look at what Yo-Yo did.”
Tanner turned to see Samantha squatting down next to what looked like a doodle on one of the granite walls. The cartoon showed a bald-headed man with a long nose peeking over a wall. The words “Kilroy was here,” were scribed above his head.
He chuckled. “Yo-Yo didn’t do that.”
“Are you sure? It looks a lot like him.”
“I’m sure. Ask an old veteran someday, and maybe he’ll explain. Right now, we need to move.”
They hurried through the World War II Memorial, heading straight for the Washington Monument, a stone obelisk that towered more than five hundred feet into the air. A tractor-trailer had sideswiped the monument, taking out a corner of the base before flipping over and catching fire. Black scorch marks licked their way up the side of the distinctive two-tone white marble structure. Despite the damage, however, the monument stood straight and true. They slowed and walked past the architectural marvel, staring up at it like it was a monolith meant to reach the gods.
“This was always my favorite monument,” she said. “It reminds me of a giant pencil.”
“A giant pencil?”
“You don’t think so?”
He looked up at the enormous structure.
“Are you kidding me? It’s like six hundred feet tall.”
“Right. That’s why I said ‘giant.’”
“Fair enough.”
They pushed on, turning north on 15th Street. Cars were absolutely everywhere, filling the street, jamming the walkways, and stuck in deep ruts in the adjacent grassy field. People had been desperate to escape the city, but most had become trapped in the exodus.
“It’s amazing how many people got stuck here,” she said.
“That’s because they forgot the golden rule of evacuating.”
“Which is?”
“Get out early, or don’t get out at all.”
She looked into one of the cars and saw the dried corpses of two middle-aged women. Sisters, she thought. Both of them were leaning back in their seats as if they had simply given up and gone to sleep.
“Yeah,” she said. “I see your point.”
They worked their way through the maze of cars, finally approaching Pennsylvania Avenue. The street was filled with M113 armored personnel carriers, M2 Bradley Fighting Vehicles, and light armored HMMWVs. Nearby cars were burned and riddled with quarter-sized bullet holes, some still containing charred bodies inside. Lying around the cars were hundreds of decaying bodies, most of them civilians. Dried blood was spattered all across the walls of an adjacent office building, further evidence of their horrific end. A plaque out front identified it as the Department of Commerce.
“What do you think happened here?”
“Looks like a massacre to me.”
“I know that. I mean why did the army shoot all these people?”
“My guess is that they demanded answers from their leaders. That doesn’t usually end well.”
“You don’t think my mom could have ordered this, do you?”
He shook his head. “This looks more like the work of frightened soldiers.”
Samantha suddenly grabbed Tanner’s arm and pulled him behind one of the Bradley Fighting Vehicles. The rear ramp was down, showing the infantry seats and internal workings of the vehicle.
“Someone’s coming,” she whispered.
He peeked around the vehicle. A group of four armed men were making their way down the middle of the street. Tanner turned and looked for a way out. Huge government buildings lined both sides of the street, offering no alleyways or obvious escape routes. They could retreat back down 15th Street, but that would put them at risk of overstaying their welcome.
Going into the Bradley didn’t make sense either. There was no way to close the rear ramp without hydraulic power, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to try to start the vehicle. The heavy vehicle was equipped with a 25 mm chain gun, 7.62 mm machine gun, and anti-tank guided missiles, none of which he had the foggiest idea of how to operate. It was perhaps a perfect fighting vehicle, but in his hands, it was nothing more than a bulletproof box with a gaping hole in the back.
He turned to Samantha. “Go inside and hide at the front of the vehicle.”
“You sure?”
“No, but it’s what we’ve got. Stay there until they pass.” He tossed his pack on the floor of the Bradley.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m going to give them something to chase.”
“How do you know they’ll chase you?”
“They’ll chase me.”
“And you’ll come back for me?”
He tipped his head. “Do I really need to answer that?”
“No.”
“Ten minutes, fifteen tops.”
She looked less certain.
“Just stay put,” he said. “I don’t want to have to tear this city apart looking for you.”
Tanner stepped out from behind the Bradley Fighting Vehicle and overturned a couple of garbage cans on the sidewalk. The four men took notice and quickly veered in his direction. Once he was sure that he had their undivided attention, Tanner bolted across 15th Street and ran east on Pennsylvania Avenue. He heard the men shouting for him to stop, followed by the distant popping of gunshots. Bullets ricocheted off the wall of the nearby building, and a car window shattered about ten feet to his left, but nothing was close enough to really worry about.
He ran hard for several hundred feet, finally reaching 14th Street. A Round Robin, Café du Parc, and a host of other restaurants lined the street. More gunshots sounded, but they were even further off their mark. Tanner glanced back and saw that all but one of the men had fallen behind. The fastest of the bunch was tall and fit, probably on the high school track team at one time. With his thick wavy hair and high steps, he looked a bit like Bruce Je
nner in the 1976 Summer Olympics.
Tanner turned north, passing a Marriott Hotel on his right as he dodged his way through another thick maze of cars and military vehicles. He made it all the way to F Street before finally accepting that he wasn’t going to outrun Jenner. He hustled around the corner and ducked into a doorway of a small café. Sweat dripped down his face, and his heart pounded as he tried to catch his breath.
Thirty seconds later, his overly sprite pursuer raced past the open doorway. Tanner stepped out behind him, hoping to catch him by surprise. Unfortunately, Jenner spotted him in his peripheral vision and skidded to a stop. Before he could turn around, Tanner smashed into him from behind, driving him into a cement pillar. The rifle in Jenner’s hands flipped free, clattering under a nearby newspaper delivery truck.
Tanner tried to sideswipe him with the butt of his shotgun, but Jenner spun away with his hands at the ready. It would have been easy enough to put a load of buckshot into the man’s chest, but he didn’t want the rest of the gang knowing which way they had gone. Then again, he didn’t want them catching up to him either. This had to be quick.
He set the shotgun down a few inches in front of his feet.
The man eyed the weapon.
“I know what you’re thinking. It’s the old come-and-get-it trick. But still, you gotta try.”
Jenner immediately dove for the weapon, and as he did, Tanner dropped both knees down onto his back, driving him into the pavement. Vomit erupted from the man’s mouth, splashing across the concrete. Jenner struggled to get free, panic setting in as he discovered that he was not only trapped but also unable to breathe.
Tanner shot a couple of quick blows to his ribs, but it wasn’t really necessary. Jenner was unconscious within twenty seconds, bubbles of vomit spewing from his nose. Tanner bounced up and down a few times, cracking ribs and otherwise causing all sorts of internal damage. Satisfied that the man was out for the count, he dragged Jenner over to the doorway and tucked him out of sight.
The whole confrontation had taken less than a minute.
From the front of the Bradley, Samantha had heard Tanner bang the trash cans and the sound of the men shooting at him. He ran, and they followed, exactly as he had said they would. A couple of months earlier, she would have worried that he might be killed or, worse, that he would decide to leave her behind. She felt no such fear now. Common criminals would not best Tanner Raines. There might be something out there that he couldn’t handle, but they had yet to encounter it.
So, rather than worry, she spent her time exploring the armored vehicle. Everything was hard and uncomfortable, and she bumped her head three different times. There was a steering wheel with two black handles, lots of gauges and buttons, and foldable seats in the back. There were also large round hatches that looked like they belonged on a submarine, as well as angled windows that allowed her to see outside.
More gunshots sounded in the distance. She assured herself that it was nothing to worry about. Tanner was running, and they were shooting at him. Not something he hadn’t done a dozen times before. Despite his size, Tanner was pretty darned fast. There was no way they would catch him, and if they did, they’d be sorry.
Afraid to touch anything that might give away her position, Samantha settled onto one of the jump seats, laid the rifle across her lap, and waited. Tanner would be coming soon. It was only a matter of time.
Seventeen minutes later, Tanner stuck his head around the edge of the Bradley and found Samantha napping on one of the jump seats. Her head leaned back against the steel wall, and her rifle and pack rested on her lap. She looked like a paratrooper riding out to a drop zone, calm and indifferent to the dangers around her.
Never one to startle someone with a gun, he bumped lightly on the wall of the vehicle. Her eyes fluttered a few times and then finally opened.
“What took you so long?” she said, yawning.
He slipped back on his pack.
“Come on. Let’s go get what we came for.”
She grabbed her rifle and followed after him.
“Did you get rid of those men?”
“More like I gave them the slip.” He looked up at the sky. “We’ve got maybe three or four hours until dark.”
“And we don’t want to be in the city after dark,” she said, finishing his sentence.
“Correct.”
“Because the zombies come out at night.”
“Let’s not be around to find out.”
They hurried west along Pennsylvania Avenue, cutting across a courtyard barricaded with concrete posts. Several more Bradley Fighting Vehicles and even a couple of M1 Abrams tanks were parked in the square. As things had deteriorated, the military had apparently been deployed to protect key national infrastructures, as well as the politicians and bankers who worked at them.
Tanner pointed to a bank that was so majestic in appearance that he wouldn’t have been surprised to see Jesus chasing out the moneychangers.
“Think they still have money inside?” he said, hoping to get a rise out of Samantha.
“Really? We’re bank robbers now?”
“All right, Bugsy,” he said in his best gangster voice, “you take the vault, and I’ll watch for the coppers.”
She giggled. “You’re funny.”
It warmed him to see her laugh. Even after all that she had lost, Samantha was finding ways to smile. He took that as a good sign.
They continued past a string of cafés designed for Ivy Leaguers hoping to close business deals over expensive lunches. Tables were overturned, and chairs had been tossed into the street. What had at one time been a quiet place to enjoy clam chowder and chocolate mousse now resembled the aftermath of a Pacers-Pistons game.
As they passed the Department of Treasury, they began to see the top of the White House peeking out from between the thick trees covering the North Lawn. Torn and ragged, the Stars and Stripes still flew from the rooftop flagpole. Whether it had been left behind as a symbol of national strength or simply abandoned in haste, no longer mattered.
They slowed on the sidewalk, carefully stepping around cadavers still buzzing with flies. To their left was a tall iron fence meant primarily to serve as a deterrent to tourists lacking common sense. The first of two gates was still closed tight, but it made little difference because a ten-foot section of the fence had been pulled down by angry protesters.
As they walked onto the North Lawn, Tanner and Samantha paused to appreciate the scope of the devastation. In many ways, the scene before them looked like a battlefield. Indistinguishable bloody mounds peeked out through the tall grass. An abandoned M1 Abrams tank stood sentry directly in front of the White House, and a UH-60 helicopter lay crumpled nearby. Thousands of spent shell casings littered the lawn, like coins at the bottom of a wishing well. The building’s columns were cracked, obviously damaged by the rotors of the helicopter when it had crash landed. Ivy was already creeping up a couple of the North Portico columns as Mother Earth quickly moved in to lay claim to what had always been her property. There was an apocalyptic finality to it all, a feeling that man’s greatness had come and gone.
“Well, we made it,” he said in a tone that was not at all reassuring.
“It looks a lot creepier than I remember.”
“Nothing we can’t handle.”
“Do you think there are zombies inside?”
“Zombies in the White House? Sounds about right.”
“Okay then,” she said, stepping behind him. “You go first.”
They moved carefully but deliberately as they approached the North Portico. The once beautiful mahogany double doors were now battered and hung from a single hinge. Tanner bumped the doors with the butt of his shotgun, and they fell in with a loud clatter.
“We wouldn’t want the zombies to sleep through our visit,” Samantha said, rolling her eyes.
“What fun would that be?”
They stepped into the Grand Foyer, an el
egant entryway with checkerboard tile, ornate woodwork, and a crystal chandelier that still hung from the ceiling. Pictures that had once adorned the walls lay stomped and broken on the floor. Two huge red curtains had been pulled down from the windows and were now draped over a large pile of something that neither of them had any desire to examine further. A hallway going deeper into the mansion lay directly ahead, and a winding staircase was to their immediate left.
“Which way?” he asked.
She pointed to the stairs.
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