by Al Macy
When she woke up, she went to him and fastened herself to his neck. Valeria, Sophia’s nanny, brought in the note that Charli had left. It had instructions on where to meet her if he decided to fly to DC. It explained that he could bring Sophia and Valeria and that they could live in the White House. The US government would take care of all the details.
Jake sat quietly with Sophia. He took out his wallet and flipped it open to a picture of him goofing around with his wife at the top of a ski resort near Lake Tahoe. His favorite photo. He smiled, but his eyes filled with tears.
Mary had often told him, “You don’t have to save the world, you know.” But she was talking about little things. Like when Jake would talk to someone who’d left his car idling when running into Starbucks for a cup of coffee. He’d say, “You know, it’s no longer true that you use more gas by turning the motor off and then on again. Right now, you’re polluting the air but getting nothing for it. Zero miles per gallon—” That’s when Mary would pull him away by his sleeve and whisper, “Jake, Honey, you don’t have to save the world, you know.” She was right. Educating one person out of millions wouldn’t make any difference.
“See all those people in the drive-through line with their motors running?” she’d say. “You want to explain it to them, too? Then we can head over to McDonald's. This can be your new hobby, telling people to turn off their engines. Letting them know they shouldn’t leave their cars idling.”
Now Jake was being asked, quite literally, to save the world. Or help, anyway. What, did they think he was, some kind of expert on interstellar kooks? Maybe if I explained to Cronkite that he shouldn’t keep his spaceship idling, he’d be so grateful that he’d leave us alone. That “World’s Number One Problem-Solver” article was silly. Embarrassing.
He took a deep breath and made his decision. “Well, guess what, Mary? This time I really do have to try to help save the world. What do you think of that? Perhaps I’ve hidden in my cave long enough.” But my first priority will be to save Sophia.
He looked down at Sophia’s dark hair. “What do you think, Sophia, should we go save the world?” She understood English but didn’t say anything. She hadn’t said a word since the kidnapping. She did squeeze his neck harder. He made an exaggerated choking noise, something that would normally have gotten squeals of laughter. Today? Nothing.
* * *
June 12, 2018
Jake walked up the air stairs into the US government’s Gulfstream jet, Sophia still attached to his neck. He looked back and smiled at Valeria and gasped when pain knifed from his shoulder to his neck. His gunshot wounds would would take some time to heal. That’s okay. The results were worth it.
Charli turned in her seat and smiled when they entered the cabin.
Jake smiled back. “Charli, you’ve met Valeria, Sophia’s nanny. She has graciously agreed to come with us to live in the White House so that she can watch Sophia when I’m busy. She speaks a little English. Ella habla un poco Inglés.”
Valeria nodded with downcast eyes as Charli shook her hand.
“And this is my beautiful goddaughter, Sophia. She’s four years old and understands English well, from her time with me.”
“Nice to meet you, Sophia,” Charli said, but Sophia kept her head buried in Jake’s neck.
Charli continued. “You know, Sophia, someone told me that you like dogs. Te gustan los perros.” She looked at Valeria, who nodded. “And I happen to know there’s a big dog with thick, soft fur in the White House, and he loves kids.” At this point, Sophia whipped her head around to look at Charli but didn’t smile or nod. “His name is Boondoggle, and I know he will be happy to meet you. Of course, he might lick your face when he meets you, but maybe that will be okay.”
Jake looked at Charli and winked. Bullseye! She’s good with kids.
Sophia let Jake strap her into her own seat during takeoff, but after that she was back on his neck. They watched the clouds together until her grip loosened and she fell asleep. He put her back in her seat and went over to sit next to Charli.
“You knew I’d come, didn’t you?” he said when she looked up from her briefing paper.
“Well, the planet’s under attack, and you are the world’s number one problem-solver.” She held up the USA Now article about Jake.
“Hey, I never said that.”
“I know. I said it.” Charli pointed to herself.
“You mean the news article said it.”
Charli just looked at him until he made the connection.
“Of course.” Jake hit his forehead with his palm. “You leaked that info to the press, essentially wrote that news article, so that they’d publish it, with my picture, and it would help you locate me.”
“I can neither confirm nor deny…”
Jake shook his head. “You have been a busy girl.”
“Jake, I’m in my thirties. I’m a little past being called a ‘girl.’”
“It’s just an expression. C’mon.”
“An expression of your opinion of women?” She raised her eyebrows.
“Yes, that’s right. I see all women as teenagers. Damn women’s-libbers!” He was smiling. “What a busy old lady you’ve been. Better?”
“Busy old crone. You could say it that way.”
“Yeah, ‘crone,’ good word. Such a command of the language. Maybe you should write news articles or something. Hey, wait a second …”
They both laughed. What an easy laugh she had. Too soon to laugh again? No, it felt right. He needed it. They needed it.
“Besides,” Jake continued, “didn’t you know that being sensitive about feminist issues is so 1980s? Like the joke.”
“Oh no, here it comes. Corby’s trademark joke for every situation.”
“What do you mean?” Jake frowned. “What, is that in my file or something?”
“You’d be amazed at what’s in your file, Corby.” After a pause, she asked, “Okay what’s the joke?”
“How many feminists does it take to change a lightb—hey, that’s not funny!”
Charli punched Jake in the thigh. “But I’m not like that.”
“Not as much as before, maybe.” Jake said. The jet passed through a bit of turbulence.
“Before?”
“When we worked together. And I know you remember that.”
“And why do you know I remember that?” she asked.
“Let’s just say someone on that project had a C-R-U-S-H on me, and I don’t think it was Hallstrom.”
“Oh, right. In your dreams, Jake.” A blush crept into her cheeks. “Back then you were m—. Back then you were a serious little boy.”
Jake glanced at her when she hesitated. She’d almost said that he’d been married back then. He kept the smile on his face. Let’s not bring down the mood.
“Of course, you never acted on your crush, as hard as that must have been.” Jake leaned over her and looked out the window.
“You’re right.” She snapped her fingers. “I had to handcuff myself to my chair at all those meetings. I remember now.”
“You probably had a cute little nickname for me.”
“Yeah, I did, now that you mention it.”
“You did, really?” Jake turned in his seat and looked directly at her.
“Yeah. ‘Asshole.’”
Jake chuckled. Then they both burst out laughing. Was this really happening?
Hours later, Jake jerked awake. The copilot came back and announced their descent into DC. Charli had fallen asleep too and tilted over such that her head was resting on Jake’s arm. She quickly sat up and stole a glance at the copilot and then Jake.
Jake was getting up to go back to his seat next to Sophia, when Charli hesitated and put her hand on his arm. “Jake? I have to ask. Wasn’t it unethical of you to fake your death?”
“Charli, you don’t know the whole story.” We’re not going to talk about this now.
“You faked your death and set up a fake identity. That doesn’t sound l
ike you.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“And you probably broke a bunch of laws.”
Jake stared. What happened to the woman I’d been flirting with before?
“If you’re threatening me to make sure I stay on the project,” he said, “don’t worry, I’m already committed.”
Sophia had woken up, and the arguing seemed to upset her.
“No, Jake, not at all. I just … I’m sorry. I don’t know why I brought it up. Forgive me.” The light mood of earlier was gone, and no one spoke during the landing.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
June 12, 2018
In the Boundary Waters Wilderness in Northern Minesota, a noise woke Alex at six a.m. Are those footsteps? Slow, deliberate footsteps? He listened carefully and looked out of the tent. He jumped back when a bullfrog leaped against the screening. Ah, that had been the source of the noise.
By six fifteen, still drowsy, the twins started across the lake in their raft. It was windy but doable. They had two paddles: one real and one fashioned from sticks and a plate. They hadn’t gone far, however, before the weather changed. The wind increased dramatically. Horizontal rain stung their faces. Is this really happening? The raft, made long and narrow for speed, had worked fine in calm water but now threatened to turn over with every large wave. It was more like being on an ocean than a lake.
They turned into the wind, but the gusts still drove them back. They tried lying on the logs and paddling with their hands to decrease their wind resistance. The only result was that Alex lost the good paddle. He jumped off and swam after it, but it disappeared among the white caps.
He fought his way back to the craft. The water sucked heat from his body. The easy trip had turned into a marathon. Soon they were simply hanging on. The gale blew them to a neighboring island. The waterproof bag with matches and emergency supplies was gone. Even geniuses can screw up.
With no tent, no fire, and no dry clothing, the challenge was staying warm during the night. Alex located an overhanging rock, almost a cave. Gathering what dry leaves and needles they could find, they piled them into a thigh-high debris bed and stripped off their wet clothing. They hugged each other tightly in the middle of the pile, too tired to even make the predictable gay jokes. The rain stopped. They shivered uncontrollably for an hour.
After a night of fitful sleep, Alex woke first, and before opening his eyes, listened. There was no more wind and no more rain, just singing birds. It was dead calm and warmer than the day before.
Martin popped his head out of the leaves like a prairie dog and actually looked pretty chipper, considering what they’d gone through. “What’s the status, Lover Boy?”
“Looks like we should be able to paddle to the island. I’m not sure exactly where it is from here, but I’ll bet we’ll see it as soon as this fog lifts.” Alex looked up and squinted.
Their clothing was damp but wearable. The first task of the day was to fashion a new paddle to replace the one that had floated away. It was when Martin was searching for a branch, climbing up a muddy bank in front of Alex, that disaster struck.
His foot slipped and he slid down toward Alex. No big deal, except that on the way down his forearm slipped between two exposed roots. The double crack was loud enough to silence the birds. Alex surveyed the damage. So much for Martin’s radius and ulna bones.
* * *
June 13, 2018
In the White House media room, Charli stared into her coffee. Her conversation with Jake played back in her head. Had she really been concerned about his ethics, or was she subconsciously putting the brakes on a potential relationship that would interfere with her work? Like a kid on the high dive for the first time, she’d made up her mind to jump, but when she got to the edge of the board …
Jake dragged into the room with his own coffee, and they exchanged wary smiles. He had a dimple on only one side—how had she missed that? His long sailing trips had given him a permanent weather-beaten look, or maybe that was just genetics.
Jake dropped into a chair with one empty seat between them. “Jet lag.”
Charli frowned and tilted her head. “Jet lag?”
Jake shrugged and drank from his cup.
“Yeah, it must be tough—we changed a whole time zone.” She caught the hint of a smile.
The screen came to life, and they both looked up at the feed from Hallstrom’s office in Ruby Mountain. Press conference time.
As in the Oval Office, the American and presidential flags were behind him, but instead of a window, the wall displayed the presidential seal against a blue curtain. He read from written notes instead of from a teleprompter. Charli had suggested that Hallstrom write three words across the top of each page: “Confident, Serious, Relaxed.” So much would ride on whether this speech could convince viewers not to panic.
“Good morning. Today I will talk to you about the terrible tragedy that has befallen everyone around the world. Before I begin, let us have a minute of silence for all our friends and loved ones who died in this horrible event.”
Hallstrom tilted his head down slightly and closed his eyes. At the end of the minute, he brought his head back up and looked directly into the camera. “I have a lot to cover today, and I know you will all listen carefully.”
The president reiterated his main points: check for orphaned children, keep calm, we can survive. He also brought the public up to date on what was known: Anyone who fell asleep after noon on June 10 had a seventy percent chance of dying. Anyone who has fallen asleep and woken up was home free.
“I know that many of you are attempting to stay awake, in case you are one of the unlucky ones who will not survive sleeping. I can’t tell you not to do that, but I will warn you that few people will be able to stay awake longer than seven to eleven days, and that hallucinations are a common side effect of prolonged sleep deprivation. Thus, you may be putting others, including your loved ones, at risk. This strategy will only postpone the inevitable. My scientists tell me that there is no way to find a cure much less distribute it within that short period.”
Hallstrom took a drink of water. “All, that is, one hundred percent, of our hospitals are open and accepting emergencies. All elective procedures have been canceled, of course, but we have enough doctors and nurses to go around. Their ranks will be supplemented with veterinarians.”
Jake said. “So, if you have worms or need to be neutered …”
“Hush.” Charli smiled and punched him in the shoulder.
Hallstrom continued. “Go to work. That is, go to your job. Once you’ve woken up and you know that you are safe, please go back to work, especially if you are in a critical industry. Of course it won’t be business as usual, but by keeping the economy going, we will be able to move to a new normal sooner.
“I will now take questions.”
Shawnette Randolph was the elderly pool reporter who’d accompanied the government to Ruby Mountain, and she read off the questions.
“Mr. President, what about the burial of the bodies?”
“Yes, thank you for reminding me of that. We are fortunate, I’m sorry, relatively fortunate that this disease or process completely dries out the remains. If the world had been covered with five billion rotting—” Hallstrom bit off the word. “I’m sorry, five billion decomposing bodies, this catastrophe would have been much worse. It may seem disrespectful to … to not attend to your loved one’s body right now, but first things first. Once we get our world back to normal, or to the new normal, we will attend to that. I know it seems grisly, but … we need to put that off for now. I have spoken with religious leaders of various faiths, and they inform me that given the unusual circumstances of this situation, you may postpone or forgo your religion’s normal end-of-life rituals.”
“Are you saying we should just live side-by-side with the bodies?” Shawnette asked.
“You may wish to move the body to an unoccupied room, or, if it’s feasible, bury it yourself. The bodi
es are not contagious. You may wish to cover the body respectfully with a sheet until you have a chance to deal with it. Funeral parlors will not take advantage of this situation.” Hallstrom stared into the camera. “Next question, please.”
“Why has Cronkite done this?”
“We do not know. We are working on it. Next question.”
She looked down at her list. “Is this related to the sneeze and pain event?”
“We do not know that either. Look, there are some fantastic things going on in our world, and it’s going to take us a little time to understand them. Personally, I expect that these two things are related, but it may be an indirect relationship.”
“Aren’t our cattle and livestock going to die?”
“Cows and pigs and chickens have been living fine without us for centuries—”
“But what about the ones that are concentrated in feedlots?”
“Yes, we are going to lose some of those. We are redistributing farmworkers to handle it, but please keep in mind that although supply may be reduced somewhat, demand is also being reduced.”
Shawnette followed up on her question. “Yes, demand for pork, for example, may be down seventy percent, but no pigs died. So we have a lot more pigs per person than we used to. Won’t that make it hard to manage?”
“Well, Shawnette, of course I’m not a pig expert, but even if many of the pigs that are concentrated in feedlots die, it will be manageable. We’ll get farmers redistributed soon. Let’s move on.”
“Okay.” Shawnette consulted her list again, “You talked about redistribution. Does that mean that someone from, say, New York might have to move to California, away from her family?”
“Short answer: yes. Long answer: we’re working hard to avoid long distance relocations, and we expect that they will be rare. But yes, workers may be asked to relocate hundreds of miles away. I hope that they will be able to accept this as a temporary inconvenience that will greatly benefit their country. I can take one more question.”
