America Offline | Books 1 & 2 | The Day After Darkness

by Weber, William H.

  When they took a purposeful step toward her, Nate decided he had seen and heard enough. He reached over and popped open the passenger door. A grey streak pushed into the front seat and out the door. Dakota was wading through the deep snow as the men closed the distance.

  “Let’s go,” Nate shouted, as one of the men unzipped his winter jacket, his hand disappearing inside. At once, Nate came up with the G36, setting the barrel in the groove of the open driver’s side door, his finger moving off the receiver and onto the trigger.

  That voice in his head was back and in full force.

  Always maintain trigger discipline unless you’re ready to kill.

  Eight-Ball’s hand came out of his jacket holding a glass pipe and Nate shot it right out of his fingers. He recoiled, right as Shadow leapt at him, growling as he sank his teeth into fabric and flesh alike. They fell over. The wolf shook his head as Eight-Ball, now lying in a mound of snow, tried in vain to fend off the animal. Pompom shouted and pulled something from his waistband. Nate didn’t wait to see what it was and placed two clean shots directly in his chest. He fell and stopped moving.

  A fresh group appeared down the road. They seemed to be coming from the same house as Eight-Ball and Pompom. Another few minutes and the entire neighborhood would be after them.

  The new group was hurrying in their direction. Nate pulled the G36 back in and started the engine as Dakota hurried over, wading through the deep powder. A minute later she was in, but Shadow was still gnawing on Eight-Ball.

  “We can’t just leave without him,” Dakota said, out of breath.

  “He’ll catch up,” Nate assured her, throwing the truck into reverse.

  The Beast shot back through an empty lane already carved by the plow. Drawing even with the street, Nate swung the truck around and honked the horn three times.

  A grey, furry head popped up above the snow drifts. Moments later, Shadow was racing toward the truck. Dakota opened the door and he scrambled in over her and into the back seat. The wolf stared at them, licking his chops.

  Nate threw the truck into gear and sped off.

  They returned to the interstate, resuming their journey toward the center of town. They hadn’t been here more than a few minutes and already one man was dead and another seriously injured.

  Let it go, Nate thought. What’s done is done. He drew in a deep breath, waiting for that sage advice to settle in.

  She glanced over at him quickly before looking down at her lap. “You’re angry, aren’t you?”

  “I told you not to go in there,” Nate said, losing that internal battle. “The less stupid stuff we do, the better.”

  She grew quiet. He wondered if it was shame she was feeling or remorse. Then he saw her turn the front page of the newspaper she’d retrieved and realized she was feeling neither of those emotions.

  “Tell me all that was for more than just a newspaper,” Nate said, his temperature rising even more. He slowed the truck to maneuver around a car blocking his path.

  “I went in there looking for something to eat,” she started to explain. “But most of the shelves were completely bare. I’m guessing the people around there aren’t fond of reading because the newspaper and magazine racks were pristine, except for the X-rated mags, that is. Anyway, I figured it might take you a minute to fill the engine, so I started leafing through the paper. I was hoping to find something on the hack. The paper would have been from before then, I get that. But sometimes there are early events that signal something larger is on its way.”

  “Like the attack on the banks,” Nate said, wondering where this was going.

  “That’s right, just like the banks. Anyway, I was flipping through the pages when I came to a follow-up on a story posted the week before.” She held up the paper and began reading. “‘A tragic end has come for two of the three wolves that escaped from the Lincoln Park Zoo last week after a handler failed to properly seal their enclosure. Two of the animals were struck by cars and killed on the interstate, their bodies recovered by animal control. Judging from the path they were taking, experts suspect the wolves were attempting to leave the city.’” Dakota took a deep breath. “Here’s where it gets interesting. ‘At this time, there is still no sign of the last of the three escaped wolves. However, there have been recent sightings of a lone animal fitting its description south of Rockford. It has left some zoo officials wondering whether at least one of the majestic creatures made it safely out of the city after all.’”

  Nate glanced in his rearview at the yellow eyes staring at him from the backseat. “Is that you, buddy? Are you an escaped felon?”

  Dakota laughed. “That might explain why he’s built a bond with us. He’s used to humans. Used to seeing them around. Used to taking food from them.”

  “Shadow seems more than capable of getting his own dinner,” Nate said, half in jest. “Remember that rabbit he brought us?”

  But if this was all true, Nate couldn’t help feeling bad. The wolf had defied the odds and escaped the city before all hell had broken loose. And here they were dragging him back into that very same urban nightmare. Well, they weren’t exactly doing much dragging since Shadow had largely been the one following them. Still, it didn’t change the fact that at heart, he was a wild animal and had risked almost certain death to live free. Nate could relate to that. Heck, as soon as he found his family, he planned on doing the very same thing.

  Chapter 19

  The Grand Station entrance was little more than a set of descending steps surrounded by a wrought-iron fence. Manny squeezed the snowcat past a row of abandoned vehicles and came to a stop.

  “I guess this is where we get out,” Holly said, the strain of emotion in her voice.

  “We got out of the airport in one piece,” he said, grinning. “So we must have done something right.”

  Even Johnny was feeling the weight of the moment. “You sure you won’t reconsider and join us?” he asked, running his fingers along the smooth surface of his Rolex.

  “I wish there was a way,” Manny replied. “I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I simply abandoned my family.”

  “Well,” Holly said, touching his forearm, “worst case, you know where to find us.”

  Holly, Dillon and Johnny gathered their things and shuffled out from the snowcat and into a mass of white powder. Holly held the door a moment longer.

  Manny nodded. “I’ll wait around for a few, just to make sure you get in okay.”

  “What about the pistol you took off that nurse, you still have it?”

  He tapped the inside pocket of his jacket. “I’m covered. And you?”

  Holly motioned to the pistol she kept in her winter coat.

  “I’m no expert on shelters or anything,” Manny said, offering a touch of helpful advice. “But they normally don’t take kindly to folks smuggling in guns. Especially around here.”

  “Thanks for the heads up. The thought hadn’t crossed my mind.” Holly removed the pistol and shoved it to the bottom of her suitcase. “You’re a good man, Emmanuel,” she said, taking in the youthful contours of his face one final time before she shut the door.

  Together, the three of them worked their way down the long, dimly lit subway stairwell. Gradually, the snow covering the risers began to clear until their boots were clomping along the wet stone surface.

  Down below, the faint glow from flickering lights could be seen. Also floating up toward them was the indistinct sound of voices.

  Soon, the stairwell opened into Grand Station’s modern-looking mezzanine. Against the wall nearest them was a bank of ticketing machines, now blank and lifeless. Turnstiles divided the large space in two. The ceiling ranged in height from ten to twenty feet, depending where you stood. Those two features, along with the low lighting, conspired to make the area feel much smaller than it was. The folks who were visible were all on the other side of the turnstiles, huddled together in small groups. Some were chatting, others warming food over propane camping stoves embl
azoned with the Red Cross’s symbol: a red plus sign encased in a white circle. A large chalkboard stand had been taken from a local pizza shop and repurposed for instructing newcomers.

  Line up here.

  Single file.

  Pushing or verbal abuse will not be tolerated.

  A young-looking man and a woman wearing Red Cross pinnies over their jackets and holding clipboards waved them over.

  Holly felt the edges of her mouth tweak northward into a smile. For the first time in days, she felt safe.

  “Welcome to the Grand,” the woman said, as though she were the doorman at a fancy hotel. She was average size with walnut-colored hair and fleshy cheeks. By contrast, the man was thin, but not skinny. Pleasant, but not good-looking.

  Holly wasn’t sure if it was refreshing or unnerving having the entrance guarded by these two. “The shelter, is it full?” she asked, watching figures coming up and descending two other sets of stairs on the other side.

  “Not quite yet,” the woman said. The nametag on her chest read ‘Denise.’ “Below the mezzanine is the main platform. That’s where the accommodations are set up. With a little help and a lot of luck, we were able to maneuver the north and southbound trains into the station, opening the doors to provide additional space.”

  “How many are here so far?” Johnny asked.

  “Over a thousand,” the man replied. His own name tag read ‘Chad.’

  “Must have been quite a feat,” Holly said. “Maneuvering those subway cars.”

  Chad smiled. “One of the hardest things we’ve ever done, but well worth the effort. So I’m going to go out on a limb and assume you three need a place to stay.”

  “Correctamundo, kid,” Johnny said, glancing over the guy’s shoulder at the people making dinner. The smell of cooking food was wafting over, making their bellies tighten with hunger.

  “No problem,” Denise said, taking over. “I’ll simply need each of you to sign your names on the list and indicate your address.” She handed Holly a clipboard that housed a thick stack of paper. A cursory examination revealed that the pages were divided up alphabetically, with lined spaces dedicated to family names.

  “Mind if I go first?” Johnny said, reaching for the clipboard.

  “I don’t see why not.” She handed it over while he flipped to the pages under T for Tang and did as he was instructed.

  When it was Holly and Dillon’s turn, she went to A for Andrews, paying only vague attention to the questions they were asking Johnny.

  “Sir, are you carrying any weapons or alcohol?” Chad asked.

  “I wish,” Johnny said wryly.

  The two proceeded to pat him down. Johnny grinned, enjoying the process.

  “What about you, ma’am?” Denise asked Holly.

  Twenty feet away, a man wearing a ballistic vest and carrying an assault rifle strolled through the mezzanine. She should have known in a city like this they would need more protection than a couple of kids wearing pinnies.

  “Ma’am?” Denise repeated.

  Johnny nudged her. “Sorry, she hasn’t slept for three days.”

  “She has so,” Dillon contradicted him, the boy’s eyes fixed on some distant and unknown focal point. “I saw her go to bed myself.”

  Johnny’s jaw clenched.

  “Lying down doesn’t always mean sleeping,” Holly said, smiling at the two Red Cross workers. “As for your other questions, the answer is no. I’m not carrying any alcohol or weapons.” She stared at them, amazed how easily the lie had rolled off her tongue. Holly returned to the clipboard, flipping to the end of the letter A to find an empty spot. When she did, she signed for both her and Dillon, filled in their address and then handed it back.

  Denise patted both her and Dillon down. “Great. Now that that’s done, the only thing left is the matter of payment.”

  Holly’s tired eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”

  The look of discomfort on Denise’s face was obvious. “I know you probably weren’t expecting―”

  “Losing power for so long,” Holly said, her temperature rising, “that was unexpected. At a time like this, after everything we’ve been through, asking us for money… Frankly, I’m at a loss for words. You understand we can’t very well run down to an ATM. I mean, what kind of fee are we talking about?”

  “There’s no set fee,” Chad tried to explain. “It’s really more collateral against any violent or disruptive behavior.”

  As much as she didn’t like the idea, there had been no such checks on people at the airport and look how things had turned out there.

  “Besides,” Chad was saying, “we accept most kinds of portable wealth. Gold, jewelry, precious stones…”

  Johnny opened his wallet, withdrew a hundred-dollar bill, regarded it for a moment and then handed it over.

  Chad’s face scrunched up with embarrassment. “I’m sorry, sir. We don’t take paper currency.”

  “Are you out of your mind?” Johnny said. “It’s a US dollar.”

  “I’m sorry,” both of them said at once. Their voices gave the impression they felt bad, but there was nothing they could do. That everything going on was simply beyond their control. That was also how Holly felt about the loss of power—something akin to an act of God. Now it was starting to look like they’d have to leave after all.

  Johnny began to seat the money back in his wallet when something caught Chad’s eye. “Is that a real Rolex?” he asked.

  A storm of emotions was brewing over the banker’s face. Holly could tell he wanted to tell them it was fake, but that his ego wouldn’t allow it.

  “Damn right it’s real,” he blurted out, insulted.

  “The Rolex will gain admittance for you, your wife and your son,” Chad said.

  Johnny shook his head. “Oh, she isn’―” He got about three quarters of the way through the word before clamping his lips shut. Holly was standing next to him, a hopeful look in her eyes. “What I meant to say was that I can’t believe the Red Cross is charging people for access to a shelter.” Johnny’s protest continued for another minute or two as he removed, held and then finally handed over his watch all with the utmost reluctance.

  Chad and Denise smiled and stood aside to let them through the turnstile.

  “Thank you,” Holly mouthed silently to Johnny.

  “You woulda done the same,” he replied, looking a little lighter.

  They were passing through the turnstile when Holly put on the brakes. “Mind if I see that list again?” she asked.

  Chad and Denise looked at one another and then handed it over.

  There was something her fatigued eyes had happened upon as she’d flipped through the pages looking for the letter A. Something that hadn’t sunk in at first, but was now blooming before her eyes in large red letters. She ran her index finger down the list under B and stopped when she found what she was looking for.

  Amy Bauer. Byron, Illinois.

  Chapter 20

  Denise led Holly, Johnny and Dillon down from the mezzanine to the northbound platform. The smell of unwashed bodies was the first thing that struck them. Candles set on the tiled floor near the wall provided a bare minimum of lighting. Cutting through the shadows, they passed dozens, maybe hundreds of refugees just like them. As Chad had mentioned, the subway train was parked in the station with its doors open. Inside, the seats had all been ripped out to provide room for rows of cots.

  At last, they arrived at the final train car where only a single cot remained.

  “This can’t be all that’s left,” Johnny complained, his loud voice echoing through the cavernous chamber.

  “I’m afraid so,” Denise said, that look of embarrassment again. Holly suspected it was an expression she practiced throughout the day.

  “That Rolex was worth ten thousand bucks,” he shouted.

  A guard with a funny accent came over and asked if everything was all right.

  “Not really, but what can we do?” Johnny said, clearly frustrated. “W
rite a firmly worded letter? Post a scathing review online?”

  “Exactly,” the guard said. “So keep your mouth shut and stop disturbing the people around you.” Thankfully for Johnny, the guard turned and sauntered off before the banker could get himself into any more trouble. Denise was gone too, leaving the three of them to work out the sleeping arrangements.

  “It was your watch that got us in here,” Holly said. “So it makes sense you should get the bed. Dillon and I will find a place over here on the platform.”

  Johnny sighed. “No, that’s silly. The three of us can rotate. Tonight, it’s Dillon’s. Then you tomorrow and I’ll take the day after. Hardly seems fair for only one of us to be sleeping in the lap of luxury.”

  This was the second time the normally self-centered Johnny had turned around and surprised her. She motioned to the cot. “I’m sure a week and a half ago none of us would ever have considered an army cot a luxury item.”

  “‘The times they are a-changin’,’” Johnny replied, quoting the Bob Dylan song.

  Later, Holly had removed a knit sweater from her suitcase and was laying it on the hard tile floor for bedding when she noticed the woman next to her. She was somewhere in her forties with tangled dirty hair and smears of grease on her face. Holly suspected that somewhere beneath all that was a very attractive woman. The woman was eyeing Dillon. Gradually, her attention turned to Holly.

  “Brenda Duval,” she said, offering her hand.

  Holly returned the gesture. “How long have you been here?”

  Brenda counted on her fingers. “It’ll be a week tomorrow.” Her lips curled into something resembling a smile. “I used to be a financial planner. Worked for one of the largest firms in the country. I’ve spent the last few years worrying about capital gains and inverted yield curves. I didn’t think for a second anything like this could happen. I mean, way in the back of my mind I knew it was possible.” She stretched out that last word as if to emphasize the point. “But possible and probable are two very different beasts, especially in the world where I spent most of my adult life.”