Bono watched for a long moment, shook his head, then leaned back against his seat again.
The cargo master, an air force sergeant, walked past him to check his load, cursing the loose straps in overly colorful language and pulling them tight again. Walking back toward the cockpit, the sergeant—himself a little weary from having worked for more than thirty hours now—couldn’t help but notice the strain in his passenger’s face. The lieutenant was young and his hair and skin were so dark that he looked almost like a foreigner—Mediterranean, maybe Greek, maybe even Arab. It didn’t matter, the sergeant figured anything but straight-up American was a real unpopular look right now. And the lieutenant acted tired. Dirt tired. Combat tired—the bone-crushing, muscle-sapping, eye-drooping weariness that comes only with war. The young man had seen a lot of combat; the master sergeant could see that in his face.
The loadmaster stopped and nudged him. “Hey, lieutenant, remember, you can sleep when you’re dead.”
Bono opened his eyes and looked up. The sergeant offered him a bottled water, which he took gratefully and almost emptied in a single gulp. The sergeant leaned toward him, talking loudly enough to be heard above the noise from the jet engines and hissing high-pressure environmental systems. “How come your watch is still working?” he asked, nodding toward Bono’s wrist.
Bono didn’t seem to hear him but looked down. “I was underground when it hit,” he said. The sergeant tilted his head questioningly. “The Metro in D.C.,” Bono explained.
The sergeant nodded. “You know how much a working watch is going for down on the street? I know a guy who was over in Germany when the EMP hit. Just got back a couple days ago, so his watch was still working. Sold it for two thousand dollars yesterday. At least that’s what he claimed. But he was an army guy so, you know, who knows if it was true.” The air force sergeant smiled. Yeah, the world was falling apart, but things weren’t so bad he couldn’t still get in a little army dig.
Bono lifted his eyes but not his head. “Believe me, dude, I know what you’re saying. Can’t trust an army guy any farther than you could throw ’im.”
The sergeant smiled again.
“Really, two thousand dollars?” Bono asked.
“That’s what he said.”
“Know what?” Bono answered. “I’d have kept the watch.”
The enlisted man leaned forward, bracing himself as the aircraft bumped through a pocket of turbulence.
“U.S. bills, Monopoly money, it’s all the same now,” Bono said.
“No,” the loadmaster shook his head, “it won’t always be like that. Remember, the rest of the world is still out there, pretty much unfazed. They’ll step in to help us. Things will soon get back to normal.”
Bono thought of the nuclear bombs over Gaza, D.C., other cities in the world. He thought of the EMP attacks and the utter devastation they had swept across the country. “You really think so?” he asked. He wasn’t smiling anymore; his eyes were sincere.
“Promise you, lieutenant.” The sergeant patted Bono’s shoulder. “Keep the faith, sir, keep the faith.”
“Hope you’re right.” Bono closed his eyes and lowered his chin to his chest.
The master sergeant watched, then prodded him again. “Where you headed?”
Bono lifted the collapsed water bottle and sucked the last few drops. “Trying to get to Memphis. My wife and daughter are there.”
The sergeant nodded toward the Special Forces emblem on Bono’s lapel. “Special Forces, eh?”
Bono looked down at the pin. “I only wear it so I don’t have to remind air force guys that I’m better than they are.”
The sergeant faked a laugh. “Hey, good one. Never heard that one before.”
Bono smiled and winked at him.
“You’ve been away a long time?” The sergeant was serious now.
“Way too long.”
“Your family, they’re okay, though?”
“Far as I know. They went to stay with my in-laws before the EMP hit. It should be pretty safe there, out in the country.”
The sergeant nodded, then turned and walked toward the cockpit. Half a minute later he returned with a couple more bottles of water and handed them to Bono. The lieutenant took them, thanked the enlisted man, and stuffed them in his pack. The sergeant watched, then handed him his own half-empty bottle. “You need this more than I do.”
Bono hesitated. “No, I’m cool. Thanks.”
The sergeant shoved the bottle to him. “Take it.”
Bono took the bottle and gulped the water down, a single drop escaping to his chin. “Thank you,” he said.
The sergeant leaned toward him. “I hope you find your family,” he shouted above the sounds of the cargo compartment.
Bono didn’t answer.
“You got a ways to go to get from Little Rock to Memphis.”
“Yeah. About a hundred miles.”
“You got a way to get there?”
Bono looked away before he answered, “Not yet.”
“That’s going to be a problem.”
Bono thought of his trek across Washington, D.C., just the day before: the forming gangs, the murdered husband and stranded wife, the fires, the unending lines of stalled vehicles, thousands of them, civilians hanging on him, begging him for water, food, or information. Yeah, it was going to be a problem. That much he knew.
The sergeant looked at Bono for a long minute, then slapped his shoulder. Standing, he made his way toward the back of the aircraft to check the cargo for their final approach and landing.
Bono’s heart raced, a tinge of adrenaline rushing through him as he felt the aircraft begin to descend. Little Rock Air Force Base was straight ahead. A highway map was folded across his lap, and he spread it out and held it up against the dim light to study it. The base was twelve miles northeast of the city limits. He pressed the map with his finger, tracing a path toward the outer edge. He’d seen enough back in D.C. to know it would be better to avoid the major highways, so he planned to head cross-country for eight miles toward I-40, cross the Interstate, and continue southeast until he hit State Road 70, which ran toward Memphis. It would be far less crowded. Once he hit the state road, it was just a little more than a hundred miles to his in-laws’ home.
A hundred miles. Less than a two-hour drive back in the old days. At least a four- or five-day hike in the brave new world.
Five days just to get there. If he didn’t have any problems or run into trouble, which he knew he would.
He glanced at the empty seat beside him, wishing that Samuel Brighton were there. He missed him. He missed his friend’s company and sense of humor, but mostly he missed having someone he trusted at his side. He felt safe now, in this aircraft, but that was soon going to change. He was about to set off on a cross-country hike in a strange and uncertain world, and it would have been nice to have a buddy with him for the trek. Thinking of Sam, his mind drifted back to the last time he had seen his friend at Langley, when the two men had said good-bye. “I’m going to Chicago,” had been Sam’s last, frightful words. The decision made no sense, and at first it had left Bono completely speechless. But he knew now, though he wasn’t certain why, that it had been the right choice. For whatever reason, Sam was on the right path.
The aircraft lurched through a bubble of cold air as it descended through a layer of clouds, then began a slow turn to the right. Bono felt the gentle pull of the turn pressing him down against his seat, and he leaned back. As his mind drifted, a twinge of excitement ran through him, a warm, fuzzy feeling that had sustained him through months of separation, loneliness, and fear.
Closing his eyes, he thought about his wife.
* * *
Bono would always remember the first time he had seen her, the entire scene forever imprinted on his mind. He could hear the sounds of the wind through the trees, smell the wet, fresh-cut grass, see the color of the sky, feel the lurch inside his stomach as she walked toward him, the sunlight on her face, the afterno
on breeze playing with her hair. A senior at UCLA, he spent a lot more time hanging out at the ROTC building than he did with his fellow economics majors, most of whom were preparing for law school or MBAs. Truth was, he was dying to graduate, get through infantry school and into battle. The last thing on his mind was getting married. After dating what he felt like was every single LDS girl in southern California, he’d pretty much given up on the whole marriage thing.
He was sitting on the steps of the Wooden Building (all of the campus buildings seemed to be named after someone famous), waiting for his ROTC squad to take to the intramural field, when she suddenly came around the corner of the building with a couple of her friends. Being drill day, he was wearing his cadet khakis and leather boots and, as she walked by, he felt suddenly self-conscious and unsure. Though she looked in his direction, she seemed to pay him no attention. He watched her approach, unable to pull his eyes away. She was tall and athletic (attending on a tennis scholarship, he would later learn) and the most beautiful girl . . . no, the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. She was out of his league, he knew that, but he really didn’t care. He’d never seen her before and chances were, large as the university was, he might never see her again. He had to talk to her, he simply had to, and he had to make his move now.
But he didn’t. He just sat there, his mouth open, his eyes wide.
She passed by him, the cadet staring at her like a puppy. Ten feet down the sidewalk she unexpectedly stopped and turned around.
Taking a deep breath, he gathered all his courage, stood up, and walked toward her.
She waited. Her two friends kept on walking. Out of the three, she was the only one who had turned around.
“Hey there,” he said as he drew close.
She looked past him, lifting on her toes as if she were looking for someone else. He shot a quick look behind him but there was no one there.
“Hey there,” he said again.
She lowered off her toes and looked at him. Tan face. Killer eyes. His stomach flipped again. “Hi,” she finally answered.
He stared, suddenly unable to think of anything to say, his mind empty as an arctic landscape. He felt stupid, his mouth dry, his mind completely blank. Through the awkward silence he started praying that she wouldn’t ask him something complicated like, “What’s your name?”
“What’s your name?” she asked.
He almost panicked, his mouth open.
She watched, waited, then smiled, her eyes teasing. Tall as she was, she still had to look up at him. “Okay, we’ll get that later.” She nodded toward the cadet rank on his shoulders. “Are you a general?”
He shook his head. “Ahhh . . . yeah.” He corrected himself. “I mean no. No. I’m not a general.”
She moved her head again, tilting it to the right. “You’re not?”
Bono completely missed the teasing in her voice. “No. Not yet. But I will be one day.”
She couldn’t help but laugh. “I was, you know, kind of kidding.”
Bono realized how foolish he had sounded and looked down. She glanced toward her friends, who were waiting for her now, then nodded for them to go on. Bono stared down the sidewalk but hardly saw them. All he saw was her.
He swallowed painfully. “Whoa, that sounded kind of . . . you know, kind of . . .”
“Dumb,” she answered for him.
Panic settled in again, his mind fading. She reached up and toyed with the lapels on his cadet shirt. “These are pretty cute.”
Cute. Yeah, that was it. Cute. That was why he was going into the army. “I’ve always thought the army had the cutest uniforms,” he said in a very serious voice. “No reason you can’t look good when you’re out there killing people.”
She looked at him, taken aback, then they both began to laugh. Extending his hand, he introduced himself.
“My name’s Caelyn,” she answered after learning his.
He watched and waited. “I don’t get to know your last name?”
She eyed him without blinking. “No, not yet. You have to earn that.” Another shot of sunlight cut through her hair. That killer smile once again.
He nodded to the steps but she didn’t move to sit down. “Does anyone ever learn your last name?” he asked carefully, more than happy to stand if that was what it took to keep her there.
“A few. Not too many. As an army guy, I’m sure you understand. Got to make the enemy earn every inch he gets.”
“Is that what we are, the enemy?”
“Believe me, if you’d dated some of the buffoons I’ve been out with, you’d know exactly what I mean.” She always seemed to smile, but he could see that part of her was serious.
She glanced down at the book he’d been reading. Black leather. Lots of pages. Reaching down, she turned it over, her smile shifting just a bit. “The Book of Mormon?” she asked in surprise.
He fingered the scriptures nervously.
“You’re a Mormon?” She almost seemed to laugh.
Was there disappointment in her voice? He wasn’t sure. Still, for the first time since he had met her he didn’t hesitate. “Yes, I’m LDS.” He moved the scriptures to hold them in both hands. “I joined the Church my senior year in high school. It’s been pretty much amazing since then.”
She looked away, seeming to think. “That’s going to be a problem,” she answered slowly.
“How’s that?”
“Well, let’s say that one day I take you home to meet my parents. Now, not only would I have to tell them that you’re going into the army, but you’re a Mormon too. My mom’s not going to like that. I don’t know what she’ll do.”
Go home to meet her parents. He was ready right now. Meet the family. Set a wedding date. He was ready for it all. But all he did was nod slowly, unsure of what to say. Her sense of humor was unpredictable, like trying to stay ahead of a swirl of leaves in the wind. Then she nudged him on the shoulder. “Hey, general, don’t worry too much. I’m sure we’ll figure something out.”
He pressed his lips together with concern. “It gets worse,” he admitted, his voice low and tense.
“Really?”
“Afraid so.”
“How’s that?”
“Well for one thing, I’m Jewish. And I always vote Republican. On Wednesdays, I go door-to-door with a couple of friends who are Jehovah’s Witnesses. On weekends I sell flowers on the street corner for the Moonies. I make my living telemarketing. And I just got out of jail.”
She stared at him with a straight face. “Pretty much everything they could ask for in a potential son-in-law.”
“Pretty much.”
She stared off again, thinking deeply. “I don’t know if they’re going to be able to handle the whole Republican thing,” she muttered sadly.
He matched her far-off stare. “My dad voted for Kennedy.” His voice was hopeful.
“So you’re open to negotiation.”
He shrugged. “On a couple of things, I guess.”
She reached out for his hand and shook it. “I think maybe we can reach a deal, then,” she said.
* * *
They sat on the cement steps of the Wooden Building and talked for three hours. He missed his ROTC drills. She missed a lab. Neither of them noticed. Neither of them cared. Sometime after sunset, he walked her home. Sitting on the front steps of her apartment building, they kept on talking until sometime after twelve.
Early the next morning, he called her on her cell. She picked up as if she’d been waiting. What was the point in pretending? A ball had started rolling that neither of them could control. They didn’t want to control it. They wanted it to roll.
“Have I earned an inch?” he asked before she could even say hello.
She didn’t answer, puzzled.
“You got to make the enemy earn every inch,” he reminded her.
She laughed and answered, “Yeah, I guess you’ve earned an inch.”
“Then I get to know your last name?”
“All
right, general, my last name is Mckenny.”
“Well, Miss Mckenny, are you doing anything tonight?”
“I’m sorry, but I’m afraid that I have plans.”
The line was silent.
“I’ve got a date with a guy I’m really smitten with,” she went on.
She could hear him deflate, his breath exhaling in her ear.
“He’s intelligent and good-looking, but it seems like there’s . . . I don’t know, something more. I can’t explain . . .”
He was silent; then he got it. He sat there stunned. Everything that he was thinking, she was thinking too.
“What time’s good for you?” he asked urgently.
“Soon as you can get here, general.”
“I’m on my way,” he said.
Six weeks later she was baptized.
Two weeks after that, they decided on the wedding date.
* * *
That was the way it was for them. They met, fell in love, and never once looked back. They didn’t second-guess. They didn’t wonder. They didn’t have to. They knew they were lucky; only one in ten thousand relationships worked out like theirs did. And they were smart enough to appreciate it and be grateful every day.
As time passed and Bono got consumed with his military career, the months of separation, months of longing and waiting and dreaming of each other, only made the times they spent together seem that much more important and intense. Together or apart, when everything was said and done, when the frustrations and joys and disappointments were considered, they simply loved each other.
Some people said it was a fairy tale, but they knew it was more than that. This wasn’t a fairy tale, this was real, and it was as eternal as it got.
The Great and Terrible Page 121
