He dropped down and stared at her, suspended in midair. His face was evil, black and brooding, his dark eyes flashing in the starlight. He smiled and pointed at her.
She was what he was looking for.
Sara’s mouth hung open, her breath sinking in her chest. Half a second passed in silence. Finally, she let out a scream.
* * *
Twenty minutes later, Sam and Ammon tapped carefully on the apartment door. Mary let them in. Sam held his flashlight, its bright, white beam illuminating the night. Like all of his gear, it had been protected from the devastating pulse of EMP by the underground subway. Sara sat on the edge of the couch, her hands trembling at her side. Sam’s face was tense but not frightened, puzzled but not strained.
Sara watched her sons as they walked into the room. Luke was standing behind her, both of his hands resting on her shoulders. Mary remained close, never leaving her side. Sara caught a flash of dark metal in Sam’s hand.
“What did you find?” Mary asked. She gripped Sara’s shoulders as if bracing for bad news.
Ammon and Sam exchanged an anxious look. “You were right, Mom. There was someone outside the window.”
The room was silent. “Are you kidding me!” Luke finally asked.
“See, I’m not going crazy,” Sara said, her voice defensive. Mary knelt down by her.
“No, Mom, we always said that you weren’t crazy.”
“But you didn’t believe me?”
“That’s not true. We just didn’t know what to think.”
Sara reached over and placed a hand on Mary’s arm. “He was there. Suspended in the air. Like he was flying,” she repeated her story for the dozenth time.
“Well, not exactly.” Sam held up the piece of metal. “But it would have looked like that to you.”
“What did you find?”
Sam moved the flashlight to the piece of black metal in his hand. “This is a military rappelling device. They’d planted a bolt into the edging along the top of the roof, then rappelled over the edge using this brake and carabiner. It was the only way they could have looked inside the window.”
“They! Who is they? What are you talking about?” Sara pleaded.
Sam hesitated. “I don’t know who they were, Mom.”
“Military rappelling devices? Bolts and carabiners?”
Sam held out the oval carabiner and braking device. “I know this gear,” he said. “It’s highly specialized military equipment used by Special Ops.”
Sara stared at him, her face growing pale. “Are you saying there was a U.S. soldier outside our window?”
Sam thought for a long moment. “I’m saying there was someone. We don’t know who. We don’t know why. It seems crazy, but someone was out there. And they knew what they were doing. They were looking for something . . . someone . . . there was a reason they were there.”
Sara looked away. For a moment, Sam thought she was going to be sick, she looked so ghostly white. He took a step toward her. “Mom, are you okay?”
He watched her as her head dropped.
“Mom?” he asked again.
She was silent a long time. The apartment was deathly quiet. “I know who they were,” she finally said. She shook her head and closed her eyes.
Sam shot a quick look to his mother. He was the only one who knew.
Mary asked, “Who would be using this equipment? Why would they be here?”
Every eye remained on Sara. She turned and looked at Mary. “I have put you all in danger.”
Mary shook her head. “You have saved me, baby.”
Sara swallowed hard, then jumped up, ran into the kitchen, and threw up into the sink.
Chapter Seventeen
Fourteen Miles East of Little Rock, Arkansas
The young lieutenant pulled his camouflage jacket around him and rolled over in his sleep. He was crammed in the backseat of a black Cadillac, the largest car abandoned on the freeway that he could find, but his feet were still jammed against the rear door and his legs were cramped from being bent. He had taken off his boots and placed them on the floor beside him; other than that he was fully dressed. He’d rolled up an extra pair of pants to make a rough pillow and spread his military jacket over him for a blanket, although it only covered him to his waist. His gear and pack were beside him on the floor, everything organized and tidy, just as it should be. Attention to detail. Keep things tight. Keep things clean and oiled and always ready for a fight.
The military issue 9-mm Beretta Special Forces handgun was under the front seat, within easy reach. The tiny, pearl-handled .22 he’d picked up in Baltimore was, as always, strapped around his calf.
Bono shivered in his sleep. It was cold outside. Really cold. Frost had formed on the front window, creating a maze of crystals that, in half an hour, when the sun came up, would reflect in tiny prisms of light. His breath formed a light mist in front of his face. The lieutenant rolled over, pulled the jacket to his chin, shivered, and slowly opened his eyes. He lay there for a moment trying to figure out where he was, the semidarkness of predawn illuminating the car in gray light. Within a few seconds it all came back to him and he was instantly awake.
He got up, pulled on his boots, climbed out of the car, and stretched. A small ditch ran under the freeway and he climbed down to it, washing his face and shaving as quickly as he could. He hadn’t shaved in days and it felt good to get the itchy
stubble off his neck. Working his way upstream, he traced the water in the growing light until he found a pool where the small stream was calm and clear. He studied the water, looking for signs of vermin or other water life. He sifted it with his fingers, smelled it, let it drip against the light, tasted it, then sat back on his haunches and thought. He had iodine pills in his pack, but only a few weeks’ worth, and who knew what lay ahead? The next water hole he found might be little better than a sewer, while this seemed fairly clear. Take his chances? Wait for better? He thought for a moment, then leaned over and drank deeply, filling his stomach as much as he could, then his canteen, then the plastic water bottles the air force sergeant had given him on the flight into Little Rock. Scrambling up the embankment, he walked back to the freeway and climbed up onto the roof of the car.
The sun was up now, its yellow rays slanting across the horizon, and he took a few minutes to look around. Interstate 40, the major artery between Little Rock and Memphis, ran east and west. Lines of dead cars cluttered the freeway as far as he could see. To the west, toward Little Rock, he could see multiple lines of smoke lifting into the calm sky. Thousands of people, all of them refugees, had moved into the country now, setting up makeshift camps of various shapes and sizes. The nearest campfire was two, maybe three hundred yards behind him. Looking east, he saw no fires. The roads between the major cities appeared to be mostly deserted. Still, he didn’t plan on walking along the freeway. Too many people there. He pulled out his map and studied it in the growing light. The old State Road 70 paralleled the freeway a couple of miles to the south. Using his fingers, he measured the distance to the small ranch where his wife was staying with her parents. Twenty-five, fifty, seventy-five miles. He thought it over. He wouldn’t run, but his walking pace was as quick as a slow man could jog, which meant he could cover maybe thirty miles a day if he kept it up. Two and a half, maybe three days to get there.
Just enough time to kiss his wife, hug his daughter, and turn around and head back to his military unit again.
He thought about his last conversation with his unit commander back in D.C. and the very specific instructions he’d been given. “You have two weeks. Understand me, Lieutenant. Fourteen days. Not an hour more. I can’t believe I’m doing this anyway, letting you guys even try to go home. But I want you back here, understand. I want you checking in in two weeks. We’re in the middle of a war here, I don’t think I need to remind you. Now go on, get out of here.”
Bono counted the days. One night in the military aircraft flying down to Little Rock. Two days walking south a
nd east. Three days since he’d left D.C. A total of six days to get to his family, had to plan on six days getting back, which left him two days to spend with his wife and daughter.
Part of him swore in frustration at so little time; part of him smiled at the thought of two days with his family. Two days of heaven. Two days of bliss. Truth was, he would walk a year across the Gobi to spend two days with them. He’d crawl across broken glass and nails to spend an hour with his wife.
Jumping down from the roof of the car, he opened the back door, took out his pack, pulled out an incredibly dense military meal bar—two thousand calories of sweetened rust and nails, so far as he could tell—hoisted his pack, checked the weapon in the holster at the small of his back, turned southeast, and started walking with a long, determined gait.
The sun rose and it got warmer. Half an hour later, he started to sweat.
His stomach started growling.
He felt a little dizzy.
Sweat started dripping down his ribs.
Twenty minutes later, just as he climbed the embankment of State Road 70, he leaned over and started heaving in gushy, gasping gulps.
An hour later, he knew he was in trouble. Whatever was in the water, he felt like it was killing him.
Two gut-wrenching hours later, he wished it would.
Chapter Eighteen
Twenty-One Miles East of Little Rock, Arkansas
What started as a cool morning, with temperatures just below the freezing mark, quickly heated up to a humid 73 degrees. The sky was clear, the air still, almost like it was waiting for something new to come. The sun rose higher in the pale sky, beating straight down on Bono’s face.
Just before losing consciousness, the young lieutenant had made an important decision. Knowing he was slipping away, he’d crawled off the road, not wanting to be found by other travelers when he wasn’t in a position to defend himself. Dragging his body painfully between the strands of a barbwire fence, he’d dropped into a thicket and immediately passed out.
The day wore on and the sun beat down, burning the left side of his face, his right side mashed into the thistles and dirt. He sweat, he threw up across his chest, he mumbled and called out, but he never regained consciousness. By afternoon, a violent seizure racked him and he almost choked on his tongue. Sporadic spasms came and went, convulsing him into a painful ball.
Along the road, half a dozen people moved east and west. None of them saw him, though a couple of people thought they heard someone calling as they passed.
Afternoon came and a band of clouds started building in the west. Rain was coming. The sun dropped toward the western horizon and the temperature fell.
As twilight approached, Bono opened his eyes and shivered. Focusing his entire will and using every ounce of energy that he had left, he opened his pack, his hands shaking violently, his arms barely able to even move, and pulled out his field jacket. Fighting against the crippling pain inside his stomach and chest, he struggled to spread the jacket over his shoulders—it felt like it was made of lead—then dropped his head onto the dirt.
He was so thirsty. Brutally thirsty. His stomach muscles were tied in knots, painful spasms racking him. He heaved at the dryness, but there was nothing left inside him to throw up. He tried to swallow. His tongue and throat were so swollen it was like trying to swallow sand.
“No, no, no,” he almost wept, physical and emotional misery racking him. “Please, whatever it is, I cannot die here. Please, help me to get home first. If it’s your plan, then I accept it, but please don’t let me die out here by myself. Caelyn will never know what happened to me. Please don’t make Ellie spend the rest of her life wondering what happened to her father. Please . . . I do not ask this for myself . . . I only ask it for my family.”
Chapter Nineteen
East Side, Chicago, Illinois
Sam tapped quickly, almost silently, on the apartment door. Azadeh stared at it anxiously while Mary let him in. He pushed the door back just a crack, slipped into the room before she could open it all the way, then grabbed the metal handle and shoved it closed again. All of them except for Luke and Kelly were waiting in the small living room. They all stared at him, waiting for his report. The soldier’s face looked grim.
“What’s the matter?” Sara asked him.
He glanced over his shoulder. “I was being followed!”
Sara’s hand shot to her mouth and she sucked in an anxious breath. Mary looked at the window nervously. Being from the neighborhood, she knew better than the others what being followed might really mean. Ammon stepped toward him, the brothers communicating with just a look between them.
“Followed?” Sara asked. “Do you think it was the . . . you know . . . the same man who was at the window?”
Sam went into the kitchen and poured himself a drink of water from one of the plastic canteens they had brought. “No, Mom, it was just a couple of hoods,” he answered after taking a quick swallow. “No biggie. I can take care of them. I lost them anyway. Still, I’d just as soon not advertise that we’re all up here in this apartment.” He took another swallow. He was thirsty. He’d been running. For the first time, Sara saw the shiny beads of sweat on his brow.
Sam motioned to his army jacket. “Funny how this gets such an interesting reception out there on the street.”
Sara and Ammon followed him into the kitchen and the group eventually congregated around the tiny table, anxious to hear everything he had to say.
“Did you learn anything?” Ammon asked.
“Not a lot,” Sam answered after finishing his drink. He motioned toward the window. “It’s getting kind of crazy out there.”
That much they knew. All it took was one look out on the street to see that the world that had existed just a few days before was gone.
“Are we going to be able to leave tonight like we planned?” Ammon asked. He was more ready than any of them to get out of the dreary place.
Sam shook his head. “I don’t think so. Gangs have blocked off almost every street. They’ve dragged old cars, piled up garbage cans, old furniture, anything they can get a hold of to build a barrier.”
Ammon almost swore. He simply couldn’t stand the thought of another day trapped inside the apartment.
“It’ll be okay,” Sam said to assure him. “They’ve already started to fight among themselves. It reminds me a little bit of Serbia, but things will settle down. Still, we don’t want to leave tonight. I think it’s too early. Another day, maybe two, and I think things will be okay. If we leave at the right time and follow the route we talked about, I think we can get through the worst areas without too much problem.” He shot a secret look at Azadeh. “If we are careful, and if we stay together, we’ll be okay.” He turned to Sara. “How’s Luke doing? What about Kelly Beth?”
“They’re both doing really well. It’s just amazing.”
Sam walked toward the window. “I met some policemen,” he continued.
“Really!” Mary exclaimed, her voice hopeful.
“It’s about time,” Sara said. “Where have all the law enforcement officers been?”
“There aren’t many of them reporting for duty, from what I could learn. Right now they’re trying to operate with less than five percent of their total force.”
“Five percent!” Ammon shot back. His face showed disappointment and disgust. “Cowards! Where did they all go?”
“Same as the rest of us,” Sam replied. “Home with their families. Trying to survive. Trying to figure out where they’re going to get some water for their kids, where they’re going to find some food. And in some ways, I can’t blame them. I wouldn’t want to be a law enforcement officer down there on the street right now. A million crazy people, lots of them with guns. No rules. No expectations. No communications between officers. No backup. No police vehicles. No way to get around.”
The group was silent. Azadeh started to say something and they all looked at her, but she fell silent, embarrassed.
; “You saw some cops, though. That’s a good step,” Mary said. “Maybe we’ve turned the corner. If we can get some officers down there on the street, if people start to feel like things will soon be back to normal—”
“Miss Dupree,” Sam interrupted, “I don’t mean to be disagreeable, but things are not getting anywhere back to normal.”
“But if we can get some policemen . . .”
“I’m not sure we can be counting on these guys to help us anyway. Maybe just the opposite. I watched them shaking people down. First thing they did when they stopped me was frisk me for any food or water. Second thing they wanted was to take away my gun. I told them, dude, you got to be kidding. They insisted. Well, maybe even more than insisted. I tried to show them my military ID, explain to them I was authorized to carry it, that it was a military-issue weapon. It took a while to get them to back off.” He cracked a quick smile. “I had to be persuasive.”
Ammon watched him carefully. There was more to this story. A lot more. Sam hadn’t gotten the cops to leave him alone by sweet-talking them. He would discuss it with his brother later on.
Sam lifted the cup again, letting every drop of water drip into his mouth. Putting it down, he wiped the sweat from his forehead, wetting his sleeve. “We’ve got a new president of the United States,” he said.
Stunned silence. No one moved. An unexplained chill fell over the room.
“A new president?” Mary asked him.
Sam nodded at her.
“A new beginning? A new start at order?” Mary’s voice was full of hope.
A cold chill moved through Sara. It cut her, sending a dull ache around the base of her skull. A new beginning? She forced herself to breathe. No, she knew that wasn’t true.
She took a step back, her face drained of color. She didn’t breathe again for a long moment, her eyes dropping to the floor.
No one noticed her distress. They concentrated on Sam.
“A new leader for our nation?” Ammon asked him.
“Yep. A new Head Cheese.”
The Great and Terrible Page 128
