“Oh, my God…”
Vanessa ignored her mother’s outburst and stared at Father. Her lips felt dry. “So your buddy is taking us to his ranch in west Texas, is that it?”
“Yes—he’s announced he'll fly in all his friends and their families—there’s plenty of space, it’s isolated and has enough food for a hundred people for…well, years he says.” Senator Brant laughed. “I hear it’s even better than the President’s bunker.”
“So when is Mother's plane coming for her?” Vanessa turned back to the screen. “Get your things together, okay?”
Her mother nodded, one hand at her mouth. “I…I will.”
“Just tell her goodbye,” Father said, not looking up from his packing.
“Father…” Vanessa said. “When’s the plane landing for her?”
“As soon as they get it fueled up,” he replied in an even tone. He zipped his suitcase and looked at her. “Now please—get moving and pack your things.” He glanced at his watch.
“We leave in five minutes, with or without your clothes.” He looked toward the suite's entrance. "They tell me people are ready to riot downstairs. There's no taxis and the airport is shut down. Only those with private transport are going to get out of this hotel alive."
“Thaddeus!” pleaded Mother. “Please, talk—”
“Shut it off, Vee,” he said. “You’re wasting your time.”
“We’re taking Mother,” Vanessa said, trying to force iron into her shaky voice.
“No we’re not,” he replied, handing the suitcase off to a guard. “I’m sending my plane to get her. We’re going on Buckhouser’s jet."
“Thaddeus…I…”
Vanessa looked at her mother’s tear-streaked face, then back to the crag of granite she called Father. “We have to take her,” she said in a small voice.
He looked at his watch. “Four minutes.”
Anger finally surged through her veins as Vanessa struggled to watch him through blurry vision. “I won’t leave without her!” She clamped her arms to her sides and balled her hands into fists. “I won’t go without her!”
“Oh yes you will,” purred Father as he stepped closer. “If I have to throw you kicking and screaming over my shoulder, you’re coming with me. I’ve seen the poll results—you’re my ticket to the White House.”
Vanessa stared at him as if he'd just announced that he planned to take up yoga.
“Go with your father.”
She turned back to her mother. “But—I can’t leave you—I won’t! This doesn't make any sense—you need to be somewhere safe—”
“Listen, Vee. I’ll be safe enough here until the plane arrives,” she said as convincingly as she could manage. “Go on, get your things. You need to get to that ranch.”
“But…”
“Three minutes,” Father announced with a smile. "Think of the White House, Vee."
Vanessa turned helplessly back to the TV.
“Go on now, Dear,” Mother said. “Your father will take care you.”
“Always,” Father replied over Vanessa’s shoulder. She didn’t need to turn around to know he smiled.
“Senator?” called a guard from the door. “We need to leave, Sir.”
“No, wait—” Vanessa began.
“Time’s up," Senator Brant announced.
“If you won’t go, then I will. I love you, Vee.” Her mother placed a hand up near her own camera.
Vanessa surged forward and reached out with her hand to touch the warm screen. “Mom!”
Her mother smiled. “You haven’t called me that since you were eight. Goodbye my little Vee-Vee.”
The screen went dark. Vanessa whirled on Father. “Why? Why couldn’t we bring her here?”
“Besides the fact that she's a thousand miles away in Washington State?"
Vanessa let herself be ushered into her bedroom across the hall from Father’s. She mechanically stuffed most of her clothes and electronic devices into her three suitcases and went back for the rest. Father put an arm out and held her back.
“That’s enough. Take the bags,” he ordered. The security guards marched in, zipped up the luggage and hauled them out.
“Let’s go,” Father said, as he took her arm to guide her toward the hotel hallway.
“I wish there was something more we could do,” Vanessa moaned.
“There’s nothing more important to me than making sure you’re safe,” Father said, giving her elbow a squeeze where he'd held her. He stopped her as they reached the door just as a group of people ran past carrying half-packed bags and shouting into cell phones.
Father's guards waded into the stream of panicked guests and physically restrained the tide. "Let's move!" one called over his shoulder. Another gestured for the senator to follow and strode out into the hallway.
Vanessa pulled free from Father's hand. Her eyes filled with tears and she struggled not to cry as she walked down the corridor to the elevators. People behind them clamored to be let through the ring of guards. Father’s private security team waved them forward.
“Hurry, sir!" urged one of the guards with skin so black it was almost blue. "We can not hold them back much longer. We need to get you to the car.” His accent placed him from somewhere in Africa, Vanessa thought with detached observation.
"Fine. Let’s get out of here,” Senator Brant muttered as the guard led them into the elevator.
Vanessa stared at the faces of desperate people shouting for help as the doors slid closed in front of her. The last image down the hallway was of the guards being overwhelmed by a surge from the crowd. Papers flew in the air and people screamed. The guard with the African accent drew his pistol and put an arm out to shield Vanessa.
The doors closed to the muffled sound of pop…pop-pop-pop.
CHAPTER 21
Survivors
CHAD WOKE WITH A start the next day, curled up on the floor underneath the manager's desk. He sat up and rubbed his face, wincing at the crick in his neck. His legs, sore and cramped from the long-distance bike ride the day before, made their displeasure felt as he stood. The glowing fluorescent light in the ceiling glared at him as it had all night. He sighed. He hadn’t been able to shut the damn thing off and ultimately crawled under the desk seeking relief.
Chad rolled his neck gingerly and reached for a bottle of water. He unlocked the manager’s door and moved out into the salon to stand by the security gate, chewing on a pack of crackers for breakfast.
Chad stared out into the store while he ate. Two weeks of anarchy after the pandemic swept through DFW had left the store picked nearly clean. He’d been shopping with his mom a few times on Black Friday—and even once on Thanksgiving Day when the stores were picked clean—but he’d never seen anything like the retail desert that he faced now.
A flickering glow drew his eye toward the back of the store. Most of the supercenter was bathed in the sterile blue-yellow of the remaining fluorescent lights, but at the back of the store, he saw different colors light up the ceiling now and then.
There’s at least one TV on back there…maybe I can find a news channel?
He had to do something. Even walking around the store picking over the bits of debris would be better than sitting around the manager's office all day, waiting for the mercenaries to track him down.
If any of them survived.
He suddenly realized if they did survive, a big building potentially full of supplies like this one would be a good place to start hunting him down. He turned from the grate and moved quickly back to the office to pack his things.
Chad shook his head as he stuffed his meager rations into Jess' backpack and dropped the journal in the satchel. He stared at the ransacked salon.
Stupid. I should've never come here. A place like this is going to be a big magnet for people looking for supplies, let alone the mercenaries.
The bike was where he’d left it by Register #3. He dropped the backpack with the better part of his food and water suppli
es next to the bicycle. Jess' satchel securely strapped over his shoulder, Chad set out for the electronics department.
Maybe I'll find something on TV about the military so I'll know which way not to go…
He was halfway across the store, stepping through discarded clothing when he heard something fall on the far side of the building. Chad froze as a chill raced down his spine.
It could be anything…maybe just a broken shelf giving way and spilling stuff on the floor, he told himself. Maybe it's a cat or raccoon or something snooping around…
He slowly crouched by a partial display of clocks and bad wall art. He eyed the half-empty aisle of pillows as he rubbed at his sore neck. A nice plush pillow would have come in handy last night but he didn't have the energy to wander the dark store before getting some rest.
Chad moved to the end of the aisle and stopped again, peering around an endcap that contained one small desk lamp. He forced his breathing to remain slow and steady while he counted the seconds. By the time he reached 300 with no further noise, his heart rate had returned to normal.
He crept down an aisle of greeting cards and scurried forward into the Men's department. Hiding behind a display that used to be full of socks but now contained only a few empty plastic bags and a forest of peg hooks, Chad looked around the corner. Empty shoe boxes and clothing covered the floor. Some of the florescent lights above him flickered at random and made shapes come alive if he looked too long.
The deeper he moved into the store, the darker it became, and the more determined he was to complete his mission and get the hell out. He would go to Sporting Goods next and see if there was any camping gear left, then leave the store and head further northwest.
Chad heard an electronic human voice over the sound of his own heart: a reporter talking about fatalities in Houston. He rounded a final corner and found six people arranged in a semi-circle before a wall of TVs each broadcasting the same program. The survivors stood silent, completely transfixed.
To his horror, Chad found his face plastered across more than a dozen screens. He came to a sudden stop and his tennis shoes squeaked on the linoleum floor. A dozen sets of eyes turned as one to face him.
"Hey!" someone shouted, the sound shockingly loud in the otherwise quiet, empty store.
Chad backpedaled as a man approached him and waved a piece of conduit like a bat. "This is ours! Get out of here!"
He crashed into the video game display and staggered backward. "I'm sorry—I didn't know, I was just—"
"Don't care!" the man roared as he closed with Chad, swinging the conduit. "This is ours! Get the fuck out of here!"
Chad backed up again and bumped into another display, sending a shower of unwanted discount DVDs across the floor.
"Watch it!" called out a young voice.
Chad turned to see a child step from behind the skirts of a bedraggled woman. Dirty, yet dressed in new clothes with the tags still on them, the woman’s hair hung limp from her head in thick, greasy locks. She looked like she'd been camping for a several weeks without access to clean water.
Now that Chad had a second to take everything in, most of the surrounding people looked homeless. He didn't have time to think about it any further before two of them rushed him, hands out as they shouted.
Chad crashed into another display, but caught this one and spun away before anyone could catch him. He hoped the crash behind him meant the tower of video game controllers slowed his pursuers a bit.
He didn't know which direction he was headed, only that he ran. He risked a glance over his shoulder. The man with the conduit held his ground and kept the others from following. They stood at the border of Electronics as if protecting their territory.
What the hell did I just walk into?
As he looked over his shoulder, Chad crashed into someone and they fell together in a cursing, tangled heap. He kicked and pushed until his foot found soft, yielding flesh. A woman grunted, and a hand slapped him hard in the face.
He rolled to his feet as tears welled up in one eye, then clenched his fists. He would not go down without a fight.
A round, middle-aged woman grunted as she got up off the floor in front of him. She opened her mouth to say something but coughed instead. As she clutched her stomach, she glared at him with one baleful, bloodshot eye.
"What you doing here?" she hissed like a cat. "This is ours."
"I'm sorry, ma'am, I didn't see you there—I'm just trying to—I don't know what the hell is going on—I’m sorry…" Chad stammered, hands in front of him as he tried to back up.
The anger melted from the woman's face as she opened both eyes wide and took a step back from Chad. "Holy shit, it's you!"
Chad stopped. "Excuse me?"
"It really is you, isn't it? You the one they lookin' for?" The woman took a step closer, as if to examine a stray dog.
Aw crap.
"Yeah, yeah—I seen it on the news this morning. You're that boy they looking for. Chad something."
Chad swallowed. “Look, ma'am, I'm sorry I ran into you—" he said, attempting to maneuver around her bulk and slip away.
"Hey!" she yelled toward her companions, without taking her eyes off him. "It's him! That boy they lookin' for on TV!"
Chad panicked to the sound of feet behind him. "I don't want any trouble. I'm sorry, I'll just go—I—"
The woman reached out and grabbed his arm with her meaty fist. "You ain't going nowhere, honey."
Chad turned and spotted the man with the conduit, coming closer. He kept the rest of them back temporarily, at least.
"Sally? You okay?"
"It's that boy from the TV—look, it's him!" she said and shoved Chad forward like a trophy.
The man with the conduit narrowed his eyes as he examined Chad head to foot. At last he lowered the pipe until it touched the ground.
"I don't believe it," he whispered.
"What are you talking about?" Chad asked as he struggled to free himself.
A teenager stepped around the man with the pipe. He took off a pair of grimy, scratched glasses and squinted.
"Wow. They're right, it is you." He smiled. "You're like, public enemy number one or something."
Chad looked around the collection of faces, young and old: some confused, some suspicious, and some outright angry. His own anger rose—here was another group of strangers who wanted to capture him.
"What?" he demanded. "What is it?"
A woman who carried a baby swaddled in a pink blanket came forward through the group. She brushed the straight black hair from her forehead and smiled.
"Don't be afraid, no one's going hurt you."
The others parted around her and stepped back. She was a little shorter than him and very thin. The clothes she wore, many also still with their price tags, hung off her frame like bedsheets. She reminded him of Jess.
The slightly olive-colored skin on her face stretched tight over the soft corners of her cheeks and brow. She'd lost a lot of weight, but it didn't look like she'd ever been heavy. She smiled and gently rocked the pale little girl swaddled in a pink fuzzy blanket and murmured something in what sounded like Chinese.
"You're survivors," Chad whispered.
The woman nodded. "That's right,” she said in her soft accent. “I got it in the early days and almost died. My husband…" She looked down at the baby and sniffed. "I made my way here…after. Joe took me in."
The man with the conduit bobbed his head. "Lian's a better cook than I am," he mumbled. The others chuckled.
"We all survived. But Sam is still sick," Lian said and half-glanced over her shoulder. "I don't know if any of us will survive getting sick again…"
"You can help," said a voice behind him. Sally folded her arms across her bosom.
"Me? How?"
"TV said so," said Joe.
"Why are you running?" asked Lian.
"The army…these guys in black uniforms. I think they're mercenaries. There was this firefight—and snipers—"
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"Whoa…cool…" breathed the young man with glasses.
"Shut up and let him talk," hissed Joe.
"I don't understand what's going on," Chad said again.
Lian put one hand to her lips briefly. "I'm sorry—it's all over the news—they're broadcasting again, even on channels that went off the air. They're saying you're wanted."
"By who?" asked Chad. “For what?”
"FBI, CIA, the army, state police, local police—everyone is out there looking for you. They're desperate."
"What did you do?" asked the teenager. "Are you like a spy or something?"
“Did you start all this?” asked another.
“I didn’t do anything!” Chad pleaded.
"It's okay, kid—don't worry about it," grumbled Joe over the murmuring. "I say ain't nobody helped us out, why should we help them out?"
"But—" said Sally.
"He's just a kid," Joe said again.
“Maybe they’ll give us stuff…” Sally persisted, glaring at Chad. She stepped forward and grabbed his arm. “He might be worth something to them if they're so desperate.” He spun out of her grasp and rubbed his bicep where she'd grabbed him with surprising strength. He flinched when she reached out and gently touched his cheek.
"He never got sick. Look at him—I bet he’s not eatin' any better than us, but he still got a lot more meat on his bones than we do."
Chad took a step back and slowly tried to work his way backwards down an empty aisle.
"That true boy?" asked Joe. "You didn't catch it?"
"I……"
Lian stepped forward. "The rumor’s true then? That you're immune?"
“They said it on TV,” offered the teenager. “I told you.”
“Sssh—you’re the only one who heard that,” muttered Joe.
"I don't know. I watched my whole family die…I just…"
Lian turned from Chad and gathered the others in front of her. As she whispered, a few heads shook, and the man with the pipe said something just out of Chad's hearing. With one skeptical look over the top of Lian’s head, he walked away and took the rest of them with him.
The Source: A Wildfire Prequel Page 13
