by Sean Platt
It was somewhat of a woo-woo idea for a mogul, but Meyer considered himself a Renaissance man. He conducted his business with iron logic, but cared for his body, with daily yoga and massage. He’d redefined entertainment following the studio failures in the first part of the twenty-first century, and yet his kids always came first — to the point that Heather had granted him custody in deference to his “more stable life.”
Like most powerful people, Meyer had his quirks. But now the world was learning what he’d known all along: that his preoccupation with, and advance preparation for, the end days had been time and mental energy well spent.
Walking shoes. Electronics and charged extra batteries.
The latter wouldn’t last forever, but they could be charged in his Benz JetVan. As long as they had the van and fuel, and the communication networks stayed up, they’d be able to use them.
The earbud buzzed again.
“Incoming call from: Heather.”
Tap. “What?”
“Hello to you too, sweetums.”
“Are you packed up? Are you out of the city yet?”
“I’m working on it.”
“Quickly, Heather. Have you checked the highways?”
“How?”
“Online.”
“Oh. No. I didn’t think of it. Should I?”
Meyer sighed. “Yes. Of course you should. You want to end up in a parking lot?”
“Maybe I should fly.”
“Don’t try.”
“I checked the flight schedules. United has a direct flight, LAX to Vail. You can meet me there, or I can rent a car.”
“Do you think this is a vacation?”
Heather’s reply sounded annoyed, but at least she was being serious, for once.
“Oh, but it makes sense to drive. You’re flying.”
“I have a private jet, Heather. And I’m not going to LAX.”
“You’re going to JFK.”
“No, I’m going to Morristown. JFK will be a mess. Like LAX. But if you think it’s smart to try and buy a ticket and fight security and crowds on the verge of rioting, go right ahead.”
That was a dangerous thing to say. Heather might take him up on it to prove a point. She constantly flew for comedy gigs and sometimes movie work and was away from their old home more than at it. She’d first caught Meyer’s attention because she was as arrogant as he was, and Heather Hawthorne wasn’t the kind of woman many men would dare to push around. But she’d been with him as his preoccupation had grown, and she knew as well as Meyer just how fully stocked and bulletproof the Vail compound was. He’d even proposed the idea of Heather moving in when they did, in a guest house on the same sprawling property, for “safety” in Meyer’s supposedly paranoid opinion.
“Maybe I should stay where I am.”
“Jesus, Heather, no, get on the road, and start driving. Gas up the second you can and then as often as you see a gas station that isn’t being mobbed. You’ve got the hybrid; you should be good unless you’re fantastically unlucky.”
“That’s a long drive, Meyer.”
“Better than staying in LA.”
“I don’t know. Right now I have friends nearby. And the basement looks like CostCo.”
Meyer had added to the stockpile with every visit. He’d lived in New York since the divorce, but he was still lord of his old manor whenever he flew to LA. He kept buying bottled water, canned food, sometimes weapons. Even Heather didn’t know where he’d stowed it all.
“Heather, do I really need to explain this to you?”
“Go ahead. I just love listening to your explanations. Please, make it a long one.”
Meyer bit his retort. “New York and LA. Those are the two cities everyone considers attacking. It’s where everything bad happens. It’s where everyone, every time there’s a blip, goes apeshit with panic. People are already losing it in Manhattan. I’m moving as fast as I can.”
Heather’s voice changed, suddenly worried. “The kids. They’re with you? Did you get them from school?”
“Piper did. But then she came all the damned way back to Central Park for Lila.”
“Why was Lila in Central Park?”
“She ditched. But look, I literally just spoke to them. They’re fine. I sent them over the bridge and am going to meet them in Weehawken.”
“They’re not with you?” Now Heather sounded near panic. He’d never heard her like this. It was disorienting, almost terrifying.
“They’re fine. They’re in a better position than I am.”
“But you’ve got the Mystery Machine.”
“Her Beetle’s more agile. She can go manual if she has to. The JetVan’s a behemoth. It was always meant to be a Colorado vehicle. Honestly, I don’t know how the hell I’m going to get it out of the city. And I won’t if I don’t hurry.”
Saying the words made Meyer’s blood prickle. He resumed frantically packing.
Extra socks. Identification papers. Taser.
“Shit, Meyer. I am so not into this.”
“You’ll be fine. You’re outside the city, already facing the right direction. Just start driving. Check the traffic first and avoid the bad spots, but don’t rule out the expressways if they seem clear. Just be super careful because if you get in a jam, you’ll be stuck. I’d stick to surface roads. You have a good traffic app?”
“I have TrafficCopter.”
“And your car charger. And a few external batteries.”
“Last time you were here, you put enough mobile batteries in my purse to power my vibrator without a wall socket.”
“Good. So just …”
“Almost.”
“Go. You may not be able to reach me on the road, so head for Vail, and we’ll meet you there. Even the foothills are better than LA. You’ll be fine. We’ll be fine. Okay, Heather?”
For a moment, Meyer thought he’d lost her.
“Heather?”
Sounding exhausted: “Okay, Meyer.”
“Try to call as long as you have steady power, like from your car. They say we have six days. Maybe the networks will stay up.”
“I will.”
“Take care, Heather.”
He thought she’d hung up and was about to tap his earbud when Heather said, “I love you, Meyer.”
“I know.”
Meyer ended the call and packed faster, knowing how quickly time, in Manhattan’s barely-held composure, was thinning.
CHAPTER 6
Day One, Afternoon
Weekhawken, New Jersey
It took Meyer an hour from the time he loaded the duffels into the JetVan and drove out of the garage until he reached the Weehawken rendezvous point. He’d had to go manual immediately, taking the wheel between his hands and forgetting that he was supposed to be one of New York’s most respected private citizens. He’d ridden half on and half off of curbs; he’d annihilated two flimsy trash cans to circle obstructions; he’d nearly cut a homeless man in half when he’d been trying to sneak around some asshole who’d decided to load a U-Haul in the middle of fucking Hudson. As he’d passed, some other angry motorists had been arguing with the U-Haul’s owner — a man who seemed to be rather flagrantly loading flats of bottled water into the back with a dolly. Meyer wasn’t entirely sure, but he thought that just after he’d passed, those motorists may have seized the man, dragging him from the truck toward the curb.
Things were quickly going to shit.
Meyer’s prior assumptions seemed to be holding true: Everyone would panic, and their best chance was to outrun that panic. Trevor, ironically, had nailed the concept: They, as a family, had to panic faster than everyone else. Screw the seven stages of grief. Screw denial and bargaining and all the things the populace must be thinking about the strange spheres drawing ever closer to Astral’s radio telescopes. There was no time for any of it. The only way out was to be prepared and get the hell out of Dodge without flinching.
Only about an hour had passed since Meyer first heard the
news. He’d already screamed out of the underground garage in his apocalypse-ready van. The general population had merely managed to run around waving their hands uselessly in the air like a Kermit the Frog freak-out. Knee-jerk fear wasn’t hard to skirt. It was the sure-to-come mass exodus that would be impossible to wade through.
Both halves of Meyer’s NYC family — Piper and the kids in the Beetle and himself in what Heather called the Mystery Machine — were well on their way out of town, packed and prepared, by the time Manhattan’s slow sigh began. Traffic was slow, but in a strange middle ground: normal workaday flow had dimmed due to the news, but panic was creeping.
He took the Lincoln Tunnel, feeling nervous. In concept, there was little difference between a tunnel and a bridge out of the city, but in the dark — especially if the power grid failed; hey, it could happen if the wrong people left their stations at work — people were edgier. Fear would be thicker under the Hudson, and if someone stalled, there would be no option to simply break through the barricades and push them off into the water.
Meyer seriously considered taking one of the bridges on the island’s east side and circling around, but the loss of time outweighed the bridges’ superior open-air advantage. Besides, he knew Piper would take one of the tunnels. If there was a backup, he might be able to find his family. The converse was true, too — if he went around and escaped scot-free but they were held up, what good would it have done?
Fortunately, the early traffic out seemed to share Meyer’s mindset: prepared, paranoid, but overall more interested in getting out safely than quickly. The crawl was slow but proceeded through the tunnel without incident. Soon he was on the river’s other side, prepared to count the blessings of a god he’d never really believed in.
He pulled into the gas station just shy of Tonnelle and sighed with relief at the sight of Piper’s familiar blue Beetle parked beside a pole that had probably, once upon a time, held an ancient pay phone. A massive propane tank inside a high fence read, LEAVE EMPTIES OUTSIDE PAY INSIDE FOR NEW WITH DEPOSIT. Beside the fence, below the sign, was a picnic table. Lila was sitting on its top with her feet on the bench, eating a sandwich. Trevor was on the far side, possibly pondering something. Piper was emerging from the station carrying a coffee. Beside Lila was someone Meyer had entirely forgotten about.
Piper saw Meyer, dropped her coffee, looked at the dropped cup reproachfully, then sprinted toward him. The run was shameless and full of youth. A moment later, her petite arms were around him, her head coming only as high as his neck, squeezing almost tight enough to sever his breath.
“Thank God. Thank God, Meyer!”
“Any trouble?” he said, looking around. He’d left the door of the JetVan open beside the Beetle. The engine was still running. It was a waste of gas, but something in Meyer told him they wouldn’t want to be here longer than a minute.
“No. There was traffic, of course, but it was mostly civil.”
Meyer looked around. The area was still reasonably urban, but the worst of it was behind them. Soon they’d be out past 95 and into suburbia. From there until Morristown airport, things would get easier.
“We’ve been here for ages, Dad,” said Lila, her mouth full of sandwich. He had the provisions in the van, which meant she’d bought the sandwich from the station. He wasn’t sure whether to take it as a good or bad sign. On the plus side, the station was conducting proper business instead of being raided. On the negative, it was a fucking gas station sandwich.
Meyer stepped forward and hugged his daughter. Then he straightened and extended his hand to the boy beside her — a boy Meyer approved of, but who for some reason wouldn’t meet his eye.
“Raj.”
“Mr. Dempsey.”
“I didn’t realize you’d be accompanying us. Where’s your family?”
“Home, I assume.”
Meyer’s eyes went to Piper. She shrugged, so Meyer turned to Lila, his eyes taking in the scene. Past Lila, beyond the big propane tank, a group of kids her age were milling. They looked over. Meyer looked away.
“So, Raj,” said Meyer.
“Yes, Mr. Dempsey?”
“We’re taking a little trip.”
“Okay.”
“To the airport.”
“Sure.”
He wasn’t getting it. “Meaning we’re leaving New York. Jersey, whatever.”
“Okay.”
Meyer’s eyes fixed on the Beetle. “You can take it if you’d like.”
“Take it where?”
Lila picked up Raj’s hand and squeezed it. “He’s coming with us, Dad.”
“His family is here, Lila.”
“You want me to take the Beetle back into the city?” said Raj, aghast.
“You should be with your family. They’ll be worried.”
“Maybe we can meet up with them later,” said Raj.
The kid wasn’t understanding. It was as if he’d started the day with one objective — apparently to ditch school with Meyer’s daughter — and hadn’t yet cottoned on to the shitstorm’s obvious gravity.
“There’s no later. We’re headed out right now. If you stay with us, you’ll end up in …”
“Dad,” said Trevor, arriving at Lila’s side.
“Trevor,” he turned back to Raj, “ … in Vail.”
“Cool,” said Raj.
“Dad,” Trevor repeated.
“Hey, kiddo.” He wrapped an arm around Trevor’s shoulders, but the boy stepped out of the embrace. Back to Raj: “You can’t just fly away from your family. Not right now, of all times.”
“So he should go back into the city?” said Lila. “Dad, that’s stupid.”
“Don’t tell me what’s stupid, Lila. It’s right. He can take the Beetle.” He took the keys from Piper and gave them to Raj. “Here. It’s yours. You can have it. Merry Christmas.”
“Dad!”
Meyer looked at his son, tipping his head as if indicating something to one side.
Meyer followed the gesture and saw the group of teens approaching. As they neared, Meyer could see details he hadn’t noticed before: one held a bat and the other a gun.
Meyer spoke to Lila and Piper without moving his eyes from the approaching kids.
“Get in the van.” He pushed the keys into Raj’s hand. “Raj, take the car. Hurry. And be careful.”
Raj looked up at the nearing group. They all did. The group had seen them, and was changing course accordingly.
“Take the car, Raj.”
“I’m coming with you.”
“No, you’re not.”
Lila was dragging Raj through the JetVan’s open side door. Trevor followed, and Piper, keeping her eyes low, made for the passenger seat.
“Hey!” yelled the kid at the head of the group — the one with the bat. Beside him, the one with the gun (a girl, Meyer realized) was raising it.
“We don’t want trouble,” said Meyer, skirting around toward the open sliding door. Lila made to close it, but Meyer gave her an almost imperceptible wave, asking her to keep it open.
“Just wanna talk to you,” said the kid.
“I have to go.” Edging closer.
“Let us talk to you first.”
“I’m sorry.” Now Meyer’s eyes were flicking between them and the door. They were fifteen yards off now, not running but moving with purpose.
“Nice ride you got,” said the girl with the gun. “I’d like to check that out.”
“Hey!” came a shout from the gas station.
Meyer fought the urge to turn toward the yell, diving for the door and scrambling into the driver’s seat while Trevor pulled the door closed behind him instead. The kids had all flinched toward the sound and now spun back, weapons up. They ran. Meyer braced for a shot, but the girl must have been too stunned to fire. He slammed the van into manual drive and stepped hard enough on the pedal to shoot gravel from behind the wheels.
They were away, safe but with five hearts thumping.
Meyer jocke
yed the van onto the road from the shoulder, keyed autodrive, and closed his eyes.
He hoped things at the airport would be smoother. But he already had a niggling suspicion that this was only the beginning of an end, and that from here on out, things would only get harder.
CHAPTER 7
Day One, Evening
Morristown, New Jersey
The drive to Morristown should have taken about an hour. It took nearly four.
In the van’s lush rear, the three teens lowered the seats to beds and slept. Despite it being just before three when they set out, Meyer wanted to sleep too. The day had been draining. He felt his body telling him to give up, lie down, and let whatever was going to happen, happen. The effort to fight the urge, even after all the thought and planning Meyer had given this moment, was enormous.
Piper stayed dutifully awake beside him, laying a comforting hand on Meyer’s arm as light bled from the day. With the sun down, everything seemed more peaceful despite the line of traffic — and, at the same time, much more ominous. They’d stopped just once, at another gas station, during a short stretch of clear road. The station had been deserted. The houses in the surrounding area were lit but graveyard silent. The feeling was one of waiting — as if those inside didn’t know what they’d face in the morning, but wouldn’t peek from their hidey holes in the meantime, just in case.
The station was, blessedly, fully automated and fully operational. Unlike the previous station, this one had no clerk — and therefore no one to rob. Payments were electronic; there was no cash on-premises. The foodmat inside was equally automated and light on provisions. In time, if things unfolded without peace prevailing, pirates would perhaps break into the foodmat and siphon gas from the station’s tanks. But for now, that wasn’t happening. And as Meyer topped off, he thought that this could be any night, anytime, anywhere.
