Eli turned to the street. “Mom. Look.”
Harper lifted her eyes to the riot cops advancing. The people scattered.
“Hurry up,” James commanded.
Harper ran another stitch. Halfway there. The cops marched onward, bludgeoning an escaping looter. With haste, she kept stitching.
“Harper.” James closed his eyes.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
The sincerity made Harper pause for a moment. Then she remembered him locking lips with that drunk blonde in their bedroom. Frowning, she slid the needle through the skin and snapped the line.
The cops were about one hundred feet away when she finished wrapping the bandages around his upper thigh. A proper tourniquet would’ve been more effective, but they’d have to make do until they reached Riverdale. Eli helped the best he could to get his father to his feet, but James shooed them both away and stood on his own, albeit rather lopsided. Limping, the Murphys started down Fourteenth Street. The midday sun beat down on the crunched cars. Seven miles to go.
They cut through the straggly trees of Franklin Square, spotting rising smoke from distant buildings. Whether the origin was from a natural fire or another bombing, it was impossible to tell.
The pain had finally caught up to Harper. Her back and torso throbbed. Purple bruises spotted her arms, and pangs of agony led her to assume that they covered a large portion of her legs and chest as well. Every breath was a painful chore. She winced as she touched her lower rib. Bruised or broken, she couldn’t tell. When she pulled her hand away, she noticed the dried blood on the seams of her fingernails and the swelling that puffed her damaged fingers. Her palms were sticky with her husband’s blood. She wiped the crimson on her pants, collecting dirt and grass. I survived giving birth--I can endure this, she told herself as her numb feet whisked her along the streets.
Before they knew it, the Murphys were shooting straight up Thirteenth Street. A blaze of flame shot out from one of the apartment buildings’ windows, casting up black tongues of smoke that stained the brick and polluted the sky. On the sidewalk below, an elderly woman embraced her coughing husband with a hug of relief. Another woman gawked at the fiery hole, mumbling a name only suitable for a pet. Others gathered around in silence.
“Can anyone get the fire department? Please?” a woman wearing a blouse complained as Harper, James, and Eli passed by.
A boy sprinted across their view, toting three purses.
“People, man,” James grumbled.
“I wish we could stop him.” Eli rubbed his arm and paused with pain. “Or at least help the others.”
Harper saw the boy slide between cars and vanish down the sidewalk. “They’ll get their justice but not from us,” said Harper. “Come on. We’ve still got a long way to go.”
Frowning, Eli watched the downtrodden sitting on the dirty curb.
“Eli,” James ordered.
His son followed after him.
Tire tracks and upturned grass turned Logan Circle into a cluster of crashed vehicles and broken trees. The anarchy that plagued the National Square only brushed against this area, but it was far from peaceful. People shoved each other, initiating frustrated fistfights. On the crosswalk, a man had been embedded between two cars. His posse warned him not to pull himself free, or else he’d suffer a quick end. He responded with tears and told of his great love for them, pleading for help anyway. Beyond the mess and wielding a sword, the green equestrian statue of John A. Logan looked valiantly to the west. Harper continued to I-1.
Through the jungle of vehicles, Harper let Eli lead. James lagged behind. The crimson blotch on the bandage caught Harper’s attention.
“Stitches must’ve split,” stated James when he saw Harper eying him.
“You want to stop?” Harper sounded much colder than she would’ve liked.
James shook his head and upped his pace.
Harper couldn’t hold her tongue any longer. “Were you really going to do it?”
James paused for moment, sending his eyes to his shoes before looking at her. “What do you think?”
“I don’t know,” she replied honestly.
James’s face turned red. “He tried to rob us, Harper. Anyone who endangers my family doesn’t deserve mercy.”
Harper chewed her nails. The statement was both oddly comforting and frightening. It was the first time she’s seen this side of him.
James scooted close to her and took her hand. His warm, dirty fingers intertwined with hers. James looked at his son, who marched a few yards ahead of them. “I’m glad we’re together again.” He put his mouth close to her ear and whispered, “I missed you.”
Harper slid her fingers out from his grip. “This whole… thing. It doesn’t change anything between us.”
“Harper,” he begged. “Can’t I at least explain--”
“No,” she cut him off and planted herself beside her son. She heard plastic thump as James kicked a detached bumper.
“Is Dad okay?” Eli asked.
“Yeah.” Harper put her arm around his shoulders. “How about you?”
Eli shrugged. Harper gave a sympathetic smile. She silently grieved, knowing that he had been in an explosion and seen all that death. She prayed it wouldn’t scar his precious mind but deep down knew that was wishful thinking. My boy… My poor boy.
As she walked, Harper turned to her reflection in the window of a crashed sedan. Her auburn hair was disheveled, and soot smeared her cheek. A crushing feeling of failure made her heart ache as she thought of her son. Something in the reflection caused her to squint. Is that…? Her emerald eyes shot open. “Get down!”
Harper dragged Eli and herself to the concrete. The deafening sound of gunfire filled the air. Glass rained down on her and her son as the bullet shattered the car’s window. James dropped prone, cursing as more blood soaked through his bandage. Keeping Eli’s head down, Harper peeked up. In a spray of death, bullets blew over her head and drilled into the metal door of the car beside her. She remembered her training and tried to calm her breathing. Her ribs burned with every compression.
“Harper!” Crawling on his elbows, James struggled to cross between cars. Bullets hit the concrete in front of him. He pressed himself against a van and guarded his face with his arms.
Knocking her knees and palms on the coarse road, Harper scurried to the front bumper of the four-door car beside her.
“How many?” James shouted out, not moving from his current cover.
“I don’t know.” Harper’s eyes darted back and forth--she could only see the stream of dead cars that filled the connecting roads. She recalled the shiny barrel that originally warned her, but now she didn’t even see that. Red car, she repeated to herself. There were multiple.
Up ahead, a couple ran for cover. Holes passed through the female’s blouse and capris, sending her tumbling to the ground like a drunken mess. The man took one to the neck and smacked his back against a car. He slid down the driver’s-side door, gargling.
“Stay here,” she commanded Eli. Staying low, she rushed to the next car. Bullets busted the windows and pierced a tire. She took a breath and ran to the nearest adjacent one. She could feel the air break around her as she barely avoided more metal kisses of death. The man continued gargling. His hands were flopping on the concrete. The whites of his eyes shone as he struggled to communicate with the sergeant.
She crawled to him. “Hold on.”
His body spasmed as more bullets drilled into his chest and head. A flash of anger struck Harper. She dashed back and peered over the top of the car, spotting the gunman’s barrel. “One’s on the roof!” she yelled back to James and Eli.
James attempted to trek to the next vehicle. A spray of bullets deterred him. In frustration, he brought the bottom of his fist against the car he covered behind. “The other one’s to my left--I mean my nine!”
Fumbling, Eli moved to the next cover closer to his mother.
“Stay still!” J
ames barked.
Harper snapped off a damaged side-view mirror and used it to spot the gunman’s barrel angled over the roof’s peak. “James, Eli. You need to keep moving!”
“What?” James shouted back.
Harper scanned the junked cars and remembered the shooter’s location. If I can get to Lincoln… The intersection wasn’t far. “On me!”
“Harper!”
“Now!”
Staying low, Harper darted to the closest cover. As she had planned, the gunfire followed her. She went to the next vehicle. Glass showered her skin, but she didn’t stop. Another car. A colorful blur. It seemed as if she blinked and instantly teleported to the end of the next intersection, far from the gunfire. She patted her body, checking for any wounds. Nothing new. Thank God. A stabbing pain. She lurched over, clenching her bruised lower rib. She forced herself to move. A green street sign: Lincoln. She looked back at the street. Eli bobbed in and out of the array of cars.
Out of breath, he landed in front of Harper. She embraced him with a hug. The gunfire echoed down the street as James army-crawled his way to them. Within half a minute, he had arrived.
“Thanks for waiting up,” he said, catching his breath.
“Someone had to draw the fire,” Harper replied with a dry mouth. Her heart wouldn’t stop pounding. She shambled forward. She felt as if she had dived headlong into a trash compactor. Eli and James followed her lead, using the doors of cars to steady themselves. They were all feeling the journey. Harper wondered how her unit was holding up. It had been hours since they separated. They were trained, capable young men. Still, Harper’s mind went to dark places.
In an attempt to wipe sweat from his forehead, the top of James’s hand only smeared the grime. “Do you have any idea who those guys were?”
Harper did a final scan of the flat rooftops and cluttered road. “I have my ideas.”
Chapter Seven
Rendezvous
A cloud of dust and debris accumulated down the straight road. The Murphys traded wide-eyed glances. They moved to the edge of the street, crouching behind a blue pickup. A low hum echoed down the interstate.
“Is that a…” James silenced himself.
Harper didn’t contain her grin as she watched the armored vehicle burst through the stirring debris and roar toward her. For the first time in forever, Harper felt a ping of hope. She revealed herself from her hiding place, but by the way the army Humvee moved, the driver was on a mission. The soldier manning the gunner station met her with a look of determination.
Wearing similar uniforms but having unfamiliar faces, the men inside gave Harper curt nods as they drove on. Their solemn expressions grew ever colder the farther they went into the smoking city. Harper’s gaze followed them as they faded from sight. James and Eli walked out to the street’s middle and stopped next to her. The sweat from the midday sun turned the powdery dirt and grime into moist, black smudges on their hairy arms and worn-out faces.
“Maybe a stupid question,” Eli started. “But I thought the EMP fried everything.”
“Not the military-grade Hummers. They’re built to last. Only our computers and other electronics took the hit. Cars from pre-1980 are the same way.” Harper beamed with newfound vigor.
“See, son.” James smiled. “This is what happens when you read army manuals for fun.”
Harper ignored the joke. “Let’s move.”
And they did.
The heart of DC was miles behind them, but confusion and dismay were far from absent. Hordes of people hiked through the streets like a neighborhood watch on steroids. They balanced baseball bats on their shoulders and kept a finger on their Tasers’ triggers, opposing any and all roguish individuals that robbed houses and mugged innocent people in the open air. Harper and her family steered clear of conflict, sneaking around solitary buildings and finding hiding places behind large trucks and other crashed automobiles. The trek up Interstate 1 left them breathless, but they pushed on.
The sun was whipping them when they finally reached the Riverdale Reserve Center. The rectangular redbrick building wasn’t much of a sight, but it invoked a torrent of feelings and memories in Harper’s brain. From the rigorous PT training she practiced once a month, to the laughs shared across the cafeteria table, Harper forcefully stifled joyous tears and a yelp. She smiled back at Eli and James. “We made it.”
Suburban homes ran opposite of the not-so-unassuming army installation. Armed, Private Beeman and Corporal Heidecker stood sentry outside the reserve center’s large doors. With rolled-up sleeves and backup guns, the soldiers funneled hordes of camped pedestrians into four medical tents, staked firmly in the front lawn. The orderly bustle filled the air as the army kept two steady lines of civilians pouring in and out of every tent, one line for the injured and the other for the treated. Compared to Harper’s home center, this was mastery of army ingenuity. Everything followed seamlessly. The local people moved without complaint, and the soldiers’ guns frightened away any troublemakers. Harper, James, and Eli pressed through the middle mass, Eli holding his makeshift sling with a grimace and James with a look of intimidation and respect.
Wind flapped the canvas of the tent as they passed. Soldiers within fetched bandages from a medical crate and dressed the wounds of those entering. Others encouraged them to find rest at home and sent them on their way.
“Sergeant Murphy?” Heidecker shouted as Harper pushed her way through the growing crowd. Another packed Humvee pulled out from the back of the center and zoomed down the road, zigzagging through the jumbled cars and motorcycles on the street. A trail of dust followed the active car and left many of the onlookers longing, Harper among them.
“We’ve got a lot of you that need caring for! Keep up the pace,” Corporal Heidecker ordered the crowd. A few grumbled, but they all straightened up their lines. A few families dispersed to the sidewalk, planting themselves on the curb and pulling out lunch sandwiches.
“Good to see you, Sergeant.” Heidecker shielded the sun with a tan hand, and his grin turned the thin mustache that ran the length of his upper lip into a wiggly black worm. “Your platoon arrived an hour back. McCulloch’s been expecting you.”
“Very good. Did he make mention of my son?”
“Yes. Said the boy could come right in. I got to say that I’m a bit jealous. They’ve got him a fresh uniform and everything.”
“Unfortunately what he needs now is a proper cast and some painkillers.” Harper ignored her own pain. She wasn’t sure how obvious it was by the way she held her lower rib. “My husband, as well.”
Heidecker stammered, “McCulloch didn’t say anything about your husband. Don’t get me wrong, Sergeant. If it were up to me…”
Harper fidgeted. “Both of them were injured in a bombing. The whole city has turned upside down, so normal hospitalization is out of the question. You’ve got to help here.”
The gears in Heidecker’s head turned. “You and the boy can enter, but your husband has to stay.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” complained James.
“Orders are orders,” Heidecker said. “Beeman, unlock the door.”
The young private released the lock.
“Perfect,” James mumbled, locking his fingers behind his head. “Absolutely perfect.”
“Corporal,” Harper glared at him.
Corporal Heidecker set his jaw for a moment then replied, “Yes, Sergeant. Beeman, let them in.”
“Thank you,” Harper said as she moved past, followed by Eli and James.
“You owe me one, Harper,” she heard him say as the door closed.
The interior of the reserve center was dimly lit and humid. The setup was similar to the one Harper experienced at her center--hand-cranked lanterns cast fans of light up the walls, and soldiers bustled between rooms, moving crates and taking orders. James found it troublesome to stay out of the way of these rushing soldiers, almost getting knocked over by one. Faces familiar and foreign turned curious gazes t
o Harper, James, and their son. They don’t like me, Harper thought. My family is safe in the confines of these walls, and theirs are out in the dangers of the city. She wished she could get them all in.
“Thanks for not leaving me out there,” James said, ending her train of thought.
“Why would I do that?” Harper kept watching the familiar faces, giving them nods as they passed.
“I don’t know. Orders.” He scuffed his shoe against the tile floor.
“I’m their NCO. I’ll take it up with McCulloch when he arrives.”
“Sergeant.” Commander McCulloch’s baritone voice sounded beside her. The horrid lighting conditions shadowed his face in a sinister manner and caught the shine of his round bald head. His silver eyes penetrated James before he could speak.
Eli groaned in pain. A grimace scrunched his long face.
“Take your father and go to the med bay. I’ll meet up with you soon.”
They nodded and headed down the hall.
McCulloch led Harper into a small office that was attached to the main hall. The CO inside stood at attention. McCulloch quickly demanded he leave before taking a seat in the rolling chair behind the desk. His brows arched downward. “Sit.”
Harper lowered herself into an opposite chair. She found it hard to look the intimidating man in the eyes. The leather cushion felt as if it were sucking her into the black seat.
McCulloch’s finger tapped on the wood. His silver eyes were unreadable. Harper fidgeted. She braced herself for the incoming tsunami of disapproval. “I’m not here to scold you, Sergeant. You are one of the best I’ve got. You keep your men in line and continually foster a mentality of respect and loyalty. That can’t be said for everyone. DC is a war zone. Extenuating circumstances caused you to get separated from your unit. End of story. It’s time to find a way to save this city.”
The soft whisper of the hand-cranked lanterns enveloped the dark room. It felt as if a ten-ton weight had been lifted from her. “I couldn’t agree more, Commander. I’m here now and ready to get started.”
A small smile creeped up the commander’s hard face. “I thought you’d say that. Fill me in on what you saw out there. Spare no detail.”
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