by Ryan Schow
Waving a dismissive hand, he pulled up to the accident, couldn’t see a way through, then said, “This is going to hurt.” Shaking his head and short on options, Miles found the weakest point in the pile up, eased the Chevelle forward against nearly frantic urgings by the owners of those cars to “Stop!” and worked the gas pedal.
Hands were slapping the sheet metal, the windows, the windshield. Then they saw who was in the passenger seat and the ruckus died down. That’s when Miles juiced the gas, lighting up the tires. The screech and whine of metal on metal being shoved out of the way was a sick sound any car lover would be sickened to hear. When the sedan and the cheap sport coupe gave way, so did the Chevelle. It finally pushed through the cars, the screeching continuing all along the sides of Miles’s car.
“That was about the most painful thing I think I’ve ever done,” he said. Ben just shook his head and went back to the fog of emotional sickness he’d been hovering in since this whole thing started.
At some point, he looked out the side window and couldn’t stop the tears. Discretely he wiped them away, but they wouldn’t stop. Along the road, the railroad tracks moved further away, leaving only a running creek in between them.
“It really is beautiful, isn’t it?” Miles said.
He sat up, but didn’t look at his former colleague. “Yeah.”
“When you look at that, how do you feel?”
Turning around, he leveled the man with a stare. The thing about his family dying was it precipitated with the actions of guys like Miles. He could make the case that Miles killed his family and this had his nostrils flaring, and his molars grinding.
“I see you’re in that dark place again.” He gassed the Chevelle, driving too quickly, not even considering what they might encounter around each corner. “If you punch me, Ben, you’ll kill us both.”
“It’ll be a relief,” he growled.
“The reason I asked you about the trees, the creek, all the greenery, is because this is what we’re trying to get back to. Nature. Mother Earth’s bounty. Overpopulation is a disease. We are the problem, Ben. Humans.”
“Save your soapbox protestations for the feeble minded,” Ben said.
“With your status, you’ll have no problem getting another wife, and with some luck she can pop out a few—”
He didn’t have time to finish the sentence. Ben backhanded him in the eye so hard, the man startled, his hands coming off the wheel at sixty miles an hour. Ben grabbed the wheel, kept it as straight as he could, let the man get his wits about him.
“If you ever mention my wife again, I swear to God Miles, I’ll kill you. You hear me? I will KILL you.”
Sitting up straight, his eye watering, he put a hand on the wheel and tapped the brakes. Apparently he didn’t want to die as badly as Ben. The former President called his bluff and he lost. Up ahead, in the sky, a glint of metal caught his eye. Ben leaned forward, looked up through the glass and the on-and-off canopy of trees and saw a plane falling out of the sky.
“Follow the trajectory of that plane!” he said, suddenly renewed, if only to serve some sort of purpose.
Miles looked up and said, “Which one?”
There were now three.
“What airport is nearby here?” he asked as he saw the two extra planes Miles was referring to. Both disappeared from view while the one he was originally tracking remained visible.
“Frederick Municipal. Just south-east of the city.”
As they drove in and out of view of the valley below, and the city of Frederick, Ben tracked the plane until he lost sight of it.
“They’re goners,” Miles said, his face still beat red from where he’d been smacked.
“Shut up,” Ben said.
When they cleared the most recent cover of trees, Ben watched the plane drop behind his line of sight. They weren’t close enough to see what would happen, but he already knew how this story would end. He took a moment to pray for those lost souls on board.
“If they die, you’re party to mass slaughter, Miles,” he said, matter-of-factly. “You’re party to genocide. No, to the eradication of an entire species.”
“Who will be around to care?” Miles said, less flippantly than when he’d made the wife comment that got him hit.
“If the cockroaches survived when dinosaurs couldn’t, surely people like you will survive when good people can’t.”
“And the meek will inherit the earth,” Miles replied.
“Not if I can help it,” Ben said.
“It probably went down outside Thurmont.”
They were up against another wall of trees and dead telephone wires. Much of the road was passable, but a lot of it wasn’t. They took the shoulder, shoved a few cars out of the way with the Chevelle, genuinely upset more people who were just minding their own business when the power went out of everything: their cars, their cell phones, their laptops.
They saw evidence of the downed airliner before they saw the actual wreck. When they reached the valley floor, they passed some sort of a long, low slung school painted in an ugly shade of brown. Behind the school, a hefty column of smoke tunneled its way into the air.
“We’re not going there,” Miles said.
“I know,” Ben said, the tension gone from his voice.
“What did you think you were going to do? Save them? You can’t save everyone, Ben. You need to focus on yourself. I didn’t have to let you live back there—”
“And I don’t have to let you live here,” Ben countered.
“True.”
“They are people, Miles. Human beings.”
“They’re a festering disease.”
“Why do you hate them so much?” he asked the former head of the DHS.
“Because they don’t contribute as much as they consume, and litter. We live in the waste of humanity. We’re constantly building and destroying, consuming and throwing things away. It’s a never ending cycle.”
“So you did this for the earth?”
“I did it for the meek, who will one day be gods and kings.”
“Everyone is sold on a dream, Miles. This was yours. In a year, you won’t even recognize this country. And all you’ll be king of is your own little hovel.”
“It a year, it won’t matter.”
They were now on the 15/501 heading to Frederick. The three planes they saw go down weren’t the only ones. All along the horizon, plumes of smoke rose in the air. The two men didn’t speak and when things were slow moving, Ben rolled down the window and tried not to get sick. He’d seen enough green to last a lifetime, and there was still more of it. What he needed was concrete, stores, hotels, something…urban.
By the time the sun sunk into the horizon, they drove into Frederick. From what they could see, the city looked like a it was smashed and rattled. Downed drones littered the streets, along with broken down cars, trucks and SUVs. They nudged along the metal guard railings, drove on the shoulder where there weren’t railings and along the grassy hillsides where they had to get around stopped cars.
“We need gas, but we need a place to stay, too.”
“There’s a place up there,” Ben said, thinking he could choke the life out of Miles in his sleep. Then again, with the threats he’d been leveling on the man, Miles just might do what he should have done in the first place, which was kill him before he could get the upper hand.
They pulled over to the side of the road, tucked themselves into a nest of cars. Both men got out, jumped the guard rail and trotted into a low grass gulley. Up on the other side was the parking lot of a health services building. Miles pulled ahead; Ben caught up with him a moment later carrying a fist sized rock.
“Where’d you get that?”
“Grabbed it by a drainage ditch back there.”
Ben crossed the nearly empty parking lot, went to one of the building’s back doors and overhanded the rock at the glass door. The rock punched a hole through the glass, leaving it shattered but intact.
Mile
s kicked the rest of the glass in, then said, “You find a pair of couches, maybe some blankets somewhere, and I’ll find a vending machine or something we can eat from. Start with the first floor. Move up to the second if there’s nothing.”
There were endless offices. Many of them had locked doors Ben tried to kick down, but couldn’t. He just didn’t have the strength. He finally found a conference room stuffed with boxes. He opened them, found all kinds of work supplies, but nothing he could use. Then he found another open door leading into an employee lounge. There were couches, a refrigerator, a microwave and a mini kitchen.
Inside the fridge, there was food he could eat. He pulled out a plate with foil over the top. He peeled back the foil, then taste-tested what looked like a half of a burrito. It wasn’t bad. He didn’t care that someone else’s germs were probably on the half eaten face of it or that it wasn’t as cool as he’d hope. Regardless, he was absolutely famished.
Miles joined him a few minutes later with a stack of blankets. When he saw Ben was eating, he said, “What the hell, man?”
Ben was chewing a huge bite, so instead of answering, he pointed at the fridge where there was a sandwich and a half-empty jar of dill pickles. He took one of the pickles, ate it, offered the jar to Ben, which he took.
“In the morning we’re going to need gas,” Miles said.
“I’m not coming with you,” he said. “I’m going to stay here.”
“You’re coming.”
“Let’s eat,” Ben said, “then we’ll talk in the morning.”
Rather than fight, Miles relented, getting to work on his sandwich just after he pulled out the warm, wilted lettuce.
In the back of his mind, all Ben wanted was for Miles to go to sleep. After that, he’d be on his own and ready to…to what? What the hell was he supposed to do now? Looking at Miles, he knew that whatever he did, he had to be able to live with it. But if he did nothing, could he live with that, too?
Would he?
Chapter Thirteen
The second the seawater hits me I’m going under knowing that even though it’s not terribly deep, if we get caught under the boat as it goes down, things can get really bad. Trapped is trapped. Then again, clarity of mind hits you hard when everything happens so fast.
The boat goes down, spikes the bottom of the Newport Bay fairly quickly, but all of us are scrambling toward the blown out side and swimming furiously for freedom.
Marcus and I help the girls, going last, perhaps to our own detriment. Rather, my detriment. I’m sure Marcus will be fine. In those last seconds before breaking the surface, the pressure on my chest and the rising panic in my mind threaten to undo me, which makes me swim harder and faster.
I explode out of the water, take a deep, gasping breath and relish the air.
The world we reunite with is not a pretty scene. The sun has been dimmed and nearly blotted out by the smoke. The air is hardly breathable. Covering my mouth with a hand, getting low in the water, I look around. What I see is terrifying. I’m in the water, but there are boats half sunk and in flames. All along the water, there’s an oily looking residue.
I count five heads, breathe a sigh of relief.
“Get up against the boat’s hull,” Marcus says, gesturing toward a nearby yacht that hasn’t been hit.
We move together to the tall side of the yacht while Marcus scans our surroundings for a better place to hide. It makes sense. If these drones are blowing up boats, even if it’s random, then hiding out alongside a boat might not be the wisest choice.
“Under the docks,” Marcus says, heading toward a long dock extending into the bay.
The five of us follow Marcus to where we can stand without going under. We follow Marcus, ducking under the metal dock. Other than Abigail, who can’t touch the bottom, Corrine is the shortest at maybe five foot three. Amber is a bit taller, but Marcus is taller than me and I’m almost as tall as him.
I guess I’m thinking of this because if we’re going to be under here for awhile, Marcus is slightly bent over to keep his head from sitting on the damp underside, and Abigail can’t touch bottom without moving further down into the darkness where she’ll most certainly feel all alone. Thinking of what this terrified child must be feeling, I don’t want her away from the group. We are the poor girl’s only sense of safety.
God, these logistics are numbing. Amber will have to hold onto her daughter and that won’t work for long periods of time in these conditions and under this kind of stress. Who knows how long we’ll be here? Bailey will have to spell her off, or Corrine who’s closer to Amber’s height than Bailey. I want to help, but I can’t. We’re men in a society that in some degree has men being extra, extra careful of how they behave around women who aren’t family or friends.
Good God, what has this society become?
Looking at Amber, I say, “We’re going to be okay.” She starts crying and this has me feeling helpless. I want to reassure her, but how can I? “I have a daughter, too,” I say. “I want to protect her the same way you’re protecting yours.”
“Where is she?”
“She’s back in San Francisco.”
“At least she’s safe,” she says, not dismissing me, but letting me know it’s not the same thing.
“She’s not safe. San Francisco is under attack, too. She’s stuck in the city. I don’t know where she is, or if she’s even alive.”
Saying this, I feel something sad and desperate wiggle up in me. My chest jumps the slightest bit and she sees this. I look away because I feel the shine of tears in my eyes. I didn’t realize how much of my own helplessness I’ve been holding back. All I can think is that if I can survive this, and survive the next thing, and continue making forward progress in getting home while holding my emotions at bay, that perhaps I’ll be okay.
But I’m not okay.
Choking down a sob, telling myself to man up, to weather this storm, I surprised by the hand that comes to comfort me. It should be Bailey, but it’s not. It’s Amber.
“Are you a good father?” she asks.
It’s a strange, unexpected question—one I answer right away.
“I am.”
“Does she know you love her?” she asks.
“She does.”
“Then let that help you on your way home. If she knows this, she’ll gather up the strength she needs to survive, or at least not go down without a fight.”
“Is that how you feel about your father?”
“Yes.”
“I want to help you where I can, but only if you want it.”
“I do.”
Slowly, the tears still standing in my eyes, I nod my head and realize that in the midst of chaos, stuck in the middle of hell with the walls coming down all around us, we can get past the horrible things we do to each other in society and just be good people helping each other out.
For whatever reason, this matters to me. Maybe it makes me soft in the eyes of people like Marcus, but maybe it’s what makes me human as well. Maybe this is the good part of me I need to recognize for those dark times when I dream of Tyler, or think of people like Quentin and The Warden.
The way things are shaping up, before this thing ends, a lot of people are going to die. Maybe the people I’m with. Maybe my daughter. I hate that this is true, and I might not be ready for it, but I will be. I have to be. And with people like Amber reminding me that I’m doing what I can and the rest I have to put in God’s hands, or whatever, I feel some of the burden of this journey coming off my shoulders.
So now that we’re safe, things have slowed to a crawl. Marcus says this is what “Hurry up and wait,” feels like. It’s maddening.
“Can you hold her for a few minutes?” Amber asks me. “My arm needs a break.”
“That okay with you?” I ask Abigail.
She looks down and thankfully Corrine steps up and says, “I can hold her if you want.”
Abigail reaches for her and honestly I’m secretly thankful. I’m good with k
ids, but kids aren’t good with strangers unless there’s some connection, even if the only connection is gender. Other than that, the only true connection amongst any of us is with me and Bailey. And even that is sketchy at best considering she has a fiancée at home and we’ve been…intimate.
Man I soooo don’t want to think about that right now!
So we hurry up and wait. And some of us pray for strength and guidance. And others of us rest and plot and strategize. Looking around, we’re all in this thing together. Same as when the four of us—Marcus, Bailey and Quentin—were thrown together in a car, in a hotel room, racing down hotel towers and suddenly on a boat together.
We’re all just strangers. Strangers in need of each other. Strangers trying to protect ourselves and each other in the midst of extraordinary circumstances.
With the underside of the dock inches above our heads and the cold water lapping at our chins, it’s damn near impossible not to feel claustrophobia setting in. We’re trying not to freak out listening to each other breathing, listening to the air around us as we try to decide if we’re going to die here together, or make it.
“Something just brushed my leg,” Corrine says. Her eyes are full of terror, and now she’s frozen stiff. Abigail climbs higher up on her, looking down on the water. She finds her mother, reaches out to her.
Bailey says, “I can take you, Abigail. Your mom needs a rest. Reluctantly she goes to her as Corrine stands there looking down at the water with that same terrified look still on her face.
“I felt it, too,” I tell her. “It’s probably just fish.”
“What if it’s a snake?” she asks, her teeth chattering, honest to God fear swimming in her eyes.
“It’s not,” I say, even though I can’t be sure. I’m a city boy, not a marine biologist. I couldn’t tell her what was swimming in these waters. Fish and more fish I suspect. “All I know is, whatever it was that’s brushing by us is a lot better than those drones.”
“Shhh,” Marcus says, lightly.
We return to a hush, standing cool in air too damp for comfort. Sediment seeps into our shoes, there are things swimming around us and our skin is turning to a hard prune-like texture. Within an hour, we’re all shivering, our skin cold to the touch, and every single one of us ready to not be under the damn dock anymore. But we have to be sure it’s safe...
