American Exodus

by JK Franks

  34

  “Whoa,” Steve raised his hands, full attention focused on the black barrel aimed at his chest. He slowly eased himself behind a white SUV that was parked by the house.

  “Mom, put the gun down. He was just helping me get home.”

  The mean looking gun dropped slightly but was still pointing in his general direction. Janice waved him forward. “She’s harmless . . . mostly.”

  He walked up the few steps to where Janice held the door open. He could now see the woman with the gun was in a wheelchair. Greetings were quickly exchanged, and Janice brought her mom up to date on the situation at the hospital.

  “I told you, honey, I told you. After the police all went AWOL, the hospital would be overrun. Didn’t I tell ya that?”

  “Yes, Mom, you said it.” Janice gave Steve a wink as she rolled her mom back deeper into one of the small dimly lit rooms. “What is all this stuff out for?” She pointed at numerous bags and boxes scattered around the floor. Steve stepped inside the house uncertainly. The door swung shut behind him.

  Her mom answered, “Your uncle is coming by tomorrow to take me, uh, take us out to his place.”

  “His place, you mean out to the farm? How is he going to do that, and how do you know?” Janice responded looking through some of the bags.

  “Your cousin Will came by on his bike earlier and said his dad finally had a truck working and could come get us. I wasn’t sure how we would get word to you, but I am almost out of water and food here.”

  “So, you were just going to let me and the new baby come back to an empty house?”

  “What baby? You still just as pregnant as when you left, child.”

  Steve was uncomfortable intruding on this family’s internal discussions, but neither woman seemed to care he was there. The discussion seemed to escalate into full-blown bickering within minutes. Janice was going through cabinets looking for something to eat, her voice raising with every cabinet door she slammed. “Did you eat everything in the pantry? We had enough food here for weeks.” She stormed back out. “How much did you give to him? How much, Mom?”

  Her mom tried to look defiant but meekly said, “Only a little. He said the church needed it.”

  “Mom, the church was burned over a week ago, nothing down there anymore. He’s . . . ugh! I bought that food for us. For you, for me, to eat after the baby . . . ”

  Steve made a slight sound. “Maybe it's better if I am on my way. Very nice meeting y'all, and thanks, Janice.”

  Both women turned to him and smiled, then began to laugh. “Oh, hush up and have a seat. We’ll be done with this in a minute.” The mom pointed at a faded gold loveseat for him to sit. Over the next hour, Steve came to realize the banter back and forth was just how the two communicated. Nothing mean-spirited about it, just blunt, raw and apparently, very normal.

  Janice had heated up several cans of chili and brought him a bowl. “Thanks again for helping me get home.” He nodded. “I know you need to get back to your friend, but I have a few things for you first.”

  He stopped eating. “Janice, I can’t take anything from you. You have been extremely kind already.”

  ‘Hush, it’s not like that anyway. Hell, you can tell we don’t have much to offer.” She gave a lopsided grin. “No, I have a river map that might help you, and I think I have an idea on something else you might want.”

  He had told her about losing the raft and supplies on the journey from the hospital. She again asked if he was stupid trying to make that run on a makeshift raft. She left the room and he heard shuffling and rattling papers. Minutes later she returned holding a faded map with “Chattahoochee River System” printed on the front flap. She then proceeded to give him some ideas on where he might find a boat or two.

  “Janice, thank you for everything. You have saved my life several times already, I’m sure.”

  She leaned in and gave him a hug and a peck on his bearded cheek. “Just stop being stupid. You seem mostly like a good guy. . . . I mean, for a sleazy car salesman. Try and stay alive, not many good ones left.” He thought he felt a brief kick from her swollen belly before she smiled and pulled back.

  He paused while walking back up the street to look back at the small house with the neat yard. A pregnant woman and her disabled mother had just helped him. It should have been the other way around. His karma bank had to be running low. He had been lucky too often already. He was right to be worried.

  JD was cleaning two large fish when Steve returned. “How is our patient doing, doc?” The boy just shook his head.

  “I don’t know. In and out, but he’s hot and he stopped drinking anything.”

  The infection Steve had feared was real. He would have to get him to drink water and keep it down for the antibiotics to work. He was out of his league here, but all he could do was try. “Those fish look great, how you want to cook ‘em?”

  “Sticks over the fire, I guess. Unless you have a different idea.”

  He briefly thought about maybe having him make a type of soup, something they could get Gerald to eat; then he realized they still had canned soup. “That sounds good, may want to make a rack of green sticks as catfish won’t hold together well when it cooks; it will flake apart.”

  “Oh, these are catfish? I wasn’t sure. I love catfish, especially fried with hushpuppies.”

  “Damn, JD. Yeah, I do too,” Steve said. “I am sure these will be delicious, though.” They were, too. The two of them ate all they could and still had fish leftover. Steve finally got Gerald awake and forced a bit of water down him. He had ground up one of the tablets into the water, and he prayed it would stay down. The man was burning up, but the head wound finally looked better. The swelling was nearly gone. Five minutes later he was vomiting again. Gerald had too many things going wrong; Steve didn’t know what to do for him, so he decided to just treat him with what he had. Each time Gerald woke, Steve tried again with the antibiotic-laced water. Finally, late that night, Gerald went back to sleep without throwing up.

  “Is Mr. Gerald going to make it?”

  “I don’t know, JD. He’s tough, and the medicine should help. You like him, don’t you?

  “I trust him. He helped me when I was about to make a big mistake, I think. He knows a lot of stuff.”

  “You’re afraid if it is just me and you, I won’t be as good as him at keeping us safe or getting you back to your folks?”

  “Kinda, but not really. I mean, Y'all are different.”

  Steve loved the honesty of kids. “It’s ok. I am worried about that, too. I’m not good at this stuff.”

  The fire was down to just glowing coals now. JD was looking out over the rolling waters. Hearing more than seeing their passage south. “Mr. Steve, I did a bad thing.”

  “Just call me Steve, and when was this?” JD’s shoulder shrugged. Steve heard a sniff and realized the boy was crying. All they had been through, this was the first time he had seen JD seem anything like a child. He moved over near the boy, uncertain as to what to do, but then the dad in him took over. He pulled the boy close and patted his hair. He knew the words would come when they were ready. Through sobs and sniffles, JD eventually got himself under control.

  “I don’t want to go home. . . My mom—she isn’t there.”

  This was not something Steve had expected. Gerald seemed determined to get JD back to Jacksonville no matter how dangerous it was. “How do you know? Where is she? What about your dad, will he be there?”

  JD was leaning up straight now, trying to dry his eyes. “Mom was on a trip overseas, a European vacation with her boyfriend. Dad,” he took a long pause, “he’s been gone a long time. I have no one to go home to.”

  Shit, the boy was right. If she were out of the country, she might never make it back. The boy had been carrying this around with him for weeks. So many lost souls, broken families. He thought again to the people walking the roads. American refugees. They were all that now. “I’m sorry, JD. We will figure something out.�
�

  “I’m sorry I lied. Mr. Gerald’s going to be mad, isn’t he?”

  “No, son, not at all.”

  “I wanted to tell him. I was just afraid he would leave me behind. I didn’t want the soldiers to put me in the prison camp.”

  “He wouldn’t leave you. He cares for you, as do I. We are family now, ok? We can be your family if you want.”

  JD looked at him without speaking for a long time. Then he slowly got to his feet and hugged Steve tightly around the neck before quickly heading to bed. So many lost souls in this new world, lost parents, lost children; will any of us ever be whole again?

  35

  Mount Weather Annex – Bluemont, VA

  The look from the younger woman was withering. “Yes, Mrs. Levy, I . . . ” Whatever she was about to say died on her lips.

  “Madelyn dear, please don’t mistake my faith in you for anything other than what it is. We are all here to serve the republic and our cause.” She stepped out of the way while two security guards removed the body of the former director of Homeland Security. “David had a simple mission to do; bring the Navy back under control. He failed to do so. We have no time for failure, dear. As the appointed first secretary you are now the acting president. Now. . . you read the directive, dear, yet you did not take action once being sworn in. Can you please explain why?” She drew out the words for emphasis, the anger evident with each syllable.

  Cold sweat ran down Madelyn’s spine. The atmosphere here at Bluemont was palpable. The swearing-in had been done in the Council Meeting Room shortly after she arrived. Her newly assigned security detail, who had been her constant shadow since then, waited just outside not daring to enter without permission. She was now president, the first female president of the United States, and she thought, the one most likely to rule over its demise. “The initial instructions were challenging to carry out. Communication channels with much of the military leadership are still cut off. We deployed the TSA agents backed up by Homeland’s people in the urban resettlement camps. The military has been less cooperative, many of them are questioning—”

  The other woman cut her off. “I am not concerned with those—we are dealing with them. Why did you not order the Joint Chiefs to proceed into phase two?” She went on, not waiting for an answer, “You did understand that this was going to be necessary, didn’t you? Perhaps, Madelyn, you don’t have the stomach for this fight, hmmm?”

  While the acting president did not have the stomach for it, she was not about to show weakness. To do so would be suicide. “Mrs. Levy, there has been initial resistance to my authority. My ascent to power was not recognized by some in command. They have been removed, and P5 commanders are now assisting in the establishments of the refugee and resettlement camps. Even you and the Council anticipated some resistance; the First Secretary Protocols were not widely known. Most of the country assumed the Twenty-Fifth Amendment was the only way one could become a non-elected president.”

  “That amendment was intentionally flimsy and vague, and everyone knew it. If we had allowed it to play out, the leadership would have been in legal limbo for months, while the courts and Congress fought it out. Hmmm . . . I should more accurately say, what’s left of those branches. The First Secretary Protocol was approved in secret just after 9/11. The same week as the Patriot Act, in fact. It was designed for just such a situation as now. In the case of incapacitation of the presidency, we could have continuity of government.”

  Madelyn was quite familiar with the what and how of the law that moved her into office. She was the lone cabinet member who was never allowed to be in the same location as the president. Her former cabinet office in DC was almost never used. The First Secretary Protocol was a safety valve for a potentially catastrophic collapse of the U.S. government. A permanently designated survivor of the executive branch. Strangely, the CME was not the catastrophe that had necessitated the activation. The cause was, instead, something entirely man-made. “Ma’am, it has taken longer than expected, but we will be on schedule by next week.”

  Mrs. Levy sat on the edge of the polished mahogany desk. “Everyone of any importance is already in the bunkers or protected zones. Our operations overseas are well underway. I don’t care what happens anywhere else. Is that clear? What is important is that our supplies are not wasted. The cities are going to fall—they must in fact, fall, and the quicker the better. Use the TSA force, FEMA, Praetor and the military. Make sure they all understand the mission.”

  The mission . . . that was what she was struggling with. “Yes, ma’am.” How to convince them—order them—to abandon US citizens to an almost certain death. Not just that, but to hunt down those that might band together and be a threat. Everyone in the military and most in government felt a duty to defend the constitution and, as an extension, the citizens of this country. Now they were being ordered to do just the opposite.

  “Madelyn, you will have to purge the ranks. Get rid of those who find phase two distasteful. This is survival. No assistance to major population centers and no resistance that possibly could become organized can be allowed to survive.” Mrs. Levy waved a hand dismissively. “Go . . . and make it happen, my dear.”

  The unspoken threat hung in the air like a sword. Madelyn excused herself and hurried down the concrete corridor, her security detail close on her heels.

  36

  Gerald was awake the following day but still running a fever. Reluctantly, he agreed to rest and take some of the animal medicine to fight the infection. JD sat with his back against the log door frame holding the soup can and a spoon. “Mr. Steve says you need to eat more.”

  Gerald gave a crooked smile. “Mr. Steve is a horrible cook and a worse doctor.” He took another bite. “And didn’t he say just call him Steve or Porter?” The boy nodded. Steve had filled him in on the conversation about JD’s family. Something he had already begun to suspect. The twelve-year-old had never seemed all that eager to get back home. Steve also filled him in on his foolish trip into the town. While it was dangerous, he did appreciate the effort, and undoubtedly the drugs would help.

  “How’s the old man doing?” The voice came from just down the red-clay embankment toward the river.

  The boy shrugged. Gerald winked at him. “I’m fine, you mothering old fool, except for being poisoned by . . . what is this stuff anyway?”

  Steve edged up to the cabin and sat down the body of a large turtle he had captured. “You aren’t fine, you have a fever and quite possibly, a broken rib. That divine elixir you are consuming is a bouillabaisse. We are running low on food so trying to stretch it out.”

  Gerald took another reluctant bite. “Bouillabaisse, huh? You mean fish soup? Looks more like oily water with bits of . . . of . . . something.” He pulled a remnant from his tongue and stared at it with a look of puzzlement. “So, when are we leaving this luxury establishment?”

  Steve glanced at JD. “Well, here is the thing. I was ready to leave yesterday, but the boy here, well, he wanted to wait and see if you pulled through.” They all laughed somberly. Gerald grasped at his side and shook his head.

  “Don’t. It hurts to laugh.”

  “That . . . is why we are staying put. You need to heal, and you won’t be any use to us on this river in the shape you are in. We are somewhat safe here, have water, and food is not that hard to get. Also, I have a tip I need to follow-up that might make the rest of our cruise a little less . . . eventful. That is if you can manage to stay alive without us for a while.”

  JD helped drag the final kayak up into the bushes. He and Steve had found the location Janice had mentioned the previous day. It had taken a full day to get through the security gate of the old auto body shop to the storage shed. Once there, they had to pry loose a locked iron security bar to open the door. He still had no idea why they would have kept kayaks and canoes locked up behind the business, but he was glad they had.

  He and the boy had struggled to carry, and at times, pull the faded plastic boats the half-
mile down to the river. Trying to be quiet was hard. If the owners showed up, they would simply look like the thieves they were. Steve was slowly coming to terms with that aspect of himself. On the third trip to the shed, they had gotten the double seat kayak and paddles that were stored on the rafters overhead. Just as they crossed the road and into the woods, they began to hear voices. The two of them had crouched down and hidden for an hour waiting for the sounds to fade.

  Gerald looked the boats over. “They ain’t pretty, but damn, that was a good find, Steve.”

  Steve nodded, Gerald was doing better, but after five days they were all ready to leave this muddy fish camp. “Thanks, should help. We still need more supplies, though. Should we head back up to the interstate and scout some more trucks? We still have the bolt cutters.” They had found the heavy tool at the bottom of the dam near the wrecked raft.

  “No, I don’t think we should backtrack. Not really looking forward to going over that waterfall again.”

  They all agreed. Steve had already gone downstream and checked out the next one. It was an old dam that was even harder to see, but hearing the water pouring over it was obvious. He found a well-used path on the bank for bypassing it. Gerald had studied the map and suggested an afternoon start. He wanted to get into a large lake downstream before making camp. “I do not want to take any more chances out here. Bright afternoon light, we can better see what is coming up.”

  The meager supplies loaded, Steve took JD out to make sure he could maneuver the boat. “I’ve kayaked before, Mr., uh, I mean, Steve.” The kid did know, too. He stopped dead in the river and rotated the boat in a smooth 360 before continuing. “I grew up near water.”

  Steve laughed at the remark “grew up” when he was still just a boy, but growing up was exactly what was happening. The boy had matured just in the days he had known him. His childhood was receding from him like a leaf drifting away on the river. The thought saddened him more than he wanted to let on. Every kid should have a childhood. He thought of Trey and the unborn child of the girl, Janice. Did they have a chance? Not to even just be kids, maybe not even at surviving this mess.