Times What They Are

by D. L. Barnhart

“So how do we get out of here?”

  “We pack up and step lightly.”

  * * *

  Ray backtracked a few miles and turned south on Route 15. He and Cheryl continued that direction when the roads allowed and cut west when they had to, passing through State College, Pennsylvania and Cumberland, Maryland. They rolled smoothly past stop and go traffic on I-68, but when they pulled off for gas in Grantville, they encountered an hours long wait.

  “Gas will run out before the line does,” Ray said. Then he paid a man near the pumps fifty dollars to siphon three gallons from his tank.

  Cheryl listened to the conversations while she waited forty minutes for coffee and two packs of crackers. At the bike, she passed on what she’d heard.

  “Word is there’s an Army roadblock before the West Virginia line. They’re letting some through and others are being directed to emergency shelters.”

  “They say who’s getting past?”

  Cheryl shook her head.

  “Too many people with no place to go. I’d say the Army’s expecting trouble, wants the homeless concentrated where they can keep an eye on them.”

  “At least we’ll get fed.”

  “And likely stuck there for the foreseeable future.”

  “Like we couldn’t leave?”

  “That’d be my guess,” Ray said.

  “How can they do something like that?”

  “’Cause they got guns.”

  That seemed to give Cheryl pause. “What do you suggest we do?”

  “Get a map. The roads can’t all be blocked. Not yet.”

  Chapter 7

  Karla woke to classical music, Mozart she thought. The station had been playing NPR’s Morning Edition in that time slot for as long as she’d been working. That network was headquartered in Washington, she remembered, as she shut off the radio. Her news would have to come from somewhere else.

  She showered and dressed and switched on TV while she prepared breakfast. The news was grim. The US had destroyed North Korea’s nuclear capability, but not before the North Koreans had launched all their missiles. Most had been intercepted. But both Los Angeles and Seattle had been hit. Casualties in those cities were unknown, but millions of survivors were streaming from the areas.

  If it were possible, things were worse on the east coast. The “cloud” as they called it, had overspread New York the prior evening. It crossed Connecticut and reached Boston before dawn. Then, it collided with a northeast storm. All of New England and parts of New York were forecast to be buried in up to two feet of radioactive snow. With the region’s water and soil contaminated, the zone would likely be uninhabitable for generations, an announcer said. Karla thought that a media exaggeration, and switched channels.

  CBS estimated forty million people between Washington and Boston had fled their homes. Many had been unable to get away completely and were still inside the affected areas. A FEMA spokesperson from Region II said aid was being organized and initial relief facilities were already in place.

  Karla shook her head at the incredible numbers. There had been no discussion of radiation poisoning on that broadcast, as there had been every few minutes the day before. She suspected the network did not want to create further panic, perhaps they’d been told not to. She went to work, thankful to have a job and to be more than a thousand miles from either coast.

  * * *

  Dolores Hart spoke again at nine that morning. Karla and her coworkers piled into the conference room to watch. Dolores looked pale as she faced the cameras and said millions had died on both coasts, millions more had been sickened, and yet millions more had been displaced. It would be a long recovery, she said, but it would begin that day. The Army was setting up camps, where food, shelter, and medical care would be provided to displaced persons. Most of these were adjacent to major military facilities, where staff and resources were available. Other steps were being taken as well. They would be announced as a package later in the day.

  To Karla it seemed obvious what was coming: food and fuel rationing. Millions of refugees would have to be fed and kept warm. She doubted there were sufficient government stockpiles to provide either. The only question was whether the rationing would be everywhere or just in the bordering states.

  Karla took an hour of personal time after the speech. She tried her former husband’s apartment again, this time knocking on neighbor’s doors, too, when Roger didn’t answer. She discovered nothing that helped her locate Jessie. On the way back to work, she stopped at Sam’s. Deliveries had come in, but now, there were limits on how much she could buy. She still filled a flatbed with food basics and paid cash. She was well over her hour but stopped at her bank anyway. The ATM was empty. A sign on the front door said closed until further notice.

  Chapter 8

  Ray stepped out of the store shaking his head. “No maps. An older gent said GPS isn’t working. The military turned off the unencrypted version civilians use.”

  “Why would they want everyone lost?” Cheryl asked.

  “Unintended consequence. What they don’t want is our enemies using it to improve their aim. Hop on. We’ll try it the old fashioned way.”

  They rode a mile south on the state highway and came to a traffic backup they couldn’t get through on the Honda. Ray U-turned to the interstate and rode east, dodging frustrated west bound drivers taking to the wrong side of the highway. Ray left the interstate at New Germany Road. The lack of traffic worried him, but he kept on.

  He stopped at a small store for directions and snagged a package of very stale mini-donuts he spotted behind a roll of paper towels. He brought them and a map to the counter.

  “Thought these were long gone,” the clerk said, ringing up the donuts.

  “My lucky day,” Ray replied.

  “North or south?” the clerk asked.

  “Tennessee.”

  “Sixty-eight is blocked. I hear Fifty is, too.”

  “What’s that about?” Ray asked.

  “It was on the news. People who need shelter should go to the camps the Army’s set up. A lot of folks travelling don’t know about them, so the police set up information points.”

  “But if you have a place to go, it’s still okay?” Cheryl asked.

  “The President herself asked . . .”

  “Her self?” Cheryl said.

  The clerk eyed the growing line. “Dolores Hart. She’s asked everyone east of Ohio to get off the highways. She says drivers are wasting gas and the military needs access to the roads.”

  “Did they really turn off GPS?” Ray asked.

  “She said they did. For our own protection.”

  Ray and Cheryl stepped away and devoured the donuts before reaching the door.

  “Did you know about Dolores Hart?” Cheryl asked.

  “It was on the news. She was in the cabinet. Only one to survive, they thought yesterday. I guess they haven’t found anyone else.”

  “You still think the camps are a bad idea? I’m freezing on the bike.”

  “I’ll drop you, if you want, but I’m not going.”

  Cheryl studied Ray. “What did you do before yesterday?”

  “Ran a hardware store in White Plains. And you?”

  “Student, Fordham.”

  “How did you get up to the bike trail?”

  “I heard the news about Washington at school. I rode out to my grandfather’s, thinking he has a car, and we could ride up to my sister’s together. By the time I had gone a few miles, I saw cars weren’t the answer. When I got to his house, we decided to ride up. He’s . . . in great shape for his age.”

  “I’m really sorry for what happened,” Ray said.

  “I know you and he were right. I still feel selfish leaving him.”

  “There was really nothing we could do. We barely got out as it was.”

  “I know that. Thank you. But it still doesn’t feel okay.”

  “It isn’t how we want t
o be. It’s how we have to be.”

  “You shot that man, back on the trail, didn’t you?”

  Ray nodded. “I tried to ride around them. They came after me, didn’t leave me much choice.”

  “I wish you’d shot the other ones, too.”

  “So what’s it going to be, Los Angeles or the camp?”

  “Think there’s any way I could fly to LA from Tennessee?”

  Ray gave her a half shrug. “At worst you could catch a bus.”

  “Then I’ll go with you. If you don’t mind.”

  * * *

  Ray and Cheryl ran into heavy traffic again near Oakland, got around it on a side road, then continued south on US 219, to avoid the roadblock on Route 50 the clerk had mentioned. They passed winter fields and rolling hills that grew more wooded as they crossed into West Virginia and entered the Monongahela National Forest. They skirted the mountains and most signs of civilization until they stopped again in Parsons.

  They found no vacant lodging, but were able to fill the gas tank at Sheetz and buy pretzels—limit one bag per customer. As they pulled away from the pump, a sheriff’s SUV cut in front of them.

  Ray glanced at the exit to his left.

  “Don’t.” Cheryl said. “Let’s hear what he has to say.”

  The deputy donned his hat as he stepped from the vehicle. He was twenties, stocky with a deeply tanned face. He approached and motioned Ray to shut off the engine. Ray reluctantly complied.

  “Howdy.”

  Ray nodded.

  The deputy stopped beside the bike and looked it over. “Where y’all from?”

  “New York,” Ray answered.

  “Got a place to stay?”

  “Headed to Tennessee.”

  The deputy’s mouth gave a little twist.

  Cheryl slipped off the bike and removed her helmet. “We’ll be staying with family.” She brushed long red hair from her face. “They said we go on down through Charleston, and we’ll be in Knoxville tomorrow.”

  “How come you’re not on the interstate?”

  “Have you seen them?” Ray said. “We’ve been doing nothing but back roads. More scenic anyway.”

  “You got money to get there?”

  “What kind of question is that?” Ray felt Cheryl’s hand on his shoulder. He softened his voice. “Been working since I was thirteen. Never been asked if I could pay my way.”

  “We’re directing itinerants to an Army camp in Staunton. They’ve got food and beds.”

  “Show him,” Cheryl said.

  Ray frowned as he pulled out his wallet and flashed a stack of bills, some of them hundreds. “We’re fine.”

  The deputy stared at Cheryl. “You promise to leave the county?”

  “Absolutely,” she said.

  The deputy took a step back. “I don’t know what they’ll say in Charleston, but you don’t look like trouble, here.”

  Chapter 9

  Karla tried Jessie’s number again. It simply rang. She left her tenth message of the day on Roger’s phone. She had to wonder whether he was enjoying her desperation or had stopped checking his messages.

  She went down her list of Roger’s family. She left a message for his brother, Walter, another with his sister, Jean. His mother, Emily, answered.

  “Hi, Em. This is Karla. How are you?” They hadn’t spoken in more than a year. The question was mechanical and dumb. Emily had never particularly liked her.

  “What is it, Karla?”

  “Do you know where Roger is? I can’t get him on the phone.”

  “Have you tried his apartment?”

  Karla bit her lip. “Yesterday and today. He’s not been there.”

  “He was last night. I spoke with him. Is this about Jessie?”

  There was no avoiding it now. “He took her from school. He needs to bring her here.”

  “He is her father.” Emily said it more coldly than necessary.

  “But I have custody. And he is in violation of a court order if I choose to press things.”

  “You haven’t already notified the police?”

  “Of course I have. The law says I have to if I don’t know where she is.”

  “Well, then. It’s past the point you can help him.”

  “No. I can drop my complaint when he brings her home.”

  Karla looked up and saw her supervisor, Michael Krager, at the entrance to her cubicle. Karla held up one finger. “Roger’s going to jail if this drags on. You know that.”

  “I don’t think right now the police are helping you much, or you wouldn’t be calling me.”

  “That will change.”

  “I’ll tell him you called.” Emily disconnected.

  “Problems?” Michael said.

  “Roger’s taken Jessie. They’ve gone off somewhere.”

  “Do you need some personal time?”

  “No. No. I can handle it.” What she needed was to keep her job, she reminded herself.

  “Okay, then. I just stopped by to remind you the meeting on the 737 upgrade is still on for 1:30. Have your update ready.”

  Michael walked away. Karla had two hours to pull the information together. It looked like another no lunch day.

  * * *

  Karla stopped at Menard’s after work, towing a 12 foot trailer. She filled it and the truck bed with 2 x 6s, cement block, concrete and mortar mix, rebar, and a steel door. She hauled it home and then piece by piece to the cellar.

  Karla had grown up on a farm, an only child. She had helped her father with a thousand projects and was more comfortable with tools than with pots and pans. Maybe that had been part of the problem with Roger. She didn’t need a man to fix things. She was far more handy than he was. And a lot more willing.

  She framed a twelve foot square closet using the foundation for two of the walls. She drilled holes in the concrete and anchored the stud wall top and bottom. She drilled more holes for the rebar, cut it to the lengths needed, then mixed mortar in a wheelbarrow and started on a block wall backed to the studs. She placed the rebar when the wall reached three feet and filled the block with concrete.

  She quit at nine and admired her work. She’d accomplished quite a lot. But the top of the wall would be much harder. She would have to rig staging to avoid lifting the blocks over her head. Tomorrow would be soon enough.

  She trudged upstairs, reheated pizza, and started the calls again. It got her nowhere, but she had to do something. At ten, she turned on TV and steeled herself for more bad news. And it kept coming. Iran and Afghanistan had been hit with nuclear weapons. So had Israel. China and India were facing off. Pakistan was threatening the US, because of fallout from Afghanistan, and threatening India because it was there. Japan had asked the US for help as China occupied disputed islands. The world was coming apart.

  In the US, Dolores Hart declared an emergency and the federal government was set to take over the wholesale distribution of food and fuel. Karla understood that to mean that those areas that had sufficient supplies would see them shipped elsewhere. Suffering would be nationwide. Karla didn’t think that would go over well in many places. Dolores would be seen as an unelected Easterner bent on theft.

  Karla put on her coat. She crossed town to Roger’s apartment, banged on his door to no avail, then went shopping.

  Chapter 10

  Ray stopped once more in Parsons, picking up two blankets and a suspiciously dented can of beans from the depleted shelves at the Shop ‘n Save. As they left town on Route 219, Ray noted the deputy, following a few vehicles back. He put on his lights and made a U-turn shortly after Ray and Cheryl cleared the city limits.

  A few miles farther, Ray spotted the rail trail at the same time Cheryl pointed. He swung off the road, down a dirt drive, and stopped.

  “I don’t see us spending the night in a rest area here,” Ray said.

  “No,” Cheryl agreed. “They seem to be watching for transients.”

&nbs
p; “I’d suggest we get away from the highway and make camp.”

  Ray waited for an argument but didn’t get one. He started the Honda and cruised down the Allegheny Highlands Trail. Very quickly, they were deep in the woods, and Ray eased the motorcycle off the pavement and picked his way between trees. When the trail vanished behind them, he stopped and unpacked, laying the tarp over a bed of pine needles and leaves, then spreading out the sleeping bag and blankets.

  “It’s not much,” Ray said, “But I’ve slept on worse.”

  “Seriously?”

  Ray nodded. “The Army knows how to pick them.”

  Cheryl looked at him. “I thought you sold hardware.”

  “Before that, I did some time in Afghanistan and Iraq.”

  “Is that why the Army worries you?”

  “The Army’ll do what it takes to accomplish the mission.”

  “It wouldn’t help to tell them you served?”

  Ray shrugged and opened the backpack. He laid out what food they had—the peanut butter sandwiches, the beans, and six energy bars.

  “These sandwiches are frozen.”

  “Put ’em under your coat. They’ll thaw fast enough.”

  She did, and they split them, then they ate the beans, cold, as the sun slipped behind the mountains. Ray patted his stomach when he finished, took off his shoes, left on his wool hat, and unzipped the sleeping bag.

  “It’ll be easier to get settled while we can still see.”

  Cheryl didn’t move. Ray tapped the bag. “It’s warmest on the inside.” He waited a few seconds. “Hop in. I’m not planning to remove any clothes.”

  Cheryl studied the layout. “Scoot over. I’d like control of the zipper.”

  * * *

  Ray lay on his side, listening to the scattered traffic on the highway. Cheryl slid against him. “Will we really be in Tennessee tomorrow?”

  “Should be, barring unforeseen circumstances.”

  “You always have a hedge.”

  “I enjoy practicing a freedom that was not allowed me while in the service.”