(Wrath-05)-The Master's Cry (2012)

by Chris Stewart

  Two more missiles. Off the west coast. Climbing. Always climbing. One turning north, one heading east.

  Twenty seconds of silence as the controllers and computers worked.

  “The four missiles have taken up headings to hit our four major quadrants,” the lead controller said.

  And that was all it took. The general finally understood.

  Falling back in his chair, he gripped the armrest, realizing that the world, as they all knew it, was about to end.

  TWENTY

  Interstate 70, One Hundred Ten Miles East of Indianapolis

  They headed west. Luke drove, his right hand on the wheel, his fingers nervously tapping it. Sara sat beside him, her hands resting calmly on her lap. Ammon crouched in the backseat of the Honda, leaning against the window, his eyes closed. He hadn’t spoken in a couple of hours, but Sara knew he was awake.

  Traffic was heavy, the interstate clogged in both directions, though the heaviest line of cars was heading west. A long, slow, and discouraging day’s drive was behind them. The setting sun was directly ahead, the slanting rays burning through the front window. They didn’t talk as they drove, the Honda tires humming over the smooth interstate. Sara reached up and turned off the radio; every station played nothing but the news, repeating the same information again and again. The president was dead now, the vice president as well. The speaker of the House of Representatives and president pro tempore of the Senate were both alive but critically injured, leaving the secretary of state as the acting president. Occasional riots still flared up in Chicago, New York, and Los Angeles, but most of the other major cities had calmed down. Millions of people, with no real explanation, were fleeing the east coast. Everyone had a grandparent, a sibling, a distant relation, or a friend who lived away from the major cities, and those people were extraordinarily popular right now.

  Behind them, almost four hundred miles to the east, Washington, D.C., one of the greatest cities in the world, smoldered, the smoke hanging over the area in a black, inky cloak. Thousands of volunteer firefighters had converged on the city, but there wasn’t much they could do. Downtown had nothing left to burn. The outskirts of the city still smoldered, but it was impossible to fight the fires with all the radioactive dust and contamination in the air. Most of the firefighters didn’t have anti-radiation suits and so they stood guard, waiting for the all clear to move in. Same for the rescue teams. There was little they could do, but they did what they could.

  As the sun dropped, the sky before them turned a deep crimson, the upper atmosphere having been choked with thick dust from the nuclear explosions over Gaza; Washington, D.C.; and Iran. Luke moved both hands to the wheel and stretched his back against the seat. Sara leaned over to check the fuel gauge for the second time in the last five minutes, then sat back and closed her eyes. “We don’t want to go below half a tank,” she said.

  Luke only nodded.

  Most of the service stations they had passed were closed. SOLD OUT, NO VACANCY, and CLOSED signs seemed to be everywhere. The lines of cars at the few open stations back at Columbus had been blocks long. Four hours, five hours in line were the norm there, though it didn’t seem to be as bad once they got away from the population centers.

  American society was as fragile and interconnected as a spider’s web; every hurricane, every snowfall, every hot summer day that stressed the electrical grid had the potential to bring an entire region to its knees. The transportation infrastructure was completely incapable of handling the sudden and massive migration that was taking place. Sara suspected many of the service stations that were closed still had fuel in their underground tanks but were unwilling to sell, hoarding for the next day when the prices would be higher and they could make even more.

  She shook her head at the greed.

  “Stay at home. There’s no reason to panic. Save your fuel and your resources,” was the official word out of Raven Rock. But the advice from the government spokesman didn’t mean a whole lot. No one trusted what was left of the federal government. It seemed like it was every man for himself now.

  As they drove, Sara thought through their situation, considering their location and inventory of supplies. They were two days’ drive out of Washington, D.C., heading west. The protection of the Rocky Mountains was still at least thirty hours of driving away—if they could get gas, and if nothing else went wrong. They had enough food for a couple of weeks, but their water would last only a few more days. The seventy-two-hour emergency kit had been a lifesaver, but they could only stretch it so far. She glanced nervously over her shoulder to the trunk of the car. Ten thousand dollars cash—all that the bank had allowed her to withdraw at one time—was hidden under the spare tire in the trunk. They had wrapped the hundred-dollar bills in an old plastic bag and shoved it in the space where the tire jack had been stored, but she knew if someone were suspicious—or hungry, or angry, or greedy or mean, or desperate, or any of the dozens of emotions they had witnessed over the last two days—they could find the money. The package was just too big and awkward to hide it inside their little car. She thought of the cashier’s check tucked under her seat, another ten thousand dollars, good as cash in normal times, but who knew what it was worth right now? From what the radio said, it was 1929 all over again. Many financial institutions were refusing to hand out money, and the lines at the banks were almost as frenzied as the lines at the service stations and grocery stores.

  The trunk was crammed with what remained of their seventy-two-hour emergency kit, extra food, their last case of bottled water, two ten-gallon red containers of fuel, winter clothes, sleeping bags, a tent, winter boots, rock-climbing equipment (Ammon had insisted on bringing the ropes, though Sara didn’t know why). The backseat held their suitcases, another bag of extra clothes and a set of Scriptures.

  There was a sudden thump and the car shuddered. Sara jerked and looked quickly to the road, her hands gripping the dash anxiously.

  Luke reached out to calm her. “It’s cool, Mom,” he said. “There was a shredded tire in the road. Nothing to worry about.”

  Sara looked back, saw the next car roll over the piece of tire, then turned around in her seat.

  Leaning over, she rechecked the gas gauge, then let her eyes drift toward her son. A Beretta 90-Two Type F handgun was hidden under Luke’s seat. Nine millimeter. Ten-round magazine. Black and gray. A full box of ammunition was stuffed in the glove compartment. She pictured the handgun’s beveled grip and shivered, hating the fact that it was so near.

  She rested against the console between the two front seats and considered the gold coins hidden underneath her arm. Using their small toolbox, Ammon and Luke had removed the plastic console and hidden a metal box containing forty gold American Eagles, each weighing one ounce. Two weeks ago the gold would have been valued at something like sixty-eight thousand one hundred seventy-four dollars and forty cents. Today it was worth ten or twelve times that, maybe even more.

  She didn’t know what made her more nervous, the hidden gold coins or the pistol. The pistol might keep them safe, she could accept that, but the gold—that could only bring them problems. If anyone knew they had it, if anyone even suspected. . . .

  She shivered, almost wishing they had left the gold back in their home in Washington, D.C.

  Home . . . home . . . her mind drifted back. The great old house in Washington, D.C. The wide, rolling lawn, Kentucky Bluegrass with Bermuda mixed in to keep it green against the southern heat. The enormous sycamore and oak trees, some of them dating back to the Civil War era. Ah, those beautiful trees, tall and broad and strong. She leaned against the headrest and closed her eyes.

  The lawn . . . the old house . . . a popping fire in the fireplace in the winter . . . summer nights, warm and fragrant with honeysuckle . . . the sound of cicadas. . . .

  She drifted away. . . .

  The lawn was wet with dew. Neil was walking across the heavy grass in the darkness of the predawn light. The sun was an hour yet from rising, but the ligh
t from the streetlights illuminated his outline as he walked. He was tall and broad-shouldered, and his hair, wet from his morning shower, stuck to the middle of his forehead. He was dressed in his Air Force blues, an old leather briefcase tucked up under his arm. A government SUV and its driver were waiting for him at the curb. He stopped to pick up the newspaper, then turned. She was standing in the light of the kitchen window, and he smiled at her.

  “I love you,” he mouthed, placing his hand at his heart.

  “Neil, come back to me,” she whispered slowly.

  He looked at her, flipped the paper up and caught it, then turned.

  “I need to talk to you,” Sarah called out. “I need to know what you want me to do.”

  The general kept walking toward the waiting car.

  She turned from the window and ran toward the front door. “Neil, I’m not ready,” she cried, her voice choking. “I’m not ready for you to go. I don’t know what to do without you! I don’t know what to do!”

  *******

  She felt a warm hand on her shoulder. “It’s OK, Mom,” Ammon told her from the backseat. He was leaning forward. “It’s OK,” he gently assured her again.

  She opened her eyes and shook her head. Luke split his attention between the road and his mother. “You OK, Mom?” he asked.

  She shook her head again. “I’m fine. I’m fine. I must have fallen asleep.”

  Ammon watched her carefully. “That’s good, Mom. I don’t think you’ve slept in days.”

  She shrugged. “I’ve had plenty of sleep.”

  Luke and Ammon glanced at each other. They both knew that wasn’t true.

  Sara pushed a strand of hair from her eyes and stretched. Luke glanced at her as he drove. She was still beautiful—the years had been more than gracious—but it was clear that she wore a certain sadness now. A deep remorsefulness had settled into her eyes, and he wondered if it would ever go away.

  She looked at him and smiled, then glanced into the backseat. “Ammon, could I have some of your bottled water?”

  He reached to the cup holder built between the front and back seats and handed her a plastic bottle. “Here you go, Mom.”

  She took a shallow sip, then handed the water back.

  “Go ahead, Mom, you should drink it all.”

  “No, we need to be careful—”

  “We’ve got plenty of water, Mom. Enough for at least a couple of days. We’re going to be able to get more, I’m certain.” He pushed her hand back. “Go ahead. It’s OK. You can’t be silly. You’ve got to take care of yourself.”

  Sara smiled wearily. “Thank you, Doctor Spock,” she joked. But he didn’t take the water, and she finally drank it down, swallowing half the bottle in one long gulp.

  *******

  The road seemed long and lonely. A roll of low clouds, black and menacing, began building in the west. Occasional flashes of lightning illuminated the core of the thunderstorms, but without the summer’s heat they rose quickly and then faded, scattering into low but light-absorbing clouds. Minutes later, the car passed a green highway sign suspended over the freeway: INDIANAPOLIS 22 MILES. There, the highway split, Interstate 65 heading northwest toward Chicago, I-70 turning slightly south, bending toward St. Louis, then Kansas City, then the great Kansas plains, then Denver, and finally the towering Rocky Mountains to the west.

  An exit with a couple of gas stations and a rest stop loomed ahead, glowing lights comforting against the cloudy afternoon. They continued on the freeway, coming after a short time to where the highway split, the two right lanes turning north toward Chicago.

  Sara sat up suddenly. She stared, her mouth open, hesitating. Suddenly she cried, “Turn here!”

  “No, Mom,” Luke answered, “we need to stay on I-70 heading west.”

  The exit was coming fast and they were in the wrong lane.

  “Turn here!” Sara repeated, almost reaching for the wheel. “Turn, Luke! Turn now!”

  “But that will take us to Chicago. It isn’t the right way—”

  The exit was almost upon them. The car on their right began to drift to the right, taking the exit at highway speed.

  “Take the right lane, Luke. Take 65 toward Chicago. Please turn.”

  It was too late. The exit was moving past them.

  “Do it!” Ammon shouted from the backseat.

  “Please, Luke!” Sara cried.

  Luke jammed the wheel to the right. A screech of tires and car horn sounded from behind them. He felt the rubber on his wheels give, losing their grip on the road. He backed off, his left wheel almost dipping off the pavement, then pulled the car more gently through the turn. They made the exit, but barely, Sara gripping her seat belt at the shoulder while holding her breath.

  A few seconds passed in silence.

  “Why’d we do that, Mom?” Luke asked at last, glancing at her.

  His mother didn’t answer.

  “Mom, are you OK?”

  Still she didn’t answer.

  “Mom?”

  “I’m fine, Luke.”

  “You know we’re driving north now. We’re heading toward Chicago. This isn’t taking us any closer to where we want to be.”

  “I know that, Luke.”

  Another moment of silence.

  “So . . . ?”

  “I don’t know, Luke. I just had a feeling. I almost heard a voice. ‘Turn here. Go toward Chicago.’ It wasn’t something I came up with. I have no reason to head up here. I tried to fight it, it made no sense, but the feeling was so urgent.”

  Ammon leaned forward from the backseat. “You did the right thing, Mom. No worries. We’ll just head north for a while and see what happens, then decide what to do from there.”

  Luke scrunched his face. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

  Sara stared out her window, then turned. “Look around you, Luke. Does anything make any sense anymore? It might be that the only things that do make sense are the things we can’t make sense of. I heard the voice. I felt the Spirit. We have to trust the warnings. That’s the only thing we really have anymore.’

  Luke nodded. “All right, then.”

  Sara reached over and touched his shoulder. “We’ll do the best we can. It’ll be OK.”

  *******

  They drove for almost two hours. The sun disappeared below the distant horizon. The moon rose over the flat plains, blood-red and full. Sara turned and watched. It looked like an evil, bloody eye staring down from the sky. The night grew dark. The North Star drifted into view, slightly off to their right.

  Sara stared at the red moon as she thought.

  The landscape around them glittered with lights from farms and small towns tucked among the great Midwest plains. The clouds had blown and scattered and the sky was deep and full of stars. A dim light began to glow before them from the Chicago metropolis. Although it was still twenty miles in the distance, the massive cluster of lights lit up the entire northern sky.

  “We ought to stop for gas,” Luke said. “The closer we get to the city, the harder it’s going to be to get it without having to wait for hours in line.”

  Ammon pointed from the backseat. “The next exit. I see some lights. There are two or three stations up ahead.”

  Luke saw them, half a mile east of the exit. He started to slow. “Looks like there are only a couple dozen cars in line.”

  Sara nodded as he steered toward the off-ramp.

  The flash was sudden and bright, white-hot, blazing and intense. It burst down from the night sky, leaving a yellow glow that quickly faded and then disappeared.

  Everything fell silent. Their car stopped suddenly. No chug. No cough or sputter. It was as if someone had reached over and turned the key off. The Honda slowed, and Luke had to use both hands to steer it toward the side of the road.

  Sara’s heart leapt into her throat. “What’s wrong?” she asked anxiously.

  “I don’t know, Mom,” he answered.

  The Honda coasted to the bottom of the off
-ramp and rolled to a stop. Ammon sat forward in the backseat, staring at the instrument panel, which was completely dark. “How much gas did you have?” he asked.

  “A little more than a quarter tank.”

  “Try it again,” Sara said, her voice tight.

  Luke turned the key. Nothing. Not a click. Not a sound. The engine didn’t turn.

  “Could the gas gauge be wrong?” she wondered.

  Ammon pushed himself farther forward. “You don’t have any headlights,” he said.

  Luke turned the key again and again. Nothing. He sat back in exasperation.

  “We’re not out of gas,” Ammon said. “If that was the problem, the battery would still turn the engine over. The battery would give us headlights. Maybe the alternator failed.”

  Luke slapped the steering wheel in frustration. Sara fought to keep her stomach under control. Would they be able to find a mechanic? How much would it cost them? How long would it take?

  Ammon looked around, then swallowed in sudden fear.

  Something was wrong.

  Really wrong.

  The darkness around them was complete.

  The lights from the gas stations had gone out. The streetlights at the bottom of the off-ramp, all the lights in the parking lots, the entire countryside had grown dark. No twinkling lights in the fields. Nothing to the east or west. He looked around desperately.

  The glow from the distant lights of Chicago had also disappeared.

  It was as if the entire world had fallen dark.

  A power outage? Maybe. But if it was, it was a huge one, spreading across the entire area.

  He sat back and thought.

  Why would a power outage have affected their car?

  He stole a glance ahead, expecting to see a long line of car lights on the road before them, but the whole freeway was perfectly dark. Turning, he looked behind them, peering through the back window. He could make out the shadows of the other cars in the moonlight, but none of them were moving. They were all at a standstill.

  No headlights. No movement. The radio had gone quiet.