by Tim Washburn
“There are numerous unoccupied vacation rentals. Housing won’t be a problem.”
“And jobs?” Garcia asks.
“There are jobs available. You and your officers will be prized for your expertise. Most likely you’ll find employment within the island government.”
Thompson leans back in his chair. “That’s very generous, Governor Knapp. I’m not necessarily a skeptic, but, sir, I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
Knapp laughs, his expansive belly jiggling. “I assure you, Captain, there are no more shoes, dropping or otherwise. The local government met as soon as we heard what had happened and developed this plan. We knew it was only a matter of time before one or more Navy ships arrived.”
“What about the sub?” Thompson asks.
“We’ll place a guard at the pier, though I don’t know what anyone would want with it. I assume the nuclear missiles are no longer on board?”
“Correct,” Thompson answers.
Knapp nods.
“Have you heard anything from the mainland?” Garcia asks.
“Nothing,” Knapp replies. “Rumor has it—and it’s only rumor and we may never know precisely what happened—that a couple of the Russian ballistic missile submarines were lurking off the eastern seaboard when everything started. You’re the expert. How long do you think it would take their missiles to strike the D.C. area?”
“Not long. It depends on their exact location, but certainly within minutes. Maybe ten, possibly fifteen, if they were lucky.”
Knapp nods and leans forward in his chair. “That’s about what I thought. It will take a day or two for my staff to sort out the living arrangements, but I’ll have the money delivered to you at the submarine within the hour. I trust you’ll take responsibility for distributing each share?”
“Of course,” Thompson says. “And, thank you.”
“You’re very welcome. I would take great pleasure if you and your officers would join me tonight for dinner.”
Thompson and Garcia stand. “We’d love to,” Thompson says.
Knapp stands and works his way around the desk. “Seven okay with you?”
Thompson shakes the governor’s hand. “Perfect.”
Knapp walks them to the door and Garcia and Thompson take their leave. After they step outside and don their hats, Garcia drapes an arm across his friend’s shoulders. “Beers and burgers on me.”
CHAPTER 113
Near Myrtle Beach, South Carolina
When you rely on Mother Nature to provide propulsion there are good days and bad days. Brad doesn’t know how far they’ve traveled over the last week because of the lack of identifiable landmarks along the shore, but he estimates they’ve covered about fifty miles. Yesterday, they rounded Bald Head Island and picked up a consistent breeze they rode all day long. And today’s been much of the same, and they’re now approaching the Myrtle Beach area, at least according to the atlas Brad keeps on the boat.
Brad trims the mainsail and the boat picks up speed. He glances at the map in his lap then glances toward shore. One area that’s surrounded on three sides by water is the most intact area they’ve seen during the past week. But just to the south of that little enclave it’s a continuation of the same—denuded ground dotted with occasional tree stumps. Tanner and Nicole are snuggled under a blanket on the port side, reading. Brad looks at the map again and swivels his gaze toward shore. He spots a pier jutting out into the bay and, glancing at the map, discovers it’s the Cherry Grove Fishing Pier. Brad pulls the folded piece of paper from his pocket and checks the address on Captain Thompson’s letter. Tracing along the shoreline on the map, he finds Bayshore Drive and compares that location to the Cherry Grove location before looking back toward the shoreline. His shoulders sag. The Bayshore Resort no longer exists. Nor does any other resort. He closes the atlas and tucks the letter into his back pocket.
Nicole dog-ears a page, closes her book, and crawls out from beneath the blanket. She stands and stretches, her hands extended high overhead. “Ready for me to catch some dinner?”
“Yes, please,” Tanner says, his eyes never drifting away from the page.
Nicole runs a hand across Brad’s shoulder when she reaches for the fishing pole. “What’s wrong, Brad? You seem sullen.”
Brad points toward the shoreline. “That’s where Captain Thompson’s family was staying.”
“There’s nothing there.”
“Exactly,” Brad says. He, too, stands and stretches. “I think Thompson probably knew in the back of his mind it was going to be a lost cause.”
“I think you’re right. But hope is a hard thing to let go of.” Nicole ties a lure to her line and casts off the stern. She’s been successful drift-fishing throughout the week. She places the rod in a holder and takes a seat next to Brad, taking his hand in hers. The touchy-feely between them has grown in intensity as the days stretch on. They’ve even shared a kiss or three, but anything beyond that is impossible when a twelve-year-old boy is living within arm’s reach. Brad glances to see if Tanner is looking before leaning in and kissing Nicole.
With his eyes never leaving the book, Tanner says, “I know you guys think you’re sneaky, but please, what do you take me for?”
Nicole and Brad laugh. “That’s the first time we’ve kissed,” Brad says.
“Uh, no,” Tanner says. “That’s like number fifty.”
Brad turns to look at his son, his face turning serious. “How do you feel about it, Tanner? Does it make you uncomfortable?”
This time, Tanner looks up. “No. I’m not a big fan of PDA, but I’m happy for both of you. I think it’s a good thing for all of us.” Tanner smiles and returns to his book.
Nicole squeezes Brad’s hand then jumps up when the reel begins to unspool. She grabs the rod, takes up the slack, and yanks to set the hook. Working the pole up and down, she begins to reel in her catch. When the time’s appropriate, Tanner stands and grabs the net—the two now a well-oiled machine. Tanner scoops up the fish and hauls it aboard.
Brad is getting better, but he still has difficulty identifying the different fish species. He peers into the net. “What is it?”
Tanner reaches in and pulls it out and looks at Nicole. It’s a fish he hasn’t seen before.
“It’s a cobia. Very yummy,” Nicole says. “I’d guess about twelve pounds.” She glances over at Brad. “I’m going to gut it and cook it whole. That okay?”
“If you’re cooking, you can cook it any way you want.”
Tanner carries the fish to the swim platform and he and Nicole clean and gut it. With darkness approaching, Brad drops the mainsail and walks across the deck to release the jib. The boat eventually slows to a stop and he drops the anchor. Thirty minutes later they’re eating in the cabin.
Nicole takes a bite and savors it for a moment. “How long until we reach the Bahamas?”
Brad swallows and takes a sip of water. “We’re at the mercy of the weather. A week if it stays like this. Longer if not. Why, you getting antsy?”
“Not at all. This sailing thing is rather pleasant.” She places her fork on the table and turns to Tanner, tears shimmering in her eyes. “Thank you, Tanner, for talking your father into letting me stay.” She takes Tanner’s hand and turns her gaze on Brad, reaching her other hand out to grab his, tears spilling down her cheeks. “And thank you, for agreeing.”
CHAPTER 114
Lubbock, Texas
Stan McDowell’s eyes flutter open and he turns to look out the window as dawn breaks on the horizon. The ash-filled skies diminish the sun’s intensity, but it seems like every day more of the light is exposed. He turns to look at Lauren, who’s snuggled next to him in bed. He reaches out and brushes a lock of hair from her forehead. He feels a pang of guilt because she looks even younger when she’s asleep. He watches her for a few moments as her chest rises and falls in rhythm with her breathing. The guilt fades—a bit. So far the relationship has remained platonic, as both come to grips with t
heir feelings as they try to navigate their way through the new world. They’ve held hands, hugged, and even kissed, yet have refrained from taking that last step. Not to say the relationship won’t be consummated at some point, but McDowell’s happy with the slow progression. He tosses the covers aside, climbs out of bed, and quietly slips on his jeans and tiptoes out of the room.
Lauren’s home is a small two-bedroom ranch built in the early ’50s. Complete with hardwood floors throughout and a quaint little kitchen, they’re blessed the home has a working fireplace and, now, a stack of firewood. Set on the west edge of town, they’re luckier than most because her place has relied on well water since the day it was built. Using parts confiscated from a partially built home down the road, McDowell built a pulley-and-bucket system to retrieve water from the well.
He pads into the kitchen and pours a glass of water from a pitcher and carries it to the small wooden dining table and sits. He clicks a lighter and lights the candle in the center of the table. Yes, it offers light, but on the down side it smells like gingersnap cookies and the aroma always makes McDowell hungry. He picks a magazine from the stack, thumbs through it, and places it back. He’s read it from cover to cover already—twice. McDowell stares at the flickering flame, wondering how the Reeds are. Henry had prepared a feast from items in his freezer and McDowell had the luxury of leaving the shotgun and pistol locked in the truck for the first time since the trip began. The kids had a campout in the barn, watched over by Zane and Alyx from their apartment upstairs. McDowell and Henry had shared a splash of bourbon, or two, and talked deep into the night as the other adults slept. He’s stirred from his reverie when Lauren hugs him from behind.
“How’d you sleep?”
“Good. You?”
“Like a rock. I still don’t think I’ve recovered from everything.” She slides a hand across his shoulders as she takes the seat next to him. She’s wearing a long-sleeved one-piece nightie that hits her about midthigh, and McDowell’s working overtime to keep from staring at her legs.
“What’s on the agenda today?”
“I’m going to meet Melissa at the courthouse to see if anyone has heard from the Hatchers.” The last anyone saw of Hannah’s parents was when they left for the airport for a trip to the Big Apple the day before the bombs dropped. All of the other children are now back with their parents.
“They’re gone, Lauren.”
“You’re probably right. But we’ll try one more time. What’s on your agenda today?”
“We need food. I thought we’d look for abandoned properties to scavenge.”
“I don’t know. That could be dangerous.”
“I don’t think we have any other options. You’re not going to like this, but I’m thinking of starting at the Hatcher house.”
Lauren’s eyes open wide. “Oh, Stan, that’s wrong on so many levels.” She looks away, then back. “Really?”
“I’ll give you a moment to process, but think it through.”
Lauren stands and retreats to the kitchen to retrieve a glass of water. She stands at the counter, her arms crossed and her mind in overdrive. After several moments, she takes down a glass, pours some water, and returns to her seat. “It makes me ill to think about it, but you’re right. We know for sure that house is empty. Unless squatters have moved in. But it’s worth a trip.”
McDowell nods, leaving well enough alone. “I thought we’d check some of the rural properties. Anything in town has probably already been ransacked.” A majority of Lubbock remains intact, structure-wise, having dodged the wildfires. But the stores and businesses were looted long ago.
“Then I guess we’ll come home and I’ll finish up on the outhouse.”
“Joy,” Lauren says. Although her house uses well water, it’s hooked into the city sewer. “Can’t we just keep adding water to the toilet tanks and flushing?”
“We can, for a while. But if they can’t move sewage through the system, it’ll be only be a matter of time before everything backs up.”
“My Mr. Handyman.” She leans forward and takes both of his hands in hers. “Have I told you how happy I am you agreed to come with me?”
“Sure. Who else is going to build you an outhouse?”
Lauren laughs. “And don’t forget that contraption you built to retrieve water.” She frees a hand and traces a vein in his arm with her finger. “Or all that firewood you cut?” She stops at his bicep and starts her way back down, tracing the tendon in his arm. “Or that you used your ingenuity to find a path in a world swirling with madness?”
McDowell squirms in his seat.
She moves to the top of his hand. “Or that you risked your life to protect us?” She turns his hand over and caresses his palm. “Or that you’re an incredibly brave man who brought a group of wayward strangers home?” Lauren looks up and moves her hand to his face, caressing his cheek. “Or how astonishingly lucky I am?” Lauren stands, pulling him to his feet. She tiptoes up and kisses him on the lips. Her voice now silent, she leads him into the bedroom.
CHAPTER 115
Weatherford
A few of the power grid transformers survived and now about a third of the town has power. Not consistent power, but a steady stream of power when there’s a breeze, which of late, has been often. Henry, ever the engineer, gathered up a bunch of car batteries and built a backup system that powers the house through the night. As of now, none of Gage’s initial fears have materialized. There have been no struggles, violent or otherwise, over who has power and who doesn’t. Instead, a transformation is occurring where families without power move in with other families who do, or choose to congregate in some of the public buildings where the lights are on.
Once power was partially restored a sense of normalcy began to develop. The police chief organized a committee of volunteers to round up any remaining food from businesses and abandoned homes across the community. They hit a gold mine at the college, and the haul was impressive. Things aren’t so normal they would think to leave such a pile of food unprotected— it’s now locked in the city jail and items get distributed once a week. There’s been some grumbling, but that appears to have died down some. The food’s not going to last forever so they’re trying to develop some sort of chit system for those who do their fair share of the work to make it stretch further. Gage assumes that’s when the problems will begin. He pulls on his boots, kisses his sleeping daughter, and slips out of the bedroom. The baby formula Alyx arrived with was a lifesaver—literally. Two days after Alyx and Zane’s arrival, Holly’s milk came in. Zane walks down the hall to the living room and finds Susan and Henry at the dining room table.
“Good morning, Gage,” Susan says. “Did Olivia sleep last night?”
“Morning. I think Holly had to get up twice, but she ate and went right back to sleep.”
“She’s a different baby now that she has something to eat,” Susan says.
“That she is. Henry, are we working today?” Henry, Zane, Alyx, and Gage have been working to get more turbines up and running.
“We’ve been hitting it pretty hard. I say we take a day to rest up. Plus my arm needs a rest.”
“Oh, blame it on the arm, huh?” Gage says, smiling.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I can still work circles around you three. Where you headed?”
“I told my mom I’d help her move the things she wants to keep into the garage.”
Henry leans back in his chair and crosses his legs. “That’s a noble thing your mother’s doing. I don’t think I’d want to give up my house.”
“It makes sense for her to move in with my brother and his family, since both homes have power. She won’t admit it, but I think living there without my dad is hard on her. Too many memories.”
“Who’s moving into her house?” Susan asks.
“A couple of younger families. I can’t recall their names, but I think there’s a total of four children who will be living there.”
“Give your mother our love,” Susan
says. “If things get crowded at your brother’s house, tell her she’s always welcome here.”
“Thank you, I appreciate that. I think they’ll do fine together, but I’ll tell her. See you later.” Gage exits the house and walks to the truck. He glances up to see Zane and Alyx cuddling on a bench beside the barn and walks over. “What are you lovebirds doing up so early?”
“That’s a good question, Gage,” Alyx says. “I guess we just woke up. How’s Olivia?”
“She slept a good portion of the night, finally.” Zane and Alyx made their nest in the apartment above the barn and Gage has been outside late a couple of times during the week and heard the bed banging against the wall. He smiles at the thought. “Henry says we have the day off.”
“Woo-hoo! And here I was questioning my decision to come home,” Alyx says. “Where are you headed?”
“To help my mom move some stuff.”
“Need help?” Zane asks.
“Nah, Garrett and Juliet are around, but thanks for asking.”
“You’re welcome,” Zane says. “Anytime I can help, you just let me know.”
Gage nods. “I will. You two enjoy your day off.” Gage turns and walks back to the truck. He really, really likes Zane. And Zane’s strong enough to stand up to Alyx when he needs to. Gage fires up the truck and drops it into gear, easing down the driveway, thinking how much Alyx has changed. He doesn’t know if it’s everything they endured on the way home or if it’s the fact that she finally found a man she clicked with. They’ve shared some of what happened with him and Holly, but certainly not all. They all have stories they don’t want to tell and probably never will. Gage and Garrett had spent a day earlier in the week burying the remains of the Marston family—a gruesome job, but one that Gage thought needed doing. As for the Mustang, it’s still parked on the road, the killers rotting inside.
At the main road, Gage hooks a left and rolls down the window. Ash still lingers on the ground from the fires down south, but the smoky smell has dissipated. A good rain would really clear the air, yet no one knows when that might occur. Apparently, from what Henry said, all the dust and debris in the stratosphere plays havoc on the normal weather patterns. So it’ll either rain or it won’t and there’s not a damn thing anyone can do about it. Gage slows at the intersection and looks both ways just in case there’s another vehicle on the road. There are probably a dozen autos in town that are operable, but most are hardly ever driven. Not really anywhere to go unless you live out on one of the farms.
