Shock Wave

by Keith Taylor

  He couldn’t yet see the lights themselves, but he was certain that somewhere up ahead there was power. Somewhere nearby the lights were still shining, and in great enough numbers to cast their glow against the sky. After hours of walking and another couple of hours driving they were finally approaching the edge of the dead zone carved out by the EMP. Up ahead civilization began anew. Lights, heat, radio and TV, and – he crossed his fingers with hope – a cell signal.

  He looked down again at the screen. Still no bars. “Come on,” he whispered to himself. “Give me something, please.”

  “Hmm?” From the back seat came a yawn, and the slow groan of a waking stretch. “Did you say something?”

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” Jack pointed out the windshield. “I think there are lights up ahead. We may be coming to a town.”

  Garside leaned forward between the seats, scanning the road ahead. “Oh, marvelous. Do you think they’ll know what’s happening?”

  Jack shrugged. “Depends how bad it is, I guess. If they’ve got power the TV and radio may still be running. Maybe they’re still picking up the news. Guess we’ll have to wait and see.”

  “Fingers crossed.”

  Garside rested his chin on the back of the seat and gazed out the window, joining Jack in the hopeful search for light. He seemed deep in thought, lapsing into silence for a long spell, and Jack figured he was worried about what lay ahead. Worried about reaching the town and finding that the news was bad, that LA had been wiped from the map, and his wife with it. Jack was trying to think of some comforting words to offer when Garside finally cleared his throat.

  “I could absolutely murder a cup of tea,” he sighed. “I haven’t had any all day.”

  Jack chuckled, baffled by Garside’s priorities. “I think we have more important things to worry about than tracking down some Earl Grey, Doug.”

  Garside smiled and shook his head. “You may mock, Mr. Archer, but you just don’t understand the relationship between an Englishman and his tea. You know the way you lot feel about your second amendment, thumping your chests and going on about your God given right to arm yourselves to the teeth?”

  Jack nodded. “I guess so, if you want to put it like that.”

  “Well,” Garside said, leaning back in his seat, “the English feel exactly the same way about a good cup of tea. You can pry my mug from my cold, dead hands.”

  Jack laughed. “OK, settle down, Heston. I’m sure we can find you something to drink, but first we’re looking for a TV. Deal?”

  Garside nodded. “Fair enough. I suppose I can deny myself for a few more minutes. I warn you, though, I can sometimes get a little tetchy when I go without my tea.”

  “You don’t say,” Jack muttered. “I never would have guessed.” He turned his attention back to the road as Garside settled down in the back, driving on in silence, praying for the lights to appear each time the car rounded a bend in the road.

  The exchange with Garside had perked him up a little, but he knew he couldn’t go on like this much longer. He was beyond exhausted, running on fumes. His eyes felt like someone had gone to town on them with a belt sander, dry and scratchy from miles of driving without the aid of headlights. All he could think about was pulling over and resting them a while, but he was determined to keep going until he reached whatever lay ahead. He wouldn’t be able to relax until he’d found the source of the lights.

  Another twenty minutes passed before they finally appeared up ahead. As the car peaked a hill and began to weave down the other side a distant string of streetlights emerged from the forest, and Jack felt his foot press down on the gas. He pushed the car as hard as he dared along the dark, winding road, and after another few minutes of barreling around blind bends the lights finally appeared just a few dozen yards ahead. Jack eased off the gas, the tension drifting away as the car burst forth into their welcoming golden glow.

  “Thank God for that,” he sighed, squinting his eyes against the sudden brightness. “I thought we’d never see a streetlight again.”

  For another ten minutes the lights continued, a glowing ribbon cut through the darkness of the forest, before finally Jack spotted something in the distance other than the endless trees. It was a wooden sign, and a hundred yards beyond it was a small village, if it deserved even that diminutive title. It barely looked large enough to be marked on a map, just a handful of small stores and a few houses running along one side of the road. If it hadn’t been for the streetlights Jack may have missed it entirely.

  “Welcome to Pine Bluff,” Garside read, peering out the window at the sign. He pushed up his glasses. “I must say, it doesn’t look like they’re rolling out the welcome mat.”

  Jack couldn’t help but agree. The place looked completely dead. Half of the stores looked like they’d been closed long ago, and the rest seemed like they’d been abandoned in a hurry. Doors hung open and windows were broken. In front of each store Jack could see merchandise littering the sidewalks, as if the owners had packed in a rush by simply throwing everything they owned out through the doors and windows. In front of a convenience store a pallet of bottles had been dropped, and Jack pulled to the curb a few yards shy of a spray of glass shards glittering like diamonds across the asphalt.

  “You wanna take a look around?” he asked, grabbing his phone and climbing out of the car.

  Garside peered suspiciously out the window. “Are you sure it’s safe out there?”

  “Nope, not a clue.” Jack held his phone above his head and craned his neck, as if a couple extra feet might make all the difference to the signal, but the screen still stubbornly refused to show him any bars. “Damn it,” he muttered, slipping it into his pocket before looking back to Garside.

  “Oh, come on, Doug. I’m sure it’s perfectly safe. Looks like everybody left hours ago. Come on, Boomer, let’s take a walk.”

  The dog perked up and leaped over the seats as Garside reluctantly pushed open the door, and she immediately ran towards the dropped pallet of bottles in front of the convenience store.

  “Whoa, there,” Jack warned, grabbing her by the collar and pulling back before she started lapping at broken glass. “Let’s take a look at what we got here.”

  He crouched down at the side of the road, picking through the pallet until he found an intact bottle, and with a slap of his palm again the curb he popped the cap. “How do you feel about root beer, buddy?” he asked, pouring a splash into his palm for Boomer to lap up, and he laughed as she backed away as soon as she’d taken a taste, pawing at her muzzle with disgust.

  “Yeah, I know, it’s an acquired taste,” he chuckled, throwing back the bottle for a gulp. “How about you, Doug? You want a root beer?”

  Garside pursed his lips and shook his head. “Yuck. Far too sweet.” He pointed towards the door of the convenience store. “I’m going to see if they have the makings of a cup of tea.”

  “Suit yourself,” Jack said, pulling himself back to his feet with a tired groan. “Don’t wander too far, though. I’m gonna go look for a TV or radio. Gimme a yell if you see one.” He took another swig of root beer and began to wander along the street, peering in through store windows.

  There didn’t seem to be much to Pine Bluff. Beyond the handful of stores and what looked like a small white church at the far end of town the road quickly returned to dense forest. A narrow side road just before the stores ran to a small flat patch in the hilly terrain where a dozen or so wooden houses huddled close together, set back from the street. It seemed like one of those places you’d pass by on a road trip, and if you gave any thought to it at all it would be to wonder how the people who lived there could possibly earn a living way out in the middle of nowhere.

  As he made his way down the road Jack noticed that even the stores looked out of place. The convenience store looked useful enough, but two doors down was a sporting goods store, and next door to that was a haberdashery, the sign above the door reading Pine Bluff Notions in curly, old fashioned scri
pt. Jack could almost understand the sporting goods store – maybe the forest around the town attracted weekend hikers – but how the hell could anyone make a living selling buttons and thread way out here in the woods? Who was traveling to Pine Bluff to buy thimbles?

  “Small towns are weird, Boomer, am I right?” The dog looked up at him, panting happily as she trotted alongside. “Yeah, you know what I mean. You’re a city dog, right? I bet you—”

  Boomer broke into a run before Jack finished speaking, racing off ahead. “Oh sure, don’t mind me,” he called after her. “You’ll tell me if I’m boring you, right?”

  Boomer paid no attention. She trotted down the road, sniffing at the lamp posts and stoops, and she didn’t stop until she reached the small parking lot beside the church. Jack limped after her, concerned that she might get her nose into something dangerous as she started snuffling through what looked like an abandoned bag of groceries dropped in the street at the edge of the lot. As he rounded the corner of the final store he saw that it wasn’t the only one.

  The parking lot looked like the aftermath of an explosion at a thrift store. A dozen or more rucksacks and suitcases littered the ground, some of them open, their contents blown in the breeze and trampled. An empty wheelchair was tipped onto its side, and beside it an A frame chalkboard had been knocked over and discarded. Jack made his way to it, kicking away an enormous floral dress that had caught itself on the frame.

  Evacuation Point

  One bag per person

  No wheelchairs/strollers

  Display photo ID before boarding

  Departing 10PM

  Jack stared at the board, and not for the first time he felt as if he was running just a few steps behind everyone else, playing catch up. All day, it seemed, people had been fleeing ahead of him, from the first people to grab the cabs at the airport to the first flights out of Renton, and now this. He was driving through a state that already felt hollowed out and emptied. The smart folks had left long ago. God only knew where they’d gone, but wherever it was—

  Jack threw himself into an alert crouch as a sudden scream pierced the silence, and he turned in time to see Garside stumble backwards out of the convenience store and into the pool of light beneath a streetlight. He almost fell to the ground before recovering himself, running at full pelt towards Jack, a coffee mug clutched in a flailing hand and his jacket billowing out behind him like a tweed cape.

  “She has a gun!” he cried, rounding the corner of the last store in the row and flattening himself against the side wall. “Run!”

  ΅

  CHAPTER TEN

  DID YOU SAY FRESNO?

  JACK FELT HIS heart leap to his throat as he scanned around for cover, cursing when he saw that the only things within diving distance were the tipped over wheelchair and the abandoned chalkboard. The church was a good twenty yards away, and the cover of the trees further still. He was completely exposed and helpless. If someone came out shooting there was nothing he could do to stop them, and nowhere to hide. He stood rooted to the spot, frozen by terror.

  “Hello?” A woman’s voice called out from the convenience store. “Can I help you?”

  Jack barely heard the voice above the thumping of his heart, but when it filtered past his fear he felt confusion overwhelm his fear. That certainly didn’t sound like someone about to launch an armed assault. It sounded like a friendly young woman greeting a customer in a store.

  “Hello?” he called back hesitantly. Even as he spoke he felt stupid, standing out in the open. “Hey… umm, are you planning to shoot?”

  The woman appeared around from the door of the convenience store and began to approach at a sauntering pace. “Sorry, I'm not sure I heard you right. Say that again?”

  Jack coughed awkwardly. “Umm… I said, are you planning to shoot?” He could feel himself beginning to burn with embarrassment at such a stupid question.

  The young woman reached the corner of the final store, and as she stepped onto the parking lot she jumped with fright at the sight of Garside pressed flat against the wall right beside her.

  “Jeez, you scared the life out of me! What are you doing hiding like that?” She turned to Jack. “And why on earth would I be planning to shoot?”

  Jack felt his knotted muscles relax as his body stood down from red alert. The woman looked to be around her early twenties, dressed casually in jeans and a plaid shirt, and at her hip a pistol remained firmly clipped in its holster. Boomer padded over to her cheerfully, leaning into her hand as she scratched her behind her ears. “Hey, cutie, how’s it going?” she said, dropping to her haunches to play with the dog.

  “Sorry about that,” Jack said, a slight smile playing on his lips. “My friend here’s a Brit. I don’t think he’s accustomed to seeing people wearing holsters.”

  Garside slowly relaxed, trying to reclaim what dignity he could by pretending he’d been casually leaning against the wall, not trying to press himself through it. “I was just a little alarmed,” he claimed. “Where I come from we don’t go around shooting each other.”

  The woman let out a laugh. “We don’t go around shooting each other here, either,” she said. “You’re in Oregon, not the Wild West.” She turned back to Jack and gave him a conspiratorial wink. “So, what brings you guys to Pine Bluff?”

  “Just passing through on our way south, ma’am,” Jack said, taking a swig from his root beer before something occurred to him. “Sorry, do you own the convenience store? I thought everyone had left town. I can pay for the drink.”

  She shook her head. “No, you can help yourself. Mine’s the sporting goods store. Well, it’s not mine. I just work there. I’m Cathy.”

  “Jack. And this is Doug.”

  Garside nodded curtly. “Douglas,” he corrected. “Douglas Garside. How do you do? Apologies for the histrionics.”

  Cathy waved his apology away. “Don’t worry about it. I guess everyone’s a little on edge today.”

  Jack took a seat on the curb beside Boomer as she enjoyed the attention from Cathy. “Are you on your own?” he asked, before it occurred to him that the question might seem a little threatening coming from a strange man. “I mean, how come you didn’t leave town with everyone else?” He nodded towards the chalkboard with the scrawled instructions. “There was an evacuation from here, right?”

  Cathy nodded. “Oh yeah, they came through here. A bunch of soldiers showed up in a school bus and told us they were taking us to some refugee camp over in Namath Falls. That’s about an hour or two east of here, so I guess they figured it’d be safe enough.”

  “But you didn’t get on the bus?”

  Cathy shook her head. “Nuh uh. They said there wasn’t enough room for all of us, so they pulled a bunch of us out of line and told us there’d be a second bus along a little later.”

  “The second bus didn’t show up?”

  Cathy shook her head and gave him a wry smile. “There never was a second bus. They were lying to us.”

  “Wait, what?” Jack couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You’re saying they intentionally abandoned you? You can’t be serious.”

  “Believe it,” Cathy insisted. “I didn’t figure out what was going on until the bus was rolling out of town, and by then it was too late to do anything about it. I guess they thought this was the best way to avoid a confrontation.”

  “What did you figure out? What am I missing?”

  Cathy rolled back the sleeve of her shirt, revealing a row of track marks running from her elbow halfway to her wrist. “There were six of us pulled out of line, and it finally clicked when I realized I'd seen them all in Doctor Keeler’s waiting room down at Medford. We were pretty much the only sick people in town. Quite a coincidink, right?”

  Garside pursed his lips with distaste, staring at the trail of injection marks. “You’re a drug addict?”

  “What? Oh God, no!” Cathy laughed. “I’ve never even smoke a joint. I just have a condition that has to be treated with i
ntravenous injections.”

  Jack frowned, puzzled. “Wait, are you saying they left you behind because…”

  His voice trailed off. Finally it began to make sense.

  Of course they left the sick behind. Condition Black would be useless if it was only applied to the hospitals. The idea behind it was to get rid of everyone who might spread illness through a refugee camp, not just the folks laid up in hospital beds. The army must have been screening evacuees as they boarded buses and passed through checkpoints, trying to weed out the sick before they could reach the camps. There was just one thing Jack couldn’t figure out.

  “How did they know you were sick?”

  Cathy rolled her sleeve back down her arm. “Doctor Keeler was with the soldiers. He’s the local doc down in Medford. Pretty much everyone around here goes to him, so I guess he must have handed over a list of his patients. I don’t suppose doctor/patient confidentiality counts for much when there’s a guy with a rifle asking the questions.”

  “I guess not,” Jack agreed, nodding sympathetically.

  He was just blown away by the level of organization that must have gone into the evacuation. Condition Black must have been much better planned than he’d assumed, if the government had the ability to track down individual doctors on a moment’s notice. Maybe they even had access to prescription records and insurance forms, all the data they’d need to identify those who might put a population at risk. “So who was—”

  “What’s wrong with you?” Garside butted in, and then immediately blushed as he realized how rude he was being. “Sorry, forget I asked. It’s none of my business, I’m sure.”

  Cathy waved away his apology with a smile. “Don’t worry about it, it’s nothing embarrassing. I’ve got Wilson’s Disease. It’s a genetic thing. My body can’t get rid of copper fast enough, so it builds up in my organs and causes all kinds of problems.”

  “Wilson’s? You take penicillamine for that?” Jack asked.

  Cathy nodded. “Uh huh. And daily Cyclosporine injections.”