by Kyle Pratt
Everyone agreed.
Static erupted from the television. Power failed. Darkness filled the air.
Chapter Three
The store clerk, his mouth agape, retrieved a portable radio from behind the counter. He turned the dial until he found a Georgia station.
Caden heard what he already feared, Atlanta had been attacked. He walked out of the store into the chilly night and drifted across the parking lot. Some families ran to their cars and hurried north, away from the blast.
She’s dead.
No, perhaps she went to Birmingham.
So many have died. The ache in his heart ebbed and flowed between hope that Becky might be alive and despair that she and so many others were already dead.
He found himself on the edge of a group huddled around a radio. “The mushroom cloud is still climbing over Atlanta. Firestorms are raging throughout the metro…”
Caden walked away. He did not want to hear strangers announce the death of the one he loved. In a daze, he stumbled along the edge of the parking lot by the road. He hardly noticed the squeal of tires as he aimlessly continued onward. A horn blared. He was knocked hard to the pavement. A woman screamed. Gravel peppered the side of his face as the car sped away.
“Are you okay?” someone asked as he sat up.
He would be bruised, his face stung, but nothing seemed broken. He nodded. “Yes, I’m okay.”
The small crowd dispersed as if nothing had happened. Caden walked to his car, slid down beside it, staring straight ahead. He wanted to be angry with himself for not driving faster, for not insisting she leave, for not saving her, but he was numb and the only emotion he seemed capable of was guilt. He sat there until the first rays of morning light glowed on the horizon. A woman carried a small television from a nearby RV. She placed it on a table as a man adjusted a satellite dish on the top of the vehicle. An image snapped on the screen as a crowd formed. Caden didn’t want to watch, but the news was like a siren song that drew him in.
As the sun peeked higher, he learned that the bomb detonated downtown. One report mentioned the network headquarters building was gone and added, “It appears Rebecca Thornton was reporting live from the studio when the blast occurred. Here is her final report.”
The voice, the face, were cold steel stabbing his heart. He turned and stumbled toward a gray leafless tree standing alone in a nearby field. Caden’s eyes fixed on what must have been a mighty oak now broken and alone in the field. He stumbled toward the shell of the tree and collapsed against the hollow trunk.
He remembered the first time he saw Becky. He was just days out of the Army after a combat tour in the Middle East and had put off any serious relationships while in the service, but then he was willing to entertain the possibility. He had gone to the beach with friends. Becky, a fair-haired beauty with a soft southern accent, was the friend of a friend. She had intrigued him early on, but gave him scant attention. As he strolled on the water’s edge their paths crossed and they talked. It was then he found out she couldn’t swim. “Come on. I’ll teach you.” As they waded into deeper water, he placed his arm behind her. “Lean back. I’ll show you how to float.” As she did, he placed his other arm under her legs.
She smiled nervously. “Don’t let go of me.”
“Never.” He wanted to pull her in tight against him and kiss her, but she had the air of a southern lady, and he didn’t want to offend. He walked deeper into the surf as he told her how to hold her back and head. Suddenly he fell below the surface of the water. He had stepped off a ledge and was still sinking. Fish swam by as he looked up to see Becky flail in the ocean above him. He stroked and kicked with all his might as she sank into his arms. Holding her, he swam to the surface. She wrapped her arms tight around his neck.
“I’m so sorry,” he said as they surfaced.
She gasped for air.
“Hold on to my waist, I’ll take you to shore.”
As they came up on the beach, he explained about the ledge and apologized again, but he was sure that was the end of the relationship. Later that day she playfully accused him of trying to drown her, but her smile told him all he needed to know. That night they kissed.
Caden leaned hard against the broken tree. The trunk creaked as his body heaved in tears. Memories were all he would ever have. She was dead.
The sun crept higher in the sky. Caden hadn’t noticed until now the cars leaving the nearby parking lot. He knew he should check the wind direction and fallout pattern from the Atlanta blast but he couldn’t find the will to act. Repeatedly he cursed his slowness in coming to her, his unwillingness to order her out of the city, his inability to save her. He told himself a thousand things he should have done, a thousand things that might have saved her. Those opportunities were lost to him now.
Footfalls crunched the stubble of the field. Caden looked up enough to see well-polished boots. Slowly his eyes crept up the camouflage uniform.
“I am sorry to hear about your loss.” It was Lieutenant Turner.
Caden nodded.
Turner sat against the tree in the shade of the trunk. For several minutes, he said nothing.
“My wife and son were visiting family in Alexandria, Virginia.” He turned his head and looked at Caden. “Do you know where that is?”
“Yes, I lived in Bethesda.”
Turner sighed. “It’s been a rough couple of days.” He took a sip from his canteen. “You want a drink?”
Caden’s throat was parched. “Thank you.” Not knowing how much water the Lieutenant had, he took a single mouthful.
“I’m busy all day with my men, but there is always some part of me that is worried about my wife and son. Sometimes when I see a child or a woman, just for a moment, I wonder, ‘is that my family?’” He glanced back at the checkpoint. “When the supply truck came this morning, I hoped it brought mail.” He let out a deep breath. “I pray they’re safe.”
“You have hope.”
The Lieutenant nodded. “Yes, I do. I pray they are out there somewhere…safe. Perhaps they’re with my parents in Richmond.” He looked slowly from side to side as if searching for something. “Do you have anyone, a mother, father….”
The words stunned Caden. “Yes.” In his grief he had forgotten his parents, his brother and sister. How could he forget them?
“They need you now.”
Caden knew those words were true. His mother would be heartbroken with worry about him.
A commotion spread across the parking lot. Turner stood as one of his men trotted up to them.
“Lieutenant, the civilians say the fallout from the Atlanta blast is heading this way.”
Turner held out his hand to Caden.
He grasped it and with the Sergeant’s help, stood. “I’ve got satellite and shortwave radios in my car.”
The three walked briskly to the parking lot. Caden unlocked the door of his vehicle, clicked on the radio and set it to search. It didn’t take long to find a strong signal.
“…law. Winds are out of the south bringing the fallout over northern Georgia. FEMA is advising residents to shelter-in-place and non-residents or refugees to evacuate the area.”
Caden slumped in the seat. He had held a vague, irrational hope of heading south to see Atlanta and find Becky. He stared up at the sky. Clouds slid slowly north. Following behind those clouds was the slow death of fallout. South was no longer an option.
A soldier ran up holding a sheet of paper. A frown grew on Turner’s face as he read.
Chapter Four
Caden sat in the car while Turner read. The tears for Becky were invisible now, the grief hid within. The pain he felt tore at him, but Turner had reminded him that he had family. It made him feel immature, even a bit ridiculous, but if tears came again; let them come with his arms around his mother.
Turner handed the paper back to the soldier. “Tell the men to saddle up. We’re leaving ASAP.”
“Where to?” Caden asked. “Richmond?” He knew that was
unlikely, but he hoped his new friend might be heading home.
He shook his head. “Not even Virginia. The orders are to take my men to Fort Rucker in Alabama and help set up a refugee camp.” Though the Lieutenant was about his age, he looked at Caden with a fatherly concern. “Which way will you be going?”
“West. I’ve got family out that way.”
“Follow us to Rucker. It’ll be safer and maybe even faster.”
* * *
For the first couple of hours, Caden made good time as he followed the army convoy, but as the day wore on, more military vehicles joined the procession, civilian traffic increased and progress slowed. He was sure the line of army green trucks and jeeps stretched over a mile long.
The GMRS and CB radios on the seat beside him crackled with pleas for gas, assistance with repairs, news and rumors. Thousands biked or walked along the side of the road, rough looking individuals and entire families dragging suitcases and carrying more. He felt guilty riding alone in his car.
A young woman barely out of high school, by the look of her, carried a small baby along the road. As he passed, their eyes met. Should he offer her a ride? If he stopped, the convoy would move on. Would he be separated from them? Would he be overwhelmed by the desperate people along the road? A bend in the road hid her from sight.
He drove on wondering what kind of world the baby would inherit. Visions of cities burnt and desolate filled his mind, gray ash lying like a blanket of snow across a cold and lifeless land. A land poisoned by radioactive fallout. He remembered reading somewhere that cockroaches could withstand high levels of radiation. Because of the foolishness of man the cockroach shall inherit the Earth. He shuddered at the thought of a world full of cockroaches, but otherwise sterile.
An hour later, the young woman and her baby were out of sight and probably several miles behind him but there were many children and babies along the sides of the road. Would they live? How many had already died? Images of the friends he had lost in the last 48 hours flashed through his mind. The mental list of casualties always began and ended with memories of Becky.
He remembered the last time they went out to dinner. Becky liked French cuisine, but he was more of a meat and potatoes kind of guy, so that night they compromised on Italian. The restaurant had been a good choice, small and quiet, with excellent food cooked by an Italian family. They had planned to go back. Tears welled in his eyes. They would never go back.
Brakes squealed. Caden turned his head toward the sound of crumpling metal. One car careened off another, up the shoulder of the road, scattering pedestrians in all directions. Except for the two cars that collided no one stopped. Like a river disturbed by two stones, the westward flow quickly resumed. Caden resolved to focus on driving.
Tones came across one of his radios. A tense voice carried over the airwaves. “10-55, 10-33, west on highway 59, milepost 83.”
Caden tried to remember the 10 codes. He looked in the rearview mirror. Nothing was obviously amiss behind him. Returning his attention ahead he spotted a milepost that read ’81.’ The highway followed the contour of a hill, limiting his view ahead.
From behind, horns blasted. Metal crunched. In his mirror he saw pedestrians scurry like bees from a hive. Fear. That is what is causing this. People were frightened, fleeing wildfires and, he glanced at the gray sky, the unseen poison of radiation. The winds were still out of the south. Good for him, death for others.
Smoke flowed into the air from the far side of a nearby hill. Cresting the knoll Caden saw a burning pickup truck, smashed against a tree. He stared at the scene as the convoy continued down the slope. Pedestrians darted in close to the flames. Why would they do that? Then he noticed a crumpled small car that had been hidden by fire and smoke.
The convoy halted. Caden stepped from his vehicle when he saw Lieutenant Turner walking back toward the accident.
“There’s a woman under the car,” someone yelled.
Turner shouted to his men and ran toward the burning vehicle. Caden followed. The car sat to the right of a growing inferno. He gagged on the smoke and fumes. Soldiers knelt behind the wreck and pushed up. It lifted. Caden could only see one limp arm. He grabbed it and pulled. She was still trapped. “Higher, lift higher.”
Turner and the other soldiers grunted and pushed.
Caden’s face felt dry and hot as the flames licked closer.
More soldiers joined the effort.
“The fire is moving this way. Pull her out.” Turner shouted.
Caden reached under the car, grabbed both arms, and pulled. The body moved. He stumbled back, regained his footing and pulled her clear. Others took and moved the bleeding woman clear of the flames.
Caden stumbled back several feet and sat on the ground trying to catch his breath. The woman was covered with dirt and blood, both separate and mixed together. It was hard to tell her age, but she was young. A growing pool of blood surrounded her. The medic was also young, a corporal no older than twenty by the look of him. After checking for a pulse he worked frantically on the injured woman bandaging and taping her wounds.
Lieutenant Turner called to a soldier checking out the burning car. “Anyone alive?”
“No. Gas cans exploded on impact. Two people, both toast.”
Caden turned away from the fire and blood. Off to the left a lump of pastel blue blankets caught his eye. Drawn toward them he stood, walked over and pulled back the top cover. “There’s a baby here!” He drew back the remaining layer revealing a blue shirt emblazoned with “Future Quarterback,” across the front.
The medic continued to work on the woman. “Is it hurt?”
Caden couldn’t see any blood. The babies eyes were red and puffy, he had been crying, but wasn’t now. “No.”
The medic called to one of the soldiers, “Come here. Press here—hard!”
Caden cradled the baby in his arms his eyes fixed on the woman, her blouse now dark with blood. He wondered if she had thrown the baby out of the way of the car in a desperate attempt to save it. That thought brought him comfort. “Is she going to make it?”
The medic didn’t answer, but began CPR. Then he stopped and sat back on the gray gravel. He looked up at Caden and the baby. “I couldn’t stop the bleeding,” he sighed. “She’s dead.”
The other soldier, his hands crimson, walked away.
The medic looked even younger now. His eyes glazed. Caden wondered if this was his first taste of death. He stood holding the baby. “You did what you could.”
Turner walked up and stood by his medic. “She died?”
The young man nodded.
Turner knelt beside him. “Did you do everything you knew how to do?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then you did all that any of us could for her.” He held out his hand and helped the medic stand.
Turner, walking toward the convoy, called down the line, “Platoon sergeants, gas up as needed, but get it done quickly.”
As soldiers trotted to the fuel truck with cans, Caden raced to catch up with Turner. “What do I do with the baby?”
“We haven’t been able to contact local police or paramedics.” The lieutenant stared at the body of the mother now covered by an army blanket. “Take the kid to Fort Rucker. We’ll be there by morning.”
“Me?”
The medic walked up, his hands still red with the woman’s blood. “Here, you might need this.” He handed Caden the woman’s wallet and a pastel blue diaper bag.
Caden looked down at the baby. I’m not a father, and I don’t want to be.
A newer model red Lexus pulled up within inches of Lieutenant Turner and Caden. A man jumped out leaving a woman and three children inside. “You in charge here?”
Turner nodded.
“I see you’re refueling. I need gas.”
“Military vehicles use diesel and we don’t have any to spare.”
Knowing this was not quite true, Caden stared at the Lieutenant with his best poker face.
&
nbsp; “I can see a fuel truck up there,” the man gestured along the convoy, “you’ve got plenty.”
“What part of the word diesel is giving you trouble?”
Off to the side Caden saw another man running toward them holding a gas can.
Turner started to walk away when a pickup pulled onto the gravel in front of him. Two bearded men stepped from the vehicle. The driver approached Turner, crunching the stones beneath his boots. The other stayed very close to the truck.
“I need gas,” the driver stated.
Caden noticed the man who stayed close to the car held a rifle at his side.
Turner held up his hand to the driver. “The convoy uses diesel and we don’t have extra.”
Looking down at the baby in his arms, Caden knew the situation could turn ugly any second. While Turner continued talking with the civilians Caden walked back to the car, laid the baby and the diaper bag on the seat and discretely slid his pistol in his jacket pocket. As he walked back, he noticed a sergeant positioning men along the flanks of the civilians with just a nod or a raised eyebrow.
One of the bearded men asked, “You wouldn’t mind if we just checked to see what kind of fuel you have, now would you?” He lifted the rifle and set it on the hood.
“If you try, I will kill you.”
“This is America you can’t just shoot us.”
“This is martial law. I can.” He unsnapped his holster. “And I will.”
Clutching the pistol in his pocket, Caden’s eyes darted from Turner to those wanting gas. Turner would not relent and give them fuel, Caden was sure of that. He prayed the men would back down and leave. The only sound he heard for several moments was his heart beating in his ears.
The man with the gas can cursed and walked on.
Caden took a breath.
The driver of the Lexus spat on the ground and drove away. The bearded man grabbed his gun and threw it in his truck.
As that vehicle pulled away, a soft rain fell. Turner looked at Caden, “We do have some regular gas. Have you got enough?”
