by Tom Abrahams
Jackie raised her hands and shook them. “Stop,” she said. “Just stop.”
The room was silent except for the sound of Brian rocking while whimpering and murmuring to himself.
Jackie nodded toward Brian. “Betty,” she said, “comfort your son.”
Betty opened her mouth as if to tell Jackie to mind her own business. She pressed her mouth into a scowl and crossed the room to Brian. She leaned into him and rubbed his back while she spoke into his ear. His cadence slowed and the red drained from his face.
“Jackie, you don’t have to justify yourself,” Nikki said. “You don’t owe anyone anything. You do what you want to do, without explanation, and if they want to follow, they can follow.”
Jackie smirked. “Betty’s probably right,” she said. “We shouldn’t have left the house.”
Pop Vickers ambled over to the women. “I understand why we came here, and I guess I understand the logic for going back. You were kind enough to take us in, Jackie. We’ll do whatever you think is best. Nikki is right.”
Nikki blushed. “Thank you, old man.”
“I don’t understand it,” Marie said. “We can stay here. They have food and water; there’s even some electricity. Plus they have a lot of people with guns.”
“Yeah, Mom,” Chris said. “I’m good here. I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to go out there and have to deal with…”
Jackie coaxed her son to finish his thought. “Deal with what?”
“The bad people.”
Jackie extended her arms and motioned for her son. Chris moped across the room to her and she wrapped her arms around him. She squeezed him and kissed his head.
“I understand,” she said. “You and Nikki have traveled more than any of us here. You’ve seen more bad people than we have. But we don’t have a choice, Chris. We have to go home.”
“I’m scared,” Chris said.
Jackie pulled back from her son and lifted his chin with her finger so he’d look her in the eyes. “I know. I am too. We all are.”
Chris blinked back tears.
“I also know you’re very brave,” she said. “You’re strong. Marie and I need you.”
Jackie glanced at Marie, who was about to protest. She kept her mouth shut and smiled with one corner of her mouth. Jackie smiled back.
“Okay,” said Chris. “We can go. I’m ready.”
“I’m not ready,” said Betty, her voice loud enough for everyone to hear. “Brian and I aren’t leaving until they kick us out.”
The room’s attention focused on Betty before everyone, like the crowd watching a tennis match, turned back to await Jackie’s volley.
Conscious of the eyes watching her, Jackie walked deliberately to Betty and Brian. She put her hand on Betty’s shoulder and squeezed gently.
“I know none of this is easy for you,” she said. “You know I respect you, Betty. I get that you do what you have to do. I can’t fault you for trying to protect your family. It’s all I’m trying to do too.”
Betty inhaled and her body shuddered as she took a ragged, emotional breath. Her eyes moistened and her chin trembled. She ran her hand along her son’s back and nodded at Jackie.
“I can accept that,” said Betty, “and I do appreciate all you’ve done.”
“We’re staying too,” said Nancy.
Pop met her words with the same look of surprise as everyone else in the room. “What? I just told Jackie—”
Nancy raised her hands, waving off her husband. “I know what you told Jackie. I understand why she’s compelled to go home. I can’t do it. I can’t go back there.”
Pop’s open mouth curled into a frown. “It’s our home,” he said pleadingly. “We’re talking about going back to our home.”
“No,” said Nancy. “That’s not our home anymore,” she proclaimed, her voice trembling. “That place is where our house is. It’s not our home.”
Pop’s frown slid into a supportive smile and he sighed. He put his hand on his wife’s arm and rubbed it gently. “I understand. Bad things happened there. It’s still fresh. You’re afraid; I’m afraid. But we can’t stay here. We’re temporary guests.”
Nancy stiffened. “I can’t do it. It’s more than fear. It’s worse than that.”
“We’ll be okay,” said Pop. “We’ll—”
Nancy’s jaw set. She folded her arms tightly across her chest. “I’m not going. And what is NASA going to do? Throw us to the wolves? They accounted for Jackie, her kids, and her husband. That’s four people. If they leave and Nikki leaves, there’s four of us left. It’s you and me, Betty and Brian.”
Pop looked to Jackie, seemingly coaxing her to help change his wife’s mind. “I don’t think that’s how it works.”
Jackie shrugged at Pop. She knew better than to meddle, and Nancy had a point. If Clayton were here with her, she might stay. It was definitely the safer of the options for the short term.
Pop’s shoulders dropped. “Okay. We stay here as long as they let us. I’ll try to make myself useful somehow and earn our keep.”
Nancy’s eyes brightened. “We’re staying?”
Pop gave her a hug. She wrapped her arms around his back and squeezed her eyes shut. A smile crept across her face. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“We’ll miss you,” said Jackie.
Pop placed his hands on both sides of Nancy’s face and kissed her forehead. He shifted his weight and spun toward Jackie. He offered her a smile much less emphatic than the one still plastered on his wife’s face.
“We’ll miss you too,” he said. “You be careful out there.”
CHAPTER 15
WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 29, 2020, 2:05 PM CST
TAYLOR, TEXAS
Rick could taste the dirt on his lips. There were grains of sand between his cheeks and teeth. He tried freeing them with his tongue, but with his face pressed to the ground, he didn’t have much range of motion. The jab of a rifle barrel between his shoulder blades didn’t help.
The soldier at the other end of the weapon barked at him again. “Where did you come from?”
Rick winced at the pressure on his lower back from the soldier’s boot. He spit out some of the sand and tried articulating as best he could.
“I’m from Clear Lake,” he said. “I’m just looking for a safe place with my boy.”
Rick couldn’t see Kenny, but he could hear him talking with another soldier. They were twenty yards away, and Rick couldn’t hear every word. But he made out enough to know his son was sticking to their agreed-upon story.
“—looking for water,” Kenny said. “We’re so thirsty.”
Another jab in his back distracted Rick from eavesdropping. He grunted at the pressure. The soldier shifted his weight, increasing the discomfort and sending a sharp bolt of pain screaming down his right leg.
“Why are you walking?” asked the soldier. “You didn’t come here from Clear Lake on foot. Where’s your vehicle?”
“We ran out of gas,” Rick said. “Ten or twenty miles back.”
The soldier jabbed again. “We’re not off a major highway. If you were headed to Austin or San Antonio, you wouldn’t be in Taylor.”
“We stayed off the highway,” said Rick. “We tried to keep to ourselves and avoid trouble.”
The pressure eased on his lower back and the soldier tapped Rick’s ribs with his boot. “Get up. On your knees, hands behind your head. Keep your fingers clasped.”
Rick did as instructed and looked over at Kenny. He was guzzling water from a canteen, two soldiers standing on either side of him. A third was on one knee in front of him. He was saying something Rick couldn’t hear, but Kenny nodded, water dripping from his chin.
“What did the boy say?” called the soldier guarding Rick. He stepped in front of Rick, blocking his view of Kenny and the others.
“Said they ran out of gas ten miles back,” one of the soldiers called back. “They came from Clear Lake. Looking for somewhere safe.”
The soldier in front of Rick grunted and stepped to one side. Rick could see Kenny again. He’d returned the canteen and the soldier who’d been on his knee was standing.
Rick’s guard used his rifle to motion toward Rick. “So, Lieutenant Turner,” he said, “what do we do with them?”
“We do what we did with the others,” the lieutenant answered. He’d been the one on his knee. He glanced back at Kenny and then marched toward Rick. “We take them inside, process them, and let the caretakers deal with them.”
Lieutenant Turner waved for Rick to get to his feet. He stopped a couple of feet from Rick and eyeballed him. His bloodshot eyes narrowed as he studied Rick. He held out his canteen and Rick took it, thanking the soldier before swigging a mouthful of warm water. He swished the sand and dirt around in his mouth and swallowed it. He took one more swallow for good measure and returned the offering.
Lieutenant Turner took the canteen and recapped it. “C’mon,” he said to his men. “Let’s do this.”
Kenny joined Rick at his side and the quartet of soldiers hustled them toward the front gate. A breeze-fueled funnel of dust and sand swirled around them as they approached the imposing entrance with its concertina wire and high metal chain-link fencing. It looked every bit the prison camp Rick knew it was intended to be.
Lieutenant Turner stopped at the guarded entrance. A baby-faced soldier with a black MP wrap on his bicep stood on the other side of the fence. He dispassionately asked the officer a few questions about their guests and then unlocked the gate. It swung wide and the escorts pulled Rick and Kenny back to make room, then ushered them into the camp.
“Holy mother,” Rick breathed when they passed through the narrow entry. His eyes widened at the third-world conditions surrounding him. What wasn’t evident from outside the fencing was the scope of the facility and the sheer numbers of people surviving within it.
The facility itself was a series of nondescript, unremarkable buildings. In between those buildings, filling every inch of the ground, were countless numbers of what could only be described as refugees. It had been five days since the CME had knocked out the power and sent the world spinning down the drain. Just five days. The deeper into the camp they walked, the worse it seemed to get.
“How is this possible?” asked Rick aloud. “Why is this place…”
The soldier next to him chuckled. “Such a piece of sh—”
“Hey,” scolded Lieutenant Turner, “we’ve got a kid here. Watch the language.”
“I’ve heard worse,” Kenny quipped, apparently unaffected by the filth and suffering around him.
“Still,” said the lieutenant, “he shouldn’t talk that way.”
“How did it get this way?” Rick asked. “It hasn’t been a week.”
“People are pigs,” one of the soldiers remarked. “They don’t pick up their trash after we give them food. The toilets stopped working on day two. The port-a-potties can only handle so much.”
They turned a corner toward a building closest to the rear of the property. “Day two?” asked Rick. “Why were people coming here on day two?”
The soldiers looked at each other but said nothing. One of them pointed toward the building.
“We’re taking you there,” he said. “We’d normally have processed you up front, but there are issues preventing it.”
“What issues?” asked Kenny.
“The building is also our MASH. A couple of our guys got hurt. They’re getting fixed up.”
“MASH?” Kenny echoed as they stopped at the building’s entrance.
“Mobile Army Surgical Hospital.”
The lieutenant guided them into the dimly lit building and it took a moment for Rick’s eyes to adjust. When they did, he gripped Kenny’s shoulder, signaling his son to stay quiet. He then shook his head to the people sitting in plastic chairs along the wall to his right.
Reggie Buck and his wife, Lana, were sitting next to each other. Her head was resting on his shoulder and her eyes were closed. Reggie’s head was resting against the wall. His mouth was curled into a pronounced frown until he saw Rick. His eyes widened with recognition and he started to say something. He stopped and nodded in Rick’s direction before leaning his head against the wall again.
Candace Bucknell was sitting backward in her chair, her arms folded across its back and her chin planted on her hands. She didn’t notice Rick at first. When she did, she looked away from him, apparently understanding his desire she not acknowledge him.
The only one he didn’t see was Mumphrey. The man he’d come to save wasn’t there. Rick walked past the group to the end of the room. The soldiers stopped him at a desk and requested his personal information: full name, hometown, age, height, weight, and general health questions. There was a uniformed woman sitting behind a desk stacked with paperwork.
“Why do you need this stuff?” he protested. “I just want some water and some food. We’re only passing through.”
The soldiers exchanged glances. Lieutenant Turner dismissed the others and turned to the woman. “We’ve got a couple more visitors we need you to process,” he said. “Can you take them now, or do they need to wait?”
She looked at Rick and Kenny; then her eyes shifted to the trio sitting along the wall. She offered a flat smile to the lieutenant. “I can take them now. Those people are on a hold. There’s another one in the interro—”
“Go ahead, then,” the lieutenant interrupted loudly. “Take them now.”
Rick smiled at the woman. “We don’t need to go through all of this. We’re only here for some food and water. We’d be willing to work for it. Anything. We could even dig ditches.”
“Everyone gets processed,” said the lieutenant. “And I don’t know if I made this clear before, but there is no passing through. Once you’re here, you’re here. It’s for your own safety.”
“We’re here forever?” asked Rick. “That doesn’t seem right.”
“You’re here until you leave in a pine box,” said the lieutenant. He nodded at the woman behind the desk and marched out of the building into the sunlight.
Rick looked around. There were no soldiers in the main room of the building. It was just the trio along the wall, the woman behind the desk, Kenny, and him. The woman motioned to a chair opposite her. He pulled it out and sat down.
She was looking down at the paperwork in front of her, her pen poised above the top of the page. “I’ll need a name. Spell it for me.”
Rick leaned on the desk. It creaked against the floor, sliding away from him as he put his weight on the edge. “Is there someone being interrogated?” he asked softly. He motioned toward a door to his right.
The woman looked up from the paper. Her eyes darted to the door and back to Rick. “I shouldn’t say. Could you give me your name?”
The woman’s eye twitched. Rick glanced at the name embroidered on her uniform. “C’mon, Miss Cooper,” he said. “I’m not going to tell anyone. It’s just you and me here.”
“It’s Private First Class Cooper,” she corrected him. “And I can’t.”
Rick winked and glanced at the sidearm on her right hip. “First class is right,” he said. “But you already know that. I’m sure you stay just as busy fighting off men as you do filling out paperwork.”
“Dad,” whined Kenny, “don’t bother the pretty woman.”
That’s my boy, thought Rick.
PFC Cooper blushed and tried unsuccessfully to suppress a smile. “Your name, please?”
“How many people are in there? Are they waterboarding?”
“No,” she blurted. “He’s just asking the man about…”
“About?”
Her smile disappeared and her eyes narrowed. “Nothing. Please, you’re being difficult. Do I need to call the lieutenant?”
“I’m just trying to make small talk with a pretty woman,” he said. “Arrest me if you must.”
Kenny chuckled. “Gross, Dad. She’s not interested. She’s working.”
&nb
sp; Her sharp features softened again and she rolled her eyes. “Name?”
Rick sighed. “Okay, I give up. It’s Jon.”
Kenny nudged his father. Rick leaned back from the desk and dropped his hands. Out of sight of PFC Cooper, he tapped on Kenny’s leg and pushed gently. Kenny took a couple of steps back.
“John?” she asked. “J-o-h-n?”
“No,” Rick said. “It’s J-o-n, short for Jonathan.”
“So it’s Jonathan?”
“Yes. Need me to spell it?”
She smiled at him. “No, I’ve got it.”
PFC Cooper looked back down to write and Rick stood up, leaning on the desk. His weight pushed it another inch back toward the wall. The soldier stopped writing and pushed her palms against the desk. She easily shoved it away from her body and it screeched on the floor.
Rick apologized and leaned in. “Sorry, I think you spelled it wrong.” He reached across the desk to point at the paper, knocking a stack of papers onto the floor to the soldier’s left.
PFC Cooper stared in disbelief at the mess on the floor, her mouth agape. “Really?” she said, exasperated. “Just sit back down, please, and I’ll—”
When she leaned to her left to pick up the mess, Rick shoved the desk toward the wall, using enough force to pin Cooper against the wall, eliciting a shriek and grunt from the soldier as she struggled against the desk. With her right hip exposed, Rick leapt across the desk and reached for her sidearm.
Cooper blindly flailed, unsuccessfully trying to keep Rick from her weapon. He unsnapped the holster, pulled the nine millimeter in a fluid motion, and rolled off the desk onto his feet. Behind him he could hear the confused shouts from the Bucks and Candace.
With his weight no longer on the desk, Cooper managed to free herself from the space, dropping to the floor on her knees. She gasped for air and grabbed at her ribs, cursing Rick and his mother.
Rick leveled the gun at the injured soldier. “Stay on the ground,” he snapped. “Don’t get up. Hands behind your head.”
“I can’t,” Cooper whimpered. “My ri—”
Rick stepped toward the woman, aiming the gun at her head. “Now!”
