by Ryan Husk
“I-20’s gettin’ backed up!” the young man said. “You folks headed thataway?”
“Yeah. Is it still passable?”
“Maybe so, but we’re headin’ to my dad’s house over on Jefferson Street. He’s got a big ol’ bomb shelter. You folks are welcome to come. Shelter’s huge. Got plenty o’ room. Dad’s a preacher, said we oughtta pick up any people in need along the way.”
“We should go,” Janet said from the back, suddenly very eager.
Edward glanced back at her. “Plenty of room doesn’t mean plenty of food,” he informed her. Looked back at the young man. “Much obliged, but we’re on our way out.”
The thick-jawed young man nodded and spit out a glob of tobacco. “I gotcha. Ya wanna be careful ’bout them gubment vehicles,” he advised. The young man’s language let him know he was definitely dealing with locals. That was good. Locals always knew things. “A lotta them out right now. Some of ’em settin’ up roadblocks, won’t let people pass.”
“What do they look like?”
“Like gubment vehicles,” he said. “Black SUVs an’ shit. Military hummers. Saw a tank on the back of a truck. Some o’ the roads’re bein’ blocked off here an’ there. They’re sendin’ people off to other roads that’re backed up even farther. Other SUVs are rushin’ this way an’ that. Radio said the governor’s done got the hell outta the state!” The thick-jawed young man pointed up. “Seen the Face?”
“Is that what everyone’s calling it?” asked Edward.
The young man nodded ominously. “I heard people bein’ snatched up, too. Gotta be the Rapture, friends. Gotta be. Maybe we all get taken up soon, too, Lord willin’. If not, we got a shitload o’ Tribulation comin’ for us in the next few years.” He said it matter-of-factly. Just as Edward had been planning for nuclear war, this young man and his family devoutly believed this was always coming, only in a biblical sense.
The young man pointed. “What the hell happened to him?” He was referring to Gordon, who was stuffing a cotton ball up his nose.
Edward shrugged it off. “Bit of an accident back there. Be careful of a car wreck back that way with a Sienna minivan and a green Ford Focus. Some crazies tried to force a ride with us.”
“Thanks fer the heads-up.”
“Does this field come out onto a real road that’ll take us to Twenty?” Edward asked.
Another gob of spit. “Yep. ’Bout three miles out from it. Called Jones Mill Road.”
“We appreciate it,” Edward said, and started to drive off.
“We’re at 112 Jefferson Road, if ya change yer mind.” He looked up. “God damn, would ya look at that.” The great, red, lidless eye came peeking out, this time directly above them.
“Oh…my god,” Janet whispered, and buried her eyes in her hands. Atlas licked her ears.
“See y’all later. Jesus saves!”
With that, the two parties parted ways. Edward checked his GPS, figured they were about another two or three minutes before exiting out onto the road. Jones Mill Road would be a shade better than Townsley Drive, but only a shade. He checked his odometer so that he could gauge the three miles the thick-jawed fellow had specified.
“We could’ve gone with them,” Gordon said finally. He stuffed another cotton ball up his nose.
“We’d die.”
“You don’t know that,” Janet said, leaning forward. “You can’t know that for su—”
“We’d die,” he said. “Because the government’s not going to be sending anybody in here to evacuate people for weeks on end. That’s what those roadblocks are about. Anybody holed up without enough food and water is gonna die. If they pop their heads out, they risk breathing in the fallout.”
“How do you know what the government’s thinking?” Gordon challenged.
“Did you hear what that Copenhagen lover said?” Edward asked, checking his odometer and looking for any signs that would direct him to I-20. “Government vehicles. They’re redirecting people. They’re evacuating all the important people. The governor has left the state. The government has initiated COGCON.”
“What’s…?”
“COG. Continuity of Government,” Edward said. “The most important thing for the government right now is to make sure that the POTUS is okay, and if he’s not, locate his next living successor. They’ll be going to COGCON 1 and DEFCON 1. Those are the highest possible alert modes. DEFCON evacuates military leadership, COGCON evacuates civilian leadership. COGCON 1 was established after 9/11, a very specific plan to determine where all government officials ought to go and what protocols are to be observed to preserve the continuity of government. Eisenhower also dreamt up ideas on this ages ago. Hell, the Federal Reserve even had cash stockpiled outside of the country to restart the economy, probably still does.”
“What’s that got to do with government vehicles?” Janet asked.
“Roads,” he said. “They need roads to get the important people out. Mayors, governors, CDC officials who were far enough away from the blast and survived, law enforcement leaders, all that.”
“Already?” Gordon said. “It’s only been an hour.”
“From the second a nuclear weapon’s use was confirmed, which probably only took about two minutes, all o’ this was put into motion. All of these programs I’ve mentioned so far have been drilled to be enacted in less than an hour.” Edward said, moving at a reasonable speed down the road, still checking for signs. He shrugged. “In a way, they’ve all been waiting for this longer than I have.”
The jeep trundled on for a few more seconds of silence while Edward searched around in frustration for any sign of I-20, or a road that would take him there. So far, Jones Mill Road seemed to be interminable.
“What else will happen?” Janet muttered from the back.
He glanced at her in the rearview. Janet was looking at him hopefully, desperately, miserably. Edward kept talking. Anything to take his mind off the Face, part of which loomed in his front view.
“The highest possible alert, DEFCON 1, is put into place. The Pentagon has a Joint Evacuations Program for just such a contingency. The helicopters and jets scramble for classified radiation-proof COG locations, hollowed out mountains and so forth. Martial law may be considered. They’ll enact Operation SCATANA, shutting down America’s airspace just like they did on 9/11. They’ll seal off the country, all ports and harbors shut down, the borders closed. Border patrols and Customs will be checking for how it got into the country. Public transportation is shutting down as we speak.” He looked at Gordon, then back at Janet in the mirror. “We’re not going anywhere that we don’t take ourselves.”
“They won’t just leave us alone like this,” Gordon said, pulling a cotton ball out of his nose and checking the blood saturation. It was very dark, Edward noted. “Not like you’re saying.”
“I was wrong before when I said this was all sinking in with you,” Edward said. Ahead, the road ended at a T-junction. A sign said that if he went left, he’d find I-20 westbound. He turned without slowing or signaling. All the houses here appeared abandoned. Someone’s Labrador was left looking sad and alone on a chain in the front yard. They passed only two cars on the road, both going in the opposite direction. “The government will leave us alone. They have left us alone. It’s what they have to do to survive.”
“Whattaya mean?”
Edward smiled at him. “Cuttin’ people loose, Gord-O. Just like I said before. Preservation of self comes first, then you can worry about everybody else.”
“Not much of a society if all that’s left are the people who just care about themselves.”
“There’s no society at all if there isn’t a sufficient amount of people who care about numero uno first,” Edward countered. He sneered at Gordon. “Don’t get your panties in a wad, Gramps. It’s okay to be selfish. You don’t care about the government, so they’re taking care of themselves. They’re busy doing that, so you, me, Janet, and Atlas back there are taking care of us.”
&n
bsp; “They’ll send help,” Gordon said, but he didn’t sound too convinced. “FEMA and all those types will send people. The government must have resources—”
“Oh, ho-ho-ho, they’ve got resources,” Edward chuckled. “About 155,000 EMTs, 600,000 police officers, 1.6 million active-duty military troops, and 1.1 million reserves. That’s a force, all right. You’re talking one the size of the entire population of St. Louis.” He shook his head ruefully. “But it’s still not enough. There’s nothing that can fix what else is coming.”
“What else is coming?”
“Let’s do the math again,” Edward said. “On any given day, about six million people inhabit Atlanta and its surrounding areas. With that many people rushing in different directions, fleeing to different states, they’ll be seeking permanent residence away from their homes and jobs here in Georgia. Those other states will have to feed them. It will be about like having a house built for four but having five hundred people come for dinner. But then, they stay for breakfast, lunch, and dinner the next day. And they do this for several months. Now maybe, just maybe, some o’ those people find jobs elsewhere—let’s say a hundred of them do—now you’ve still got four hundred people trying to stay at your house and find something to eat, places to work, ways to make money. Where are all those people supposed to go? What are they supposed to eat? What jobs are they gonna find? Where’s FEMA gonna magically produce that much food from?”
He swerved around a tree limb in the road. In the back, Atlas fell out of his seat, and Janet helped him back up.
“And water? What about the water, Gord-O? And the soil? Once the first hard rain comes through, it’ll irradiate the water table in whole regions, the first twenty inches of soil, too. Florida, Alabama and Tennessee won’t be able to trust their water supply for at least a year, and that’s if every other state isn’t being hit by these bombs, too.”
In the passenger seat, Gordon just stared at him. This was more than this old man had ever hoped to contend with, obviously. He tossed his bloody cotton balls into the floor, looked at his hand dejectedly, then looked out the window.
“There’ll be precautionary mass evacuations of New York, Los Angeles, and D.C.,” Edward went on. “Now, where are all those people supposed to go? Even if it is short-term, where are they supposed to go, Gordon? Huh? You got an answer?”
“You’re just goading me now,” the older man said. Gordon turned to look at him. “And you obviously like rambling on about how much you know that others don’t.”
“Gord-O, there’s a fifty-foot crater where Atlanta used to be,” he said, chuckling. “And you could fill it with how much shit I know that you don’t.”
Gordon turned on him, pointed his finger, and started to yell something. That’s when Janet yelled, “Holy shit, look!”
They both turned. Off to their left, about fifty yards away, a group of two dozen cows were grazing across the field. Then, quick as a snake’s tongue, there came a long, black swarm, buzzing loudly out from the sky and snatching up first one, then two, then three of the cows. The cows exploded into red meat and particles. And all around them, the grass and trees turned brown and started smoking, like they were being burned, but there was no flames to be seen.
Janet screamed and covered her eyes. Gordon started panting “Fuck me fuck me fuck me fuck me.” Edward turned the jeep sharply away, pressed the gas pedal to the floor, and pretended he hadn’t seen it.
No. That’s not how this works. It’s not. Bombs? Okay. Terrorists? Fine. But fucking swarms from the sky…
He glanced in his rearview mirror, and saw two more get snatched up. They were pulled into the sky, never to be seen again.
* * *
The pain in his nose was intensifying. Gordon reached up to touch it, winced in agony, and vowed never to do that again. Janet must have seen his pain, because she rummaged around inside Edward’s go-ready bag until she produced a bottle that rattled with pills. Ibuprofen. He looked at the bottle, looked at Edward who nodded that it was okay, then accepted a couple. “I think we all need to acknowledge what just happened,” he said. “And we need to ask ourselves, what the fuck is going on?”
“It’s…it’s like that guy said,” Janet muttered. “It’s, like, the Tribulations…”
“Don’t think about it,” Edward said. “Not until we’re clear. There’s nothing we can do about it so just don’t think about it until we’re clear.”
Gordon shook his head. “No, huh-uh. I’m tired of ignoring shit. What the fuck is going on? And what the fuck is that?” He pointed at the sky. The Face had emerged again from hiding, its blackened cheeks covered by miles-long wisps of cloud, almost like a beard. Its mouth opened wide now, revealing rows upon rows of impossibly huge teeth. “Can it be some kind of illusion? If it’s not, then what the hell is it?”
Edward said nothing. Too focused on the driving. Gordon glanced back at Janet, who had tears in her eyes. She was sniffling. The dog was going from licking her face to staring out the window and growling at the sky.
The jeep turned onto another road, this one made of gravel. “You sure this is the right way?” he asked Edward.
“That guy said it was.”
“That guy might’ve been wrong.”
“Locals know their shit,” Edward said tensely.
Gordon let it go. The pain, both physical and emotional, was too great. He closed his eyes, rubbed his temples. He looked out the window. Tried to fathom the Face leering down at him. And it did seem as though it was looking specifically at him. Not the whole world. Him.
Then, he was flung forward. Reflexively, Gordon’s hands shot out to the dashboard to brace himself. Janet squealed and slammed into the back of his seat. “Jesus Christ, Edward! What the—” He was cut off. Directly ahead was a team of horses moving across the road, without saddles and without riders. They watched as golden mares and brown studs moved like mad. Gordon saw a few in the rearview mirror.
Then came the cattle. At least fifty of them, all of them headed hell-bent for the forest across the road. And then right behind them…
“Jesus,” Gordon whispered.
Deer. Bucks and does and fawns. And a dozen hogs. Someone’s farm had apparently suffered a stampede, and the forest creatures of the world were abandoning ship with them.
“Oh my god,” Janet said, her voice quivering. “Where are they all going?”
“They know what the deal is, I reckon,” Gordon said, checking his nose again. “They can smell fires from a hundred miles away, and sense earthquakes before they happen.”
“Their internal seismometers must be going off the charts,” Edward said. He was patient, but only for so long. Gordon watched him. He let the chunk of the herd pass, then started honking his horn and pushing and prodding his way through. The cattle scared easily, darted in different directions. He pulled off the road a bit, rode half in the ditch for fifty yards, then got back on the road and floored it.
“This is all…” Gordon trailed off, cleared his throat. He felt the beginnings of tears, and sighed a quivering sigh.
Edward gave him a sidelong glance. “You just hold on to that.”
“Wh-what do you mean?”
“You’re going to be in and out of your shock and disbelief. Back and forth, back and forth, like that. What you do is—”
“I don’t need or want any more advice from you.”
“—in any case, you’re getting it. You take a deep breath, counting to five on the inhale. Hold the breath for a count of five, and then exhale for a count of a five.” Edward looked at him. “Do it.” Gordon looked away. “Do it.” They drove in silence for ten seconds. “Do it,” he pressed.
Gordon hated him, but he did it anyway. A slow intake of breath, counting, One, two, three, four, five. He held it, One, two, three, four, five. He let it out. One, two, three, four, five. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again he was calm. Very calm. It turned out Edward wasn’t completely full of shit, after all. The breathing
technique was restorative, and for a moment he almost felt completely normal.
“You can’t control what’s going on around you,” Edward said, “but one thing you can control is your internal gears, clocks, and computer. Breathing controls everything. Breathe right and you can get better control of that tortured landscape inside here.” He tapped his head. “The rest of the world’s going to shit as we speak, so all you can do right now—the only thing you can guarantee—is that you keep your head straight. You start losing it, I’ll cut you loose right here and now.”
“Why don’t you, then?” Gordon challenged. They drove in silence for another ten seconds. “Did you hear me?”
“Yeah, I heard you.”
“So why don’t you answer?”
Edward scoffed. “You take one look at me, and already you think you’ve got me figured out.” He tried the radio again, and then called back to Janet, “Check the side of that ham radio, there’s a red and green bar. Which one’s lit up?”
Janet checked. “The green.”
Edward nodded, satisfied. He looked back to Gordon. “What do you think, that I’m some kind of monster? Eh?”
“You didn’t seem too concerned for us on that highway,” Gordon replied.
“But you’re with me now.”
“It took me putting a gun to your head. That’s all I’m saying.”
“And that’s because if I had taken you on without question, then how could I say no to anybody else that ran up?” he said. “But you’re in my jeep now, and so that’s that. I’m not a monster, Gord-O. I just didn’t want to risk it at the time.”
“But we’re here now.”
“You’re here now,” Edward confirmed with a smile.
“And so, what, we’re a unit?”
