Fall of Houston Series | Book 5 | No Man's Land

by Payne, T. L.

  She had to get some place safe right now. That was what her dad always told her. The longer she hesitated, the more dangerous it would be.

  Maddie stood and blew her nose. She bent over to reach for her pack.

  She froze.

  Maddie's heart dropped. She was stranded in one of the country’s busiest airports in the middle of one of the most populated cities. And she had never felt more alone.

  Maddie turned and put her back to the door. She slid once more to the floor, curling her arms over her head.

  Dad was right.

  Her friends had called her father, Greg Langston, a doomsday prepper—a title that brought Maddie embarrassment. Before he died, her father had taught her and her brother, Zach, survival skills and how to prepare for disasters. She never took it as seriously as she should have.

  “What do I do, Daddy? What do I do?” she cried.

  Her mind raced, searching for answers. Images of her rolling her eyes as her dad lectured her and Zach on what to do in a world-ending scenario brought a new round of guilt and shame.

  “You were right, Daddy. I am so sorry I mocked you. I didn’t listen to you, and now the shit has hit the fan, and I don't know what to do.”

  She curled into a fetal position. Time seemed to stand still in the tiny, cold room. She stared at the shadow cast by her cell phone. Her mind went blank. She slid into a familiar numbness. Sleep had been her comfort, her only solace in the days and weeks after her dad died. She wanted to go there. She let her breathing slow.

  She was shaken back to reality by the sound of the growing chaos outside the bathroom.

  Maddie heard her dad’s voice in her head.

  “Maddison Grace Langston, pay attention. Someday, you might find yourself alone when the shit hits the fan and you will need to know how to survive and get home.”

  She sat up, brushing loose strands of hair from her face.

  The get-home bag her dad had given her containing all the essentials to survive on the road was in her dorm room in Ohio. It would do her no good now. But she had the everyday-carry items with her. Uncle Ryan had picked up where her dad left off in making sure carrying her EDC was a habit. Maddie looked down at the plain, waterproof backpack on the floor next to her. There were times in the last few years when she had resented Ryan for trying to take her dad’s place. At that moment, she was grateful he had.

  Maddie got to her feet and walked over to the sink. She looked in the mirror. Mascara streaked her face, and her hazel eyes were bloodshot. She ran her hand through her long, blonde hair, pulling it into a messy bun on top of her head and securing it with the hair tie from her wrist. She stared at herself in the mirror.

  “You’ve got this, Maddie. You can do it.”

  She pointed to the mirror with her index finger.

  You have to.

  Unzipping her carry-on bag, Maddie was relieved that she had brought her hydration pack on the trip. Knowing she would need to run every day to maintain her current level of endurance, she had thrown it in her bag. Pulling the vest pack from her suitcase and emptying all the pockets and pouches, she quickly inventoried its contents. With the Jelly Belly Sport Beans, sports gels, and energy bars, she had about ten thousand calories with her. Her hydration bladder and water flasks held at least two liters of water. She added the weight up in her head. She would be carrying around ten pounds.

  When running a marathon or endurance race, she didn’t take the hydration bladder or as many energy gels. There was an aid station along the route, and her crew would take position between stations in case she needed a quick pick-me-up. But Maddie had carried that much weight when she did backcountry and trail runs, so she knew she could.

  In a Ziploc bag were two headlamps, extra batteries, a compass, and a multifunction mini tool—all requirements from her last race. From her every-day carry pack, she removed the emergency bivvy bag, her Sawyer MINI water filter, and a LifeStraw personal water filter. Maddie shoved them into the kangaroo pouch of her vest pack, along with a Ziploc bag of socks and thermals. The last thing in was a weatherproof jacket.

  Maddie undressed and pulled on her running tights. After putting on a tank top, she put on a fresh pair of socks and slid on her running shoes. She wished she hadn't chosen to bring the red ones. They would stand out too much, but there was nothing she could do about that now.

  Gathering up the water flasks and bladder, Maddie filled them in the sink. She pushed the bladder into the pouch and placed it in the hydration vest pack.

  Placing her arms through the arm holes of the vest, she adjusted the straps across her chest. Her runner’s pack was a vest-style. It wrapped around her, fitting snugly against her body. She tugged on the cords. It felt secure. After placing the soft flasks in the front pockets, she strapped one squeeze flask to her wrist. Lastly, she pulled on her dad's Marine Corps Marathon headband and adjusted it to cover her ears.

  She looked down at the half-empty suitcase and her clothes strewn about the floor. She picked them up and threw them into the bag. Maddie did not consider herself overly materialistic, but her suitcase contained some of her favorite clothes. It pained her to just leave them there.

  This is crazy. How am I going to run all the way to St. Louis?

  From her Silent Pocket Faraday backpack, Maddie retrieved her earbuds, car keys, and a pack of gum. As she placed them in the right-side pocket, her hands shook so badly that she dropped her car keys on the floor. She was alone in Chicago and the end of civilization as she knew it had occurred—just as her dad had predicted. She was scared shitless and was not afraid to admit it. Maddie shook her head, attempting to fight back the tears that threatened to spill down her face.

  Harden up, Maddie.

  No one was coming to save her. If she was going to make it, she would have to protect herself. She couldn’t afford to let self-doubt and indecision keep her prisoner in the airport.

  St. Louis was about three hundred miles away. The previous week, she had run the New Hampshire 100-mile endurance race in twenty-six hours. So, with needing recovery time between runs, it would take at least a week or more to get home.

  How long will it take if I have to avoid dangerous people?

  She wanted nothing more than to sit back down on the cold tile floor, curl into a ball, and stay there until her mom came to her rescue.

  Mom is not coming, Maddie. Mom is stranded in California.

  She had gone with her mother to San Diego. They had brought her grandmother home from the hospital. Her mother wanted Grand to enjoy her last days at home in her own bed surrounded by the things she loved, including her one-eyed dog, Jack. The sudden realization that her mom might not be able to make it back home to Missouri shook her to her core. She had been so focused on herself that she had not even thought about where her mom and brother were. When she had last received a text message from Zach, he had been coming back from his school field trip to Washington, D.C.

  Maddie placed her hands over her face and rubbed her forehead.

  Where did he say they had stopped?

  Maddie retrieved her cell phone from the floor beside her suitcase, opened her messages app, and clicked on the last message from Zach. He had been in Marshall, Illinois, right before the lights went out.

  Maybe the lights aren't out there?

  Although she was unsure where Marshall, Illinois, was, she doubted it was anywhere near Chicago. His bus had been heading southwest back to St. Louis.

  He will be all right. There were six teachers on the trip. They’ll get him home.

  She checked for cell service one last time before putting her phone in the front pouch of her vest. The light from the phone shined through the mesh fabric. She patted her pockets, adjusted her straps, and pulled the cords tight.

  Time to get going.

  Maddie slowly unlocked and cracked opened the door. The scene out in the corridor was even more chaotic than before. She could hear raised voices and crying.

  How long was I in there?


  She checked her watch. It was four o’clock. She had at least two hours before it would be dark. Walking down the terminal toward the main hall, she could see that most of the activity centered on the restaurant area of the concourse. People were fighting over what was left of the food.

  She needed a map. She had seen a place that sold books and newspapers when she’d gotten coffee earlier.

  They should have maps. There are tourists here, right?

  Maddie raced around a corner and saw a floor to ceiling mural of the city of Chicago. It wouldn't replace a paper map that she could take with her, but it would give her a direction to head out in at least. Not knowing the scale of the map, she made a fist and stuck up her thumb, using it as a ruler to calculate distance.

  “Which way are you heading?” a man asked.

  The voice startled her, causing her to jump. She twirled around to find a man in his mid-thirties. Beside the man stood a woman, maybe a little younger than him, and a girl of about ten years old.

  “Um— I— South,” Maddie stammered.

  She chastised herself. She had just given out critical information to a stranger. She could hear her father scold her.

  OPSEC, Maddie, her dad would say.

  Operational security meant keeping your big trap shut about what you have and where you plan to go. She was sucking at this already. She looked at her feet.

  “Your dad serve?” the man asked, pointing to Maddie’s Marine Corps buff.

  “He did. Did you?” she asked, pointing to the U.S. Army National Guard Minute Man logo on his hat.

  “I did.”

  “Two tours in Iraq and four in Afghanistan,” the woman added.

  “Yeah, my dad spent a lot of time in those places too.”

  “Is he with you?” the man asked.

  Maddie looked away and swallowed hard, resolved to fight back the tears. She would give anything to have her dad with her right now.

  “I’m Rob Andrews, by the way, and this is my wife April and our daughter Emma.”

  Emma gave a timid wave as April stepped forward and extended her hand. Maddie shook it and said, “I’m Maddie Langston.”

  “Look, it is getting bad in here. It’s going to get worse in the city very soon. We're not going to wait around for the lights to come back on. We’re getting out of here, and it looks like you have the same idea,” Rob said.

  “Um… Yeah. I mean, I was thinking about it. With the airplanes crashing, I was trying to decide how to leave to avoid the runways. I need to head toward Interstate 55, but that is southwest, and it looks like most of the runways are in that direction.”

  “You could go due south and then cut over, say, around here.” Rob pointed to 143rd Street on the map mural.

  “I wish I had a map to take with me, in case I have to adjust course quickly.”

  “I have a map. We're heading south too. We live about fifty miles from here. You're welcome to join us until you need to head west.”

  “I don’t know if I should.”

  “You shouldn’t be out on the streets alone. It’s not safe on a regular day, but now with the power being out…”

  Maddie was leery of leaving the airport with strangers, but he was right. It wasn’t safe to go alone. Safety in numbers, as her dad would say.

  She looked the man over. He had been in the military like her dad. He had his wife and daughter with him.

  It should be all right, right?

  “Okay. When do you want to leave?”

  Chapter 2

  San Diego, California

  Day of Event

  Beth’s drive back to her mother’s house after dropping off her eighteen-year-old daughter at the San Diego airport was difficult. The doctor had put her mother on hospice care just days before. She hadn’t had time to adjust to the news that her mother would not recover from cancer this time.

  Beth’s mother, Florence, had beaten breast cancer twice. The third time, it was in her bones. Her mother was sixty-eight and had led a full, vibrant, active life before this most recent diagnosis.

  The traffic was heavy—heavier than Beth remembered from when she had lived there before marrying her first husband, Greg Langston. But that was ages ago. She had lived all over since then, settling in Missouri. When Greg left the Marines and took the job in St. Louis, Beth had been thrilled.

  For the first time in their marriage, they had been able to settle in the place of their choosing. To be honest, though, St. Louis hadn’t been her first choice. She could think of much nicer places to live, but Greg had received a great job offer from a military defense contractor. The job allowed him to be home with Beth and their children, Maddie and Zach.

  Beth pulled the car into the third bay of her parents’ three-car garage. She unloaded the groceries and placed them on the marble countertop.

  “Beth, is that you?”

  “Yes, Mom, it’s me. Can I bring you some juice? I stopped at Panera Bread and bought you some of the chicken and wild rice soup you like.”

  “Maybe later, dear. I…”

  She was getting weaker and sleeping longer. Beth wasn’t sure if it was because of the cancer or the pain meds. She was incoherent a lot when she was awake. Beth had moved the dining table and china cabinet out of the dining room to set her mother’s hospital bed up there. Her stepfather, Frank, was set up in the den, where he spent most of his time. He had suffered a stroke the year before, leaving his left arm paralyzed.

  Beth finished putting the groceries away and went into the den to check on Frank.

  “Frank, can I get you some soup or a sandwich?”

  He didn’t answer, so she said it louder. The television was blaring, so she had to yell to be heard over the commentator’s gloomy newscast.

  “Frank,” she yelled.

  “What? Why are you yelling at me?” Frank asked, glowering over his shoulder.

  He turned back to stare at the television before she could finish her sentence. She rolled her eyes and went back to the kitchen.

  “I’ll just make him a tray, and if he’s hungry, he’ll eat it,” she said out loud, exasperated.

  “What did you say?” Frank called from the den.

  Beth shook her head and pulled a bowl from the cabinet next to the sink. She made Frank a tray and set it on the coffee table in front of him.

  “You're blocking the television,” Frank barked, craning his neck around her.

  China’s president, Xi Jinping, is said to have facilitated the talks between North Korean leader Kim Jong Un and the United States. U.S. State Department spokesman, Robin Payton, said Monday that the president had rejected calls from China, Russia, and North Korea to lift sanctions imposed on the isolated state. The U.S. remains committed to only doing so when Pyongyang makes further progress toward denuclearization on the Korean Peninsula. Further talks between Chairman Kim and President Rhynard have yet to be scheduled.

  “You can’t trust those damn commie North Koreans. Are they nuts or something? What the hell are we talking to them for anyway,” Frank yelled at the television.

  Beth had never been so tired of listening to the news in her life.

  Why in the world did they invent twenty-four-hour news stations, anyway? All they do is repeat the same bad news over and over.

  Sandy, the hospice nurse, arrived shortly after one o’clock that afternoon. She took Florence’s vitals and adjusted her morphine pump.

  “She is sleeping most of the time now. Is it from the meds?” Beth asked as she walked Sandy to her car.

  “Her urine output has decreased again. I increased her fluids, but I think her kidneys are shutting down.”

  The nurse put a hand on Beth's shoulder. Her eyes were full of sympathy.

  “It is just a matter of days now—maybe three or four. If you have family to call in, I’d say now would be the time. She will likely slip into a coma in a day or two.”

  Beth inhaled and held it. She had known those words were coming. She had felt it in h
er heart, and she’d thought she was prepared for it. Beth thanked Sandy and walked back into the house. All she wanted to do was go upstairs to her room, crawl into bed, and pull up the covers. That was what she had done after her husband, Greg had died. She had shut down. Sleep was her only comfort. She didn’t have the luxury of retreat today, however. She had ill parents and a lazy, one-eyed dog to care for.

  Jack slept in the bed with Beth’s mother. He rarely left her side. She stroked the dog’s head as she stared down at her mom. He lifted his head, shifted position, then put his head on Florence’s leg. Feeling sorry for her mother’s furry child, she decided she would reheat the chicken and rice she had made him the day before.

  “Jack, you want some lunch?”

  Jack’s paws hit the wood floor, and a flash of white fur streaked by her feet. Jack loved food.

  “What are we going to do with you, little guy?”

  She hated the thought of taking him to an animal rescue, but her husband, Jason, would never allow her to bring him home with her. They already had a dog he didn’t like.

  As Beth followed Jack into the kitchen, an ear-piercing emergency alert tone came from Frank’s television. Beth’s first thought was the alert was for a wildfire. They hadn't had rain in a while. Beth placed the kitchen towel she held in her hand onto the counter and walked into the den just as the emergency alert message began to scroll across the screen.

  We interrupt our programming. This is a national emergency. The Department of Homeland Security has issued a national emergency alert. Residents are asked to shelter in place until further notice. Stay tuned to this channel for updates. This is not a test.

  Beth heard the alert tone on her cell phone and ran to the kitchen to retrieve it.

  Presidential Alert

  THIS IS NOT A TEST. This is a national emergency. Shelter in place until further notice.

  “What the hell?” Frank said.

  Beth clicked the news app on her phone to check for news about the emergency alert but found none. She opened the Facebook app and scrolled through the messages. She stared down at her phone as her news feed refreshed. A story from a San Diego station informed the city that the nation had been attacked. Beth dropped to her knees, her cell phone skidding across the floor. Crawling over to pick it back up, she leaned against the kitchen cabinets and read the article.