by Jones, K. J.
“Did you make calls to the families? Sully’s?”
Mazy sighed. “No. I’m using my skill set of procrastination.”
“They need to be told.”
“They may have been told, officially. I don’t know. Is that still done?”
“But they need to be told by someone who knew them.”
“Why can’t you?”
Ben stood. “That goes to the highest rank.”
“Oh. You so deserve a punch in the stomach for that.”
He smiled, wanting to kiss her, but no can do in public. “Gotta be some advantages to being a grunt.”
“A grunt, huh?”
A bigger smile. His brown eyes sparkled with her reflection held in them. “Just a grunt, ma’am.”
Normally, in Charleston, such a line of conversation would lead to flirtation, which would lead to affection and intimacy. She stepped away and cleared her throat.
He sighed. “Yeah.” Cleared his throat, too. “Anything else, ma’am?”
“No, that will be all, Gunny. Thank you for your assistance on this matter.”
“Any time, ma’am.”
“Dismissed.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He saluted; she returned it. He walked away; she got a headache. All this pretending and facades, while the world went berserk, wore on her nerves.
Her next mission: To call her stepfather. She prayed he’d answer.
5.
The convoy of buses sped along the winding, broad roads of a deserted international airport. Long-term parking lots stood mostly vacant of vehicles, except for a dirty few. Short-term parking had only official vehicles, no civilian ones. The Philadelphia skyline was visible in the distance, evacuated and emptied.
Airports always had a certain excitement. No matter the suffering for the air travel process, the excitement of going somewhere hit when arriving.
But this arrival did not draw any excitement. Even the pain and suffering of air travel in the Before seemed better than whatever unknown awaited them. Buses filled not with happy travelers but refugees fleeing for their lives, carrying one bag each of their only remaining worldly possessions.
A mighty nation brought low by an invisible culprit, a virus, and now evacuating its first historical national capital, leaving it to the rats and abandoned pets.
The convoy stopped at the curb of Departures. A lot of glass to the building – a whole towering wall of windows in a new, shiny airport. Bus doors opened, the occupants stood and shuffled down the aisle, grabbing their paltry belongings. National Guard awaited for them on the sidewalk. The automatic glass doors stood open behind them.
“Okay, folks,” said a Guardsman through a face mask. “We’ve lost electricity. We need you to go through the open glass doors to security check.”
The Guard wore camouflage coats over their BDUs, leather gloves, and black toboggans. Combined with the COVID face masks, only their eyes showed. Each had an M4.
Everything eerily quiet and still. Each international airport tried to have its own décor theme. This one had attempted at an art exhibition, advertised happily on signs. Big square-shaped white pillars held up a curved, modern-design ceiling. The motif of this airport’s décor seemed to be unnecessary curvature.
The bus driver hurried ahead of them and talked with a man ahead, pointing to the group.
“Good,” said Peter. “He’s helping us out.”
The other guy nodded and gave a thumbs up.
“They’re Air National Guard,” Brandon whispered to the group, having caught sight of their uniforms.
The further away from the standing open doors, the less outerwear the soldiers wore. Their flak jackets with utility vest loops embedded – of an older camo digital design – now visible above their new ZBDUs.
Ticket desks empty and silent. Phebe wondered if her child would ever see airports filled or know anything of what they did.
Air National Guard gave hand signals for the passengers to keep moving. Onward, they marched, barely anyone talking. Even the little kids and babies quiet. The airport felt as if it was some weird tomb.
TSA security ahead.
“Folks,” an Air Guard soldier said. “This is where you drop the weapons. Right here into these containers, drop ‘em all. The scanners will detect anything you got, just like normal, but it is hand scanners due to the power outage.”
“Should we take off our shoes?” a woman asked.
“No, ma’am.” His voice sounded like he chuckled under his mask. “We don’t go that far. But we do know you’re packing firearms, and that cannot go where you are going.”
“Where are we going?” a man asked.
“A FEMA camp out west.”
The group looked at each other in alarm.
“Oh, here we go again,” Peter muttered.
Matt raised his volume, “Sir, do we need our license or ID? Some of us have lost ours in, ya know, what went on.”
A man with a foreign accent, possibly India, said, “I only have a passport.”
“No, sir. There will not be a license check. Or passport. But you will have to give your information on the other end.”
Phebe leaned out to look at the line of people behind her. She caught sight of several colorful passports people had in their hands as if they readied themselves for a normal airport check. She spotted dark, burgundy-covered passports and green. America’s was dark navy. The idea of being in another country when the lockdown occurred, and to now be in this, how terrifying. Knowing even fewer people than the evacuees, how horrendous. Now going to a FEMA camp possibly forever, they may never see their home countries again. She grimaced in sympathy for them. It was hard enough to do this in one’s native nation.
The guys unloaded their weapons and farm tools. Pez looked at his rifle as if he was giving away his child.
“Nice weapon,” a Guardsman patrolling them said.
“Rid. Fast,” Peter said under his breath.
Pez dropped it in the crate. The Guardsman bent to look at it.
“Blend,” Peter commanded.
Pez moved to the back of the group, the other side from the Guardsman.
Broom and mop sticks. Knives. Shotguns and rifles. It took the group a while to disarm. As soon as the last weapon dropped, they scooted out of the way for the next people to fill in around the sniper’s weapon.
The Guardsman pulled the SASS out and laid it to the side. But no strange looks at Pez. A moment, and it became obvious why. M4s dropped into the bins. The soldiers pulled them out as they came. The civilians had picked them up from the streets. A grenade launcher dropped in.
“Really?” the Guardsman said to the man.
The man shrugged with a “what’re ya go do, ya know?” arm gesture.
Military radios dropped in. Handguns of every kind along with civilian hunting rifles and various shotguns. They were a well-armed crowd.
“Absolutely everything,” a Guardsman announced. “You got any grenades, everybody gonna be cursing you if that plane blows up cos of you. Knives. Whatever you got, in the crates.”
The group moved towards the awaiting familiar x-ray machines. A Guardswoman stepped up with a hand scanner. “Arms up.”
Pez beeped. The woman brought up the plastic bowl for him to put whatever the metal object was into it.
“Fuck,” Pez growled under his breath. He pulled off his dog tags.
Behind him, Chris, Brandon, and Matt gave Peter a panicked look. They all wore dog tags. Not something anyone remembered to take off since they hadn’t changed clothes in days. Now it was too late to remove and discard them. Tags were not normal things civilians would pick up from the streets.
The Air National Guardsman who had taken the sniper rifle out of the bin now came forward. He took the dog tags out of the bowl and looked at them. “Sir.”
Pez whispered to Peter, “Go without me. Get them outta here.”
“A word, sir.”
They didn’t go too far
away.
“Are you going AWOL?” The soldier held up the tags.
“From the National Guard, no.”
The man looked at the dog tags again. “How about from the Marine Corps?”
Pez sighed and crossed his arms. “Brother, I am Zoner.”
“Everyone here is.”
“No. A long-timer. Those people with me are even longer. Wilmington, North Carolina.”
“You don’t say?” He looked over at the group.
“We just went through hell.” Pez stepped closer to the man. “I was left behind in the Atlanta outbreak. Got scooped up and sent to Fort Jackson. Then escaped as the Zs attacked and brought down the walls. The base was nuked. We been trying to get to our families is all.”
“Nuked? Fort Jackson was nuked?”
“Yeah. Only a handful of survivors got out in time. But I have a great future with cancer. Probably sterile now too. I’m just wanting to see my mom in Boston now. My wife’s pregnant.” Pez pointed to Phebe and winked.
She nodded. Peter shoved his left hand in his pocket to hide his wedding band.
“Boston? The plane you’re heading to isn’t going anywhere near there. Hey, are you the people who helped at the bus attack?”
“Yes, we are.”
The man sighed, seemed to think. After a moment, he signaled for the group to wait. They stood out of the line.
6.
“I’m supposed to call them,” said Eric.
“That’s from Ben?” Mullen asked.
“Yeah. He’s CC’d Mazy into it. I’m capturing her email address.”
“Her family’s in Texas.” Mullen read over his shoulder.
“Yeah.” Eric opened another window and typed.
“What are you doing?”
“Trying to find a place to meet them in New Mexico.”
“Why not where we’re going?”
“Bring them right into a battle zone?”
“Oh. Yeah. Not good.”
“I need to find a safe place.”
“Yeah.” Mullen watched the screen. “That doesn’t seem likely. Look at the riots and lawlessness.”
“They do not have food shipments. Shit.”
“Why not?”
“Do I know, Mul?”
“Why don’t you? Thought you could find out anything.”
“If I had the time to properly search the Internet, I could. But they’ll be hollering at us to get back to doing something stupid any minute.”
“I’m actually feeling soreness in my muscles.”
“You’re bulking up.”
“So are you.”
“Cool.” Eric smiled. “So, time for some Internet calling.”
“Will this system allow it?”
“If not, I’ll make it allow me to. I gotta contact her father. Get this ball rolling. I wish we had cell phones.”
“At least the cell towers are still working.”
“They most likely will as long as the electricity stays on.”
“I hate life without electricity, dude.”
7.
The group was escorted by a different Air National Guard soldier through the labyrinth of Employee Only corridors. They exited into the night. Military helicopters lined up on the tarmac and camouflaged military planes beyond them.
The soldier signaled for them to stop and stay. He went forward and talked with a man in pilot coveralls. After a lot of pointing to them, the pilot nodded. The soldier waved them over.
“You luck out,” he said to them. “He’s going to Massachusetts and he’s got weight space. He needs to rendezvous with a train for a pass-off. He was supposed to transport munitions but the shipment is delayed. The Huey’s fueled up for the weight, about the same weight as all of you. You will have to sit on crates. But he has to go within the next two minutes to get to the pass-off rendezvous.”
“We’re ready,” said Pez. “Thank you. We really appreciate this. Especially my pregnant wife and I.”
The others looked confused, especially the boys, not having caught it earlier.
“Congratulations,” the soldier said. “And good luck. Thanks for the combat tips.”
“Any time.”
They quickly got onto the helicopter. The copilot told them where to sit, mostly between creates. The Huey had gunners behind machine guns in their Zoned adaptations.
Once all the cargo and the people were in and situated, the engine on and rotors turned. Phebe grasped Tyler’s and Peter’s hands. She smiled. They were leaving the Zone.
Providing the helicopter wasn’t hit with an RPG or struck by lightning or anything else that could go wrong. Peter’s scowl told her to not get happy yet and jinx this.
Pez took deep breaths, feeling traumatized by the last helicopter experience, in which he lost Darsi.
8.
Another call came in while Mazy spoke to her daddy. She smiled as he achieved the switch over between calls properly. It had been a work in progress. She waited. Someone got behind her to wait for the phone usage. She ignored him.
“Maze,” her daddy said. “It’s your friend. We made contact. But where do we meet up?”
She turned around to the guy waiting. “Do you know anyone from New Mexico?”
“Yes, ma’am, I do.”
“Beautiful. Is there any safe town not going crazy?”
“They’re being hit with gangs and criminal banditos, I hear, ma’am.”
“Yeah, yeah. Is there any place that isn’t?”
“My buddy from there told his family to go to the Gila Cliff Dwellings. Banditos aren’t interested in those places.”
“Cliff Dwellings?”
“Yeah, that’s how come I remembered it. Ancient Pueblo places. But it’s hard living. Desert.”
“Santa Fe and all that is gone?”
“Food riots and stuff, ma’am.”
“Damn it.” Into the phone, “Daddy, you need to find a place called the Cliff Dwellings. They’re Pueblo. Real old.”
“Gila,” the guy behind her said.
“Gila Cliff Dwellings, Daddy. Tell Eric for them to meet you there. But you gotta supply up. It’s rough. In the desert. But safe. No riots or, um …” She glanced at the guy. “Banditos.” The word felt funny to say as if they lived in the Wild West.
“Gas prices going through the roof, baby,” her daddy responded. “Gas stations going dry all over the place. I can’t bring all these folks into no desert. Your mama and sister and all?”
“Shit. Um. Does Eric have any ideas? He’s really smart.”
“Let me click back to him. Hold on. Let’s see if I can do this again.”
“I’m sorry,” she said to the helpful guy behind her.
“No worries, ma’am. This is family emergency,” he said as if it was a defined category. “You take the time you need.”
After an excruciatingly long wait, her daddy came back. “He got a place. Not in the desert. Hopefully, it’ll all be good.”
“Don’t be afraid to siphon gas from other cars. Do what you gotta do, Daddy.”
“Oh, Lord.”
“Use the young nephews for anything you need to. Don’t push yourself.”
“I hear ya.”
“I love you, Daddy. All y’all.”
“We love you, baby girl.”
Mazy felt like weeping after hanging up and releasing the line. So powerless. Her duty required her to return to POTUS. A visit to the bathroom to splash cold water on her face and get her emotions under control, she then headed to the elevator for her scan to allow her to the Presidential floor.
9.
As soon as the helicopter door slid open and the crew chief got out, the group dropped down to the ground one by one. They scurried out of the way for soldiers to haul the crates out. A train awaited nearby. Heavily armed soldiers stood around, guarding. An armored Humvee slope back awaited near the train’s engine car. An Apache on the ground, as if waiting too.
Looking around, they were at a train de
pot with nothing around at night. But it had lights. Electricity as normal.
“I have no idea where we are,” said Peter. “Hey, brother,” he called to a soldier. “Where are we?”
Phebe needed to pop-a-squat. Peter tended to the task of finding out where they were as the others gathered around her, facing outward, to protect her.
Peter returned. “We gotta do a little more walking. There’s a town right over there. I gotta find a phone to get us a ride. Are there pay phones anymore?”
Chapter Three
1.
Why they objected so much to the President’s measures, Mazy may never understand. He was trying to save lives. Whereas tons of people wanted to focus elsewhere. She caught there were a lot of people who wanted to concentrate on that which mattered in the Before, like the economy. This was on top of those who wanted an all-out war on the zoms and believed by wiping them out would wipe out the virus. The SecDef was all about war and constantly agitated POTUS to renew these efforts.
The SecDef and his allies’ efforts alienated the military, she knew, but much of the Joint Chiefs of Staff did not seem to understand how badly. They seemed too far removed from boots on the ground to get their heads around things. JCS was purely advisory capacity to the President. They had no command authority over the United States Armed Forces. This command lay in the hands of the civilian government, the SecDef and primarily the POTUS, who were now at sharp odds with each other. At least JCS was leaning towards the new POTUS.
The SEAL sailor bodyguards clued her in during a meal break in a room off of the acting Oval Office. The lieutenant and warrant officer believed a coup was in place to take the presidency. The highly suspicious ‘falling down stairs’ death of the former acting POTUS, the Speaker of the House, was something bigger than any hatred specifically at her. The next person in the line of succession had a heart attack and dropped dead at his desk, also suspicious. An investigation ensued into both deaths, but who to trust? The CIA lurked around, and they were known for causing whole nations to go to war.
The person after the Secretary of State – current acting POTUS – was the Secretary of the Treasury, who was about a thousand years old. Easy to give a heart attack too if she didn’t have one on her own. The next one in the line of succession was none other than the SecDef.