by Lopez, Rob
“It was on the evening news.”
“See? I could have checked that.”
“There wasn’t a lot of information. Just telling people to look out for some great northern lights.”
“It’s not just that,” sighed Lauren. “I just feel like I’ve had my head up my ass for months now. Well, years actually.”
“You’re thinking about your kids, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, it’s kind of an obsession.”
“Tell me about it. Before I had Daniel, I never gave a crap about anything. Afterwards, it’s all I can think of. Guys get it easy.”
Lauren thought about Rick, and the resentment that had been slowly building inside her. It was what propelled her into a career she didn’t want. “Maybe,” she said.
If she’d been open about it instead of bottling it up, she wondered if it would have made any difference. She didn’t know. As a loyal army wife, that was a conversation she’d never wanted to have. Divorce rates had rocketed since 2001 in Rick’s unit alone, and Lauren didn’t want to add to that statistic, but with Rick being away so often, the burden and guilt of raising the kids alone had put a strain on the marriage that remained unspoken. She felt angry at the increasing distance between them, angry that he was resisting retirement, and angry that she hadn’t made her case more forcefully for him to quit.
She also felt guilty at the times she wished he could sustain an injury that would bring him home – a dreadful secret she hated to admit even to herself.
It was such a mess, and now she was here, he was there, and everyone was nowhere. One premonition, one spoken word, and everything might be different now.
Or it might not, and she was wasting her time with stupid fantasies. She knew the risks when she married Rick – knew that he’d be deployed overseas countless times as the War On Terror intensified. All the military wives knew it, and she couldn’t kid herself that she didn’t. As a reservist, she knew she could have been called up for deployment herself, but still she chose to raise a family. April was right – this was no time to play the victim.
*
All roads lead to Rome, it was said. In this case, they led to Washington DC. Lauren was alerted to the fact when she heard the distant drone of engines, and saw light aircraft in a holding pattern. I-95 had reached the Beltway, and the highway was being used as a landing strip. One by one, the light aircraft landed. A few boxes of supplies were unloaded and the planes took off again, heading back over the capital and toward the navy yards by the Potomac River. Soldiers posted along the tollway waved the refugees on, directing them to the exit ramps.
Lauren, suspicious about where they were being directed to, climbed the wooded embankment at the side of the tollway. From there she looked out upon a patchwork of fields hemmed in by the suburbs and gasped.
It was like an aerial view of a rock festival, only without the bands. Refugees teemed in the fields, with more lined up to join them. A few tents had been set up, but most people were out in the open. FEMA flags flapped in the breeze. Soldiers strung fences up and dug latrines. Officials in high visibility vests carried boxes down from the planes, escorted by armed police.
“Holy crap,” said April after struggling to get the stroller up the bank.
“Yeah,” agreed Lauren. After all the chaos on the road, it was pleasing to at last see some sign of organization. “I think you’ll be okay here.”
“Say what?”
“You wanted a safe place. And let’s be honest, you were never going to make it to the mountains.”
April looked at her in disbelief. “You’re saying you want to split, now?”
“That’s not what I’m saying.”
“Then what are you saying?”
Lauren turned to her, surprised by the sudden hostility. “You said you had nowhere to go. They’re distributing food down there, and... well, they’ll be setting up shelters soon, I’m sure.”
April took a good look out at the fields. “It’s a concentration camp,” she said.
Lauren, taken aback, replied, “I know there’s a lot of conspiracy theories about FEMA, but you don’t seriously believe them, do you?”
It was April’s turn to be surprised. “No. Take a good look. You see how many people there are down there? Look at the lines. They’re backing up right through the suburbs, and you know there’s plenty more behind us still coming from Baltimore. You think a few little planes can keep all them people fed? How many of them are ill? What about medical supplies? Water treatment? Cholera, dysentery and all the other stuff they can get? That there is a humanitarian disaster waiting to happen.”
“I know it looks bad, but...”
“Bad? It’s a total mess. What the hell makes you think I’m going to take my boy down there? It’s no better than what I just left.”
“It’s your boy I’m thinking of. The journey south’s going to be hard. I can’t give a guarantee that we’ll be better off than those people down there.”
“I don’t need no guarantee,” said April haughtily. “Let me ask you one question. Would you take your two children down into that camp, knowing it could be the last place you end up?”
Lauren hesitated. “I don’t know.”
“Take a good hard look, Lauren. They’re searching people at the gate, making them hand over their weapons. They’re looking through their bags and taking their food. Oh sure, they’re going to tell you it’s for fair distribution, and that you’re going to be looked after. That’s what they told them folks at the Superdome during Hurricane Katrina, and look what happened. Rapes and murders, that’s what happened. You going to feel safe as a lone woman sleeping there at night with no lights? You think your kids are going to feel safe?”
“Okay,” exclaimed Lauren. “I get the point, and I don’t have any answers, all right? I’m tired, and I was just thinking it could be a good place for you. It was just the first thing that entered my head.”
April gave her a hard look. “You were thinking you’d be better off without me, that I wouldn’t be a burden for you.”
“That’s not what I was thinking!”
“Sure you were.”
Lauren clamped her jaw. She was confused by her thoughts, dismayed by the picture April was painting and angry at being accused. The dramatic change in the tone of their relationship was a shock to her, and she hadn’t seen it coming.
Like so many things.
“You go where you want now,” said April. “Me and my boy are heading west. Good luck.”
“Wait,” said Lauren.
“Ain’t waiting for nothing. I see how things are, now.”
“Goddammit, you’re reading me wrong.”
“I don’t think so.”
“April, listen to me! I made a mistake, okay? Cut me a break here. Are you going to go off on your own because of some stupid argument?”
April paused, studying Lauren as if wondering whether to give her the benefit of the doubt.
“You’re tired,” continued Lauren, “and we’re both stressed. If we’re going to survive, then we’re going to have to be able to disagree on stuff without hitting the nuclear option every time.”
April softened. “There’s people down there looking at us,” she said with a sideways glance.
Lauren didn’t bother checking if it was true. “Good. Gives them something to occupy their time.”
“So what do we do now?”
“I don’t know, let’s just get the hell out of here.”
29
They buried Corporal Walter E. Stimson at sea. There were no flags available to honor a fallen comrade, nor a casket and bugler. Only the respect and care of fellow comrades-in-arms. Scott tucked Walt’s stiffening arms into the armored vest. Rick tied Walt’s boot laces together. As Kowalski held the plane low over the sea, its shimmering shadow surfing across the waves, Rick and Scott opened the cabin door and held it against the slipstream as they slid Walt’s body out. As soon as the weight was gone, Kowalski pulled the p
lane into a gentle climb while the door was secured.
Rick sat back in his seat, staring down at the collection of dog tags in his hand – Walt’s, Flynn’s, Leroy’s and Jamie’s. Four soldiers lying scattered across foreign climes, never to return home. Rick held the tags tight in his fist, determined to get these at least back to U.S. soil.
Kowalski leveled out at five thousand feet in a cloudless sky, the compass swiveling as he altered course. The land mass of Cyprus lay under the left wing, but he continued onward. The air speed indicator, altimeter and attitude indicators worked fine, the needles quivering in the engine’s vibration, but the gas and oil gauges were dead. It was imperative they get over land again. Kowalski flew for an hour before the Turkish mountains appeared on the horizon. By then, Rick was asleep, the vibrations combined with his own weariness putting him out like a light.
He woke as Kowalski drifted the Cessna down over a highway that ran through some hills. The highway looked modern and pristine, with only two vehicles sitting on it. Side-slipping to avoid transmission wires on one side of the road, Kowalski appeared determined to land on the cars. Throttling back, he skimmed over their roofs and landed perfectly on the smooth concrete, braking to a swift halt. Switching the engine off, he turned to Rick. “This is where we refuel,” he said.
Rick turned to see Scott was also asleep.
“How long have we been flying?” asked Rick.
“About seven hours,” said Kowalski, massaging his eyes. “We’ve passed over most of west Turkey and crossed the Dardanelles. We’re near the Greek border now, I think. Might even have passed it, I don’t know.”
“You want to make sure one of us is awake next time,” said Rick. “Last thing we need is for you to fall asleep too. This vibration is brain numbing.”
Climbing out of the plane, Rick looked around. Apart from the ticking of the hot engine, everything was silent. Scrub trees covered the hillside, giving way to dusty fields as the road descended into a wide valley. On the far side of the valley, on the hill slopes, white houses were dotted. Rick leaned into the plane and slapped Scott’s leg. “Wake up. We’ve got gas to siphon.”
One of the cars was damaged by fire, and they didn’t get much out of its tank. The other was a beautiful looking Mercedes with automatic transmission and a full tank. Walking back and forth between the car and the plane, they filled up the plane’s wing tanks in relays. Didn’t take long before there was no more to pour in, and they still weren’t full.
“That was what I was afraid of,” said Kowalski. “Without a fuel gauge, I can only estimate the range from full tanks. We’re going to have to stay low over the roads and keep looking for opportunities to fill the cans.”
“Where are we going, exactly?” said Scott. “We can fly across Europe, but this thing won’t make it across the Atlantic. Shouldn’t we be looking for a boat? Or a bigger plane?”
“Won’t get us across the Atlantic,” said Kowalski, “but it will get us across the Arctic.”
“What?” said Rick.
“It’s the northern ferry route for light aircraft. Up through northern Europe, across to Iceland, Greenland, then over to Canada.”
“You sure? Sounds... complicated.”
“My cousin did it. Bought a plane in Stuttgart, Germany, and flew it back to the States. Lots of pilots do it.”
“But you haven’t?”
“Always a first time for everything.”
“I’m liking the idea of a boat better,” said Scott.
“Can you sail?” asked Kowalski.
“I don’t fucking care. This piece of crap ain’t going to make it to Greenland.”
Rick looked the plane over. “He does have a point. It’s looking kind of beat up.”
“The engine works and it’s got wings,” said Kowalski. “That’s all I need. Do you want to go home or not?”
Rick and Scott exchanged a glance.
“I want to go home,” explained Scott, “and I don’t want to die in some shit-ass plane.”
Rick had his doubts, but this was neither the time nor the place. “Get us as far as you can,” he said to Kowalski.
Scott rolled his eyes. “We’re going to end up on an ice floe. If we do, I swear I’m going to feed you to the polar bears myself.”
Kowalski looked at them both in their T-shirts. “Yeah, we’re going to have to get you guys some warmer clothing.”
*
Josh went shopping with Grandma and Lizzy. It wasn’t a normal shopping excursion. Crossing the bridge over the highway, they entered the commercial district around Central Avenue and found migrating refugees and scavengers instead of shoppers. Driven by a desperation to keep things normal, Grandma led the children by the hand to her favorite store, the Home Market.
It had been gutted. A sign pasted to the wall apologized to its customers, saying there was no stock left. That hadn’t stopped people smashing the entrance in and ransacking the empty shelves. The dollar store next door suffered the same fate. Pulling the children along, Grandma limped awkwardly but resolutely down the avenue, past boarded up restaurants and shattered glass.
Josh resented being made to hold Grandma’s hand. She hadn’t permitted him to bring his nine iron for fear of being stopped by the police, but there wasn’t a cop in sight. He could have carried a rocket launcher and no one would have given a damn. Refugees, pulling or pushing anything with wheels, headed east, away from the blackened towers of the uptown financial center standing like bleak monoliths against a persistently blue sky. Beyond the towers, a distant plume of white smoke rose high, spreading and dispersing to form the only cloud in the heavens.
“Lady, what are you doing?” said a baggage laden passerby as Grandma pushed against the tide on the sidewalk. “The nuclear power station’s blown. You’re going the wrong way.”
Grandma ignored him, heading down a side street to another pillaged store. In the parking lot, two men and a woman fought over a plastic bottle of soda until it dropped to the floor and cracked open, the contents hissing out onto the concrete. The woman immediately dropped down to lick at the puddle, joined by one of the men. The other man snatched up the remnants of the bottle and ran.
Switching direction, Grandma tried the 7-Eleven, but to no avail. Every store was empty.
Opposite the 7-Eleven was the Army Reserve center, with a small parking lot of Humvees. Upgraded to turbo electronic ignition, they were as useless as every other modern vehicle. Whatever staff manned the center had gone – if they’d even been able to turn up for work. Every semblance of authority had vanished, and the displaced citizens of Charlotte streamed by, keen to distance themselves from the small but ominous radioactive cloud behind them.
Visibly agitated and struggling with her arthritis, Grandma returned home to witness the signs of folk on her street packing their belongings and preparing for an exodus. Elena Seinfeld was waiting for her.
“Where have you been? You missed a street meeting. People are getting out. The chairman says the army have opened a camp on the east side of the Rocky River and we should all try to get there. They’ve organized food distribution and medical facilities.”
Grandma entered the kitchen and sat down heavily at the bare dining table.
“Did you hear me, Daisy? We have to go. Come with us.”
Grandma rubbed her head and stared at the strands of white hair she’d pulled out.
Elena leaned over the table. “Please, Daisy. They say things are going to get worse. You can’t keep the children here.”
“I’m waiting for my daughter,” said Grandma in a hollow voice.
“Leave a note for her. Tell her where we’re going. Please.”
“This is my home. Harold’s here.”
Elena took a deep breath and put her hand on Grandma’s arm. “I understand how you feel, but Harold’s gone and he wouldn’t want you to just give up like this. It’s not safe here. Not anymore.”
“Get your hands off me,” snapped Grandma.
“Daisy...”
“This is my home! If you want to quit and run, go. And take your worthless husband with you.”
Elena straightened up, mortified. Struggling to breathe for a moment, she opened her mouth, closed it again, and then, with a final indignant flourish, turned on her heel and left.
Grandma shut her eyes, her face graying over. Putting her head in her hands, she started to sob.
Josh and Lizzy watched the tragic transformation of the doting, angelic figure in their lives. Maker of cookies. Dispenser of gifts. Fussing carer. Now all too human and helpless. Lizzy crept forward to touch her fingers, stroking the back of her hand, and Grandma pulled her into an embrace.
Josh felt awkward. “I’ll go and fetch water,” he said.
He got no reply. Hesitating for a moment, he turned, grabbed the nine iron and bucket, and ran out of the front door.
The trees on the sidewalks flashed by, his passage a grim vortex of images as serious, defeated faces looked at him. His heart heavy with guilt, his mind thought of only one thing: seeing Skye again. Fearful that she was leaving too, he pushed himself, recalling his nightmare run to the hospital. Pieces of his world were breaking away and he was frightened he was going to be left with nothing. Racing to the creek, he skidded to a halt among the trees, looking around. A solitary, dark figure sat crouched on the other side of the creek, and a pale face looked up, shining a shaft of light into his darkness.
“Hi,” he said breathlessly.
Skye blinked, as if rising from a deep sleep. Focusing her eyes, she gave Josh a quizzical look. “Hi,” she said.
Josh’s heart sank, thinking she didn’t recognize him. Euphoria and longing ground inside him like a millstone. “I, uh, came for more water,” he said. “Remember me?”
Skye gazed at him for a while, her face impassive. “Sure.”
Chest heaving, Josh gazed back. “I thought you might be gone,” he murmured. “With the others.”
Skye sniffed and wiped her nose. “No. My mom’s sick.”
Josh sucked his lips in. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“That’s okay,” said Skye absently. She cocked her head, as if seeing Josh properly for the first time. “Did you run all the way to see me?”