Things Fall Down

by Keith Taylor

  Off camera a chair scraped back. “Do we have any idea who might be responsible for this attack?”

  “No, not at present. No nation or group has credibly claimed responsibility as yet, though as I said our investigation is ongoing. Chris?”

  “Does the radiation from the explosion on the Nakhorov pose a threat to the people of California?”

  Reynolds consulted his papers. “We don’t believe so, no. At present the fallout from the blast is being carried south west, out to sea, though we’re carefully monitoring weather patterns in the region. Unless the wind direction changes we don’t expect there to be any threat to US citizens. Anton, you have a question?”

  “Thank you, sir. I guess our viewers will just want to know where they’re supposed to go. Where are they supposed to evacuate to? There’s an awful lot of mountain and desert as soon as you move inland. Will evacuees be safe?”

  Reynolds nodded. “This information is being relayed right now on the ground and through the media in the coastal states, but safe zones are being established adjacent to eastbound highways leading from the major cities. They can be found on…” He looked down at his papers. “On routes 8, 10 and 15 out of San Diego and Los Angeles, the 80 out of San Francisco and Sacramento, and the 84 and 90 out of Portland and Seattle. These are the primary safe zones, and secondary zones are being established on inland routes out of the smaller towns and cities. Right now we’re moving enough food, water, shelter and medical supplies to these zones to support those who arrive.”

  He rose his voice above a clamor from the press. “This situation is fast developing, and emergency measures are still being set in motion, but my message to the people of the coastal states is simply to head east. If you follow the highways inland you will reach safety, and you will be taken care of.” He grabbed up his papers. “OK, that’s all I have for now. I’ll be back for a briefing at 1600 hours, and in the meantime any new information will be released on emergency channels. Thank you.”

  The general left the stage to incessant yelling from the crowd and a cacophony of shutter snaps and flashes, and after a moment the feed was replaced once again by the news anchors talking over the backdrop of the satellite image of the explosion.

  “Mommy, I’m scared.” Emily wrapped her arms around Karen’s waist and hugged her as hard as she dared. She was shaking with fear. Karen couldn’t remember the last time her daughter had called her ‘Mommy’. It had been ‘Mom’ for at least a year.

  “It’s OK, pumpkin,” she replied in a soothing voice, stroking her hair. “I’m going to get us somewhere safe, and then we’re gonna meet daddy. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

  Emily nodded, sniffed and pulled away, her eyes wet, and Karen looked down and noticed she’d left a perfect snot and tears sad face on her scrubs. She zipped up her fleece and grabbed the rucksack from the bed. “OK. Doc, are you ready to move?”

  Ramos nodded. “Absolutely. And hand me that bag. You don’t need to be carrying extra weight in your condition.” He took if from her and slung it over his shoulder. “We’ll need to find a car if we’re gonna make it to a safe zone. Or should we look for a bus like the news said?”

  Karen slipped her phone from her pocket and began to tap out a text message to Jack, in the hope that it might find a way through the jammed up network. “Huh? No, we’re not going to the safe zone. It won’t be… well, it won’t be safe.”

  Ramos looked confused. “But the news said—”

  “I know what the news said,” she interrupted, still typing. “Man, the stories I could tell you… Look, we don’t have time to argue. You can head in that direction If you want, but if you want to be safe you should come with us. I can explain on the way.”

  Ramos thought about it for a moment, clearly weighing up whether he should trust that Karen knew what she was doing, but eventually he came to a decision. “I think safety in numbers is the way to go, and right now you guys are the only numbers I have.”

  Karen looked up from her phone and smiled. “I’m glad to hear it, Doc. I don’t want to go it alone either. Now, we need some kind of weapon before we head out there. Does this place have fire axes or pry bars? You know, in those glass cases on the walls?”

  “Axes? No, California hospitals have an exemption from the fire code. You don’t want things like that sitting around where any crazy bastard might grab them. This place is pretty much designed with drug-crazed lunatics in mind. The entire building is basically baby-proofed.”

  Karen frowned. She didn’t want to actually use a weapon if she could help it, but the idea of walking out into the unknown without anything in her hands scared her. She knew from her dad that people could get pretty damned unpredictable in a crisis, and the worst of them preyed on easy targets.

  She scanned around the room, looking for anything that might offer a comforting weight in her hand and a deterrent to anyone who might try something. If she couldn’t get hold of a gun then any sort of club or blade would do the job at a pinch.

  Aha. She lowered herself to a crouch beside the bed to get a closer look at the IV stand, and as she got closer her hopes were confirmed. It could be unscrewed. She steadied the heavy wheeled base with one hand and twisted the four foot long steel tube with the other, clenching her teeth at the fingernails down a chalkboard squealing sound as it turned in the threads.

  The pole finally came away from the base with a sharp yank, and she pulled herself back to her feet and tested its weight in her hands. It felt OK. Not too heavy to carry, but not so light that it wouldn’t leave an unpleasant memory for anyone who took a whack over the head.

  “OK, we’re good. Lemme just send this text and we’ll get on the road.” She grabbed her phone and looked at the words on the glowing screen.

  Where are you? Pls tell me you left Seattle. News says it could be hit by nuke. Me+Em+Doc headed to Anne’s place. Pls call when you can.

  She knew there was nothing more that needed to be said. The message already contained all the important information she needed to get across, but…

  Her fingers hovered over the virtual keyboard. She typed the final two words, then quickly deleted them, then typed them once again.

  Love you.

  She hit send, and a moment later a notification appeared on the shattered screen. Message delivered.

  “OK.” She took Emily by the hand, gripped the steel pipe with the other and nodded to Doctor Ramos. “We need to find a car.”

  ΅

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  FUMES OF THE FUMES

  RENTON MUNICIPAL LOOKED like no airport Jack had ever seen.

  He was accustomed to the high security locked down paranoia of commercial airports, manned by armed guards, monitored by cameras and designed as a series of what amount to airlocks, controlling the flow of passengers and blocking their access to sensitive areas. It came as a shock when the airfield hove into view to discover that it was… well, it was the exact opposite of a commercial airport.

  The only thing separating Renton from the street was a single chain link fence, so low that it could be vaulted by anyone in reasonable shape. At several points along the road the fence itself was broken, and these hadn’t been recent breaks. On closer examination it would be clear from the rusted sheared edges that the fence had been broken for years, and never fixed.

  Even more surprising was the fact that the entrance gate was hanging wide open, the guard booth unattended. If Jack wanted to drive out on the runway and park his cab there was nothing to stop him. He’d seen daycare facilities with tighter security.

  As for the airport itself, he couldn’t make head nor tail of it. It seemed as if there was no central terminal or office. No obvious place for anyone to go, in fact. It was just a mile long runway, and dotted around it were a couple dozen small white hangars that seemed to belong to private companies. It was as disorienting as rolling up to a Major League baseball field and finding that ten feet beyond second base ran a highway.

  “Where the h
ell am I supposed to go?” he asked himself, driving slowly between two of the hangars towards the broad strip of asphalt that ran alongside the runway.

  In the gap between the hangars a small plane suddenly shot by, accelerating down the runway. Jack stepped on the gas, but by the time he emerged from between the buildings the plane was already climbing into the sky.

  He pulled to a stop and looked around, but he couldn’t see any more planes queuing behind it. From end to end the runway was deserted, and a queasy feeling gripped his stomach. What if that had been the last flight? What if he’d wasted twenty minutes searching for an empty airport, burning through the last of his gas and the last of his time? What if he’d find himself stuck here until the flash of a nuclear blast snuffed him out?

  Fear twisted his gut. The fuel gauge on the cab told him that he wasn’t just running on fumes. He was down to the fumes of the fumes, and the airport was in the middle of a sprawling industrial zone that seemed damn near empty, miles from anywhere. If he was going to find another car he’d have to find it here, but he had no idea how much time he had left.

  “OK, don’t panic, Jack,” he muttered to himself, scanning around the airfield. There must be a car he could steal. From the highway he’d seen almost a dozen planes climb from the runway, and the folks flying them sure hadn’t walked to the airfield.

  He spotted a cluster of a half dozen haphazardly parked cars by a hangar on the other side of the runway. With a little luck the drivers hadn’t been all that careful about locking up. If they’d heard a nuke was on the way some of them might have left their keys in the ignition, and Jack could—

  Wait.

  He stood on the brake and rolled down the windows. At the edge of his hearing he’d swear he could hear the now familiar drone of an airplane engine. It was there, maddeningly close, but it seemed to drift in and out on the breeze from all directions.

  There were hangars running up and down both sides of the runway. The sound could be coming from any one of them, but he knew he didn’t have the time to check every last one. If he was at one end of the runway when the plane emerged from the other he knew there’d be no chance of stopping it without driving into its path.

  There was only one thing for it. He stepped on the gas and drove out onto the runway, turning the cab towards the north end. Every plane he’d seen had begun its takeoff run from the north, so he figured his best chance to catch a ride must be to camp out there. While he waited he could search the nearby hangars for a car to steal as a fallback, and if anyone tried to take off he’d play a game of Chicken with them. He’d damn well chase them down and…

  Oh, crap.

  The cab's engine sputtered and coughed. Jack pushed the gas pedal to the floor, but all he got in response was a few seconds of jerky motion before it died completely. The car rolled to a halt just shy of the end of the runway. It was finally out of gas.

  Now the panic redoubled its grip on Jack’s stomach. The sudden silence reminded him that now he really was stranded. If he didn’t find some kind of vehicle in the next few minutes he knew, deep down at gut level, that he’d be caught in the blast when it finally came. He grabbed his phone from the dash and climbed out of the car into the rain.

  The wind was picking up now, and despite the rain the air was warm and sticky. It felt like there was a big storm on the way, pushing in from the ocean, but Jack didn’t have the time to worry about the dark clouds looming on the horizon. He turned up the collar of his jacket and hunched low, blocking his ears from the wind, and he listened.

  There it was. Beyond the soft patter of the rain it was still there. It was quiet, low and idling, but it was definitely an engine. Jack slowly turned, desperate to pick out the source of the sound, but it was still frustratingly unclear.

  It definitely wasn’t coming from the south, and it was definitely nearby, but there was only one hangar at the north end of the runway, and even from here Jack could see that there was no plane inside. Through the wide open doors all he could see in the shadows beyond were boats. Three of them, a small speedboat and a couple of leisure craft with space for about a dozen passengers, each of them loaded on trailer frames.

  Wait. Boats? At an airport?

  He broke into a run, crossing the asphalt and the soft, spongy grass towards the hangar. He’d barely made it halfway before he caught sight of the vinyl sign tied to the hangar wall, whipping back and forth in the wind. He squinted through the rain, struggling to read the faded lettering, and then his eyes widened.

  Lake Washington Leisure Tours

  - Speedboat tours

  - Sightseeing cruises

  - Seaplane tours

  - Skydiving

  Suddenly it all became clear.

  He started to sprint towards the shore.

  ΅

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  ABOVE THE GRIDLOCK

  THE ANCIENT DHC-3 Otter bumped up against the pier beyond the north end of the runway, its pontoons bobbing on the choppy water of the lake.

  The plane looked like it had seen better days. Better decades, in fact. Bare aluminum showed through the peeling gold paint job, and as Jack approached the pier the engine sputtered and coughed, the propeller slowing for a moment before it caught once again. Beside the plane an elderly, bearded man swore to himself as he tossed bags through the door, and Jack slowed to a cautious walk as he reached the deck. The man still hadn’t noticed him.

  “Hello?” The pilot – Jack assumed that’s who he was – didn’t hear him over the sound of the struggling engine. He moved a little closer and raised his voice. “Hello! Hey!”

  Beside the plane the pilot paused, cocking his head, and then turned towards back towards shore. He jumped with shock at the sight of Jack, dropped the bag in his hands back to the deck and fumbled for the holster at his hip. Jack threw up his hands and took a step back.

  “Whoa! It’s OK, I’m not dangerous. I’m not armed.”

  The gun was out now, a silver snub nosed pistol, but the pilot kept it pointed at a spot just in front of where Jack was standing. He didn’t seem to know how to react. “Stay back! What do you want?”

  “I just want a ride out of here!” Jack didn’t like yelling at a man holding a gun, but it was the only way to make himself heard over the engine.

  The pilot waved his free hand dismissively towards the airfield. “We’re closed. You can hitch a ride with one of the others.”

  Jack shook his head and took a careful step forward. “Everybody else is gone! Please! The news says there could be a nuclear attack on the way!” A roll of thunder punctuated his words, as if the angry sky had a sense of dramatic timing.

  At this the pilot lowered his gun a little more, reluctantly. “Yeah… Yeah, that’s what I heard.” He glanced over at the plane, its engine still coughing. “I’m still not taking on passengers. You’ll have to find a car and drive out.”

  “I can pay!” Jack lowered a hand towards his jacket pocket. “I’m reaching for my wallet, OK?” He pulled it out between two fingers, opened it up and pulled out a few bills, careful not to show that he had more. “I can pay you…” He flipped quickly through the money. “$250. Just take me out of the city, wherever you’re going.”

  The pilot hesitated, clearly in two minds, but as soon as Jack saw him begin to shake his head he decided to go for broke. He’d already tried to appeal to his greed. Now he tried for the heart. “I have a daughter in San Francisco. I need to get home to her.” He clasped his hands together. “Please.”

  The pilot gripped his pistol more tightly. For a moment Jack thought he might simply raise the gun and fire, but after a few seconds that seemed to stretch for hours he angrily thrust it back in its holster.

  “God damn it,” he growled, beckoning Jack to the plane. “Alright, get in. You better not make me regret this.”

  Jack let out the breath he’d been holding, and his heart started beating for what felt like the first time in minutes. “Thank you,” he said, rushing down the pier
. “Thank you so much. You’re a lifesaver.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” The pilot snatched the cash from Jack’s hand as he reached him, and nodded down at the two hefty duffel bags still on the pier. “Make yourself useful. Toss these inside, then we’ll get moving.” He turned to the door of the plane and climbed in before turning back to Jack. “Well come on, we don’t have all day.”

  Jack lifted the bags through the door and climbed in after them, bent double in the cramped cabin, then turned around and pulled the door closed.

  “Flip down the locking bar,” came a voice from the cockpit, “then get up here and strap in.”

  Jack pulled down the bar and gave the door a shake to make sure it was secure, then he picked his way through the dozen or so enormous bags that filled the cabin all the way to the two seats up front. When he reached the co-pilot seat he looked over the back, and he was met by a pair of enormous brown eyes and a wet nose.

  “Don’t mind Boomer,” the pilot said, checking his instruments. “She thinks she’s flying this crate. Go on, Boomer, get in the back.” He tapped the chocolate lab on the rump, and the dog leaped over the back of the seat and into the mess of bags behind it. “Come on, strap in. The chop’s too high for a safe takeoff, so we’re in for a bumpy ride.”

  Jack settled in the seat and strapped himself into the four point harness as the pilot throttled up. Once again the engine coughed, threatening to cut out. The pilot swore under his breath, easing up the throttle to help the engine clear its throat, and when the propeller finally picked up he guided the plane slowly away from the pier.

  As he pointed the Otter north out into the lake the old man flipped on the windshield wipers, but all they did was brush the water back and forth on the glass. The view out the window was just a streaked blur.