California

by Jamie Lee Grey

  “You haven’t eaten yours,” he said to Katie.

  “I’ll take it in the truck. I think I lost my appetite to my nerves.” She picked up her sandwich and got a cola out of the fridge.

  “Keep in mind Who is riding with you.” He said it in his best up-and-coming pastor voice.

  She gave him a kiss. “See you on the other side.”

  Pushing Duke gently out of her way with her knee, she exited the motorhome and returned to the pickup. When Zach signaled his intent to enter the flow of traffic on their left, she’d do the same and try to open up a hole in the traffic for them.

  It wouldn’t be easy. All the lanes were totally jammed.

  She started the truck and checked the gas gauge. A little more than a quarter of a tank remained. That should be plenty. The dash clock indicated the top of the hour.

  Time for news.

  She turned on the radio just in time to hear the national newscast intro music. A moment later, the broadcast began with the California fire story.

  “In an apparently organized fashion, a number of fires have ignited today along the California coast. Local authorities are reporting small brush fires from San Diego to Eureka. They indicated that wildland fire teams have flown in from across the state, and many of the fires are already extinguished.”

  The newscaster sucked in a breath and Katie noticed Zach’s turn signal was flashing. She turned hers on too, and watched over her shoulder for an opening.

  “Officials are requesting help with finding the perpetrators. Anyone with knowledge of who lit the fires or organized this crime are asked to call their local sheriff’s office. At this time, authorities are requesting the population to stay home and off the streets, so that firefighting apparatus can get to the fires quickly. They expect to have the fires out or contained within a few hours, and say there is no cause for alarm.”

  Mmhmm… no cause for alarm. Katie watched in her side mirror for room to ease the pickup into the travel lane.

  So far, no one was willing to give up thirty feet of asphalt. They were only moving about ten miles per hour. Maybe she could make her own space.

  As a blue Escalade moved by, she shifted into gear and edged forward toward its bumper. Would Zach be able to get in, too?

  The motorhome began lumbering forward ahead of her.

  She planted the pickup on the Escalade’s rear and pushed in behind it. The driver in the sedan behind it flipped her off, but apparently decided against getting into a collision with her.

  Zach was driving alongside her now, still on the highway’s shoulder. She pumped her brakes and slowed, letting him move ahead, then pull into the lane in front of her.

  Whew!

  They were finally back in traffic. No small feat!

  She mulled over the news announcer’s words. Mostly, she considered the words he didn’t use. Attack. Terrorism.

  Instead of saying how many hundreds of fires were reported, he said, “a number of fires.” Instead of saying wildfires, he said, “small brush fires.”

  They were downplaying this, big time. And they told her why, too – worried residents were clogging the roads. Duh.

  Saying there was no cause for alarm, though, was truly irresponsible. How could they know that? And more importantly, if things went badly and people died in these fires, the newscasters and the officials making those statements would be partially responsible because they’d lulled the public into a false sense of security.

  Outside her window, the day had grown definitely hazy. There were no clouds, so this was either smog or smoke.

  What if the news media were not just downplaying the situation, but outright lying, perhaps at the behest of government officials? Or what if the fire officials had lied to the media?

  What if the firefighters weren’t having much success?

  What if those wildfires were blazing totally out of control?

  She doubted they’d admit it, at least this early. She worked in the media. Lately, it was all about spin, spin, spin.

  ***

  Upon landing at Andrews Air Force Base, Alana trailed the president off the helicopter. Air Force One, that humongous, gleaming symbol of freedom, stood ready to whisk them off to New York City. It practically beckoned in the bright sunlight.

  They boarded quickly, and minutes later, were taxiing onto the runway. Her first flight on the famous bird was not all Alana had hoped for… soon after takeoff, the president retreated to her private office and didn’t re-appear until just before the plane began its descent.

  Her usually gregarious personality had turned morose. She sat silently in a huge leather seat, smoothing her sleek black locks with her fingers and staring out the window.

  Alana sighed and looked out a window herself. The plane swept through fluffy white clouds on its descent, then the city appeared in all its glory.

  Normally, any arrival in New York was a thrilling experience, with all the vibrancy and energy of the city pulsating into her very soul. This time, though, there was no thrill.

  Just a general expectation that her spa weekend would be wiped out by the crisis brewing at the opposite end of the country.

  The motorcade, transported on a cargo plane ahead of Air Force One, met them at the airport and shuttled them across town.

  Secret Service agents escorted them to the top floor of their hotel, which had been secured the previous day for the president’s anticipated arrival. An agent slid a key card into the door of Alana’s suite, while another opened the president’s door – just past her own.

  “Come over as soon as you get settled,” Basilia said, before disappearing into her suite.

  Plush white carpets and spotless sky-high windows greeted Alana as she entered. A female agent in a navy blue suit and starched white shirt pulled Alana’s luggage into the room and set it in front of the huge walk-in-closet.

  “Would you like me to unpack it?” she asked.

  Alana shook her head. “No. Thank you.”

  The agent nodded and stepped out of the suite, pulling the heavy door closed behind her. Alana’s fingers trailed along the glossy mahogany table top in front of the wet bar as her eyes turned toward the windows.

  Sheer curtains mellowed the view of the skyline, and prevented any would-be assassins from seeing in during daylight hours. No doubt the agents had made sure they were drawn across the glass before her arrival.

  For a moment, she longed to fling open the curtains, standing in front of the glass wall with her arms outstretched toward the sky. Visible to God and everyone! Come and get me, if you dare!

  If there was a god, which of course she doubted. Although her confidence about that had been shaken by the whole Israeli thing.

  It was hard to chalk it up to coincidence. Israel, after waiting in vain for the U.S. to come to its defense as promised, had been attacked by overwhelming force. By all accounts, they should have been annihilated and swept into the sea within hours of the first assault.

  Instead, everything had backfired on the attackers. It was as if Mother Nature herself had come to Israel’s aid, with horrific storms trapping and actually killing millions of men across the mountains of northern Israel. If that wasn’t bad enough, electrical storms fried the invaders’ electronic and imaging gear, and the attackers had become confused and ended up accidentally killing their own cohorts.

  To top it off, meteorites had severely damaged the capitol cities of the invading countries!

  Sure, it could all be coincidence. Or it could be global warming.

  Anyway, the obvious winner was the United States, who hadn’t even participated in the war, reneging on their promise of protection for the Israelis. Since the attacking countries had been so badly beaten, they’d all gone home to lick their national wounds. Their financial losses, as well as their military ones, were almost incalculable. So they’d present no threat to the U.S. anytime in the foreseeable future.

  America, the lone superpower before the war, had solidified herself as
the only stable safe haven in the world. U.S. bankers had made countless billions loaning money to both sides of the conflict, and military production had soared to provide equipment to the warring nations. Gross domestic product had never been higher. Money flowed in like water.

  God or no god, America was rich beyond belief!

  Alana kicked off her red heels and dropped across the bed. It felt like heaven. Not that there was any heaven, of course, but if there was, it must feel like this. She’d have to find out what kind of mattress the hotel used. She wanted a set just like it at home. And additional sets for her guest rooms, too.

  She didn’t dare close her eyes, though.

  The president of the United States was waiting for her in the adjoining suite.

  Chapter 6

  Lunch had not settled well in Nadir Abdullah’s stomach.

  He loosened his tie and unbuttoned his top button before taking a seat in his father’s office. Was he going to ask about Nadir’s involvement?

  About his friends?

  Should he lie to his father for now, or tell him the truth immediately?

  He swallowed and blinked as his father turned heavily-browed eyes on him. Staring, he took a long breath, then cocked his head as he stared at his only son.

  Nadir rubbed his hands on his pants legs.

  Did he know? Had he figured it out?

  It didn’t matter. It was happening. It couldn’t be stopped!

  Still, parts of the plan were just getting underway. It would be possible to disrupt the biggest part of the plan.

  “Nadir.” His father’s voice was solemn.

  But was it solemn like when his aunt had died, or was it like when he was a child and had done something bad? He couldn’t tell.

  “Yes, Father?” His voice was hoarse.

  “What can you tell me about this?”

  It was a weird question, open ended – like maybe his father suspected his involvement but hesitated to make any accusations.

  Nadir cleared his throat. “About the fires?”

  His father leaned forward and rested his arms on his desk, his dark eyes penetrating Nadir’s soul.

  “Yes! Of course about the fires!”

  He closed his eyes for a moment. Decided to pretend he knew nothing about the plot.

  “The wind will make them worse,” he said, his voice too high. He lowered his pitch. “A combination of meteorological events are combining this week to create wind patterns –”

  “Enough!” His father pushed away from his desk and stood up.

  Nadir felt a nervous twitch in the corner of his left eye. He pushed back his chair. His father was a large man, and imposing. Nadir might have to make a run for it.

  No. That was silly.

  He was a grown man, not a little boy. And certainly not one of those millennial snowflake types who can’t handle a bit of criticism.

  He squared his shoulders. If he could incinerate a state, he could stand up to this one man.

  His father walked to the window and stared out, his broad back to Nadir.

  Surely he must know, he must have pieced it all together by now. He hadn’t gotten elected by being a fool. Finally, he lifted his hand and waved Nadir away.

  “That is all for now.”

  Swallowing, Nadir rose and measured his steps to the doorway. He would rather sprint out the door, but that would only confirm Father’s suspicions.

  At long last, he reached the hall and closed the office door behind him. Then he rushed upstairs to the library.

  Obviously, a confrontation was brewing. But he would stall it as long as possible. He still needed more time to complete his jihad.

  He paced across the floor, then whirled and stopped in front of the window.

  Downstairs, a door banged shut.

  Was it his father’s office?

  Was he looking for Nadir, to confront him?

  What was taking Kamal so long? Nadir tapped his fingers on the window sill, then glanced again at the elegant grandfather clock against the far wall. He was supposed to call half an hour ago!

  He would wait one more minute, maybe two, before breaking protocol by placing the call himself.

  His left eye twitched and he rubbed it. Too vigorously. He winced.

  His phone buzzed.

  Finally!

  “You are late!” He hissed into the phone.

  “We have had a delay.” Kamal’s volume was low, barely above a whisper.

  “Tell me.” Nadir glared at the clock.

  “Traffic was much heavier than anticipated, so we are behind schedule.”

  “You should have anticipated traffic!” Nadir hissed. “After all, it’s hard to ignore what’s going on. People react in predictable ways!”

  Heavy steps thudded up the stairs. Nadir held his breath. That might be his father. He glanced around wildly. Where could he hide this phone? Behind the curtain?

  The steps continued down the hall.

  “How soon can you be in your positions?” Nadir asked.

  “Soon.”

  “How soon?”

  “It is hard to say. Perhaps an hour or two.”

  Nadir’s eyes shifted toward the clock again.

  An hour would be cutting it close. Maybe too close. The new fires would need time to take hold, to build into serious blazes that couldn’t be stamped out or extinguished by some homeowner’s garden hose.

  A twitch tugged at his eye.

  Things had gone so well this morning. So smoothly.

  Now, everything – the bigger, important project – was totally at risk.

  “Hurry!” He urged, a frown drawing his mouth tight. “Everything rides on this afternoon.”

  “We will,” Kamal answered. “Do not worry.”

  “I will worry! And call me in sixty minutes. No more delays!”

  ***

  Katie alternated between watching the speedometer and the gas gauge. Traffic in her lane slowed to seven miles an hour at Vacaville, then five at Dixon and three at Davis. As they approached Sacramento, though, it picked back up to almost ten miles per hour.

  The gas gauge provided a constant source of worry. It dropped below a quarter of a tank. Then two-tenths. Then less.

  And finally, it was time to talk to Zach. She switched on the walkie talkie.

  “Katie for Zach.”

  “I’m here.” He sounded stressed. “What’s going on?”

  “I’m below two-tenths of a tank.”

  “The traffic is starting to move. Let’s keep going.”

  “Okay.” She didn’t want to stop for gas either, but she didn’t want it to be her fault if she ran out. Now it was Zach’s decision, so he couldn’t blame her.

  Anyway, she probably had enough to get to the far side of Sacramento, where the traffic would lighten up and it’d be easier to get back on the highway after a pit stop. Or at least, normally it was.

  Wonder of wonders, traffic was still speeding up! They were going nearly 15 mph now! Katie breathed a prayer of thanks.

  She should have used the bathroom in the RV when she’d had a chance. She’d be more than ready when they pulled off for gasoline.

  As they neared Sacramento McClellan Airport, though, she caught her breath. There was a ton of activity there!

  A National Guard C-130 Hercules aircraft commenced takeoff, and the Modular Airborne Fire Fighting System nozzle was clearly visible on the left side of the fuselage. She’d read about those in a news article last April. The article had called them MAFFS. California’s National Guard owned two of the systems, which the governor could call out as needed.

  The craft roared overhead before banking slightly and turning west. It was quite a sight. Getting a lumbering monster like that off the ground seemed to defy the laws of physics.

  Planes equipped with MAFFS could drop 3,000 gallons of water or fire retardant in six seconds, if she remembered correctly. She thought they were a final line of defense, after the air tankers on regular government contract w
ere maxed out on wildfires.

  Sacramento McClellan claimed to have the largest aerial fire retardant reload base in the country. Today, it looked like they’d pulled out all the stops. From here, she could see people scurrying like ants around the planes on the tarmac.

  As traffic crawled down the freeway, she watched two more aircraft take off. One was a CAL FIRE plane, and the other was a U.S. Forest Service C-130 air tanker.

  It seemed they were getting as many tankers in the air as they could, as quickly as possible.

  Well, good. They were obviously throwing everything they had at the fires, even while downplaying them to the public.

  After passing by the airport, the traffic in her lane slowed. And the other lanes did, as well.

  Katie drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. The pickup dropped down below a tenth of a tank of gas. They were really going to have to stop somewhere to fuel up.

  And soon.

  She radioed Zach, who answered immediately.

  “You’re keeping your walkie on?” Katie asked.

  “Yeah, I’ve got it on the charger up here.”

  “Oh.” The shadow of a huge aircraft darkened her windshield and the hood of the pickup. “We have to stop for gas. I’m below one tenth, and don’t know how far that’ll take me.”

  He didn’t respond.

  “Zach? Did you hear me?”

  “Yeah.” A deep exhalation blew through the walkie talkie’s speaker. “I heard you.”

  “It’s not my fault. Nothing I can do about it.”

  “I know.” Another pause. “Alright. You start making your way into the right lane, and open up a spot for me like you did last time. I’ll slide in ahead of you and we’ll take the next exit with fuel signage.”

  “Done. Over and out.”

  “Out.”

  Katie looked in her rearview and side mirrors, then turned on her right blinker. She looked over her shoulder. Surely someone in the right lane would want her spot in the middle lane, and they’d let her in. Right?

  A black Chrysler hung just behind her right rear wheel. Probably couldn’t see her signal. Behind him, a semi with a pizza store logo surged forward, inches from Mr. Chrysler’s bumper.