“What are you smiling at?” he asked, through half-closed eyes.
“I’m just thinking I like this Patrick—the real Pat, not the B.S. artist. I like him a lot.”
He chuckled. “How do you know this is the real Patrick? I play roles, after all.”
“You’re not that good an actor,” she said, and turned around before he could strike back.
#
“You’re sure this is the way you came before?” Joel asked.
They were driving along a dusty highway through classic Lawrence of Arabia scenery: sandy desert in every direction. Except that frost lingered in the shadows of the rocks.
“No, I’m not,” Patrick said, rolling down the window a crack to get a better look. “I mean, all the roads look the same. But we’re heading in the right direction. Ish.”
“Yeah, we should come out to the east of Edwards,” Jodi said.
“I’m pulling in,” Joel said, turning into the parking lot of the first place they’d seen in miles. He pulled up alongside a pickup truck outside a liquor store.
“Good, I could do with a bathroom break,” Ellie said as she climbed out, feeling the cold air running up the legs of her pants. The doors behind opened and she felt arms around her waist and lips on her neck. “If you squeeze any more, then we’re both going to be embarrassed.”
Patrick chuckled and released his grip, contenting himself with pecking her on the cheek and taking her hand as they made their way toward the door.
Though the neon sign proclaiming Lottery was dead, she could see lights inside and wondered where the power came from, and was even more surprised to find a row of upright freezers humming and full of cans, ice cream and frozen food.
“Morning, Deputy,” a voice said as Joel entered. “That’s your car outside, isn’t it?”
The proprietor was a big man who, if Ellie was any judge, was a vet. And she could see the suspicion in his face.
“Don’t you recognize me?” Joel said, moving closer, with his hands held up.
The owner screwed his eyes up and scratched his chin. “Well, maybe. Your face is familiar.”
“I’m Joel Baxter—President Booker’s special advisor.”
“Yeah. Sure. I seen you on TV.”
Baxter, who pulled on his official persona like a business suit, smiled at the man and put out his hand. “This is a great place. You’ve got power?”
“Geothermal,” the man said. “It’s why I bought the place. Don’t need the grid. Me and Lottie—she runs the Best Little Hair House next door—we share the maintenance and get free electricity. Lots of folks from Helendale brought food from their freezers here—better a few dollars from me than going to waste. Of course, the president has gotten the power stations working again, but no one else gets twenty-four-hour electricity.”
There was no disguising the pride in the man’s voice.
“Name’s Stiles. Nate Stiles. Now, what can I do for you people?”
Joel shook his hand. “You can let us use your bathroom. Is that okay?”
“Sure, no problem. It’s out back—follow the signs.”
Joel kept Stiles talking while Ellie, Jodi and Patrick used the bathroom one after another. As Joel headed off, Stiles turned his attention to Patrick.
“I think I know you, too, don’t I?”
Ellie rolled her eyes as she could feel the heat coming off the actor’s beaming teeth without even looking.
Fortunately, they were saved for a complete filmography by Joel’s return.
“Hey, take some cans,” Stiles said, gesturing at the freezers. “And tell the boss I looked after you, okay?”
“Sure. Anything he can do for you?”
“Getting the currency fixed would help a lot. Barter’s just one long argument. Everyone thinks their crap is worth more than it is. A working dollar that’s worth a dollar, now that would be a big help.”
Joel took his hand and shook it warmly. “Yeah, he knows. But I’ll be sure to tell him what you said and how helpful you’ve been.”
They each had an armful of soda cans as they left the store, though Ellie noticed that Joel had a couple of beers among his. Climbing back into the car, she cracked her can and took a swig as they passed the Little Hair House and rejoined the highway.
“What a nice bloke,” Patrick said from the back seat. “He’s seen all my films. A man of taste.”
And they headed north to Barstow, Route 58 and freedom.
#
“I swear there’s someone following us,” Jodi said.
Ellie twisted in her seat to look out of the back window. “I can’t see anything,” she said, squinting at the long road stretching behind them. It didn’t deviate left or right much, but it passed through dips and rises, so if anything were behind them, it would come in and out of view.
“There!” Jodi said, but Ellie had already turned again, and Patrick was doubtful.
“Even if it’s a car, why would they be following us?”
Jodi wiped the back window with her sleeve and stared into the distance. “They’re not catching up, and they’re not falling behind.”
“You’ve been watching too many movies,” Patrick said, patting her on the shoulder before turning to face the front.
Ellie glanced over at Joel, who’d been staring ahead without commenting. “What do you think?”
His eyes flicked to her, and he nodded ahead.
“What? I see an intersection. Another desert highway. So what?”
“I don’t know. I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”
Ellie rolled her eyes. “Drama queen.” But, in truth, she felt it too. The feeling of being hunted. The radio had been silent for a couple of hours now, but she imagined the hunt had been on for most of that time. How would they communicate? The cell network was flaky, but they could switch to a pre-arranged frequency that the fugitives wouldn’t know. But they were shorthanded, so they’d need to involve the public in the search.
How would they do it? Public radio broadcasts?
Then her heart dropped. “Oh, my God,” she muttered, and involuntarily looked at the shotgun hanging in its rack behind her.
As they passed the intersection—just another dusty road disappearing into the distance—Joel cursed.
As they’d been looking along the intersection, black-and-white cars emerged from behind them, berries and cherries flashing.
“They’re coming!” Jodi called, pointing behind them as the car that had been following suddenly accelerated to cut off their chances of spinning in the road and heading back the way they’d come.
A stream of curse words burst out of Joel’s mouth as he stabbed his foot down on the gas pedal and pulled the steering wheel to the side, heading off the side of the road in an attempt to evade the police cars.
“No!” he called out as Ellie went to pull the shotgun out. “Don’t give them the excuse!”
Ice filled her stomach as the car swerved left and right, desperately trying to evade the ambushers.
Then, BANG! She was thrown sideways, her head hitting the door as something smashed into the car and spun it away.
For a moment she was stunned, and then hands were grabbing her by the shoulders and sending her sprawling in the cold desert sand.
Voices shouted at her and others to stay still, then her hands were forced behind her back and a heavy pressure pushed down her back. She lay there, her face in the dust and any hope of escape gone.
“Call Exec,” a voice called out from over her. She managed to turn her head the other way and saw Patrick there. He was looking at her, dust encrusting the cracks and wrinkles in his face. He forced a smile. “They’re calling Booker. Sorry, love. So much for the rescue.”
She wanted, so much, to take his hand and squeeze it, but they were both cuffed, so she had to make do with a sympathetic shrug.
She was flipped onto her back to see a uniformed officer standing above her. He grabbed the top of her shirt and sat her up against the front
tire. “Sit there and be quiet.”
So she did.
#
It took an hour for Booker to arrive. He touched down in a Black Hawk that covered them with dust and when he emerged, Ellie could see no sign of the amiable professional politician.
At a word from Booker, they were hoisted to their feet before being yanked across to the other side of the road where a derelict garage stood beside the ruins of what looked like a roadside fast-food restaurant.
As they were pushed inside, then forced to sit on the cold, filthy floor, Booker paced back and forth as if desperately trying to hold back his anger.
Then another figure entered. It took Ellie a moment to recognize Li Chang out of his ceremonial uniform, but the look of disdain on his face chilled her blood.
“Well?” Booker said, as the last cop exited the garage, leaving the four of them lined up against the foot of the ash block wall and looking up at the self-styled president and his Chinese… Well, it looked for all the world that Li was the boss here.
Joel was sitting beside Ellie, and it was he who spoke. “I’m sorry, Sonny.”
“Mr. President to you!” Booker yelled, a vein on his temple throbbing.
“Yes, of course, Mr. President. I’m sorry, but I couldn’t allow my daughter to be…interrogated by our allies.”
Ellie saw his head turn toward the general, who lurked behind Booker.
“That was not your decision to make! You have…had a privileged position in my administration and have abused my trust. Do you have any idea of what will happen if these spies get back to Denver with their intelligence? A second civil war!”
Li emerged into the half-light. “You see, Mr. Baxter, your country is in the most perilous situation. It cannot afford armed conflict. We came here to ensure peace and prosperity for all Americans.”
Ellie couldn’t resist. She knew that the situation for herself, Jodi and Patrick was hopeless, but it was now or never. Things had to be said in front of Booker. “You liar! We saw your forces on that beach and off-shore. It’s an army of occupation. You’re not here to help, you’re here to rule. And President Booker is no more than a puppet.”
Bullseye. Li’s expression set like concrete, and he pulled a pistol from its holster at his belt. She’d gone too far, yet again. And this time, it would cost her life.
He approached her, and pressed the gun to her head.
“Honorable General,” Booker said. “Please, I wish to interrogate her further.”
“I do not care. She will be executed. They must all be executed.”
“Not my special advisor,” Booker said, speaking as if asking permission.
Ellie, whose mind had frozen after the general had condemned them to death, watched as the man’s expression changed to one of pitiless derision. “He must be punished.”
“He will! But he is vital to my plans.”
Joel roared at him. “You utter b—”
“Silence!” the general said, pointing his pistol at Joel.
“Joel. Please,” Booker said as he pulled Baxter upright. “Masterson!”
A man in police uniform ran in and saluted. “Sir!”
“Take him to the helicopter and set a guard, then return with three volunteers.”
“Sir.”
“No! I want to stay with my daughter! Sonny, please. PLEASE. I’m begging you. Sonny!”
Ellie watched as if she were in a movie theater—as if she weren’t there at all, just a detached observer—as Joel was dragged screaming away.
Jodi wailed as her father disappeared, kicking the sand and dirt into a huge cloud that filled the entrance to the garage.
Li turned to Booker, whose face was ashen. “Now, will you—as you say—dispose of the garbage, or do I get the pleasure?”
“What? Oh, I will. They’re Americans. My responsibility.” He withdrew a pistol and pointed it at them. “Get up. All of you.”
For a moment, Li hesitated, but then he nodded and headed toward the daylight. “Do not seek to fool me, Mr. President. Out in the open, if you please. I will wait in the transport.”
Ellie felt as though her mind had turned to mush as she struggled to her feet. She could barely force her eyes to move as the Chinese general left the darkness.
Moments later, Masterson returned, flanked by three other officers, two men and one woman. They stood nervously at attention as Booker turned to them. “These traitors have been condemned to death. As you know, they are spies and have intelligence that would be of great use to the enemies of our combined authority. We do not have time for due process, so I regretfully instruct you to see summary justice done. Do you understand me?”
“Yes sir,” Masterson said. He was a tall Black man with a close-cropped mustache.
Booker nodded. “I’m sorry, I truly am. But you wandered into the lion’s den and I can’t save you.”
Ellie wanted to say something, but her heart was racing so fast, she couldn’t force any words out, managing nothing more than to spit on the ground to Booker’s retreating back.
The former governor turned at the door. “There’s an old station wagon out back. Throw the bodies into the trunk. Then arrange for a patrol to find them in a couple of days. Gangland shooting.”
“Yes sir.”
And he was gone.
Ellie looked into the eyes of the female officer, but the woman didn’t return her gaze. She just guided her out into the sun, her jaw set firmly.
Booker was getting into the helicopter and Ellie could see the general looking out the window and a hooded figure on the other side that struggled against its bonds.
“Come on. Let’s get this over with,” Masterson said.
#
Joel Baxter struggled against his bonds and the gag in his mouth as the engines got louder. As he felt the helicopter lift from the ground, the hood over his head was lifted off and he squinted in the sudden brightness.
Over the drone of the engines, he heard the general shout, “Make him watch.”
Big hands grabbed his arm and hauled him across the helicopter so that he was half standing, half crouching beside Booker as the aircraft banked around.
Booker was looking out the window and showed no signs of being aware that Joel was even there.
Below, he could see the fast-food restaurant, noticing the missing tiles of its roof and, next to it, the garage.
Out of the dust storm caused by the helicopter lifting off he saw figures emerge. Ellie, Patrick and Jodi, and four police officers Tears ran down his cheeks.
“No,” he sobbed. “Sonny. Stop them. Please.”
All he got in return was the slightest shake of the head.
There was no point begging the Chinese general for mercy, but Joel did it anyway. All he saw was disgust and anticipation. He was looking forward to it.
Joel felt vomit rising in his throat, but he choked it down, watching as the helicopter hovered as the tiny figures were guided toward an old car. He gasped as Jodi collapsed. The leader ran across and hoisted her up, then pushed her forward.
He watched as they were forced to kneel, facing the open back door of the station wagon.
He watched as the three police officers stood behind them, arms pointing downward.
He watched as the fourth police officer nodded.
He watched as the kneeling figures fell to the dust and the officers began hauling them into the back of the station wagon.
Then he saw no more.
Chapter 20
Escape
“No, I won’t run back to Hazleton!” Marian Buchanan said, stabbing a finger in Bobby’s direction. “That would mean giving up on the rest of the country! How can I help bring peace if I’m a thousand miles away?”
“The same way all presidents did when government was in DC,” Yuri said.
“But back then the east wasn’t under water. Or ice.”
Bobby shrugged. “Then maybe you should be back there, coordinating the relief effort.”
&nbs
p; “While half the country descends into anarchy?”
“Look, Mrs. President, what can you do? You have soldiers at this Hazleton, do you not?”
Buchanan sighed, then nodded. “My Joint Chiefs have cobbled together what remains of the three services. The Navy survived best, although without fuel, it’s largely crippled. No air bases to speak of. But I can’t abandon the west of my country!”
“There is no point washing windows if bedroom is on fire,” Yuri said.
“I think he means you need to sort out the east before trying to fix the west.”
“Thank you, Mr. Rodriguez, I think I got that.”
They were talking in the small office next to the briefing room where Schultz and Lundberg sat being watched by Helmut and Lexa. For two hours, Helmut had been leading negotiations with Schultz’s people outside, though his aim had been to stall them while the president worked out her strategy. He pushed the door open and handed the gun to Yuri, who went to watch the prisoners while the German came into the room.
“We have little time. They will make a move soon. You must choose. East or West.”
Buchanan nodded. “Mr. Rodriguez. This military unit you contacted in…where was it?”
“Wendover, Madam President.”
“Yes. Did you learn nothing more about them and their organization?”
Bobby tried to keep the anger out of his voice. “I learned what I could, as I told you. They’re part of a network dedicated to the Constitution, but I don’t know how big that network is or how to contact it.”
“But they could be critical in opposing Schultz’s power grab.”
“You know, I don’t think most people care too much about whether what Schultz is doing is constitutional. They care about whether their kids will have food in their bellies tonight or if it’s safe for them to go out onto the streets, and if they think that monster in the room next door will give them those things, they’ll worry about whether he’s a fascist later. Democracy, Madam President, may be a luxury they don’t think they can afford!”
Lost: Deluge Book 5: (A Thrilling Post-Apocalyptic Survival Story) Page 18