Torch

by Tricia Copeland

  With Turner’s warm leg and shoulder against mine and the drone of the engine, I drifted into a semi-sleep state. I woke to someone jostling my arm. Turner laid the monitor on my lap and jumped from the truck. Searching for the sun, I estimated it to be around nine and realized we were stopping for a bathroom break. We stretched and did some calisthenics before resuming our journey. Turner motioned me to the middle seat, briefed me on monitoring the satellite, and then laid his head back and shut his eyes.

  Shooter tapped my bicep. “So, you and tech boy are sort of a thing, eh?”

  “We’ve been friends for a while.”

  “I get it. You guys both got that anti-social, ultra-focused thing going on.”

  “We’re in the middle of a revolution.”

  “So, you’d be wearing a rainbow shirt normally. I’m not seeing you as the cheerleader type.” He chuckled.

  “Like sharp shooters are so on everyone’s BFF list.” I rolled my eyes and leaned towards the computer screen, hoping he’d stop talking to me.

  “You’re from Orford, right? You think you know people in that caravan?”

  “I have no clue.”

  He extended his legs and rested his head on the seat back. Glad for silence, I focused on surveying each satellite feed. Turner had been spot on about Butler focusing on Port Orford, the western coast, Russia, and China. He had very few satellites aimed our way. I wondered how the base managed to get out six transports. But if Turner believed it was possible, it must be. Switching back to monitoring the caravan, I noted how they traveled with one mile between each vehicle. But they hadn’t changed course yet. Enlarging the map, I noted a major southbound road a few miles ahead of the lead truck.

  This would be the test to see if they were paying attention to us. If they turned south or kept their course. I watched the blips on the screen, thinking I might go cross-eyed. At about a mile out, I nudged Shooter, alerting him to the critical turn for the Port Orford crew.

  “They’re slowing!” he yelled in my ear.

  “Shh. You’re going to bust my eardrum. That could be anything.” I shook my head.

  The lead vehicle slowed and let the second catch up to them. After a few minutes, the first vehicle started moving again and at the road turned right, heading south. In a few minutes, the second vehicle copied the first’s turn. We watched as the other four did the same.

  Shooter reached behind me and pushed Turner’s shoulder. “You were right. Wake up. They’re turning south.”

  Turner startled, and looking around, rubbed his hands down his pants. I showed him the screen, and he took the device and tapped a couple of keys, switching the feed to three different satellites to confirm. Deciding the intel checked out, he handed the laptop back to me and said to wake him when we found a vantage point above the road.

  It angered me that he could sleep knowing we may see our fathers within hours, but I couldn’t argue that he didn’t need the rest. For me, our truck couldn’t go fast enough. Still, monitoring the satellites kept me occupied as did Shooter and his intermittent remarks about the scenery and commentary on some of the stranger people in our group.

  “Do you always talk this much?” I asked finally.

  “Only when I’m nervous. Not sure about this little mission.” He continued to explain that he didn’t like being outnumbered.

  Sitting up, Turner stretched his arms in the air. “We need some way to communicate with them that’s not traceable, figure out who they are before we get too close.”

  “What, like smoke signals in the old cowboy movies?” Shooter asked.

  Turner negated the idea, saying it would be visible via satellite, and we started brainstorming. We could scan the radio channels until we picked up some of their communication, but they might not be using the radio at all.

  “What about trail markers like blazes or mirrors and Morse code?” I asked.

  “Heliographs. I’ve read about that. But it may be risky. It could serve as a beacon, cause a hot spot. That would be bad, but the blazes may work.”

  I remembered which book he meant. We’d read it at Lovelock. For heliographs you used a mirror to reflect the sun’s light in short and longer flashes like the dots and dashes of Morse code. “If the signal were shaded in some way, maybe use another mirror to direct the light like in a periscope?”

  “How are these ideas even popping into your brains? You guys are like mini-computers up there.” Shooter tapped my head.

  “It could work. If we draw a blaze to indicate they should stop down on the road and then draw an arrow in the direction where they can see the heliograph.” Turner leaned forward.

  We reviewed the trail blazes, symbols to denote stop, left turn, and the like, for the others. A vertical line with two vertical lines underneath meant start, a vertical line below two vertical lines meant stop. My popping eardrum alerted me to a rise in elevation, and I scanned the landscape noting hills ahead of us. High plains gave way to foothills, and I caught a glimpse of a mountain top beyond.

  Within an hour, we drove up a mountain pass and down the other side. Our vehicle jostled over the potholes and cracks in the road perhaps more abundant due to larger temperature variation. As we descended from the next peak, we turned into a valley. Looking up, I noted cliffs rising above me on each side, and a rode climbing up one.

  I pointed it out, and we slowed to a stop, the other team catching up and pulling up beside us. Unloading, we took a couple minutes to stretch. The other team drove ahead a few hundred feet and turned around to get a view from that direction. We hiked up the steep drive that spurred off from the main road. Downed trees and branches lay across the pitted pavement. When I hooked my arm under a limb intending to clear it from the path, River told me not to waste my energy till we were sure the location worked.

  Only a four-foot ledge lay between the driveway and cliff, but we decided two people could man the mirror from there. Finding a large boulder near the edge for some cover, we used one of the rearview mirrors from the Jeep to signal the team below. They shot us a thumbs-up, and I tried to come up with something to use for our periscope device. I thought of the exhaust pipe, and then realized the pipe running out of the engine compartment—they called it the snorkel—might work better.

  The drive curved up the mountain, and a switchback offered little place to hide vehicles. But further up we found a clearing and cabin at the end of the road and decided to rest there. I ventured to the structure, hopping up on the porch and peeking inside the window. Seeing a wood stove, I entered and searched the cabinets. They were empty as I expected, and the rest of the house proved to be stripped as well.

  On the trek down, we cleared the debris from the path. Meeting up with the other team, we brainstormed a plan. I cringed, remembering stalking Amelie and Mace, holding them at gunpoint until convinced they were on our side. I envisioned the afternoon going much like that. Some rolled boulders into the road to slow the vehicles down, and Turner and I carved stop symbols on trees lining both sides of the highway.

  We drove the vehicles up the side of the hill and parked at the abandoned residence. Turner checked the location of the Port Orford vehicles and reported they would intersect our path within two hours. He and I modified the snorkel from the truck to form our heliograph instrument. We tested it, making sure they’d see it from below. With nothing to do but wait, we took turns running and doing calisthenics in the forest. I ended up with Shooter again and found myself grateful for his rambling stories. Anything seemed better than thinking about the possibilities of how the day might end.

  The well in the cabin produced clean water, and I washed up after exercising. With an hour till the estimated arrival, I ventured outside. I wanted to stay limber and alert and drew an arrow and launched it at a tree.

  “You know, I read one time that this was supposed to be one of the safest places to come when the oceans rose or the apocalypse came. Something about it being so far inland it would never flood. Evangelists made it up, I
think.” Shooter jogged to my arrow and pulled it from the wood.

  “Perhaps they didn’t take into account the heat.” River approached from behind me.

  “It’s not so bad now.”

  “It’s the end of February, and we’re wearing short-sleeved shirts. Can you imagine this midsummer? Temperatures must reach 50.”

  He chuckled. “You kids got this metric thing all figured out. I still think in Fahrenheit. You’ve got to convert it for me.”

  “Over 120, for sure. Mosquitos must grow as big as birds. I’d rather be in the desert.”

  Hearing a whistle from the cabin, we jogged inside. The first in the Port Orford caravan entered our twenty-mile radius. They were about a half-hour out. Checking our weapons, we took up our posts. Turner and I sat beside the large boulder on the side of the cliff with the heliograph.

  “Is all this too complicated? Could we just yell instructions? Sound will echo, so it’d be hard for them to guess where we are. This mirror thing puts a target on us. Maybe we aren’t the best people for this.”

  Turner lined up the pipe instrument. “Yes, voices will echo. But things can be misinterpreted. Morse code is better. And I don’t know how, but no one else seems to know it. Plus, I know you. You’re not going to let anything happen to me.”

  “I should be manning the heliograph. You’re worth more than me.” My eyes scanned the gorge below.

  “But you’re a better shot with that bow.”

  “That’s true.” I forced a smile.

  “Chin up, Walker. Everything’s going to be okay.” He tapped my nose.

  Spinning around, he pointed to his ear, indicating he could hear the vehicle. I positioned myself side to the boulder, looking down into the valley, ready to fire at any second. Before long, I heard the rumble of an engine. A large military issue transport vehicle came around the corner, swerving to miss the boulders we placed on the road. Reaching the area where we marked the trees, it slowed to a stop. Aiming at the driver’s door, I took slow deep breaths.

  The front doors opened, and in helmets and full body armor, two soldiers stepped out of the cab. They carried automatic rifles, and I noted pistols on their belts. Walking to one of the trees, they studied our carvings then surveyed the area.

  “I’m starting now. Going to repeat the same phrase till they see it.” Turner held up the periscope.

  We see you. We have men aiming weapons at your vehicle. We want everyone out. Weapons in front of the vehicle. People spread eagle on the road in the back of the vehicle. Those were the phrases we decided on. It seemed inhumane, but it was the only way. They could hide someone in the vehicle, ready to ambush us. But we had infrared for that.

  “The back of the transport is filled with people. They’re smooshed too close together to tell how many.” River’s voice sounded over the walkie talkie.

  Heads turning this way and that, the driver and passenger walked back to the vehicle. Then, the driver lifted his chin and glanced our way. He motioned to his partner, probably said something, and the partner shielded his eyes and lifted his head in our direction. Moving to the front of the truck, they spoke to each other. Laying their weapons and weapons belts on the ground, one climbed into the cab and pulled the rearview mirror out.

  Glancing up at the sun, he positioned the mirror to reflect our way. W-O-M-E-N-A-N-D-C-H-I-L-D-R-E-N.

  “Women and children. Shit.” Turner set the heliograph down and swung around beside me.

  What did that mean? If I was traveling with families, I wouldn’t put them in the lead vehicle. Squatting, I spoke into the radio. “They said women and children.”

  “What the fuck?” came River’s response. “I don’t care. Tell them we want everyone out of the vehicle and that we have infra-red so not to try anything fishy.”

  Turner took up his position and relayed the information, ending by telling them to stop mirror communication and that two vehicles would meet them. “Done.” Turner spoke into the radio. “Let’s head down there.”

  We grabbed the heliograph and jumped into the back of the second Jeep. Descending, we saw the driver and his partner helping women with children out of the back of the transport.

  My head spun. “I don’t think they sent soldiers to help us.”

  “Don’t get down about this. There are five more trucks.”

  “How are we supposed to protect ourselves? We can’t traumatize these kids by searching them for weapons.”

  “It won’t come to that.” Troy looked down at the vehicle floor.

  Parking in front of their truck, we used the infrared to confirm no one else remained in the transport. Teams flanking their vehicle, we made our way to the back. River waved the drivers forward. Arms up, they approached us, identifying themselves as soldiers from Port Orford.

  “We have five more transports filled with families,” the driver said.

  Six transports filled with families. My heart sank, not soldiers, not my dad. I scanned the group, counting twenty plus the drivers. In total, over a hundred mouths to feed, only maybe eight of which might be useful as soldiers. We waited for nothing.

  “Inside intel is that there’s going to be an amnesty day. Butler is going to allow anyone back in with no questions asked, no ID required, no charges filed.” The driver continued to outline how they were bringing the group east to have them to enter at random points so they wouldn’t be suspected of being affiliated with Port Orford.

  River rocked on his feet. “So, when is this amnesty day supposed to happen?”

  “T minus thirty days.”

  Everyone worked with the Chinese deadline in mind, I surmised. I listened for my father’s and Admiral Masterson’s names, but the soldier didn’t divulge any specifics, just that they had intel on our group. The rest of the transports arrived in quick succession. The occupants piled out. I saw the blank stares of the mothers’ eyes and remembered when that was me, Nave, and Mom. A lifetime ago it seemed. We were different people, and these kids would be forever changed as well.

  As moms and children unloaded from the last transport, I recognized two familiar faces, Amelie’s mom and brother. I gripped Turner’s arm and pointed them out. He shook his head and whispered later to me. Standing up straight, I saw his hands turn into fists.

  “What’s wrong?” My eyes cut to the group, exiting the vehicle.

  “That’s Mace’s family.” A woman stood with a boy, almost an identical copy of Mace, save a bit shorter. Turner started towards the group, and I followed. Weaving through the people, I scanned for other familiar faces. Seeing none, I focused on Turner. Reaching the last transport to arrive, he wound to the back and checked inside.

  “What’s going on?” I grasped his hand.

  “Why wouldn’t my mom be with this group? Did she stay behind with my dad? Get out another way?”

  I shed my helmet. “Maybe Amelie’s or Mace’s family will know something.”

  “Yeah, let’s wait till we’re back at base. It will be too obvious here.”

  Replenishing everyone’s water supplies and taking time for a meal, the group returned to the transports, and we started back to our camp. Our team escorted the six transports with Turner and me in the lead vehicle and the other Jeep bringing up the rear. When we got close enough, River relayed to base the information on our new guests and need to make the cavern a safe place for children.

  “I can’t believe this. What do we do now?” Shooter rested his head in his hands.

  “We’ve got eight more willing soldiers. That’s better than zero. We’ll figure out something.” River spun back to face forward.

  “Wait.” I tapped him on the shoulder. “Maybe this makes getting across the border easier. Who’s going to suspect families with kids to start a coup?”

  Turner pointed at me. “You’re right. If we match up our soldiers with the women and children, it will just look like families taking advantage of the amnesty day.”

  “If the intel on that is correct,” River pointed
out.

  Thirteen more days? I’d go mad waiting two more weeks. How were we going to feed all these people? I prayed they brought enough food with them, but I didn’t see how. We’d have to hunt around the clock. How were we going to tell Amelie’s and Mace’s mothers that they were alive? Hey, you know the kid that you thought was dead for the past two months? Surprise, not dead. This shouldn’t stress you out. This is a good thing. Celebrate it. Two of your friends will be reunited with their families. Two mothers will learn their children are alive. Still, Turner’s words echoed through my memory. I would give it a seventy-five percent chance of success. There were no pilots, little additional military help. I doubted we’d increased our chances of success by much.

  We arrived in the clearing outside the cavern after midnight. Even in the low light, I could make out Amelie’s form, her hands raking through her short hair. She switched her weight from foot to foot as I climbed out of the cab. I cocked my head, motioning for her to follow me away from the others.

  Amelie and Mace trailed behind me. Once out of ear shot, Amelie grabbed me in one swift move, hugging me to her. I squeezed her tight, soaking in the feel of being held. Releasing me, she placed both her hands on my shoulders. “Are they? Is my mom? My brother?”

  I placed a hand on each of their shoulders. “Your families are here. But we have to be safe. No one knows who we are or what our stories are. Wait till tomorrow, and we’ll find a vacant tunnel to reunite you.”

  Mace paced away. “I hate it, but you’re right. What about Turner’s mother? Our Dads?”