by Raylan Kane
East Wing, Nancy muttered to herself. “Dad!” She shouted. Holding Libby's hand she rushed from the lot toward the front door of the facility. Max attempted to step in her way.
“Where do you think you're going?”
“Out of my way.”
She shoved the little man and he did not fight back. Nancy rushed, with Libby and Rico in tow, down the corridor to her father's room.
“Dad,” she went to him and saw he was labored in his breathing. “Oh no.” She saw the tubes attached to him, looking back and forth, unsure how to help. “Libby,” she said, “go sit over there.”
“But Mommy, what about-?”
“Just do it, Libby, okay?”
The little girl sensed the distress in her mother's tone. She carried Rico to the chair along the wall and sat.
Nancy put her ear close to her father's mouth, listening as a sip of air passed through. She looked out toward the hallway. “Can somebody help me? I need help in here!”
Most of the nursing staff had yet to report for the day. No one responded to Nancy's cry. Emergencies were playing out in every room.
Meanwhile, down the hall, one of the guards entered Helena's unit. Helena could see a shadowy figure enter. She had nearly choked on her own saliva but was happy the breathing had become easier. She detected a faint odor of sulfur.
“Ms. Hillen?” The guard called to her as he approached her bed. “Are you alright?”
He will see me through, Helena told herself. He gives me strength. He knows that which I don't know.
“Ms. Hillen?” The guard, as he had accidentally done a few times before, knocked his head on the shelf over Helena's bed. This time the knock jarred the solid silver paperweight from the edge of the surface. Before he could react the reflective horse head plummeted, striking Helena flush on her forehead like a cantaloupe thrown against a wall. The guard's eyes widened. He gazed at the old woman laying still in her bed. Unconscious. Blood trailed from the corners of her eyes.
The guard held his palm to his face. What the hell did I just do? I killed her! He tried his radio again, but it was dead.
He knows that which I don't know. He watches over me.
Helena's eyes flashed open. Her left arm thrust outward, the security guard standing over her sailed off his feet, back first through the large window out to the parking lot. He smashed off the back of a compact car and slumped to the ground covered in glass shards. The tow truck driver couldn't believe his eyes. He sat in his truck staring at the guard's lifeless body.
He watches over me.
Helena levitated from her bed and onto her bare feet. With a flick of the fingers on her right hand the silver stallion bust floated back up to its place on the shelf.
He sees what I see.
The elderly woman glided out to the corridor. She could hear Nancy crying and Libby's little puppy barking in another room. Helena moved in their direction. Max and the other security guard appeared at the far end of the hall.
“Ms. Hillen,” Max yelled to her. “Please stay in your room. We're looking after this, alright?”
She ignored him.
“What is happening?” Max said to his guard. “She hasn't been on her feet in weeks. She couldn't walk.”
“I don't know what's happening, sir.”
“Put her back to bed, would you?”
“Ms. Hillen, we're going to help you, okay?”
“Can somebody help me, please?” Nancy screamed from her father's room. “My father cannot breathe!”
“We'll be right there, Mrs. Edina,” Max said. Then he pointed again at Helena. “Put her to bed. Now.”
The guard began jogging down the hall.
He sees what I see.
Helena shoved her hands in front of her. The guard slammed backward with lightning speed onto the floor, striking his head. He curled up in the fetal position holding his head, barely conscious. Max, dumbstruck, tried to take a step but Helena swept her hand in a flowing motion and she pinned the assistant director flat against the ceiling. He tried to scream, but could feel his windpipe constricted.
The old woman had a slight smile on her face. Good. She rose to the tips of her toes and floated down the hall toward Walter Johnson's room eager to see Nancy and Libby again.
He knows that which I don't know, she thought.
Carries me to see my children.
DEREK TANEV, JON ADDIS, & FREDDY WALSH
MCKINLEY AVENUE, VENICE
LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA
10:05 AM LOCAL TIME
Freddy grabbed the last two saltines from a plastic sleeve while Derek and Jon munched on what was left of theirs. Derek squinted as he washed down the dry crumbs with a bit of lukewarm water from the kitchen tap.
“These are stale as hell,” Freddy said.
“Yeah, I know,” Derek said, “it's all I could find in the cupboard.”
“We gotta go out and find something,” Jon said, trying hard to swallow the last few bites of cracker. “This isn't cutting it.”
“I'm not going anywhere,” Derek said, and he flopped down onto a burgundy couch missing its legs. He flung his right leg over the end of the couch and looked at the sun breaking through a bank of clouds outside the glass sliding doors that led to the backyard. “This is my spot for the day.”
“You're pathetic,” Jon said.
“Anyone seen my phone?” Freddy scanned the counter tops in the kitchen.
Derek pointed towards the corridor that led to the foyer near the front door. “Last I saw it, it was on the floor that way.”
A putrid rotten egg smell suddenly grabbed at Derek's nose and he brought his palm to his face. “Gross,” he said. “Jonny, was that you?”
The other two reacted in similar fashion. “Jesus,” Jon said, “that's awful. That's not me, man.”
“Me neither.”
“What the hell is that?”
“Sewage or something?” Derek said, and he sat up straight on the sofa.
Freddy found his phone laying on the floor. He picked it up and touched the button on the side, but the screen would not light up. “Stupid thing.”
“What?”
“My phone,” Freddy said. “It won't turn on.”
“Battery's probably dead, dumbass,” Jon said.
Derek then pointed to the digital clock on the stove. The screen was blank. “Look,” he said. “Power's out.”
“Great.”
“You think it's just us?” Freddy said. “Like the house's wires and the pipes and all that are screwed up? Or is it the city?”
“How should I know?”
Then a loud beep emitted from the ceiling. The smoke alarm kicked back on and the stove clock began flashing 12:00.
“Power's back.”
“Weird. I guess it was just a flicker.”
“You think this smell has anything to do with it?”
“Freddy, you keep asking all these questions,” Jon said, “like we're god-damned scientists or something. How are we supposed to know?”
“Sorry, geez.”
“One thing I do know is I'm hungry,” Jon said, and he grabbed his jacket. “I'm going to Lacey's work. She can buy us something. You coming?”
WARREN BOYD
TWO-MILE CORRECTIONAL FACILITY
SOUTH OF BELLE GLADE, FLORIDA
1:05 PM LOCAL TIME
Warren dropped the book to his chest feeling a scraping sensation across his scalp and a burning in his eyes. He scrunched up his nose opting for a shallow breath not wanting a full dose of the awful odor. He could hear some kind of commotion echoing down the corridor towards his cell and it caused him to sit up on his mattress. Some frantic voices. Orders being given. Finally, a break from the boredom, Warren thought.
He stood up from his cot and walked to the cell door. Even at the most extreme angle he could never get a glimpse through the window slit of the guard's office at the other end of the corridor. The best he could do on a sunny day was to catch shadows or sligh
t reflections in the concrete of activity down that way. He saw many shadows dancing around. More voices, yelling. Good, he thought. Maybe something will come of this day after all.
ADELE MYJINSKI
ABOARD F/A-18C FIGHTER
OVER NEZ-PERCE-CLEARWATER NATIONAL FORESTS, IDAHO
10:05 AM LOCAL TIME
Someone back at Naval Air Station Sloan in Nevada was trying to communicate, but it came through in fits and starts through Adele's helmet.
“Sloan this is Magic, go again,” she said into her mic while maneuvering her fighter jet in a circular pattern high above Idaho's vast wilderness. She'd never encountered any issue with the communications equipment in her helmet nor on board the plane. Again a male voice could be heard starting and stopping. It was choppy enough she couldn't make out a single word.
Then the F/A-18C's engines died. Her instrument panel went black. Adele didn't panic. She had a fighter pilot's countenance. Cold-blooded efficiency honed through rigorous training. When things were at their worst she had an innate ability to slow her pulse and grow calmer.
Dead stick, she thought. Huh. She ran through the diagnostics in her head. Odd.
Nothing came through her helmet, not even static.
The fighter jet plunged several hundred feet. Pulling significant Gs in the fall, Adele began cycling through her options. They appeared like full-color drop-down menus in her vision. Pages of protocol she'd committed to memory.
Just as she'd contemplated whether or not she might have to eject, the plane's systems all kicked back in at once. Gently nudging the stick in front of her, the jet responded. Pleased, Adele smiled a little and she regained altitude.
Who needs coffee? She joked to herself. Whatever had happened, the communications equipment seemed back on-line as well. A male voice snapped crisply through her helmet headset. “Magic, this is Sloan, over.”
“Sloan, I'm here. Lost touch there for a minute.”
“Yes, Lieutenant,” said the controller. “Be advised, you are to return to base at once.”
“Everything alright, Sloan?”
“An incident in New Mexico,” the controller said, “the base is being evacuated, Commander Dominguez's orders.
“Evacuated?” Adele said, incredulity in her voice. “The entire base?”
“Affirmative.”
Must be some kind of incident, she thought.
The controller's voice returned. “You're on assignment,” he said.
Adele shook her head. She knew what that meant.
“I'm hours from my transfer.”
“Going to have to wait, Magic,” said the male voice. “You're needed for a special evacuation. Specific orders from the Commander himself.”
“Yeah, let me guess, I get to fly the bus full of base staff out of there.”
“Uh, not exactly.”
PHILIP & CHARLES STIRLING
ABOARD TIDINGS FISHING VESSEL
198 km SOUTHEAST OF LUNENBURG, NOVA SCOTIA
2:05 PM LOCAL TIME
The rigging had all been ripped away. The storm's fury had carried them a few kilometers farther from shore. Small puddles of salty water covered the deck, reflecting glints of sunlight into Philip's face. He laid still, blinking, amazed he was still alive. The boat floated on calm waters. The storm had blown through just as fast as it had rode up on them. The giant wave thrashed them around like socks in a spin cycle, but they were alive. Tidings was still in one piece, though the debris laying all over and the wrecked riggings and the torn lines as well as the missing dory would prove crippling to their business, for the time being anyway. Philip felt some tenderness in his ribs, but he could move all his extremities and he was grateful. He raised his head just as he saw his father at the other end of the vessel pick himself up off the deck.
Charles trudged towards his son, holding his left arm to his chest. “Y'all right, son?”
“I'm good. You hurt your arm?”
“Cracked it I think. Collarbone maybe. That was a helluva a ride.”
“Yep. Boat's wrecked though.”
Charles held out his right hand and pulled his son back to his feet. Philip pulled off his dry suit and felt some relief as the sky looked to be clearing and the water smoothed out like a pane of glass all around them.
“Insurance should cover most of it,” Charles said. “I ain't too worried. So long as the engine goes. We'll be alright.”
They both reacted to an awful smell that hit them both at once.
“What is that?”
Charles searched the horizon all around them. No sign of another vessel. He thought maybe a big tanker had dropped its load. A chemical spill?
“Some kind of gas?” Philip wondered.
“Could be.” Charles coughed as he choked back a breath. “It ain't nice though, I'll tell ya.”
Philip was happy to hear the CB radio crackle behind them. A female voice came through. “Charles, Phil, you there?”
“It's Deeanne,” Philip said.
“Just glad the damned radio still works.” Charles walked to the console and keyed up the mic. “Yeah, we're here Deeanne. Caught in a storm though. She's in a bad way I'm afraid.”
“You alright?” Deeanne said.
“We are. We'll be headin' back in here right away once I see if she'll start.”
“Keep me posted on that. And uh, just wanted to let you and Phil know, got a call from Labrador. Abe's been taken to hospital.”
Abe was Philip's grandfather, Charles' father-in-law. Immediately, Philip could feel a burning sensation in the pit of his stomach.
“What happened?”
“Not too sure,” Deeanne said. “Some boys hit him I guess, don't know much more than that.”
Philip grew so angry upon hearing the words, he'd have flown to Labrador to find those boys himself if he could've.
“He alright though?” Charles said.
“Don't know,” Deeanne said, “just tellin' ya all I know. He's in the hospital there. You boys comin' in now?”
“We are,” Charles said.
“You got that smell out to wheres you are?” Deeanne said. “Some kind of thing happening around here. A gas leak or something.”
“You've got it there?” Charles said. “Yeah, we can smell it all the way out here. What's going on back there?”
“I couldn't tell ya,” Deeanne said. “Anyway. Get back soon as you can. I'll try to find out more about Abe. Nora's the one who told me by the way, so don't worry 'bout her, she already knows.”
Charles's thoughts then turned to his wife, Nora. It was her dad. She'll be wanting to fly to Goose Bay, no doubt, he thought.
“Okay, thanks Deeanne. Out for now.”
Charles turned to his son who was fighting back tears. He could see the boy had balled fists at his sides. “I know, son,” he said. “You're mad. Yous is close, I get it. We'll get back and we'll go see him, alright?”
Philip glared at his father, resented him slightly because he knew Charles and Abe had clashed over the years. Still, he recognized his father was saying something that wouldn't have been comfortable for him even with Abe being in hospital. He knew Charles hated going to Labrador. He knew traveling to Happy Valley-Goose Bay would've been the last thing he'd have wanted. The longer he thought about it, the cooler he became. He wiped the remnant of a tear from his eye and nodded at his dad.
“Okay, good,” Charles said. “Now let's go see about this motor.”
TRENTON CHAMBERS
TUSCOLA PENITENTIARY
TWO MILES WEST OF TUSCOLA, TEXAS
12:05 PM LOCAL TIME
“I tell you, man,” Hector said, turning his nose up at his tray, “this shit is disgusting.”
Trenton downed the last of his not-quite-green peas that he'd attempted to coat with as much starchy gravy as he could to improve their flavor. “I've had better,” he agreed. He slid his tray off to the side and rested his elbows on the cafeteria table.
The room was full of prisoners eating
lunch while teams of guards looked on. Voices and laughter bounced off the high ceiling above. You could barely hear yourself think. Trenton was actually looking forward to the confines of his cell where he could throw himself back in the Hornblower novel he was reading.
An inmate, walking up the aisle carrying his empty tray towards the front, brushed Trenton's back. He turned and looked to see Trenton looking at him. “Watch yourself old man,” the prisoner said.
Trenton frowned at him and then began to laugh. The much younger inmate didn't know what to make of the reaction and without another word turned and kept walking.
“He don't know who he playin' with,” Hector said, chuckling. “Mister Golden Gloves over here.”
“He's a kid,” Trenton said.
“He's a punk.”
“You know how it is, everybody's gotta front.”
Hector went to take in a breath, and immediately a foul odor overtook him. “Damn, homie, what is that?”
Right away the cafeteria became an echo chamber of coughs and gagging sounds. Prisoners were doubled over. Guards held their noses. The overhead lights cut out and the room was bathed in red emergency lights as a loud buzzer sounded.
A few inmates shouted, but then a voice came over the loudspeaker, booming for all to hear. “Everybody down!” Said the powerful voice. “Down! Now!”
The guards grabbed their weapons and aggressively moved in a ring around the edge of the room. Trenton frowned as he looked up to see beams of daylight stream in near the ceiling. What in the hell is going on, he thought, and then he laid prone on the floor along with everybody else.
MAGGIE STONE
HIGHWAY 201
1 km WEST OF BLOCKADE AT 200 JUNCTION, MANITOBA
12:05 PM LOCAL TIME
Maggie and Chester stood watching while a few of the locals banged drums in unison. A crowd of fifty others from the reserve stood nearby. Some were watching the drummers, some were watching the police who stood in a line a fair distance back. About twelve locals kept watch over a wooden barricade they'd sprawled across the highway adorned with a white cloth sign draped over with “PROTECT OUR WATER” written in black paint. The band's insignia was drawn just beneath it.