The Escape

by Shoshanna Evers

  “You know, she was a Costco nut. Loved buying in bulk because it was cheaper. So I had tons of rice and beans, and cans of soup that she used to use in recipes. I had to ration, and I lost a bunch of weight, but I lived. When I got to the camp, your parents had already been there for over a month.”

  “Were they okay, when you first saw them, I mean?”

  Roy laughed. “Your mom was pissed. She didn’t like taking orders, or standing in line. They were forcing people to shave their hair because of lice, and she refused. Your dad tried to stand up for her, since she really didn’t have lice, but the soldiers, they were just kids, really. Following orders, excited to have power, that sort of thing.”

  “I know the type,” Barker said. “So she shaved her head.” His mom would have hated that so much. As she aged, the one thing she felt she had some power over was her hair, and she always spent an inordinate amount of time blow-drying and spraying it into place.

  “Yeah. She changed after that. Got less outspoken. Quieter.”

  “I can’t even imagine her being quiet,” Barker mused. “We had a lice problem at Grand Central too. Lots of people shaved their heads, me included. The guys didn’t care, but the girls . . .”

  “How did Jenna and Clarissa keep their hair?” Roy asked.

  Barker paused. He could only guess that they were persuasive. “Not everyone shaved their heads. Just the ones who were caught scratching.”

  “Your mom got some sort of cough that was going around. It got bad, really bad. You couldn’t talk to her for more than a second without her going into a coughing fit. She said she wasn’t sleeping because of it. That was in the middle of winter. Everyone was stuck inside, and the smoke from the fires people made for warmth had even healthy people coughing, so I can’t imagine it helped things. One day she was just . . . gone.”

  Gone. Gone. What does that mean?

  “Your father told me he woke up and she was blue, and cold, beside him. Dead. He thinks it was the cough that did it. He tried to do CPR, but of course it didn’t work. She’d probably passed away hours earlier, while he was sleeping. And then they took her body.”

  “What . . . where did they take people? I mean, did they burn them, bury them? Where?”

  Roy shook his head. “I don’t know. I think they started off burying people, but ran out of space. I’m really not sure. I’m very sorry, Ken—Barker. Still weird calling you that. Well, she was a fine woman, your mother.”

  Barker felt like he couldn’t breathe. How could his mother just slip away in the night like that, right next to his dad? Just die from a cough that would have gone away in a week if she’d had access to proper medical treatment?

  “I wish there were still gravestones, something for you to visit. Too many dead at once to even hold funerals, I guess. They talked about you, you know. Said they knew you’d be okay because you were so smart. Lawyer and all.” Roy smiled. “Your mom kept a picture of the three of you, sitting on this very boat.”

  “All three of us?” Barker asked.

  “Yeah. You were so young then, you probably don’t remember. Maybe ten? All three of you were in the photo because your dad had asked me to take the picture.”

  Barker smiled. His dad and Roy really did go back, huh.

  “What about him? What happened to my dad?”

  “People were dying left and right, this was a little over three months ago. Everyone was getting diarrhea, vomiting, fevers, that sort of thing. We had no flushing toilets or running water, so the place was a shithole, literally. Your dad and I wanted out. We decided to come here and see if we could make it on our own. I think he was also holding on to the hope that maybe you’d end up here too.”

  “And I did.”

  “You’d think they’d want people to leave, right? So they’d have fewer people to care for, less crowding. But somehow, during all this, the camp became a prison. No one was allowed out.”

  Barker nodded. “Same thing happened at Grand Central. The Colonel was worried about roving gangs, criminals, that sort of thing. I never was sure if he was worried that the citizens would become victims, or if they would become the gangs.”

  “If I had to place a bet, I’d say they were worried about a resistance to the martial law forming. They’d confiscated weapons, yeah, but so many soldiers were dying too that stealing a gun off of a body became the ultimate prize.”

  Barker winced. They’d done exactly that, just that morning. Fucking hell.

  “So Barker—I mean, your father—and I decided to make a run for it. Your dad had a gun, and he was shot in the back the moment the guard saw him leaving with it. I . . . I saw him hit the ground. And I figured, this is my only chance, so I ran. I heard another gunshot and I knew he was dead, so I just kept running. I’m so sorry, Ken, I never should have left him.”

  “I would have done the same thing,” Barker said softly. “It’s not like they just wounded him, right? Not like you could have grabbed him and carried him and he would have lived. They killed him. No use in going back for a corpse.”

  “That’s good of you to say, man.” Roy ran his fingers through his freshly cut hair. “But I have a feeling I’ll still be beating myself up over it for a while yet.”

  “Don’t.” But the image of his father running, escaping, tasting freedom and then feeling a bullet strike him—did he know what happened? Did he feel it before he died? So many questions, probably best unanswered.

  “When I got to Locust Point, someone had taken all the working boats and wrecked the ones left. So I’ve been camping out here on your dad’s boat since.”

  “I’m lucky you didn’t shoot me on sight, wearing a uniform and all.”

  “Actually, I would have, if it hadn’t been for the girls. They threw me off, confused the hell out of me. I heard you all talking and just assumed you were refugees, like me. I only grabbed the girl because I wasn’t sure if you would kill me for my stuff, what little there is of it.”

  “We are refugees, Roy. That’s exactly what we are. And you were smart to try and protect yourself anyway.”

  “So are you a soldier, then? Or just wearing some dead soldier’s clothing?”

  “Both. All the men the Colonel deemed fit were given uniforms and guns and told to keep in line, and keep everyone else in line. I did it because . . .” Why? Why had he ever let himself fall under the Colonel’s spell? “I didn’t know what else to do.”

  Roy nodded. “I’m sorry about your parents. This might sound stupid, but . . . at least they’re together now, in a better place.”

  “Yeah,” Barker said. “That does sound stupid.” He saw the hurt look on Roy’s face and softened his tone. “Sorry. I’m just mad as hell right now.”

  And that was when Barker started thinking about revenge as well.

  Emily and Mason’s cabin, upstate New York

  Emily took a strip of the salted venison and added it to the stew, which was already simmering with potatoes and onion grass.

  “It’ll take a while for this to be tender,” she said to Mason.

  He stopped whittling and looked up at her. “I know how we can pass the time.”

  Emily smiled and looked over at their bed, the homemade mattress filled with pine needles and woodchips, covered in the hide from the deer Mason had hunted.

  She took her time peeling off her shirt and pants, keeping her eyes on her . . . husband? Is that what Mason was now?

  Yes.

  They didn’t have a wedding or exchange vows, but they’d made a decision to make a life together, for better or worse.

  “Am I your wife?” she asked softly.

  “Do you want to be?”

  “Yes.”

  Mason smiled as he stripped off his clothes, until they stood naked together inside their little cabin.

  “Then yes, you are. Wish we could find a priest or so
mething, make it official.”

  “Well, if we ever find one, we can. But you saying I’m your wife is official enough for me, any day,” she whispered.

  She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him, running her hands through his dark hair, which was finally starting to grow in after he shaved it to disguise himself.

  “You’re insanely good-looking,” she said.

  “No fair, I was about to say the same thing.” He lifted her in his arms and carried her to their bed.

  “So you know how handsome you are, then,” she teased.

  “You’re beautiful. The most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.”

  Emily shook her head but grinned. With him, she felt beautiful. With her husband.

  Husband.

  Yeah, she could get used to the sound of that word.

  Mason covered her body with his, capturing her nipple in his mouth, and sucked. Fuck, it felt amazing.

  “This is perfect,” she said.

  “I’ve barely started.”

  She thrust her hips up, urging him to enter her, until his hard cock pressed against her entrance and he thrust inside her.

  “I love you, Mason,” she gasped, and he thrust slowly, building up a rhythm, until their bodies rocked together as one.

  The stew simmered on the fire, all but forgotten as he brought her to the height of climax and rode her through a body-clenching orgasm that had her panting.

  With a low moan, Mason came inside of her.

  Inside! He didn’t pull out.

  “Mason—” she said, but he shushed her with one finger.

  “I know. I figure we can make love and leave the possibility of babies up to God.”

  Emily wrapped her arms around his shoulders, never wanting to let go.

  “Thank you,” she said. “This means everything to me.”

  “I won’t lie,” he said, looking into her eyes. “If you do get pregnant I’m going to be scared to death of losing you, or losing the baby. But I thought about it, and you’re right—women have been having babies forever. Why stop now, just because things are . . . different?”

  “Exactly. We’ll be so happy together, our own little family,” she said. She couldn’t stop grinning.

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” he warned. “Having me come inside you once isn’t a recipe for an instant baby.”

  “But it’s a damn good start,” she said. Emily rolled over and pulled her shirt back on. “Ready for lunch?”

  Grand Central Terminal, the OCC

  COLONEL LANCHE

  It had been two days, and his men still hadn’t returned with Private Barker or the girl. Clarissa.

  Colonel Lanche paced the back of his Operations Control Center, which was once a storefront in Grand Central Terminal and now had plywood covering the windows. The inside was lit with candles. How the fuck had they gone so far back in time so quickly, simply by having America’s power shut off?

  The centerpiece of the OCC was a large table taken from one of the food court’s restaurants. At one point the radio sat on the table. Lanche had saved the hand-cranked radio by keeping it in a homemade Faraday cage, which protected it from any EMP attack or solar flare. Thank God he’d thought ahead, even before the Pulse.

  But the radio had been stolen. Its secrets told to everyone. That bitch Taryn never should have shouted out about the radio, about America rebuilding.

  He had to retain control of the last remaining camp in New York City. Lanche had a responsibility to keep the survivors of New York alive, and this was the only way he knew how to do it.

  By leading with an iron fist. Putting out sparks of revolt before they became fires. And if he had to turn a blind eye to his soldiers having some fun on the Tracks to keep the men happy to do his bidding, then so be it.

  Fuck, he enjoyed the occasional bit of pussy himself. Why the hell not? It’s not like those whores had anything better to do with their time. They were just eaters, taking up valuable space and resources. May as well earn their keep.

  Lanche looked at the two men he’d called into the OCC to strategize with.

  They had been actual soldiers once, not like most of the men who now held guns and wore uniforms. They knew how to step in line and carry out orders without question. But they also knew how to think. And right now, he needed some thinkers.

  “Men,” Lanche said, saluting Dobson and Scar. They saluted back sharply. “There’s been no word from the troops I sent out to find Private Barker and the woman, Clarissa, that he kidnapped. I believe that Barker has also lied about Jenna, a domestic terrorist and murderer, being found dead. I believe she’s alive and has rendezvoused with him and the other girl. He’s gone rogue, my friends.” Lanche liked the way that sounded, so he said it again. “He’s gone rogue. Stole two guns, stole two packs of supplies.”

  “Colonel,” the man named Dobson said, “where are the troops? What happened to them? Shouldn’t they have returned by now?”

  The other soldier, whose real name Lanche had never learned since everyone called him Scar, shook his head and interrupted. “There’s a lot of ground to cover. Barker and the girl—”

  “Or girls, plural,” Dobson said.

  “Well, they could have gone anywhere. Be anywhere. I don’t think it’s strange that the troops are still searching,” Scar finished. He looked at the Colonel. “What do you think, sir?”

  “I wouldn’t have called you two here if I wasn’t concerned. But I can’t keep sending my best men after these terrorists if no one comes back.”

  “Sir, with all due respect,” Scar said, “is it a danger to our camp if they just . . . disappear? Barker and the girls?”

  “I can’t let a man get away with that. Stealing my guns, my supplies, my women. I can’t let a dangerous man who has inside knowledge of our camp go out there and raise up his own army against us!”

  Dobson looked surprised. “But, sir, everyone else is dead. The streets are empty. We’ve gone door-to-door ourselves. You know that. There’s no one left to raise an army with. We’re it.”

  The other soldier touched his namesake scar that ran across his cheek like an ugly railroad, and nodded. “True. But there are still a few pockets of roving vagrants. We’ve heard rumors from the citizens about gangs of men, prisoners who escaped, survivalist-types who refused to come to the FEMA camps in the first place. The ones we couldn’t catch. There are dangerous people out there.”

  “That’s right, Scar. That’s right.” Colonel Lanche looked up at the dark interior of the room, focusing his gaze on one flickering candle. “And how do you think it makes our citizens feel, to know that at any time one of the soldiers whom they put their faith into—that one of those soldiers could at any time just go psycho and kidnap them and take them out into that dangerous world? This is the only safe place in the city. The only place. We need to bring Barker to justice.”

  Dobson cocked his head. “Surely he’s dead by now. We could just tell everyone that he’s dead. Then the people will feel secure again.”

  Lanche thought about the idea. But part of the problem, one that he wasn’t sure he wanted to share with his men yet, was that the citizens were talking amongst themselves, and they weren’t all talking about how scary it was that Barker and Clarissa were out there.

  No, there were whispers in the air, whispers about how people were escaping, just like Taryn had told them they could do. The people were thinking about the possibility of another life, one away from Lanche’s martial law.

  He had to instill fear in them. So much fear that they would stay the docile sheep that they were. These people, in this camp—this was going to be the seedling of a new nation, a new beginning. And he would be their leader.

  He would start everything over, and do it right this time. No more democracy, no more pussyfooting around and letting people think they had a say i
n things, even when they didn’t. And fuck the Constitution. That was 1776. This was now, this was a new world. The old laws didn’t apply.

  The people needed to be cowed into submission. Before those whispers in the air became shouts, became an uprising.

  That could not and would not happen. Not if he had a say.

  “I want you men to find our troops. Don’t search for Barker and the women, unless you find them while searching for the men who went after them. Find our truck, bring it back. But no matter what, you’ll both come back by nightfall so I don’t have to worry about you too.”

  Dobson smiled, as if it was kind of Lanche to worry about them. Lanche put on his fatherly face and smiled back, so that his men would think he actually was concerned about their well-being, and not just the threat against his own dictatorship.

  “Yes, sir,” Dobson said. “We’ll find your men.”

  “What if we run across Barker and the women?” Scar asked.

  “Shoot Barker on sight,” Lanche said. “And bring Clarissa and Jenna . . . home. To me.”

  Interstate 95, heading east up the Atlantic coast

  JENNA

  Jenna shouldered her pack and looked back at Clarissa and Roy. They’d been getting pretty chummy in the past couple of days.

  Yeah, Roy looked like a different man with that haircut and the beard shaved off. Not too bad-looking, either. Perhaps Clarissa had noticed.

  So far, there’d been no sign of anyone coming to look for them. Jenna had wanted to stay off the main interstate and just follow the coast, keeping right at the water’s edge, but had conceded to Barker when he had pointed out that I-95 would get them up the coast faster, with less twists and turns.

  “We’re sitting ducks,” Jenna murmured under her breath.

  “So you’ve said,” Barker replied.

  Jenna looked at him and laughed. “Didn’t mean to complain, soldier. Just thinking out loud.”

  “Please don’t call me that.”

  “What, soldier?”

  “I swear to God, our next mission is finding new clothes. These uniforms, that’s what makes us sitting ducks.”

  Roy took a couple of steps to catch up to them. “Couldn’t help but overhear. I know we’ve made moving fast a priority, but with the space between us and them, I think we can take the time to get off the road and find a proper place to sleep. Find some fresh clothes that aren’t walking targets, you know?”