by Byron Tucker
When Zimmerman didn't answer, the general leaned forward and said, “I'm going to be frank with you, Mr. President and urge you to surrender. They're most certainly not bluffing about New Orleans and Mobile, and they've been able to stop our forces cold, less than thirty miles from the border. We've got nothing to lose by calling for a cease fire.”
Barnes cast his face downward for a few seconds and then looked back up again, taking in a deep breath. “This is no longer a fight for the sake of country – it hasn't been for a while now. This is a fight for survival, nothing more.” He pointed toward the window. “See that out there? We're in Atlanta, Georgia, and it's fifteen below with a raging blizzard. The weather guys tell me that even Florida will drop below zero by this time next month. As it is, I've got thirty million scarecrows down there who will starve in a matter of weeks if I don't get food for them. If we're unable to obtain some of that gold Texas is sitting on, we've been had.”
Ackerman looked at the President with raised eyebrows. “You really think raiding Texas for its gold is going to solve the food problem? South America isn't going to send us food regardless of how much gold we have to offer. They see what's happening up here and they're doing their best to make sure it doesn't happen to them. That's why continuing this fight isn't doing us any good. And if they start lobbing nukes –”
“Yes, I am aware of that!” Barnes let out a sigh, feeling the walls closing in on him, the pressure in his chest tightening by the second. “I'm sorry, gentlemen. I'm at my wit's end here. Yes, I'm aware Texas isn't backing down, and yes, I'm aware they're not bluffing about New Orleans and Mobile, which is why I've ordered those cities to be evacuated.”
“They'll not stop there,” Ackerman interjected. “They'll move on to populated areas if we don't surrender, which is why we must do so immediately, cut our losses while we still can.”
Barnes stood up. “I need some time to myself to think about this, gentlemen. Will the two of you excuse me so I can have some peace for a few moments?”
Ackerman stood up, along with Zimmerman. Smiling, he said, “We'll do that. I do believe that you will make the right decision. Just remember time is of the essence –“
Barnes waved his hand at the pair. “Yes, I am aware of that. I'll call you back in when I've made my decision. Thank you.”
When the two men left the room, leaving him in silence, Barnes withdrew a piece of stationery from the center desk drawer and grabbed a gold-plated pen from its holder. After pausing in thought for a few moments, he began writing. “Dear Vice President Jones, Assuming I'm no longer able to carry out the duties as President for whatever reason, I want you to carry out the fight to the end, as we have no other recourse. Do not, I repeat, do not surrender under any circumstances. Thank you, George Barnes.
He folded the paper and slipped it into an envelope, and wrote the name of the Vice President and the words For His Eyes Only beneath it. He sealed it shut and placed the envelope at the head of his desk, where it could easily be found.
Once that was done, he opened one of the side drawers of the antique desk, and withdrew a .38 revolver. He flipped the gun over a few times in his hands, admiring its solid weight and craftsmanship. He pressed on the cylinder, seeing it was fully loaded before snapping it shut again.
Carefully setting the gun on the desk in front of him, Barnes pondered. Do I really want to do this? After giving it some additional thought, he realized he really didn't have any other choice. Although those closest to him were loath to admit it, a coup could take place at any time, as he had failed in his duties to provide for his people. It would be better to go now, and leave himself as a martyr for the people, despite his failure as President. Perhaps Jones would do better, perhaps not – in the end, all of this was probably a lost cause anyway, if the scientists were right about the extent of the volcanic winter.
His mind made up, Barnes picked the gun up, sticking the oil-coated tip between his pursed lips. His heart beating like a hammer in his chest, he began squeezing the trigger. Just a bit more. It'll all be over soon.
Bang! The wood-paneled wall behind Barnes' head splattered with blood, his inert body slumped forward in slow motion. With a slight thunk, his forehead came to rest on the wooden surface of the desk.
Chapter 31
While Nora busied herself with cooking supper in the kitchen, Ryan turned on the shortwave to see if he could get additional news about the war. Earlier that morning, he'd found out that George Barnes had refused to surrender to the Texans, utilizing fighter jets and bombers to bomb Texan defenses ahead of the advancing ground troops. In return, Texas carried out a bombing campaign of their own, pummeling the invading military forces in addition to bases within Coalition Territory.
Ryan had no idea how this was affecting his brother's chances of getting his family to Mobile, but it certainly wouldn't help. If they didn't have any undue difficulties, they really should have already made it to Mobile by now, although that city was prone to potential attack by Texas as well, as it was a port city. No matter how you sliced it, his brother's family was likely screwed seven ways to Sunday. If they weren't already dead, they were probably stranded somewhere, freezing and/or starving.
Moments after Ryan tuned in the voice of a monotone broadcaster, who was saying something about the President “not being available for comment,” Nora shouted, “Will ya turn that thing off? I don't need to be hearing about any goddammed war.”
Ryan turned off the radio with angry flick of his wrist. “Excuse me for trying to find out what might be happening to my brother and his family.”
Nora turned and looked at him angrily. “Will you stop beating yourself up over that? They either made it or they didn't. They chose to leave, remember? You didn't kick them out. They left even after you informed them how dangerous it would be.”
Ryan had enough. He had his fill of being trapped inside the house day and night, he'd had enough of Nora's insane rationing of the food, causing him to be hungry day in and day out, and he was tired of Nora telling him how he should think. He had every right to feel guilty about allowing his brother's family to leave. It was an ill-fated idea from the start, and he hadn't been able to sleep more than two hours a night ever since they left. It was a death sentence for them, plain and simple. And it was too late to do anything about it. He also didn't need Nora telling him that it was “the right thing to do.” It was the wrong thing to do, and he knew he'd never be able to forgive himself, not in a million years.
Too exhausted to pick another fight with Nora, he said, “I'm going down to the cellar.”
Nora dumped the rice she'd been cooking into a bowl. “What for? I've got your supper right here.”
“I don't want your goddammed supper. I'm going to find the booze and drink myself into a stupor.”
Nora sported a look of pure surprise. “What the hell? You told me that you haven't touched a drop in years.”
“That's right, and that dry spell is about to come to an end. I honestly can't take this anymore.”
Ignoring Nora's pleas for him to stop, Ryan brushed past her and went down into the chilly depths of the cellar, noticing how the deepening ground frost was beginning to push up sections of the concrete floor, as if demons were seeking to break through from the depths of Hell. He narrowly avoided tripping over a couple of the fractured sections of concrete, and he located the chest where the booze was kept, which like the cigarettes he'd put away, were set aside for trading purposes. He pulled out a bottle of Jack Daniels and opened it, sniffing its heady aroma, Ryan wondered why he ever thought there would be trade in the post-apocalyptic world, when there was nobody around to trade with. They were all dead, or soon would be, making trade a moot point.
To his surprise, he spotted Nora approaching him, holding two drink glasses in her hands. She looked at the bottle of liquor Ryan was holding. “Well, I'm not going to let you drink alone.”
Ryan looked at her for a moment, tears welling up in his eyes. He poured
a measure into each of the two glasses and said, “Thank you, Nora.”
She smiled. “And thank you, for putting up with me. But we'll get through this, I promise.”
The smell of the bourbon irresistible, Ryan knocked back his glass, feeling the liquor burning a fiery path to his stomach.
* * *
Although they'd been driving for over eight hours straight, the wan light of the snowy daytime fading to the inky depths of night, Jimmy refused to relinquish his place at the wheel. Truth be told, they had covered a great deal of distance since their fortuitous escape from the detention center, with little to impede their progress. They were currently somewhere in northern Mississippi, having just passed the small town of Booneville. The next major town they would have to traverse was Tupelo and, with night falling, Sam thought it'd be best to find a secluded spot to pull over to stay the night. Their passage through Tennessee had been surprisingly uneventful, and they encountered very little in the way of traffic and no military roadblocks, but Sam didn't want to be pushing their luck by traveling in the dark.
Looking over at his son, he said, “I think we need to pull over soon.”
Jimmy looked at him as if he had said something ridiculously stupid. “Why? We've got enough gas to get all the way to Mobile, if we don't waste it by idling.”
“But it's much too dangerous to travel at night in this thing. Especially with the curfew.”
“To hell with the curfew!” Jimmy snapped. “Don't you realize how hungry I am right now? We've got to get to Mobile as quickly as we can.”
So that's what it is, the hunger. Sam glanced back at his wife and daughter, Irene grimacing as she met his gaze. Despite her joy at being reunited with her husband and their continued progress over clear roads, it was clear that she was extremely worried about Eliza, who'd been struggling to breathe all day. The nebulizer treatments didn't seem to be helping, and although Irene didn't mention it outright, it was becoming increasingly clear the poor girl was sick with some sort of lung infection, which happened once or twice a year with her. If they couldn't get hold of some antibiotics soon, she was going to be in some serious trouble.
That alone was a good reason to keep pushing through the night but, then again, there was no way of knowing what awaited them in Mobile. The ship wasn't even supposed to dock until sometime the next day, and even if they were able to get to the ship immediately, there was no telling what kind of medical supplies would be on board.
Sam took in a deep breath, cleared his throat and said, “Jimmy, I want you to find a place to pull over. I'm giving the order to stop for the night.”
Without replying, Jimmy hit the brakes, grinding to a quick halt as he pulled over ever so slightly to the right. Once the motorhome was still, he undid his seat belt and got up from his seat with a resigned look on his face. “I'll let you find a secluded spot to hide out for the night. I've had enough driving for one day. I just wish I could have a goddammed bite to eat.”
“Jimmy! Enough with the language.”
Jimmy gave him a dirty look as he slipped into the bathroom.
Irene said, “Don't be so hard on him. He's having a very difficult time with not being able to eat.”
Sam let out a sigh as he moved over to the driver's seat, wondering if they should just push on through the night in the hope they'd be able to find both food and medicine in Mobile. Looking back at Irene peering over Eliza's sleeping form, he said, “How do you think she's doing now?”
Irene looked at him with a worried expression. “I don't have a thermometer with me, but there's no question she's running a fever. I really think we need to find medical care for her as soon as possible.”
“Do you think we should push on through the night then?”
“No, I think we need to find a hospital in the next town and get our daughter some antibiotics. Or at least find a drugstore you can break into like Ryan did back in Michigan.
He shook his head as Jimmy let himself out of the bathroom. “I don't think there's anything left to take now, everything's probably been picked clean.”
“I think we should at least go to the next town and see what's there. Maybe there's a hospital we can find.”
“Tupelo is just fifteen miles ahead,” Jimmy said as he emerged from the bathroom. “We could see what's there anyhow.”
Sam put the motorhome back into drive. “Agreed. We'll drive into Tupelo and see what's there. If we don't see anything, or we feel it's not safe, we'll head out of town a bit and find a spot to camp for the night.”
After driving for about five minutes or so, amazed at the depth of the snow, even this far south, Sam heard his wife's worried voice coming from the back. “You need to hurry. Eliza's having some serious trouble breathing. We've got to get her to a hospital as quickly as possible.”
A terribly heavy, sinking feeling descended upon Sam. He pushed the motorhome up to forty, about as fast as it would go while it was having to plow this much snow. He knew the chances of finding an operating medical facility in Tupelo was probably close to zero, but he wasn't about to mention that to Irene.
Jimmy sat down in the passenger seat. “Thanks for letting me drive, Dad. I figured you needed a chance to chill.” After a brief pause, he said, “I bet it sucked being in that jail, huh?”
Sam knew that his son was using conversation to mask his worry about his sister, but he certainly didn't want to tell him the true story about being taken to find his brother. “Actually, it wasn't so bad in there. We had heat and light, and I had a cot to sleep on. Most of the guys were regular folk like me, so it wasn't like being in a typical jail with a bunch of gang-bangers.”
“But how in the hell did you escape? I mean, even with the place being bombed out. We saw the jets dropping the bombs, and we thought you might have been...”
Hoping his son wouldn't pick up on his not telling the truth, he said, “Well, a bomb went off near where we were, and the guards were running around like chickens with their heads cut off. That's when a bunch of us made a run for it, even though they started shooting at us. I knew if I didn't get out of there, I'd probably never see you guys again.”
Jimmy glanced back at his mother, then lowered his voice. “Yeah, Mom really didn't want us to try and get you out, but I figured we didn't have anything to lose. That's the thing that was so weird, it took forever to find the place, and when we did, that's when we saw the jets attacking and stuff. There were no guards stopping us, so I just kept on driving around, especially when we saw a bunch of guys coming out of the buildings. Then Mom saw you running across the field, and that's why I stopped. Good thing too, as we'd have been out of luck, huh?”
Sam shook his head at the improbability of it all. “The people guarding the entrances were probably called away to deal with the bombing raid and everyone escaping. One thing's for sure – we're all very lucky to be alive.”
“You sure can say that again.” Jimmy pointed a finger out the windshield. “I sure hope we find something in Tupelo. Eliza's been sick ever since you were arrested.”
Sam nudged the vehicle a bit faster as buildings appeared here and there, indicating their approach to Tupelo. “Let's keep our fingers crossed, shall we?”
A few minutes later, while they passed through more built-up areas, the four-lane highway transitioned to a full-fledged expressway. However, there were no other vehicles to be seen, nor lights in any of the buildings passing by.
Irene called out from the back. “Eliza's getting worse. We've got to find a doctor, now.”
Jimmy, looking at the Mississippi Gazetteer he'd pulled out, said, “Your best bet is downtown. Get off at the downtown exit and go south from there.”
Following his son's instructions, Sam exited the expressway, the snow on the streets as deep as ever. From the looks of it, Tupelo was a ghost town, making it look less and less likely they'd be able to find help for Eliza. His body began to tremble at the unbearable thought of losing his daughter.
Jimmy pointe
d his finger ahead. “There, a hospital. It has lights too, so maybe there's somebody there.”
Sure enough, there was a large building off to the left with a few lights on the ground floor, although there was still no visible human activity to be seen.
“Pull in there, Dad, in front of the ER. If there's anybody there, that's where we should go.”
Sam piloted the bulky motorhome toward the sign marked “Emergency Room,” continuing to use the plow to scrape the snow aside. He pulled up under the expansive porte-cochere and came to a stop, shutting the engine off to save on fuel. He got up out of his seat, looked at the others and said, “You guys stay put while I find some help.”
Sam stepped out into a biting wind, wishing that he'd taken the time to put his coat on. Much to his relief, however, the entrance to the ER was unlocked. He stepped inside the cool, dim interior and shouted, “Hello? Anybody here?”
After a couple minutes of disheartening silence, a balding man wearing a white coat emerged out of a dark hallway, holding a formidable-looking .45 in his hands, pointing it at him. Sam threw his arms up and shouted, “Don't shoot. My daughter's is very sick and has severe respiratory distress. Is there any way you can help her?”
The doctor lowered the gun down, walking up to where Sam was standing. “Where is she?”
Sam pointed to the parked motorhome outside the doors. “She's out there.”
The man tucked the massive weapon in the waist of his pants. “Sorry about this, there's a lot of desperate people out there.”
Thrilled to have found a doctor, yet fearful that he'd not be able to help, Sam asked, “Are you able to help her? I've got cash, gold –”