by Alex Mersey
Chris stared blankly into the dense cluster of trees and shook his head. “We stand a better chance on the road, of finding someone who can show us to the nearest hospital.”
“No hospital,” Williams said. “No cities. No towns.”
Something inside Chris snapped. “So what? You’re just going to walk all the way to Colorado like some damn workhorse that never stops? Pop another pill and— Oh, wait, you’re out of pills. Well, guess what? I’m not a machine and I’m not going to just leave you on the ground where you fall down dead. Which means I’m going to be stuck lugging your ox of a dead body until I drop down dead beside you.”
Williams looked at him, speechless for a long moment. “I hadn’t planned on walking the whole distance. And if you’re that concerned about me dropping dead, you can drive.”
“What about the EMP that fried our phones and stopped the train? Wouldn’t that have taken out the cars?”
“I don’t know that it was an EMP,” Williams said. “But either way, the older model cars without electronic engines will work fine. We just have to find one.”
“Steal one, you mean.”
“I’ll leave an IOU.”
Chris sighed, spun about and started walking up the road again. “Okay, no cities, and we’ll look out for a car, but first we’re getting you to a doctor and we’re going to find some place to get some rest and if any Goddamn aliens drop a bomb on us, well, maybe that’ll be a relief.”
“Chris, I know you’re overwhelmed,” Williams said, breath laboring as he caught up. “Scared.”
“I am not overwhelmed and I am not scared,” Chris pushed through gritted teeth. “I’m walked off my feet, Williams. I’m thirsty. I’m irritated.” He sent the man a scowling glance. “And I’m worried about you. So we’re going to get you help, and then we’re going to get a solid eight hours sleep, and then you can go back to playing boss.”
“I don’t play boss,” Williams grunted, but he walked.
The anger seeped out of Chris and he admitted the truth to himself. He was scared. Scared of losing yet another person. Which was kind of ironic. He’d spent years resenting the secret agent’s intrusion into his life, and now he was shit scared of having the man gone.
“You don’t play boss very well.” His mouth hitched as he cast another look Williams’ way. “Sorry about all those times I ditched you on campus.”
“You never ditched me.”
“I’m pretty sure I did.”
“I’m one hundred percent sure you didn’t.”
“Well, there was this one time that I attended that underground poetry circle—”
“—beneath the white temple in the oak grove,” Williams finished. “You slipped out the bathroom stall window at Café Bermont and cut across the park back to the campus grounds.”
Chris’ jaw went slack. “You knew and never said anything?”
“So that you could come up with sneakier tricks to make my job harder?”
“Huh,” Chris snorted. “In that case, I’m not sorry about all those times I ditched you on campus.”
“You never ditched me.”
Chris wasn’t convinced, but just then he saw the white A-framed house poking through the trees. “Hey, Williams.”
“I see it.”
A driveway ramped up from the road and curved beneath an arch of tangled branches. The cream MINI Cooper parked there was an obvious disappointment to Williams, but Chris was secretly relieved. The temptation to hotwire an old model and set out for Colorado immediately would have been too much for Williams.
A curtain twitched by the front window.
Chris gave a small wave, well aware of the ragged, tattered sight they presented.
“What are you doing?” Williams grunted.
“Just showing them we’re friendly. Maybe you could try a smile?”
Williams’ mouth turned further down. “Let me do the talking, okay?”
“Be nice.”
“No promises.”
The door opened before they reached the porch. A grey-haired, tiny woman stepped out, dressed in floral with a short-sleeve cardigan. She fisted one hand on her hip, her fierce expression freezing them on the bottom porch step.
“Whatever happens,” Chris murmured, fully expecting them to be turned away, “don’t pull out your gun.”
The woman’s scowl deepened into the wrinkles above her brow as her eyes narrowed on Williams.
“I never pull out my gun unless I intend to use it,” Williams said quietly.
“In that case, definitely don’t pull it out.”
“Well, don’t just stand there,” she called out in a brusque, no-nonsense voice as she retreated out of sight. “You’d best come in before I have to mop you off my front porch.”
Relief punched Chris in the gut. “See? It pays to be nice.”
“I never said a word to her.”
“Keep doing exactly that, and maybe she won’t kick us out.”
The woman was waiting for them just inside the door. “I’m June,” she said, letting them pass before closing the door. “June Henderson.”
“Williams, and that’s Chris,” Williams said absently, his gaze sweeping the hallway corners and long passage shadows for any viable threat.
Chris left him to it and followed June into the kitchen, more concerned about the First Aid kit she pulled down from an overhead cupboard. They already had one of those, and it hadn’t done Williams much good.
“Ma’am,” he said hesitantly. “He really needs a doctor.”
“June,” she corrected, slapping the translucent plastic box on the knotted pine table. “Our doctor’s in Leesburg and I don’t know of any closer.” That wrinkled frown returned to pinch her brow as she watched Williams make his entrance. “Is that where you got banged up? Leesburg?”
Williams shook his head. “Why? What’s happening in Leesburg?”
“Don’t rightly know,” she said. “But we saw some of it on the news, what was left of New York City, London…dust and rubble. We figured, when the ash came, must be a whole town blown into the wind and nothing much else between us and Leesburg.”
Williams came forward. “You’re still getting news?”
“Not after that electronic pulse last night.”
“Electromagnetic pulse?” corrected Williams.
“That’s what Frank said, took out the telly and just about everything else.” June was half his height and had to tilt her head back to look him in the eye. “You’d best sit and let me take a look. I’m no professional doctor, but I’ve cleaned up my share of scrapes and bruises.”
“Just about everything else?” Williams stayed right where he was, glaring her down. “Are some appliances still working? Is there power? Are cars running?”
The browbeating was lost on June. “How about I patch you up and then we’ll talk some more.”
Chris didn’t wait for his own invitation to pull out a spindly pine chair and take the weight off his feet. He didn’t know how effective June’s patchwork would be, but he was starting to like the woman.
Williams turned that glare on him.
Chris shrugged and looked at June. “We were in an accident. I think he maybe crushed his ribs.”
“I wouldn’t be standing here if my ribs were crushed,” Williams muttered.
“You’re barely standing.”
Williams un-crunched slightly. “I’m standing just fine.”
There was sudden movement, June hurrying to peek out the kitchen window.
“Expecting someone?” asked Williams.
“My husband, Frank.” She turned back from the window, disappointment slackening the grim expression she’d maintained until now. “Marty keeps cans of diesel for his tractor and Frank went to see if he had some to spare for the truck.”
Williams pulled out a chair, arm wrapping his midriff for support as he slowly settled into it. “Your husband’s truck is running?”
“Now, yes. Frank was up most of the n
ight, working on that scrap of junk to make it run.” June busied herself with fetching a pot and the tedious task of filling it with water that trickled from the faucet. “Our daughter lives in Little Falls. She was about to leave to come down here when that pulse thing hit everything out. Frank reckons her Mazda would’ve died and it’s a good two hour drive, so it’s a blessing we’ve got his truck going.”
Chris slid his elbow over the table to lean in closer to Williams, to whisper, “We are not stealing this sweet old lady’s truck.”
“Sweet?” Williams mouthed.
“I mean it.”
Williams’ jaw squared, but that determination didn’t grow roots. “I wasn’t seriously considering it.”
“Yeah, right.”
Oblivious to the near miss, June uncovered a lump on the counter to reveal a single-plate kerosene camping stove. It had an inbuilt flint starter that she clicked to spark the flame.
A fresh layer of sweat beaded Williams’ brow as he watched her put the pot on. “I don’t have wounds that need sterilizing.”
“It’s for your green tea,” June informed him.
“I don’t suppose you have coffee?”
“Not for you.” June left the water to boil and moved around the table to his side. “You don’t need the adrenaline pumping jitters through your body. Well? Let’s see the damage to your ribs.”
“My ribs took a bruising, that’s all, and we both know what any doctor would prescribe.” He gave her a hooded look. “Plenty of rest and pain meds.”
“For goodness sake,” Chris grumbled. “Just let June take a look.”
Of course, he hadn’t considered her reaction to the Glock holstered at Williams’ hip.
Williams probably had, because he carefully untucked the front of his shirt without slipping off his jacket.
Not carefully enough, though. June’s scowl deepened as she peered closer and pointed. “Is that…?”
“A Glock 23,” Williams said bluntly, adjusting his jacket to cover the firearm.
“Young man, we have a no gun policy in this house.” June held out her hand. “I’ll put that in the safe, if you don’t mind.”
“That is not going to happen.”
June pursed her lips, kept her hand out. She was half Williams’ size and the wrong side of seventy, but clearly that wasn’t going to deter her.
A vein started pulsing at Williams’ temple.
Chris hesitated. In his experience, if people weren’t expecting to see the president’s son, they didn’t, not even if he were standing right in front of them. Or sitting at their kitchen table. But Williams would never give his gun over and this situation was going to go south, fast.
“Williams is a federal agent,” Chris said. “By law, he can’t part with his firearm.”
A dubious expression creased her face. “Federal agent?”
Thanks to the constant state of high alert, the media had mostly respected his parents’ wishes to keep him out of the spotlight. Or maybe it had been a presidential directive. All Chris knew was that Joe Public seldom recognized him. But there’d been a photo of him in the papers recently, a side shot taken as he’d climbed into the state sedan after his mother’s funeral. Coupled with his name and the secret service agent at his side…and there it is!
Her eyes lit on him and widened. “Christian Merrick?”
He grimaced. “Last time I checked, yeah.”
Beside him, Williams tensed.
June picked up on it and returned her attention to the patient. “Oh, hold your horses, I don’t mean the boy no harm. I’m just surprised. Shouldn’t he be squirreled away somewhere safe?”
“With due respect, ma’am,” Williams said, his tone gravel with warning, “that is none of your concern.”
“And rightly so.” She slanted another look at Chris. “But it would be nice to know how President Merrick intends to get us out of this mess. We’ve had no news since the lights went out last night.”
Chris opened his mouth, but Williams got in first with a flat, “The president hasn’t taken us into his confidence.”
“And if he had, you couldn’t say,” she scoffed.
“The truth is, we know less than you,” Chris said, more or less honestly. He didn’t think mentioning his dad’s fears of a nuclear world war would do any good. Or come to anything, seeing as how all advanced technology had been fried. “We’ve been cut off since the Base Ship first appeared.”
June thought that through, and she must have remembered all the questions they’d had because she sighed and seemed to let it go.
“I suppose you can keep your gun, then,” she said to Williams. “I would appreciate it if you didn’t wave the thing about.”
“I’m not in the habit of waving anything about,” Williams said, but he did finally unbutton his shirt.
Chris stood to take a look and his stomach lurched. The whole of Williams’ left side was a darkened, bruised mass swollen to the texture of pulp.
“Dear Lord,” June murmured. “You must have the constitution of an ox to still be on your feet.”
That, and a bottle of Vicodin, Chris thought.
She lay her palm to his tender skin and pressed a tentative path over his ribs. “Well, there doesn’t appear to be any breaks. I’d guess multiple hairline fractures, maybe.”
Williams brushed her hand away. “It’ll heal.”
“You need to take it real easy until you’ve seen a doctor,” June said firmly. “And meanwhile, maybe we can reduce that swelling.”
She grabbed a key from a hook on the wall and went out via the back door.
Chris turned on Williams. “Did you even know how bad it was?”
The man shrugged. “I’ve lived through worse.”
“You may be tough, but you’re an idiot.” The water in the pot hissed and Chris went to turn the stove off. “A tough idiot.”
“Speaking of which,” Williams drawled. “A federal agent?”
Chris turned, leant back against the counter and folded his arms. “At least I didn’t say secret service agent.”
Williams wasn’t impressed. “What’s the first rule?”
“I didn’t realize I had to memorize them in order.”
“Never offer information unless it’s absolutely necessary.”
“It was necessary,” Chris told him. “She was about to kick you and your gun out the door.”
“We need to be leaving, anyway.” He gave another shrug. “Find some other truck to re-purpose, since this one is apparently off-limits.”
“Re-purpose?” Chris laughed. “That’s a good one. And we’re not leaving. It sounded like June intends to help get you to a doctor.”
They both shut up when June returned with a bag of frozen broccoli.
“This is still rock solid,” Williams said when he took it from her to press to his ribs.
“You know those appliances you asked about?” She brewed the herbal tea as she spoke, and put together a couple of peanut and jelly sandwiches to serve with it. “Our old ice box in the garage is fine. And the toaster.” She pointed to a silver four-slice. “Imagine that.”
“You have power,” Williams stated.
A backup generator, June informed them. A working generator. That stumped both Chris and Williams. Had something else, something worse than the generators failing, stopped the train in the tunnel?
Then June mentioned their neighbors, a mile up the road, whose generator had been rigged to automatically switch over after a twenty second delay but hadn’t kicked in.
“It could depend on how sophisticated the generator is,” Williams said.
June shook her head. “We both ordered ours from the same place, same model.”
“And the only difference was that theirs switched over automatically?” At June’s confirmation, Williams grew thoughtful.
“What is it?” prompted Chris.
Williams looked at him. “An EMP is a sudden, instant surge that overloads and zaps everything. A ge
nerator could be more susceptible to damage if it’s plugged in when the pulse hits.” He glanced at June. “If your model was the same as your neighbors, that could mean the pulse was still emitting after twenty seconds, or it could even be a second pulse.”
June brought over the plate of sandwiches and mugs of tea, and joined them at the table. “What are you saying?”
“An electromagnetic pulse is usually a side-effect, a byproduct, of a solar flare or a nuclear explosion, or something like that,” Williams explained. “But this could be a weapon specifically targeted at our infrastructure. A weapon that emitted those pulses, and that could be re-deployed at any time.”
“So if we get things up and running,” Chris said, “they could just zap us again?”
“The Silvers?” asked June, although it wasn’t really a question that needed answering. Who else?
Chris reached for a sandwich, his mouth watering for anything more substantial than chocolate. “Thanks, June, this looks great.”
She pushed the plate closer to Williams. “You’re not getting any pain killers until you’ve lined your stomach.”
Williams didn’t argue. He even sipped his tea without further comment.
June turned to Chris with a saddened, heartfelt smile. “We were mighty sorry to hear about your mother. The First Lady had style and grace. She was something special. It’s always the best ones that get taken first.” A look of horror crossed her face. “Never mind me, just an old woman running her mouth off. I only meant to say, I’m real sorry for your loss.”
“Thanks.” Chris’ throat thickened. June’s condolences weren’t the most elegant he’d heard since his mom had passed, but, to his ear, it was the nicest. It’s always the best ones that get taken first. Words he would remember. His mom had been the best.
The low rumble of engine came at them from outside.
June rushed to the window. “Oh, thank the Lord, it’s Frank.” She turned to them, her face washed with relief, then stirred herself when a car door slammed. “I’d better go out and warn him we’re entertaining the president’s son. His old heart isn’t what it used to be.”