I moved so the children would not be able to see uniformed people using tasers, or maybe real guns, on other uniformed people. I stared for seconds at what might have been a dead body outside my shattered office window, at the beginning of a blaze from somewhere near the coffee area. In the extraordinary quiet of the safe room, I closed the monitor station, took a breath, and turned. Four children, digesting what their unready eyes had seen, moved close.
“We have to watch, Mom.” Phoebe approached, hands extended. “That fight is going on in Dad’s office.”
“But he’s not there. We’re not going to watch, Phoebe.” I backed against the monitor box. “I’ll check it in few minutes, but we’re not going to watch that fight.” I activated the communication band, signaling for Lao, needing information.
While I waited, I shepherded the kids back to their chairs, spending extra seconds smoothing hair or touching an arm.
“Anne.” Sounding winded, Lao’s voice gave me a half second of a secure feeling. “What do you need?”
“An update of any kind.” I walked away from the kids’ circle, as far away as the room allowed and turned toward a storage shelf that doubled as a sleeping bunk. “I saw action in the DOE building, but I don’t understand.”
“The marines shutting down one of their own who went rogue.”
“And the fire. That building can’t sustain fire damage. David’s work archives.”
“Trust me, it was a small fire. I’m monitoring everything. Should be about over.” He turned away briefly, speaking to someone else. “Hold tight, Anne. I have to manage logistics. We’ll be in touch.”
“Lao, can’t we return to the residence?”
“Negative. Not until all is clear.”
I opened the security box again, using my body to block the kids’ view. Gardens and yards were empty. Inside the residence, quiet ruled. I couldn’t understand what I saw in the office building, felt emotional at the destruction and possible deaths. I closed it down once more, returned to our chairs.
“Andrew, would you be strong and help distract us by telling us a story or two about your family?” His frown indicated confusion or reluctance. “Or maybe about your favorite school.”
“What do you want to know?” His voice quivered, a nearly eleven-year-old boy in a scary situation.
“We’d love anything you’d be willing to tell us. What your cook made for breakfast. How was your bedroom arranged. What you like about your big brother.”
Looking down at his leg, Andrew spoke low, running words together. “My brother and I shared a room until he went to school in England. He’s seven years older than me and was born during our father’s first marriage. So we’re half-brothers.”
“Like you and John,” Phoebe offered.
“Yeah, I guess so.” Andrew looked up. John sat on the edge of his chair, hands under his legs. “Anyway, when Timothy went to England, I got the whole room to myself.” He paused. “We lived in Philadelphia where estates are just old homes with a few greenhouses and a small barn for chickens and cows. I never saw a place as big as this before.”
“What about school?” Phoebe’s favorite activity. “Didn’t you have your own school?”
“No, we were picked up by a transport. I started when I was three. Really long days Monday through Friday and a half day on Saturday for stuff like music.” Noah made a monster face. Andrew nodded before continuing. “It was hard, but because my parents were like yours, I didn’t have a choice.”
His voice strengthened and I noticed how well he told his story. “I liked the mornings our cook made fried apples for breakfast with scrapple. That’s a kind of special sausage. I didn’t talk with the workers very much ’cause they had classes at night and I had homework. Lots of homework.”
“Did you have a dog?” John asked with sincere interest. “We asked for a dog for Christmas.”
Andrew shook his head. “No dog. But I had fish and we had house cats to hunt mice. It was a very old house. My father hated living in an old place. He would have liked this place.” The last words were said softly and made me think what a topsy-turvy world the government threw in place. Its most valued citizens received prime housing. Some of those people those loved wood and windows and hated the energy-efficient concrete and steel residences they were assigned, while those who wanted high-rise glass-window views lived in Victorian comfort.
My band vibrated. These four kids watched me raise my arm. “Anne, here.”
“If you’re watching the monitors, we’re moving everyone still here into air-filtered buildings because an unknown device placed near the DOE building is spewing a cloudy substance. Good news is that Peterson and his troops are under arrest.” Lao’s military training sounded in his brisk tone. “Military experts are out testing the emission and searching the grounds.”
“Is everyone safe?” I walked while we talked, wished for my earbud communicator instead of the wristband that provided no buffer for the kids from Lao’s information.
“Yes.” Voices filled in behind Lao. “We’ll talk later.”
My left foot’s swelling now extended from my arch through my calf, but I tried to move quickly away from the kids. “Andrew, if you could continue,” I said over my shoulder. “Maybe tell John and Noah and Phoebe about your favorite foods or books. I don’t want any of you to turn around to watch the monitor.” Phoebe, always a firstborn, protested and rose from her chair.
“Sit down, Phoebe.” She stood tall, then pushed aside her chair to follow me. “Please, I don’t have time to discuss this with you. Just do what I asked.” She hesitated. “Please, Phoebe.” I kept my pace, a hand now on the security setup. She returned to her seat, put her head in her lap, cried.
The first monitor showed the dining area crowded with a small group of adults gathered behind fire doors and breathing filtered air. “Grandma and Grandpa are in the dining room,” I reported back to the kids. Outside, the empty courtyard with closed building doors looked both eerie and calm.
The DOE building camera scanned destruction, two inert bodies, marines standing at guard at its entrances. External weather shutters installed during a recent energy project, closed in some areas. Before closing the station, I broke open the safe room’s earpiece communicator and placed it in my ear to follow estate conversations.
Being plugged in to Lao’s actions this way calmed me. I returned to the kids. “We have playing cards if you’d like to do something.” Noah opened the small stock of books and games. “Phoebs, we’re going to be okay.” I sat next to her. “Want to huggle?” She moved close at the use of a babyhood word. “When we get upstairs, I will need a nap. Interested?”
“We just got up, Mom,” she reminded me.
“You lucky girl,” I teased. She stayed at my side.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The boys slid over a box to use as a table and we played a few hands of Crazy Eights. Noah suggested some other game that involved sitting on the floor, and they were gone. Through the earpiece, I followed Lao’s identification of the haze as an eye irritant that dissipated with the start of light drizzle.
One hour after invoking the filtered air protocol, Lao gave an all clear call for the rest of the estate. The buses could return and work resumed. By two hours into our evacuation, playing games ceased to amuse the kids. The boys built towers with the cards. Phoebe made up stories about the structures, her voice often raised to a level not easy to tolerate in a metal and concrete space. John found a safe room instruction manual and sat on the floor next to me to read.
By eleven o’clock, after four hours in isolation, hearing nothing about us in Lao’s communication with estate security, I became irritated. Visual monitors implied that everyone outside once again moved freely.
“Anne, you’re getting impatient?” I heard fatigue in Lao’s voice. “You have not been forgotten.”
“I trust you, but unless the estate is still under military control, decisions should be running through me.” I heard
Paul in the background, maybe Milan. “If there’s no specific threat, we’re leaving the safe room.”
There followed a blur of voices. “I’ll meet you in the hall,” Lao said. “Is there anything you need?”
“An ankle support once we’re upstairs and something mild for the discomfort.” I gave the okay sign to the kids as I spoke. “The kids are ready for lunch and a piece of fruit with a nutrition bar would be great for me. I want to see the DOE building damage.”
“We’ll talk about that,” he responded.
“If there is a security risk fine. Don’t be protecting me from unpleasant. We’ll be out of here in about three minutes.”
Under Andrew’s direction, the kids cleaned up cards and books and chairs. I shut down the security station. “Ready?” I asked as I initiated opening of the sealed door. The younger ones ran ahead. Andrew stayed at my side.
“Do you need a shoulder?” he asked as if his were tall enough to fit under my arm.
“No, but you’re kind to offer. If you stay near, that would be a comfort.”
Together we hurried to freedom. Lao met Noah and John. “I hear you kids are hungry,” he said. “Cook Terrell is ready for you in the kitchen.” They hesitated, waited for me. “Your mom and I have business to discuss. Go ahead.”
“Do you have news about Dad?” Phoebe held her brothers back. “Mom said the soldiers saw him. Is he rescued?”
Lao shook his head. “Nothing new, Phoebe. Now go to the kitchen.” Andrew hesitated. “You, too.” Lao put a hand on Andrew’s arm. “Life at Ashwood is actually calm. Enjoy lunch.”
As they clattered up the steps, Lao turned to me. “A full military investigation has already begun in the office building. They need twenty-four hours. It is better you stay away.”
“Are we allowed to access the building?”
“You and I have access.”
“How many died in there?”
“That isn’t important, Anne.”
“Everything connected to Ashwood is important to me, Lao.” I began walking, upset by what felt like my right-hand security person usurping authority. “I want to see the DOE building. Then we can do an update in the estate offices.”
This third walk down the long basement hallway zapped my energy. I paused to rest.
“We tucked the wheelchair in the supply room. Want me to get it, Annie? I can push you up the delivery ramp.”
Looking out a window at gray skies, David came to mind, maybe walking under the midday Paraguayan sun with a wounded shoulder. We had reason to believe he would come home. Now I wondered how this time apart would affect our future.
“Annie.”
“Thanks for the offer. I think I better get used to moving slowly.” I leaned on the cane and stepped forward on my good foot. “Just stay by my side.”
Patiently Lao did that. He talked to me about how well staff managed the evacuation and Sarah’s tears as she and Paul refused to leave Ashwood. We made it to the steps. He climbed behind me, offering words of encouragement. At the top I moved out of his way, leaned against a wall, and rested.
“Let’s get you to the kitchen for a drink and someone to rewrap that ankle.” He put a hand in the small of my back and steered me to the right, away from the DOE building. I accepted the suggestion.
Terrell waited for us at the kitchen’s entrance. “We need about ten minutes,” he said to Lao, then helped me to his office and closed the door.
“Put your foot on that low table.” Terrell gathered supplies. “You got a choice of low-, medium-, or heavy-duty pain medication. How alert do you want to be for the next three hours?”
“I’m just looking to take the edge off,” I replied. “I don’t want to feel drugged.”
He selected an inhaler, cracked off the tip. “Lean back and exhale. Breath deep on three.” He shook the small container. “One, two, three.” He shook the container once more, inserted the inhaler in my other nostril. “Again. One, two, three.”
“This pad will take down some of the swelling.” Terrell wound a thin disposable patch the size of a sheet of legal paper over my heel and ankle before he replaced the wrapping and strapped on a walking boot. “I want you here after dinner for a rewrap and concussion check.” Each layer of treatment brought more physical comfort.
“Thanks, Terrell, for everything since you returned.”
“Before you go, you listen to me, Anne.” He handed me a glass of water from the crockery jug behind his desk. “You think you’ve seen bad stuff. I’m not discounting what you’ve been through back in the Depression. But I pretty much know you’ve never seen anything like what’s happened in that building.”
“Part of the destruction happened because Peterson got angry at me. Remember? I saw the monitors. I think I’m prepared.” He held his large hands tight between his knees, his eyes appeared to focus somewhere beyond the room. “I’ve stepped over a corpse, Terrell. We’ve just never had reason to talk about the guy who died in the hallway of the boardinghouse where I lived.”
His attention returned to the moment. “Fresh dead in your own surroundings is different,” he said. “You’ll know what I mean.” He stood, extended a hand. “I’m coming with you. Lao’s got plenty to do and you will need a friend.”
“Terrell, I can’t cover my eyes when life gets ugly and expect others to do the hard work.”
“No, Anne Hartford can’t do that.” He took off his cook’s coat, stuffed two washcloths in his pants pocket. “Let’s go. Amber’s in charge. I didn’t expect to change your mind.”
The residence felt calm as Lao, Terrell, and I walked through its main halls. My kids sat with their friends eating lunch. I avoided eye contact with Sarah and Paul, not to be distracted from this responsibility and not wanting my father-in-law involved. I realized I hadn’t eaten anything this day. I suspected that would be good.
“First, tell me why Peterson chose Ashwood,” I said to Lao as we walked. “I understand he was a rogue military leader, but that doesn’t explain the campaign against us—David’s assignment to the Paraguay group, the combine requisition, the command post, and the home invasion.”
“Don’t know.” My clumsy motion slowed our progress. “You and I will have an early dinner with Milan to debrief.” We turned a corner into the hallway to the DOE building. “Anne, nothing has been cleared from the building. The military investigation is underway so we will be escorted. Do not touch anything.” He squared his shoulders, put his hand through my arm. “Ready?”
I nodded. We approached a temporary security checkpoint, were required to suit up in protective clothing and boots. Terrell bent to help slide everything over my ankle brace. Lao convinced the guard to access Terrell’s records for permission to enter as a medic attending me. Before the door opened, we slipped on masks and gloves. I left my cane at the door.
I half listened as the guard gave final instructions. My mind focused on constructing a hasty repair plan for the building. If we could find competent laborers, I wanted the work started the minute the military left. Perhaps by the end of the week I could settle back in my office with its views of David’s desk and our orchards. I reminded myself where I saw the photo of my parents on the floor of my office as Peterson’s goon carried me away. The last photo taken of my father before he died.
The door opened slowly, a great gush of smells and sounds filling my senses.
“My God.” My utterance exited in a hybrid of anguish and prayer as the monitor’s small and poorly lit images now surrounded us in real life. Lingering smoke, a variety of chemical smells, and the odor of human bodies mingled in a most unpleasant soup. I stepped forward too quickly for my boot brace, stumbled toward a pile of sodden cushions that used to cover a lovely restored upholstered sofa presented to us by Magda when I was pregnant with John. Our babies all napped on that sofa.
“Easy, Annie,” Terrell murmured as he helped me step over what was now trash. “Look down and be careful where you put your feet.”
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nbsp; Looking around, I could see glass from all six inside office windows covered the floor, not sparkling as one might expect, but dirtied from smoke and water. And blood splatter. Building windows, bulletproof, remained intact except in my office, where the outer wall no longer existed. Sadness dulled my senses as I surveyed my beloved haven.
From the window cavity I forced myself to assess the rest of my office. The large conference table was shattered with bits of chairs tossed about. And next to the rubble Peterson’s body sat upright against the long inside wall. His eyes remained open as if he were staring at my desk, a number of flowerlike red spots dotted his upper body. Blood spatter stained the wall, the calm green paint Phoebe and I chose just last spring mocked by mayhem. I turned, saw another man’s body face down near the reception area’s coffee table.
“Are these the only fatalities?” Unconsciously my hand reached for the strength of Lao and he stood by my side. “What about the lower level?”
“There are only two.” I focused intensely on his words. Perhaps Terrell had been right and I should have stayed away. “The lower level sustained water and smoke damage.” He covered my hand with his own. “The DOE is sending a team to test for hazardous material leakage from the labs. We can’t go down there, and we shredded the monitors’ connections before we pulled you and Paul out.”
We moved no further. “When will the investigation be done?” I asked because no question really made sense in this chaos.
“General Manager Hartford.” Behind a full face mask I recognized a DOE representative who dealt with us on property management issues, a nice guy in an agency of seasoned bureaucrats. He tipped his head in greeting. “Chief Engineer Lao. I’m Peter Jones, DOE property management services director. I’m sorry this is the reason I am visiting Ashwood.”
“It’s good to see a familiar face,” I responded.
He moved aside, reopening my view of the offices. “A transport just arrived to remove the bodies, and I understand the military is leaving two investigators to work with our team to assess the damage.”
Harvesting Ashwood Minnesota 2037 Page 23