by Wil Mara
She had always classified herself somewhere in the midrange between organized and messy; just enough of the former to know where everything was, but not so much that it hampered her workflow. Today, she had drifted so far outside her comfort zone that she worried whether she’d be able to find the right map or telephone number or emergency guide when it was needed most.
Even the use of her trusty notebook, which Emilio called one of her “two external organs” (the other being her iPhone), had been forced out of its usual pattern. She normally filled a single sheet, maybe two, on a typical day. It wasn’t even midafternoon and she had already covered nearly thirty pages with hurried, harried scribble.
“A hundred and sixteen,” she repeated. “Just where the heck are these people?” She consulted the list that was open in Microsoft Word on her screen. “Norman Beale, for example. You know him, right?”
“A little bit,” Harlan Phillips replied, sounding stronger than Sarah had expected when she’d first picked up the receiver and heard him firing questions at her. Hearing his heart monitor beeping steadily in the background made her wonder how much of his attitude was sheer bravado. “He used to own the bowling alley, the one where those medical offices are now. They paid him a fortune for that land, and since then he’s lived like a hermit.”
“We called him a few times and got no answer. Not even a machine. And we have no record of a cellphone or an email address.” She let out a tuneless note of frustration. “There are so many like that—Callie Morris, Jack and Mary Dench, Bobby Crawford.… I’ve tasked four people with the search, plus one uniformed officer is going to some of these addresses. But I don’t want to spend any more manpower than that. It’s one cop and one squad car not available for emergencies because people won’t answer their phones. And the officer—it’s Doug, by the way—is also using a hazmat suit. He needs it, of course, but we really don’t have enough to go around as it is.”
“How are the illness and injury numbers?”
“I’m getting updates every few minutes, either by text or by fax.” She walked over to the fax machine, where a new sheet had rolled out moments before Phillips called. It was from County General; she had already drawn a tight association between bad news and the intertwined C and G logo; just seeing it made her queasy.
“We’ve got four hundred and thirty-six cases of radiation poisoning. Forty-four of them are in advanced stages—high fever, dizziness, a drop in leukocytes, shock, diminished levels of consciousness.…” Shaking her head, she went over to the window facing the community center. The parking lot was nearly full. The swirling lights of police vehicles splashed the area with a carnivalesque array of colors. “There’s also a mix of injuries from various altercations, including eight broken arms, two broken noses, and one broken leg from a car accident. Two drivers were trying to get out of town and neither would yield to the other.”
“They ran the roadblock?”
“No, this was just before the sawhorses went up.”
“A lot of the people you have listed as MIA probably got out of town already.”
“Possibly, but I’d like to be sure.”
“All the roads leading out are blocked now. Even Carteret, although it flooded awhile ago. I can’t imagine anyone being stupid enough to drive through those waters.”
She returned to her desk and sat, then grabbed her mouse and brought up a live satellite map of the area. Cloud patches in different colors—the shade depending on the amount of rainfall—moved in a jerky, stop-and-go fashion from northwest to southeast.
“The weather forecasters are saying that the storm isn’t going to let up until well after dark. The system is more than eighty miles across.”
Phillips said, “There are reports of radiation sickness in Lebanon, Hershey, Ephrata, and Lancaster.”
“How do you know that?”
“It’s on the local news. Plus, word has been spreading like fire on the Internet.”
“Oh, good,” Sarah groaned. “That should do wonders to keep public panic to a minimum.”
“All those towns are locked down, too. It’s only a matter of time before it hits Philly, Allentown, and Wilkes-Barre.”
Sarah closed her eyes and shook her head. “If this stuff rains down all over Lancaster, do you realize … oh, my dear God … do you realize what it’ll do to the Amish? To their crops? They’re farmers.”
“I know, but you can’t do anything about it. Focus on what you can do,” Phillips said. “Have you spoken with the governor yet?”
“That’s next, right after I get off the line with you.” Sarah thought about the relationship between the two men. Phillips had openly supported and campaigned for Kent’s opponents during the last two gubernatorial elections. He wrote at least a dozen editorials challenging Kent’s positions on a variety of issues. And when Kent refused to release state funds to repair the Carteret Bridge after it had been damaged the previous winter, Phillips did not hesitate to tell the news media that, in his opinion, the governor’s actions were motivated purely by revenge. The public seemed to agree, as Kent’s popularity rating dropped twenty-two percent in a matter of days and never fully recovered.
Sarah cleared her throat. “Isn’t he, um.…”
“A first-class sonofabitch? Yes, he is. And you know he’s not a member of my fan club, right?”
“I do.”
“So be wary. Oh, here’s another thing—he’s pro nuke. Don’t forget that. And now that he can’t be elected governor again—thank the Lord God for term limits—his central concern will be his precious legacy. He’s not going to rest until they’ve named a few highways and hospitals after him. Weigh everything he says against those factors.”
“I will.”
She stared out the window for a few moments; moments that felt like years. Then she straightened in her chair and flipped to a fresh page in her notebook.
“I’ll handle him,” she said.
“Good luck,” Phillips told her.
* * *
When the office phone rang ten minutes later, Sarah jumped as if she’d been poked in the ribs. She looked down at the blinking hold button, which now seemed every bit as menacing and toxic as the rain that was blowing forcefully against the tall windows.
There was a soft knock behind her.
“Yes?” Sarah said through a dry pipe. She cleared her throat and tried again. The door squealed back and Lorraine Harris stuck her head in.
“That’s the governor’s office for you,” she said in a near-whisper, a light emphasis on governor’s.
“Right, okay. Thanks.” She’d asked Harris to place the call for her, telling herself it was to keep up appearances, though the truth, if she had to admit it, was that she was procrastinating.
Harris withdrew, closing the door with painstaking reverence. Sarah thought she heard the woman echo Phillips’s “Good luck,” though she wasn’t really listening. Sarah took a deep breath, then pressed the button and lifted the receiver.
“Hello?”
“Sarah Redmond?” A woman’s voice, harsh and businesslike.
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Please hold for the governor.”
Sarah drew breath to reply, but the woman clicked off before she got the chance. The line was flooded with meandering Muzak, so overwrought that it took Sarah a moment to realize it was Pennsylvania’s eponymous state song. Then the receiver on the other end was picked up, dropped on a hard surface, and snatched up again.
“Yes?” the governor said.
It was bizarre to hear Kent’s rich, deep voice, which she was familiar with from the media, coming through the phone’s tiny speaker. She had an urge to clear her throat again, but didn’t dare.
“Governor Kent? This is—”
“Sandra? Sandra Redmond?”
“It’s Sarah, sir. Yes, Sarah Redmond in Silver Lake.”
“I was wondering when I’d be hearing from you.”
“Yes, sir. The situation has reached a c
ritical point here, and that’s why I’m calling. I’d like to formally request that y—”
“Why isn’t your boss calling me?”
“I’m sorry?”
“How come I’m not getting this call from Harlan?”
He dropped the name as if the two of them were near and dear. Sarah found this queerly fascinating and couldn’t help but marvel at the man’s audacity.
“He had major heart surgery and is still recovering,” she said.
“So you’re in charge in his absence.”
“That’s correct.”
“Well, I don’t envy you your duties on this day. You have my most profound sympathies.”
The way he spoke these two lines made a dazzling impression on her. She could feel the warmth, the empathy, the sincerity. Curtis Kent was suddenly her best friend and protector, and he’d produced that side of his character as easily as if he’d flicked a switch. It was impressive enough—but a deeply embedded instinct told her that she needed to be careful, lest she become intoxicated by his charm. The Devil’s voice is very sweet, her father used to tell her, and you’ll hear it in political circles all the time.
“Thank you,” she replied simply.
“I’m guessing you’re calling because you’d like me to mobilize the Guard?”
“Yes. We need to begin evacuating immediately.” Stick to the matter at hand, was the message flashing through her brain. No more talk about Harlan Phillips. Just stay on point and get this over with. “I’ve got the zones all mapped out.”
“Hang on a sec,” Kent said, a little impatiently. The charm switch he’d thrown before had been thrown again, to the “off” position. “The explosion at the plant took place about two hours ago, right?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“The storm is still in full swing.”
“Yes.”
“And the latest dosimeter reading shows a level high enough to cause intense radiation poisoning within ninety minutes.”
“Yes,” she said, “that’s correct.”
“So please correct me if I’m wrong, Sandra, but isn’t it standard procedure with evacuations under these circumstances to wait until the worst of it is over and the bulk of the radioactive material has settled?”
It finally struck Sarah that his calling her by the wrong name had been intentional from the start. He was a bastard, but he was a smart bastard, and the odds of him forgetting her name twice in the span of as many minutes was below zero—designed not only to belittle her but also denote her irrelevance to him.
“We have a very unique situation here, Governor,” she said without the slightest trace of offense and even put a touch of condescension into her tone, as if she was educating a child. “No one can say if the worst of the storm is over. Maybe it’s peaking right now, or maybe it’s going to be ten times worse in an hour. Here’s what I do know—many of the homes here are older and nowhere close to waterproof, which means a lot of my residents will contract radiation sickness if they don’t get out of here fast. We’ve got nearly five hundred cases already, ten percent of which are in an advanced state.”
She wanted to add, Did you ever consider the possibility of such statistics when you were deciding which side of the nuclear issue to come down on, or did you just take the money and run? “We also have extensive flooding throughout the south side of the town, which is only going to get worse and, as a result, seriously hamper evac and emergency-response efforts. So I say again that now, not later, is the time to—”
“Okay, okay,” Kent said irritably. “Let me ask you, have you cleared all this with your boss?”
“Excuse me?”
“Have you run this past Harlan Phillips?”
Sarah could barely believe what she said next, even as she heard every word roll out clearly.
“Governor, I’ve already explained that he is recovering from major surgery, and that he has, legally, left me in charge. That means I’m the mayor of Silver Lake today. With all due respect, I think it’s crucial that you understand this.”
In the icy silence that followed, Sarah felt as though her heart had stopped beating. Is he going to hang up? she wondered, and that terrifying thought got her heart going again in a hurry—zero to sixty in about half a nanosecond. Did I piss him off so much that he’s going to withhold Guard support just to spite me? Can he even legally do that? Images of Silver Lake residents suffering in the throes of radiation sickness filled her mind—all because of my pride—and her stomach clenched.
“You’re right, I apologize,” Kent said finally, and with absolutely no sincerity. “I meant no offense to you personally. I was referring simply to the fact that he has more experience with this kind of thing than you do, so I was wondering—”
“I have been in frequent contact with him throughout the day, and we have discussed and agreed upon all strategies,” Sarah said, rapidly and flatly.
“Ah, okay. Well, that’s good. I do, after all, want to supply you with the assistance you require.”
“So you’ll get the Guard mobilized then?”
“I will indeed.”
“Great, then please let me get back to my nightmare. Thank you so m—”
“Whoa, whoa,” Kent said, sounding every bit the confident bully he had been all his life. “Don’t go anywhere just yet.”
“I’m sorry?”
“This situation isn’t that simple. There are other details we need to iron out first, some of a highly sensitive nature.”
Sarah felt bewildered. She had read the evac procedures twice, all but memorized them word for word. Yes, there were details, but they were supposed to be determined by her, the local logistical crews, and the Guard commander.
“I don’t understand,” she said.
“Is this a secure line?” the governor asked.
“As far as I know.”
“And we are the only ones listening at present?”
“I’m sure.”
“Okay, good. Now, I believe—um, you understand that what you just told me about anyone else listening to this conversation is legally binding, correct?”
Butterflies materialized in her stomach. “Yes, I understand,” she said, lying.
“All right. Now, I also believe you know that I have been supportive of the nuclear-energy industry in this state from the beginning, correct?”
A layer of frost settled on her. “Yes,” she said carefully, “I’m aware that that’s been your stance on the issue.”
“And a thing like this, like what’s happened today, can backfire on a person in my position very easily.”
A siren began wailing outside, close enough that it could be heard clearly through the downpour. Sarah reached over and pressed down the towel-roll that lay along the bottom of the closest window frame. To her alarm, it was slightly damp now.
“Sir, I’m sorry, but I really have to—”
“Just hold your horses. What I’m trying to say is that I would be grateful to you if you would make certain to let the media know how cooperative and effective I have been to you throughout this crisis.”
Sarah was struck silent again. He didn’t just imply what I think he implied, did he? No, even he can’t be that—
“Sarah? Are you there?”
“Yes, yes. I’m here. And I understand what you’re saying. But … you wouldn’t not mobilize the Guard, would you? That’s pretty much standard procedure here, right? I mean, how would it look if—”
“No, not that,” Kent said. “Of course I’m sending in the Guard. I’m just as concerned about the welfare of your citizenry as you are. No, I’m talking about the other things.”
“Other things?”
Kent exhaled mightily, then chuckled. “You might just come out of this mess looking like the hero of the day. And if that’s the case, it would be to my great benefit to be touted by you as your vice-hero, particularly with election season looming on the horizon. You’re understanding me so far, right?”
She un
derstood with much greater clarity than he imagined. What she could not wrap her mind around was how any human being, once newborn and vulnerable and free of corruption, could evolve into someone this nakedly self-serving. It wasn’t so much the epic ego the man wielded, but the unapologetic nature with which he wielded it. She did not sense even the remotest trace of embarrassment or shame. She also wondered—and this only compounded her revulsion—how many other conversations he’d had like this over the years.
“Yes, I get it,” she said.
“And you need to remember that the media’s a funny kind of animal. One moment it’s rubbing up against you like a kitten, the next it’s turned into a fully grown lion lunging at your throat. Doesn’t matter what side you’re on. Doesn’t matter what the truth happens to be.”
“I’ve experienced my share of—”
“Of course,” he rolled on, “many of those same media people are old friends of mine, so I do have something of an advantage over, say, someone who’s a bit lower down the ladder. And, of course, it’s always nice to be able to call in a favor or two if I need to cover my ass … or go after someone else’s.” Kent let this linger for a moment, then continued, “You understand what I’m saying on this point, too, don’t you?”
Her body had gone hollow; there was simply no feeling inside.
“I do,” she said.
“Good, I just wanted to make sure.” The warmth was back; he had flicked the switch again. “I’ll get on the phone to General Conover right now. He’ll be in touch, okay?”
“Yeah.”
“And if you need anything else, just call me.”
He hung up before she had a chance to respond. Her hand was shaking when she set the receiver back into its cradle.
She looked at her iPhone to make sure the recording had been made.
It had.
15
Sharon was a few paces ahead of Mark on the path, twirling and leaping about. Every now and then she would stop to open her mouth and drink the raindrops. Mark watched, hands in his pockets, adoring her and thinking she was crazy at the same time. Their hair was matted disastrously to their heads and neither cared a whit, so comfortable they were in each other’s company. Mark found himself wondering whether any damage was being done to the baby each time Sharon spun around, which made him realize he didn’t know very much about pregnancy.