by Dirk Patton
She started talking again, babbling on about a plane and something having been released into the air. As she was speaking, several of the bodies in the background began moving. The cameraman must have alerted her. She turned to look, then started walking towards them, the camera following. A man climbed to his feet on the far side of the street, staggering like he was either drunk or hurt. Moments later two women stood up, looking around and spotting the reporter that was coming towards them.
Katie, Mike and Janice stared in shock as the two women screamed and charged directly at the reporter. The woman froze, unsure what was happening, and was tackled to the street a moment before the camera operator was either taken down or dropped the camera and ran. The reporter was still half in the shot as the two females tore her apart, her screams abruptly being cut off when one of them locked her teeth onto the woman’s throat and tore it out.
“What the fuck was that?” Mike shouted, leaping to his feet.
Katie had stood up also, fear pulsing through her body. The screen changed to images of what looked like riots in Detroit, Dallas, Miami and Atlanta. When Atlanta came on the screen, Katie stopped breathing.
Downtown Atlanta was a nightmare. The streets were full of running women and stumbling men. Finally the footage from Atlanta ended and they were looking at thousands of people tearing others apart with their bare hands in Seattle.
“What’s going on?” Mike asked again. Katie looked at him but couldn’t respond, turning her attention back to the TV as it cut to Atlanta again.
Fires were burning in several large buildings in the downtown area. A local TV station actually had a helicopter in the air, and it was zeroed in on the fast moving flames. As they watched, fire leapt a narrow alley, igniting the building next to one that was already burning furiously.
Katie dashed back outside and as soon as the sat phone had signal she hit redial. John’s phone didn’t even ring. All she heard was an error message telling her the network was temporarily unavailable. Hitting the end button to silence the repeating message, fear for John gripped her heart and it took every ounce of her self-control to hold back the tears that were threatening to start.
She’d never made a trip to Atlanta with her husband. She knew he was in one of the cities that was in the metropolitan Atlanta area, but had no idea which one or how far it was from downtown. Why the hell hadn’t she paid more attention?
Looking up through the glass door, she could see Mike and Janice still glued to the TV. What was she going to do? What could she do? Katie wandered over to where John stashed his cigarettes, for the first time in ten years wanting one to help her think. John thought he was hiding them from her. He was cute like that, she thought, and couldn’t help but smile. Retrieving the pack and some matches she lit one and slowly lowered herself onto a padded patio chair.
Was the Phoenix area safe? That was the first question. How many and which cities had been attacked with the nerve gas? So far, from the news, she knew that Chicago, Detroit, Miami, Atlanta and Seattle had fallen. But where else? This was a well coordinated, professionally planned and executed strike on America. There would be more cities. But how many more?
And what about John? Katie well knew what he was capable of, having witnessed it for herself live and in person the night they’d met. But Atlanta was what, 2,000 miles away? How could she ever hope he’d be able to make his way home? The thought of trying to get to Atlanta passed through her head, but was completely dismissed as foolish. Even if she made it, which was very unlikely, the possibility of finding John was basically zero.
Drawing deep on the cigarette, she checked on the Wilsons. They were still on the couch, staring at more horror unfolding on the screen. Mike Wilson was a pilot and he had his own plane! How the hell had she forgotten that? Jabbing the butt into a small ashtray John also kept hidden, Katie leapt to her feet and charged into the house.
“Mike, you still have a plane. Right?” She asked.
“Yeah. Why?” He turned to look at her and she could see the terror in his face from watching the TV.
“Can it make it to Atlanta?” She asked.
“It could. But you really can’t be thinking about going there. The fire is spreading and they’re saying the whole city will be burning by morning.” Katie could hear the panic in his voice.
She rushed into the kitchen and grabbed the vodka out of the freezer, pouring two small shots and carrying them to the couch where Mike and Janice were sitting. Both of them grabbed the glasses like the liquid was their salvation, tipping them up and downing the drinks. Mike coughed once, wiped his mouth and looked at Katie.
“There have to be plenty of airfields in the area that are clear of the fire.” Katie said, realizing how foolish it sounded as soon as she said it. Even if they could make it into the area, where did she start looking? For that matter, John wasn’t going to just sit still and wait for her to come find him. She knew better than to think that. Damn it, what did she do?
3
The Wilsons seemed settled in and Katie decided not to ask them to leave. Together, they sat and watched the news unfolding from around the country as more and more cities began to fall to the nerve gas attacks. By 11:00 PM, Arizona time, the news stations had set up a reporting format similar to what they used on national election nights to tally the number and location of attacks. At a little after 11:30 the anchor said the President would be giving a speech to the nation from aboard Air Force One, but as time wore on they never cut away from the frightening reports from around the country.
Katie made at least twenty more attempts to reach John with the satellite phone, none successful. Looking up numbers he’d given her for co-workers and friends, she tried each of them, but none of the calls were going through. At 12:30 she thought about food. She wasn’t hungry. She suddenly realized that the damage to America’s infrastructure was so significant that deliveries to grocery stores were probably a thing of the past.
Standing in the middle of the kitchen she looked around then opened the pantry and surveyed its contents. Not much on hand, and similar results when she checked the refrigerator. She and John were in the habit of only shopping for a couple of days of food at a time. They primarily only ate fresh foods, preferring organics, and as a result there was no stock of canned or frozen foods in their home to fall back on.
“We need to go get food. Now.” She said to the Wilsons, distracting them from a report out of Memphis that showed a sea of people surging forward to attack a hospital.
“If you’re hungry we’ve got plenty of food at our place.” Janice said, looking confused.
“That’s not what I mean,” Katie said. “Look at what’s going on. There’s not going to be any more deliveries of food for some time to come. We need to stock up before it’s too late. I’m going to the Safeway. They’re open 24 hours. You should come with me. We can fill up the truck.”
“She’s right,” Mike said, standing up. Janice remained seated on the sofa, looking frightened.
“Janice, Mike and I will go. You stay here and see if the President comes on.” Katie was actually relieved to have an excuse to leave the woman at home. She and Mike could move faster without her.
“If you think that’s best, dear.” Janice sounded relieved.
Katie led the way to the garage, grabbing the shotgun on the way through the door. She and Mike climbed into the truck, Katie starting the engine a moment before pushing the button to raise the door. She backed out of the garage and down the long driveway, accelerating towards the gates that guarded access to their neighborhood.
The grocery store was only a few miles away and they drove in silence. There weren’t any other vehicles on the road, which was slightly comforting for Katie. “But this is only a few hours old,” she thought to herself.
Safeway was on the corner of a major intersection, the lot brightly lit when Katie steered into it. It was rare that she or John had been shopping this late and she was mildly surprised that there were only
half a dozen cars in the parking lot. She didn’t know if this was normal or not, parking with a few empty spaces between her and the closest vehicle. The last time she’d been to the store after midnight was two years ago when John was sick with the flu and she’d run out to pick up some medicine for him.
She and Mike stepped out and for a brief moment Katie thought about bringing the shotgun with her, but decided that wasn’t a good idea at this point. Things should still be fairly normal, so she locked the weapon in the cab of the truck. She did have the holstered .45 and had no qualms about walking around with it.
As they approached the automatic glass doors, both of them paused to read a large hand lettered sign that announced that credit card processing was down and the store was only accepting cash.
“There’s an ATM inside,” Mike said. “Maybe it’s still working.”
They stepped forward, the doors sliding open at their approach. To their left were the checkout lanes. Three men with several shopping carts piled to overflowing were arguing with the cashier. The clerk was telling them that he had no way to accept a credit card, and they had to pay in cash. A man that was most likely the night manager was walking swiftly towards the commotion at the register.
Mike started toward the ATM, which was close to the confrontation, but Katie placed a hand on his arm to stop him. The men with the full carts weren’t backing off, and she didn’t like the vibe she was getting from their body language. Instead she headed to the right, Mike in tow, fading into the produce area of the store. They had just stepped behind a large table loaded with apples and pears when several gunshots sounded from the front of the store.
Drawing her pistol, Katie pushed Mike towards the back of the building, urging him into a run. She didn’t know if the men had noticed them come in or not, or if they would even worry about witnesses to their crime, but she didn’t want to stand around and find out. Ahead she could see a set of stainless steel swinging doors that led to the stock area and she charged through, Mike on her heels.
Two teenagers, a boy and a girl dressed in jeans and Safeway T-shirts, were just inside the door. Katie ran into the boy when she slammed through the doors, knocking him to the floor. She stumbled but was able to recover. The girl stood looking at her, eyes wide with fear as she stared at the pistol. The boy wound up on his back, scrambling away from the crazy woman with the gun.
“Don’t hurt us!” He cried as he kept scooting away. Mike stepped around Katie and reached out for the boy.
“Quiet! Some men just shot your cashier and we’re hiding from them.” He said.
Katie scanned the area and not seeing anyone else moved to the swinging doors and peered through the small glass windows. One of the men she’d seen arguing at the register was standing in the produce section, a chrome revolver in his hand, looking around. He spotted the doors she was hiding behind and started walking in her direction.
“Who else is in the store?” Katie asked the frightened girl.
“Why?” She asked.
“Because the men that shot your cashier and manager are walking around out there looking for witnesses.”
“Oh my God!” The girl said. A moment later she started crying.
“Just the four of us,” the boy said from the floor. “Julie and I clean and take product out for Bob and Tim to stock. They’re really dead?”
“Yes they are, and one of the killers is coming. Is there a back way out of here?” Katie asked.
The boy swallowed nervously, then climbed to his feet. “This way,” he said, grabbing Julie’s arm and pulling her along as he led the way to the rear wall where a man door was located next to a large rolling door.
A push bar ran across the middle of the door, a large paddle attached to it with a red warning sticker stating an alarm would sound if pressed. The boy fished a key out of his pocket and used it to unlock a spring-loaded deadbolt, letting them open the door without having to use the bar. They moved through quickly, Katie softly closing the door behind them.
They were on the store’s loading dock. A ramp next to them allowed semi trailers to be backed up to the rolling door. A large mercury vapor light was set high in the wall over their heads, brightly illuminating the whole area. Katie led the way off the dock and past a pair of stinking dumpsters, then into the dark at the end of the store.
Hugging the wall they moved to the front edge of the building. They stood in darkness, Katie and Mike looking around the corner into the well-lit parking lot. Two of the men were loading food into two different vehicles. The third man wasn’t in sight. They had just finished emptying the shopping carts when the third came running out of the front of the store, several cartons of cigarettes under one arm and big bottle of liquor in his hand.
The man with the booze shoved the carts away to roll across the parking lot where one slammed into the passenger door of John’s truck. Katie wished John was here to kick the man’s ass, but settled for being happy when all three of them jumped into their vehicles and sped away. Taking a deep breath she holstered the pistol and grabbed Mike’s arm.
“Let’s go,” she said. “The store’s empty.”
“What? We have to call the police! They just murdered two people.” He sounded like he was in shock.
“Fine. If you can find a working phone, you call them.” Katie said. “This is just the beginning. We need to get what we came for and get out of here.”
Katie turned and looked at the two teenagers. Julie was still crying, the boy holding her as she sobbed. “You two should go home. Now. Go be with your families.”
The boy looked at her and nodded, leading Julie out into the parking lot and helping her get into a lowered Honda Civic. He got behind the wheel and it started with a high-pitched snarl of exhaust, then he roared away with a squealing of tires.
“The police would want to talk to them,” Mike said, following Katie to the front of the store where she grabbed two carts. She paused and turned to look at him.
“Mike, you’ve seen what’s happening. The police aren’t going to come. How many of them do you think have already gone home to protect their families? We can’t count on them, or anyone other than ourselves. You just have to trust that I know what I’m talking about. Now, we need to load up some carts and get the hell out of here before more people show up and decide to take away what’s ours.”
Katie pushed the two carts through the automatic doors at a trot, heading for the aisle with canned foods first. A few moments later she heard the doors open again, followed by the wobbly squeal of shopping cart wheels as Mike followed her back into the store.
When they returned to the house Janice was still seated on the sofa, but the bottle of vodka was sitting on the table in front of her. Katie eyed it and noted the level of the alcohol was significantly lower than the last time she’d put it away. Picking the bottle up she made sure the cap was tight and returned it to the freezer. Janice was visibly drunk, staring at the TV with watery eyes, slurring her words as she talked to her husband.
“We should go to Mexico until this all blows over.” She said. “We could stay with the Allens in Cabo for a while.”
Mike looked at her, thinking about it for a moment before turning to Katie. “You should come with us. It’s a six hour flight in my plane. We can leave a note for John.”
“I can’t leave,” Katie shook her head. “Not yet. If there’s anyone that can make it home, it’s him. But you two should go if you have a place to stay. I’m afraid it’s going to get really bad here.”
Katie didn’t really want to be alone, but she sure wasn’t interested in having to be responsible for the Wilsons. She knew Janice liked to drink, and it was looking like that was going to be a problem. A problem she didn’t need.
Mike stood in thought, looking around at the TV as footage of Atlanta burning played on the screen. He looked at Katie and nodded his head, leaning down and taking his wife’s hands and pulling her to her feet.
“We’re going to go get ready to
go. We’ll be leaving in about fifteen minutes if you change your mind.”
Katie stepped forward and hugged each of them, wishing them luck, then walked them to the front door and securely bolted it when they exited. With a sigh of relief she went to the garage and started carrying armloads of canned goods into the house. She worked for some time, sorting out the food she’d looted from the grocery store.
Two cases of bottled water were brought into the house, but she left four more in the truck. She also left a couple of week’s worth of food, not wanting to contemplate having to make a quick departure, but knowing she needed to be prepared. Food distributed between the house and the truck, she went back to the gun safe and pulled the door open.
Already knowing which rifle she wanted, Katie grabbed it out of the safe, slapped in a loaded magazine and pulled the charging handle to put a round into the chamber. She rummaged in a closet until she found a larger pack, stuffing it full of loaded magazines. Unable to think of anything else to do she returned to the TV, settling on the sofa with the rifle lying across her lap.
The news was once again playing a loop of the drone footage of the devastation in New York. She cared about New York, cared about the millions of people who were dead or dying, but she wanted them to switch back to the coverage of Atlanta. She had only been watching for a couple of minutes when the screen went blank, then displayed the banner for the Emergency Broadcast System accompanied by a high pitched, dual tone alert.
Grabbing the remote, Katie changed the channel but all she could find was the same EBS alert. With rising panic she snatched up her iPad to check for news of anything on social media, but the Internet connection was down. She was cut off from any source of information.
4
The morning after the attacks, TV and radio broadcasts hadn’t come back on and Katie continued to have no luck in reaching John or any of her friends or family on the satellite phone. She even dug out some numbers from her past and dialed former friends and colleagues that she was reasonably sure were still with the CIA. None of those calls went through either. Buried deep in her jewelry box was a scrap of paper with an international phone number written on it in faded ink.