“How?” I ask.
“Finish your tea,” she says.
I follow Graham’s lead and swig the tea down. “How?”
She stands and heads for the stairs. “Follow me.”
She leads us up the staircase to the second floor, where Ishah’s room was. I resist the urge to open the door and look in. If it’s still decorated like it was fifteen years ago, I’m not sure I’ll be able to take it. He’s alive, and I might well see him again, but he won’t be the little boy I remembered. He’ll be a man... My thoughts flash back to the vision, of Ike and Ishah, fully grown.
Did it know? Did it allow me to live?
“In here,” Bell says, leading us to the master bedroom, where a different set of memories reside. But when I step inside, nothing is how I remember it. The bed is gone, replaced by stacks of supplies and a table, upon which is a radio. “The antenna’s in the back yard, strung up over the trees.”
She sits down at the radio, turns it on and keys the mic. “Raven Rock, this is Black Widow.” She lifts her finger from the call button. “I chose my handle. Always liked those movies, and...” She points at herself, moving her finger up and down, indicating her body. “I like to think I’ve got Johansson’s figure. Used to anyway. Not as curvy as I used to be, but there hasn’t been anyone around to disagree.”
She pushes the button again. “Raven Rock, do you copy? Over?”
“Reading you loud and clear,” a man replies. “Just in time. President Wright was just about to contact you.”
There’s a crackle of static, during which Bell looks up at me, worried.
Mina’s voice fills the room, threatening to pull fresh tears from my eyes. I thought fifteen years of struggle had hardened me, but all those walls are crumbling. “Bell. It’s Ike. I need you.” After a moment she adds, “Over.”
“Is he okay?” Bell asks. “Over.”
“I don’t know. The outpost was lost. We don’t know if he made it out. I—I don’t think I can do this without you. Please. Over.”
“Of course,” Bell says. “But there’s something you need to know. Over.”
“Yes,” Mina says, sounding more like her put-together self. Just knowing Bell was going to join her helped her calm down. They might not have seen each other in fourteen years, but they were still family, and that, for me, was worth the years of hardship traveling around the world. “You called for me. Over.”
“Actually,” I say. “I called for you. Over.”
Silence for a full ten seconds.
“Abraham?”
“I’m here. I’m alive.” As I say the words, my eyes roam around the room, looking at the piles of supplies. They stop at a vaguely familiar backpack. I take my finger off the call button and point at the pack. “Is that...”
“Yours,” Bell says. “I found it inside the front door when I came back. The airline delivered it. I haven’t opened it.”
I kiss her hard on the lips and then speak into the mic again. “Baby, listen, I have something for you. Tell Ishah I’ll need his help. We’re not beaten yet. Over.”
“Choppers are already on the way,” she says, her voice hiccupping in a way that tells me she’s crying. That’s when I notice that I am, too. So much for macho, post-apocalyptic Abraham. “I have to go, but I’ll see you soon. Over.”
“Love you,” I say.
“You too,” comes the soft reply.
“Over and out.”
“What is it?” Mayer asks. “What do you have?”
I head for the backpack and unzip the top. Inside is a heap of clothing and equipment, but stuffed down the side is a folded up tool. I remove it carefully, unfolding the ice ax’s blade without snapping it into position. I lean close and look at the streak of red on its surface. “A sample.”
39
Our ride arrives ridiculously fast, in just over twenty minutes. A roaring Black Hawk helicopter dangling a rope ladder to the empty supply crate-littered street. One by one, we climb out of the savage New World and into the modern old. The transition would have been jarring a few months ago, after fending in the wilderness for so many years, but our journey across the ocean on Hope, and our time in my old house, has acclimated us to the idea that the world as we knew it still exists.
The chop of the rotors is probably attracting the kind of attention that would get us killed, but there are two Apache attack helicopters circling the area, looking for trouble. When they first appeared overhead, roaring past and sweeping out and around the neighborhood, Graham and Mayer were all smiles. While the world I left behind was full of loved ones, the pair of soldiers saw the weapons of war as old friends. They might not run up and hug a chopper, but they looked noticeably more relaxed and confident when the world’s most dangerous attack helicopter—then and now—showed up for escort duty.
Ascending the rope ladder is far easier than I expected. In the past, while on location for various stories, I struggled up similar ladders as they bent and twisted around. But now, I could ascend the rungs with just my arms if I needed to. Even Graham, with a fresh wound in his triceps, makes short work of the ladder. Once we’re all inside, the cargo door is slid shut and we’re offered headsets. There aren’t any mics, but they dull the thunderous roar of the chopper blades. Tired and unable to talk, we settle in for the ride.
Graham and Mayer sit across from Bell and me, fingers interlocked, heads leaning against each other, sound asleep. While the pair operate under a ‘sleep when you can’ philosophy, I think the helicopter’s vibrations and monotonous rotor chop is comforting to them.
I sit with an arm around Bell, my hand rubbing her side, each stroke convincing me that this isn’t a dream. Her left leg dangles over my right, our bodies intertwined as much as they can be while sitting in the back of a helicopter. But the intimacy our closeness promises makes my heart beat a little faster. I’ve been alone for a very long time.
For the first twenty minutes, my mind wanders, wondering about Mina, Ike and Ishah. Will my reunion with Mina go smoothly? Or has she changed so much I won’t recognize her? I still have a hard time accepting that Bell has been out here by herself all this time. And Ishah. He became a father while he was still a teenager and has five children now, none of whom Bell has met. That she stayed away all that time on the hope that I would return... It breaks my heart. But I’m also grateful she made the sacrifice. Without it, our family wouldn’t be coming back together.
Thinking of myself as a grandfather feels strange. I don’t feel old. But I’ve got gray hair, both of my sons are grown, and with Ike’s two sons—twins—I’m the patriarch of a growing family, perhaps one of the largest still living on the planet, about to be reunited.
While trying to picture my grandchildren’s faces, I fall asleep.
I dream of monsters. Of running. Of death.
The normal stuff.
But when I wake again, hours later, all of that is a distant memory.
A hand grips my shoulder.
I knock it away with my left hand, and reach down for the knife on my hip with my right. It’s all reflex. Muscle memory. My brain is still catching up as my knife hand comes up, finding my attacker’s chin, and I shove. Then I’m gripped from behind and yanked back. I start to struggle, but full awareness returns just a moment before I slam my elbow into the side of Bell’s head.
I raise my hands, looking up at the stunned soldier who is fumbling for his sidearm. Had I not shed my weapons upon entering the chopper, he’d have a five-inch blade stuck up into his head.
“Sorry,” I say, to Bell, not the soldier. I’m gripped by shame at revealing my savage side to her. Graham, Mayer and I always woke each other from a safe distance, with bird calls or tossed pebbles. We’ve become dangerous people, ready to kill or be killed, even in sleep.
But my shame is short-lived.
“That was slick,” Bell said, squeezing my shoulders, her smiling face beside mine. “Those reflexes kept you alive. Kept both of us alive.”
“Yeah,” I say as Graham and Mayer stretch, both smiling, both enjoying the show.
“At ease, soldier,” Graham says to the man still fighting to draw his weapon in the helicopter’s tight confines.
The man hears the familiar words and stops. He eyes each of us with the wild look of someone who realizes they’ve just stepped into a swamp full of gators. We’re wild animals. We could bite. We could kill. He’s only just now realized this.
Graham leans closer to the soldier, offering friendly advice with a smile. “You should know better than to shake a warrior when he’s sleeping.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Sorry,” I say again, this time to the soldier. “We’ve been out there a long time.”
And that’s when I realize I can hear what I’m saying. The rotors have stopped spinning. We’re on the ground. That’s why he was waking us up.
Through the side window I see forest, but there’s a razor wire-topped chain-link fence holding it back, a hundred yards off. The two Apaches have landed beside us, their crews still inside, waiting.
For what? I wonder, and then I see the first helicopter start to sink. Then the next.
What the...
I flinch as the Black Hawk jolts and is swallowed up by the ground. I tilt my head upwards, watching the light of day shrink to a square above us. A hatch slides shut, plunging the chopper into momentary darkness. But then we emerge from the vertical tunnel, lowering down into a vast subterranean hangar. There are many more helicopters lining the vast space, along with Humvees, armored personnel carriers, a half dozen M1 Abrams tanks and assorted other military vehicles I can’t identify. No jets. If the U.S. military still has planes, they’re not here.
There’s a loud clunk as our descent stops. The soldier slides open the door and hops out, still looking rattled. He looks about to say something, maybe some kind of official welcome to Raven Rock. But then Bell grips my arm and sucks in a quick breath. She points beyond the soldier, who now looks bewildered in addition to nervous.
It’s Mina.
She’s walking toward us, flanked by well-dressed and well-fed people. Some wear business suits. Some wear military uniforms. And a handful of them wear black suits, making them easy to identify as Secret Service. While I knew Mina was alive, and the new President of the United States of Apocalyptic America, I didn’t expect so little to have changed. I half expect a marching band to emerge, playing Hail to the Chief.
But I lose focus on all that when I make eye contact with Mina. Her facial expressions are subtle. They always have been. But I can read them. While her gait and poise remain unchanged, I see the desperate longing hidden from the others. It pulls me from the chopper and past the soldier. He says something to me, and repeats it a moment later more sternly, but I don’t hear it.
Mina looks almost like she hasn’t aged. There might be a few stress lines in her forehead, but she still looks sharp and beautiful, her angular face smooth, her long black hair tied back in an impeccable bun. As always, she is a complete contrast to Bell, who’s become wild, like me.
Two of the Secret Service men converge on me. I ignore them until one of them blocks my path, placing his hand on my shoulder.
Three quick strikes later, both agents are on their knees, gasping for air. They might have been well trained, but they’ve been living a protected life. I might not be a soldier. Never will be. But I’m hard now.
Mina is startled by the sudden violence, but as weapons are drawn and men start shouting, she holds out her palms and says, “Stand down. All of you. Now.”
And they listen.
She stops a foot short of me.
Have I made her afraid of me? Did I misread her longing of me?
I glance down at her left hand, and she must see me, because she lifts her fingers, revealing the wedding band and engagement ring given to me by her mother. Still there. Still married. I get the message, but not the distance. This feels cold, even for the more reserved Mina.
“I’m the President now. There are expectations.” As far as explanations go, it’s horrible. “I need to appear...in control.”
I can see that she’s struggling. She might not show her emotions the way Bell does, but she’s not a robot. What has she endured here all these years to make her think these people would expect a reunion with her husband to be an emotionless affair? The coup, I think. Raven Rock might have survived the end of the world, but at what cost? How much blood was shed? How much violence did these people see? How many of their own people did they murder for peace? I look around at the rigid faces watching us. In many ways they’re less human than those of us who have been living like our primeval ancestors. Control is everything here.
But control is an illusion.
In the world of the Apocalypse Machine, there is no such thing.
So I step forward, closing the distance between me and my wife. We’re standing nose to nose. Out of the corner of my eyes I see guns rising back up.
“You wouldn’t shoot the First Lady, guys, would you?”
A hint of a smile slips onto Mina’s face. “First Gentleman.”
“Same thing,” I say, speaking softly, so only she can hear me. “Anyone whose opinion of you changes because you express affection can deal with me.”
She glances at me. Then at the two agents behind me, still picking themselves off the ground.
“I can see that.”
“I’m going to kiss you now.”
A tear rolls down her cheek. She gives a curt nod.
I lean in and press my lips against hers. It’s soft at first, but slowly becomes an urgent pressure. Her fingers find mine, intermingling and then pulling. Her lithe body presses up against mine. My arms enfold her. And all at once, years of self-control are undone.
A sob slips from Mina’s lips and undoes us both.
We fall to our knees, weeping and hugging, saying everything that needs to be said without uttering a word.
When Bell arrives, dropping to her knees beside us, wrapping her strong arms around our backs, I feel something break within me. A wall. Erected to protect myself from the pain of love lost. It’s destroyed, and all that trapped pain slides from my body with heaving sobs.
And just when I think it’s going to subside, when I think we might regain some composure, I hear a single word that opens the floodgates anew.
“Dad?”
I look up into the blue eyes of Ishah, my son.
“Dad!”
He runs across the hanger, a grown man with the desperate cracking voice of the eight year old who lost his father a lifetime ago. His six-foot-tall form falls into my arms, two grown men sobbing.
I grasp the sides of his face, pulling him back so I can see him. He looks like the same kid I remember, but his features are distorted. Elongated. But I’ve seen this face before, too. Fifteen years ago.
The sound of little feet rushes over me.
I resist the instinct to defend myself. And when the first small face appears, innocent and smiling, I don’t have a single instinct guiding me.
It’s a child.
A girl.
And though I know I’ve never met her, I feel like I know her. And the way she’s looking at me, she knows me, too.
“Are you grandpa?” she asks.
“I think I am,” I say, and I’m dive tackled. I fall back, remembering vaguely what it was like to be a father of young children. And then more faces appear, smiling and laughing, trusting me outright. The ages range from maybe seven to two. I’m overwhelmed by joy and look up to see Bell in the clutches of more children, these even younger. They’re an interesting mix of nationalities. Black, white, Asian and hints of other things. I look up at the throng of military personnel and government advisors. To my relief, I see tears in most of their eyes. Control or not, they know what they’re seeing: the future. And maybe for the first time in a long time, it looks good.
Two smiling young women I don’t know stand behind the kids, watching the unfolding scene
with teary eyes and wide smiles. One looks Arabian. The other is white. Neither of them are dressed for work. The mothers, I guess, and offer them my best smile. I mouth the words, ‘Thank you,’ and get nods in return.
I look back at the kids, now wrestling and tickling and kissing and laughing. Though I’ve never met any of them before, I recognize pieces of me in each of them. In their hair. Their eyes. Their bone structure. Each one of them carries a piece of me.
I’ve seen this before.
Grains of sand.
On a beach.
In a vision.
40
“While I’m enjoying family fun time, there might be other things even more pressing.”
All eyes turn to Mayer. She’s her usual direct self, but I don’t miss the glisten in her eyes. She’s not a sap. Never was. But she knows what this moment means for me. She might not love me the way she does Graham, but she does love me. We’re family. And the people swarming around me are now her family as well. There will come a time when this gaggle of children call her auntie.
But that time might never come if we don’t do something about it.
If we don’t stop the Machine.
And for the first time, we have a way to learn something about it.
Graham clears his throat and lifts the backpack holding the now plastic-bagged ice ax, still smeared with red from the very tip of the Machine’s still ice-locked spine.
The kids dance around for a few moments more, slowing to a stop as they sense the shift in tone.
“What is it?” Mina asks.
I grip Ishah’s sleeve, fighting against the urge to hug him again and again. “You’re a scientist now?”
Apocalypse Machine Page 27