by D W McAliley
The two men in front of Mr. Price nodded to Marcus as they passed and took station on the far side of the helicopter. The remaining two stopped fifty feet from Marcus, and Mr. Price continued alone. He had a broad smile on his face, though his eyes looked tired and his face was pale in the heat. "I'm so glad you're back safe, Mr. Attledge," Price said as he shook Marcus' hand firmly. "You've been missed. Tell me, how did your mission go?"
Marcus looked at the men around him, but Mr. Price waived his hand dismissively. "They won't speak about it, but say only as much as you feel you can until we can talk in private."
Marcus nodded and began sketching in the rough details of his mission. "Well, we made it there. I introduced myself, thought I was going to get shot, and then handed over the package."
Marcus paused and Mr. Price arched an eyebrow. "And?"
Marcus took a deep breath and let it out very slowly before answering. "Mr. Price, what did you send me out there to do? Apparently there's some history there that you failed to mention, and for all I can gather, I just flew well over halfway across the country and back just to hand someone a .....package......turn around and come back. I could have been killed; I almost was killed, more than once, and I don't even know what I really did and why I did it."
Mr. Price rubbed his chin thoughtfully, a light frown creasing his forehead and mused softly, mostly to himself, "So he kept it then? That's good. That's what I was hoping." He blinked a few times, and his eyes focused again on Marcus. "Mr. Attledge, you planted a seed of thought and consideration. That's what you did. As to why you did it, well that will have to wait until we get inside. As you can see, some things have changed around here in the short time you've been gone."
Mr. Price turned to lead the way back into the bunker, and as he passed one of his four guards, he leaned close and whispered something to him. The man wore a camo baseball cap that matched his fatigues and dark sunglasses, and white stubble covered most of his cheeks and chin. Still, he bore full combat gear without any noticeable difficulty. When Mr. Price straightened, the man nodded and gave a loud whistle and a few short hand signals. The four-man security team moved in closer to the chopper and began talking to the pilot while the other men formed up into a column and entered the bunker.
"The security detail's going to help the pilot prep the helicopter to be lowered into the hanger bay," Mr. Price said. "That will give us the time and privacy we need to speak freely. You accomplished exactly what I wanted you to, I can tell you that. The whole point of your flight was the ring that Commander Tillman kept with him. On the one hand, it's a clear sign that he's willing to see me. If anything, he's as much as daring me to come out there and get my own ring back. There are other reasons, but I can't tell you those. Not yet. It's not a trust issue, I assure you. Frankly, I'm trying to keep you from becoming a target for them."
"Them?" Marcus asked.
Mr. Price snorted a chuckle. "That's one I wish I could answer, but I just don't know who ‘they’ are yet. The ghost of a theory is all I can claim and even that is pretty shaky. I'm hoping you'll be able to help me fill in some of the information gaps with your fresh perspective."
"And the guards, the uniforms?" Marcus asked as he indicated Mr. Price's ribbons. "Did the dress code change while I was gone?"
"You could say that," Mr. Price answered with a faint smile. "Funny thing about retiring from the service, Mr. Attledge. You're never really as far from it as you think. A condition of my maintaining my post here at this facility as a civilian contractor was that I remained subject to the upper command of the DoD as my direct superiors and that I was subject to involuntary recall to active duty status should the need arise. All of the former service members at this facility were subject to the same requirement, and that's the majority of the staff. I purposefully gave weight to hiring civilian contractors who possessed specific skill sets that resulted from their military career paths."
"So you've had contact with someone?" Mr. Attledge asked, suddenly excited at the prospect of confirmation that they weren't, in fact, alone in their struggle. "Was it the President or one of the Generals?"
Mr. Price shook his head slowly. "No. No one other than the FEMA chief so far. I felt the circumstances warranted issuing a general recall. The nation is under attack, and we all took an oath. Including the civilian contractors."
Marcus stopped dead in his tracks. "Wait a minute, what are you talking about? I'm not retired military. I never served. My father did, but I didn't."
Mr. Price nodded. "I know that. I'm the one who hired you, after all. But as part of that hiring process, you signed a condition of employment contract that dictated, if the need should arise for the selective service process to be implemented, all of the civilian contractors at this facility would be immediately deemed vital and essential to the defense of the nation and would be immediately selected for service in the branch of the current commanding officer on site and with a rank commiserate with their duties and responsibilities. In other words, you've been drafted and placed under my command as a reactivated officer of the Navy."
Suddenly, Marcus felt the dimly lit hallway spinning around him. He blinked at the walls to find a solid focal point and took several deep breaths to steady himself. "What if I don't want to be in the Navy, Mr. Price?" he asked.
"It's Commander Price now," the Commander said as he put his arm around Marcus' shoulder, "and unfortunately for you, Lieutenant Commander Attledge, you have no choice."
CH.18
Downstream
The water was deeper than Alyssa had expected, and she immediately sank to her neck. The buoyancy of the life jacket caught her, though, and she bobbed up and down in the water for a moment like the cork on the line from a fishing pole. She was surprised by how warm the lake was, at least near the surface. Her toes were cool, but that was all. She remembered at the last moment what Mike had said about holding the pack so the that the top didn't dip below the surface of the water.
There was a splash next to her, and Alyssa looked over to see Mike bobbing in the water with her. He smiled a tight smile that never touched his eyes and motioned for her to start. "I'll stay a little behind you in case you get in trouble, okay?"
Alyssa nodded and began pulling herself through the water with her right arm. Her progress was slow, and the pack on her left arm felt like it weighed twice as much as it had on dry land. Still, she absolutely refused to admit that she might need help and stubbornly pushed on through the difficulty of dragging the pack through the water beside her.
"Kick your legs more," Mike called from behind her. "Remember, they're stronger than your arms anyway. Just use your arm to steer you."
Alyssa felt like growling at him, but she bit her tongue. Instead she kicked as hard as she could and found that Mike was right-as usual. Kicking with her legs took most of the burden off her burning shoulder and arm muscles. The fact that he'd been right in his advice only made Alyssa more irritated. She channeled that anger and frustration into her kicks and swam harder. By the time she was halfway across the narrow mouth of the cove, Alyssa wished for cooler water. She was drenched but still sweating from the strain of swimming, and she was seriously giving out of breath.
Mike swam until he was just behind Alyssa's right foot and said, "You can take a break, you know. Just roll over on your back and pull the pack up next to you. Let the vest do the work."
Alyssa paused for a brief moment, but shook her head. "I don't want to be in this water one minute more than I have to be. It stinks."
Mike shook his head. "Okay. Your call, but if you cramp up, you're going to really regret it."
Alyssa rolled her eyes away from his, then stubbornly kicked herself farther away from him and started swimming again. This time she did try to keep a more manageable pace, though. The muscles in Alyssa's arms and shoulders were twisted into tight, burning knots when her feet finally brushed the bottom of the lake. She was still a good ten feet from the shore, but the bank on this side was mor
e like a broad pebbly beach with a quick and deep drop. She tried to steady her feet in the slick, silt mud of the bottom, but her knees felt wobbly even in the water. Alyssa managed three steps up the shore from the water's edge and collapsed into the thick grass.
Mike climbed the beach and flopped down next to her on his back. He was barely breathing hard. Alyssa lay there watching him rest, breathing as calmly as if he'd just walked across the street. It made her furious, and she couldn't quite understand why. She hated the way his short beard made his jaw line look strong. She couldn't stand the way the water on his arms and shoulders shone in the sun. Suddenly, Alyssa looked away and felt her face flush.
When she turned back, Mike was looking at her quietly behind his sunglasses. "You okay?" he asked.
Alyssa nodded, not trusting herself to speak at the moment. She stood and took off the dripping life vest. Mike took both of the vests and tied them to the bottom of his pack with the excess hanging from his shoulder straps. He put the pack on, tested the feel, and then nodded to Alyssa that he was ready to go. The two set off along the path of the power line cut again, still heading south west.
"So where are we headed exactly?" Alyssa asked after a few minutes of uncomfortable silence.
"The National White Water Center," Mike answered. "This main power trunk runs right by the place. I stopped there on the way up because I knew a member of the staff, but he wasn't there. So I took the life vests and kept walking."
"Why are we going to a training center?" Alyssa asked.
"Because we need to move more quickly," Mike answered, "but there's no way to make it through the city in a straight shot without running into someone a lot bigger and tougher than me. Best thing to do is go around the city and the airport—all of it. Quickest way to do that is get a boat and go down the river."
The two walked in silence for a while, and a nagging thought just wouldn't leave Alyssa's mind, so finally she voiced it. "How do you know the people at the White Water Center will help us?"
Mike didn't answer for a long time, and Alyssa was beginning to wonder if he'd heard her at all. Finally, he gave a slight shrug of his shoulders, looked back at her and said simply, "I don't."
Alyssa decided then that the answers were worse than the questions, so she stopped asking them. Whatever happened, they were at least moving. She was out of that house, and she wasn't by herself anymore. After her husband left early on the second day, she knew that he wasn't coming back. The look in his eyes had been cold, distant. He didn't really see her even when he'd kissed her on the forehead and turned to leave.
That last kiss had really said it all, and she'd known it as soon as the door closed behind him. It was distant and cold, as his eyes had been, not even daring to risk the intimacy that might come from straying too close to her mouth. By then he was already gone, in his heart and his head. His feet just had to catch up with the rest of him.
Alyssa squeezed her eyes shut and refused to cry. She would not shed a tear—not now, not ever.
"How far is it?" Alyssa grated, and Mike jumped slightly at her sharp tone.
"I'm not sure really," he said after a brief hesitation. "I could tell you how long it'd take to drive there, but that doesn't really mean anything anymore. Maybe two and a half or three hours at a steady pace. Longer if we go slower. I just know if we stay on this line, eventually we'll go right by it. Why?"
Alyssa shrugged. "I just don't like the quiet right now. My mind's wandering into areas I'd rather not think about."
Mike nodded as he walked a little ahead of her, but he didn't ask what she meant. Alyssa liked that.
"What do you want to talk about?" he asked.
"You gonna leave that rubber on all day?" Alyssa said, and Mike spun around suddenly, his face bright red.
"What? What are you talking about?" His voice was strangled and his eyes were wide.
Alyssa pointed to the condom he'd rubber banded to the end of his rifle barrel. "That. You gonna leave that on all day? Won't it mess up your shot if you need to use it?"
Mike breathed a heavy sigh and smiled nervously. "Oh, that. It's not thick enough to really affect a bullet, and it keeps water and gunk out in case I slip or drop it."
"I see," Alyssa said, smiling at him playfully. "Is that something they teach you in Park Ranger school?"
Mike snorted a short laugh and started walking again. "No," he quipped. "I watched way too many movies, and every now and then they got something right."
The two bantered back and forth for a while, but the silence soon settled between them again. The heat was intense, but it lacked the heavy humidity that the height of summer usually carried. Another few weeks and the evenings would begin to cool more with the first hints of fall just around the corner. As they walked, the wind dried their clothes and packs except for their backs, which stayed soaked from lake water and sweat.
Finally, Mike turned and walked to the right side of the cut through. He stopped beneath a stand of three closely packed cedar trees that cast a dark shadow across that side of the cut. It was a good fifteen degrees cooler in the shade, and Alyssa flopped onto the grass with a loud sigh. Mike set his pack down, dug out two bottles of water and four granola bars.
Alyssa drank a third of her water before touching either granola bar. She was hungry, but her throat felt like it was coated with dry wool, and her mouth was sticky from dehydration. They ate in silence at first, just as they'd walked in silence.
"Mike, tell me about my mother," Alyssa whispered softly after she'd finished her first granola bar. "We weren't close these past years, and most of that was on me. I meant to make it up to her; it just never felt like the right time, and I didn't know what to say. Please?"
Mike stared down at his hands, quiet as thoughtful memories rushed to the surface. Finally, he closed his eyes and breathed a heavy sigh as he pushed the memories down again. "I can't. Not right now. There are too many things that can come at us, and I need my focus to be on that. I will, I promise. Just not right now, okay?"
Alyssa nodded reluctantly. "She was special to you wasn't she?"
Mike raised his face to look at her, his expression unreadable behind the dark sunglasses that hid his eyes. "Yes," he said at last, "she was the first person in a long time to give a damn about me— including me."
Mike stood, shouldered his pack and walked over to one of the towering power poles that looked like some grotesque geometric giant. Alyssa finished her spartan lunch, and when she walked up next to him, Mike didn't speak. He just nodded and started walking again.
Alyssa had no choice but to follow him as the silence stretched between them once more. More than once that silence was broken by the distant pops of what sounded like gunfire. Each time they heard the far off noise, Mike would stop and listen with his finger on the trigger of the M-4, but they never saw anyone.
Alyssa wasn’t sure what time it was, but she could tell that it was getting into the afternoon by the way the shadows began to stretch across the cut through. There was something unsettling about not knowing the hour of the day. Alyssa had never really considered time a critical commodity, but now that she couldn’t keep track of it accurately, it was something that almost constantly weighed on her thoughts. She often found herself looking for a watch she hadn’t worn in years now that her cell phone was useless. She carried her phone with her still, though the screen was a spider web of cracks beneath the surface, and it wouldn’t even power on anymore. The weight of it was a constant reminder that things now were not as they had been.
Suddenly, Mike stopped and dropped to one knee as he motioned for Alyssa to do the same. He was staring intently ahead from the top of a low hill that Alyssa hadn’t crested yet. After a few moments, Mike motioned for Alyssa to join him, and he pointed down the far side of the gentle slope. A half mile ahead of them, the power line cut through a broad residential neighborhood of densely packed suburban track homes. Smoke rose from a half dozen burnt out shells that they could see, but nothing e
lse moved.
“We’re going to be passing close to some of those houses,” Mike said softly. “When I came through last time, I didn’t see anyone, but that was three days ago now. Keep your eyes peeled just in case. We’re going to move as fast as we can through here, but try to make as little noise as possible. No sense attracting unnecessary attention if we can possibly help it.”
Alyssa nodded that she understood, and Mike started down the hill. At first he kept the same brisk walking pace they’d set since climbing out of the lake. As they neared the edge of the neighborhood and the trees on either side of the cut through began to thin out, Mike picked up his pace to a light jog. Alyssa matched his speed as best she could, though it wasn’t easy, and before long she had a painful stitch in her side. The spin classes she’d taken at the YMCA had been helpful, but they hadn’t been designed to train for this kind of real-world exertion, and it showed.
They crossed over the neighborhood road quickly, and once on the other side, they sprinted for a short distance until a thin line of trees cut off the neighborhood. Mike slowed a bit and Alyssa caught up with him, panting and out of breath. She clenched her side and tried to stand up straight and take deep breaths to untie the cramp. The wind shifted slightly, blowing across the neighborhood and up the gentle slope where they now stood catching their breaths. That breeze carried with it a stench so strong and overpowering that Alyssa gagged and nearly lost the meager lunch they’d just shared a couple of hours earlier.
“Good God!” Alyssa spat. “Is that raw sewage or something?”