them problems. If anyone knew they had it, if anyone even suspected . . .
She shivered, almost wishing they had left the gold back in their home in D.C.
Home . . . home . . . her mind drifted back. The great old house in D.C. The wide, rolling lawn, Kentucky Bluegrass with Bermuda mixed in to keep it green against the southern heat. The enormous sycamore and oak trees, some of them dating back to the Civil War era. Ah, those beautiful trees, tall and broad and strong. She leaned against the headrest and closed her eyes.
The lawn . . . the old house . . . a popping fire in the fireplace in the winter . . . summer nights, warm and fragrant with honeysuckle . . . the sound of cicadas . . .
She drifted away . . .
The lawn was wet with dew. Neil was walking across the heavy grass in the darkness of the predawn light. The sun was an hour yet from rising, but the light from the streetlights illuminated his outline as he walked. He was tall and broad-shouldered, and his hair, wet from his morning shower, stuck to the middle of his forehead. He was dressed in his Air Force blues, an old leather briefcase tucked up under his arm. A government SUV and its driver were waiting for him at the curb. He stopped to pick up the newspaper, then turned. She was standing in the light of the kitchen window, and he smiled at her.
“I love you,” he mouthed, placing his hand at his heart.
“Neil, come back to me,” she whispered slowly.
He looked at her, flipped the paper up and caught it, then turned.
“I need to talk to you,” Sara called out. “I need to know what you want me to do.”
The general kept walking toward the waiting car.
She turned from the window and ran toward the front door. “Neil, I’m not ready,” she cried, her voice choking. “I’m not ready for you to go. I don’t know what to do without you! I don’t know what to do!”
* * *
She felt a warm hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay, Mom,” Ammon told her from the backseat. He was leaning forward. “It’s okay,” he gently assured her again.
She opened her eyes and shook her head. Luke split his attention between the road and his mother. “You okay, Mom?” he asked.
She shook her head again. “I’m fine. I’m fine. I must have fallen asleep.”
Ammon watched her carefully. “That’s good, Mom. I don’t think you’ve slept in days.”
She shrugged. “I’ve had plenty of sleep.”
Luke and Ammon glanced at each other. They both knew that wasn’t true.
Sara pushed a strand of hair from her eyes and stretched. Luke glanced at her as he drove. She was still beautiful—the years had been more than gracious—but it was clear that she wore a certain sadness now. A deep remorsefulness had settled into her eyes, and he wondered if it would ever go away.
She looked at him and smiled, then glanced into the backseat. “Ammon, could I have some of your bottled water?”
He reached to the cup holder between the front and back seats and handed her a plastic bottle. “Here you go, Mom.”
She took a shallow sip, then handed the water back.
“Go ahead, Mom, you should drink it all.”
“No, we need to be careful . . .”
“We’ve got plenty of water, Mom. Enough for at least a couple of days. We’re going to be able to get more, I’m certain.” He pushed her hand back. “Go ahead. It’s okay. You can’t be silly. You’ve got to take care of yourself.”
Sara smiled wearily. “Thank you, Doctor Spock,” she joked. But he didn’t take the water, and she finally drank it down, swallowing half the bottle in one long gulp.
* * *
The road seemed long and lonely. A roll of low clouds, black and menacing, began building in the west. Occasional flashes of lightning illuminated the core of the thunderstorms, but without the summer’s heat they rose quickly and then faded, scattering into low but light-absorbing clouds. Minutes later, the car passed a green highway sign suspended over the freeway: Indianapolis 22 miles. There, the highway split, Interstate 65 heading northwest toward Chicago, I-70 turning slightly south, bending toward St. Louis, then Kansas City, then the great Kansas plains, then Denver, and finally the towering Rocky Mountains to the west.
An exit with a couple of gas stations and a rest stop loomed ahead, glowing lights comforting against the cloudy afternoon. They continued on the freeway, coming after a short time to where the highway split, the two right lanes turning north toward Chicago.
Sara sat up suddenly. She stared, her mouth open, hesitating. Suddenly she cried, “Turn here!”
“No, Mom,” Luke answered, “we need to stay on I-70 heading west.”
The exit was coming fast and they were in the wrong lane.
“Turn here!” Sara repeated, almost reaching for the wheel. “Turn, Luke! Turn now!”
“But that will take us to Chicago. It isn’t the right
way . . .”
The exit was almost upon them. The car on their right began to drift, taking the exit at highway speed.
“Take the right lane, Luke. Take 65 toward Chicago . . . Please turn . . .”
It was too late. The exit was moving past them.
“Do it!” Ammon shouted from the backseat.
“Please, Luke!” Sara cried.
Luke jammed the wheel to the right. A screech of tires and car horn sounded from behind them. He felt the rubber on his wheels give, losing their grip on the road. He backed off, his left wheel almost dipping off the pavement, then pulled the car more gently through the turn. They made the exit, but barely, Sara gripping her seat belt at the shoulder while holding her breath.
A few seconds passed in silence.
“Why’d we do that, Mom?” Luke asked at last, glancing at her.
His mother didn’t answer.
“Mom, are you okay?”
Still she didn’t answer.
“Mom . . . ?”
“I’m fine, Luke.”
“You know we’re driving north now. We’re heading toward Chicago. This isn’t taking us any closer to where we want to be.”
“I know that, Luke.”
Another moment of silence.
“So . . .”
“I don’t know, Luke. I just had a feeling. I almost heard a voice. Turn here. Go toward Chicago. It wasn’t something I came up with. I have no reason to head up here. I tried to fight it, it made no sense, but the feeling was so urgent.”
Ammon leaned forward from the backseat. “You did the right thing, Mom. No worries. We’ll just head north for a while and see what happens, then decide what to do from there.”
Luke scrunched his face. “It doesn’t make any sense.”
Sara stared out her window, then turned. “Look around you, Luke. Does anything make any sense anymore? It might be that the only things that do make sense are the things we can’t make sense of. I heard the voice. I felt the Spirit. We have to trust the warnings. That’s the only thing we really have anymore.”
Luke nodded. “All right, then.”
Sara reached over and touched his shoulder. “We’ll do the best we can. It’ll be okay.”
* * *
They drove for almost two hours. The sun disappeared below the distant horizon. The moon rose over the flat plains, blood-red and full. Sara turned and watched. It looked like an evil, bloody eye staring down from the sky. The night grew dark. The North Star drifted into view, slightly off to their right.
Sara stared at the red moon as she thought.
The landscape around them glittered with lights from farms and small towns tucked among the great Midwest plains. The clouds had blown and scattered and the sky was deep and full of stars. A dim light began to glow before them from the Chicago metroplex. Although it was still twenty miles in the distance, the massive cluster of lights lit up the entire northern sky.
“We ought to stop for gas,” Luke said. “The closer we get to the city, the harder it’s going to be to get it without having to wait for hours in l
ine.”
Ammon pointed from the backseat. “The next exit. I see some lights. There’s two or three stations up ahead.”
Luke saw them, half a mile east of the exit. He started to slow. “Looks like there’s only a couple dozen cars in line.”
Sara nodded as he steered toward the off-ramp.
The flash was sudden and bright, white-hot, blazing and intense. It burst down from the night sky, leaving a yellow glow that quickly faded and then disappeared.
Everything fell silent. Their car stopped suddenly. No chug. No cough or sputter. It was as if someone had reached over and turned the key off. The Honda slowed, and Luke had to use both hands to steer it toward the side of the road.
Sara’s heart leapt into her throat. “What’s wrong?” she asked anxiously.
“I don’t know, Mom,” he answered.
The Honda coasted to the bottom of the off-ramp and rolled to a stop. Ammon sat forward in the backseat, staring at the instrument panel, which was completely dark. “How much gas did you have?” he asked.
“A little more than a quarter tank.”
“Try it again,” Sara said, her voice tight.
Luke turned the key. Nothing. Not a click. Not a sound. The engine didn’t turn.
“Could the gas gauge be wrong?” she wondered.
Ammon pushed himself farther forward. “You don’t have any headlights,” he said.
Luke turned the key again and again. Nothing. He sat back in exasperation.
“We’re not out of gas,” Ammon said. “If that was the problem, the battery would still turn the engine over. The battery would give us headlights. Maybe the alternator failed.”
Luke slapped the steering wheel in frustration. Sara fought to keep her stomach under control. Would they be able to find a mechanic? How much would it cost them? How long would it take?
Ammon looked around, then swallowed in sudden fear.
Something was wrong.
Really wrong.
The darkness around them was complete.
The lights from the gas stations had gone out. The streetlights at the bottom of the off-ramp, all the lights in the parking lots, the entire countryside had grown dark. No twinkling lights in the fields. Nothing to the east or west. He looked around desperately.
The glow from the distant lights of Chicago had also disappeared.
It was as if the entire world had fallen dark.
A power outage? Maybe. But if it was, it was a huge one, spreading across the entire area.
He sat back and thought.
Why would a power outage have affected their car?
He stole a glance ahead, expecting to see a long line of car lights on the road before them, but the whole freeway was perfectly dark. Turning, he looked behind them, peering through the back window. He could make out the shadows of the other cars in the moonlight, but none of them were moving. They were all at a standstill.
No headlights. No movement. The radio had gone quiet.
His heart began to pump like a hammer in his head. He leaned over, grabbed the handle, and pushed the door back, listening in the blackness.
Nearly perfect silence. The only sound a gentle breeze.
It was as if the entire world had gone away . . .
He thought some more and then groaned.
Sara turned in the seat to look at him. “What is it!” she demanded, her voice steady but thick with fear.
“Try your cell phone,” he commanded.
Sara pulled her cell phone from her purse and flipped it open. “It looks like my batteries are dead.”
“Try yours, Luke.”
He reached into his pocket. “I’ve got nothing.” He pushed and held the on switch. “That’s kind of weird,”
he said.
Ammon didn’t answer. Instead, he climbed out of the backseat. His mother and brother followed, meeting him at the front of the car.
Perfect darkness. Perfect silence. Not a light in the distance. No sound of passing cars.
Ammon’s face turned pale in the red moonlight, and Sara moved toward him. “What is it?” she pleaded. “Do you know what has happened? Do you know what’s going on!”
Ammon slowly nodded. Luke reached out for his arm. “What is it, Ammon?” he whispered.
Ammon leaned against the bumper, then lifted his hands to his face. “We’re not going west,” he told them. “We’re not going anywhere.”
Luke turned and looked around him, taking in the total darkness. The night was so quiet it was eerie. He shuddered and hunched his shoulders. “What happened, Ammon?”
“An EMP,” Ammon answered slowly.
“EMP. What is that!”
Before Ammon could answer, they heard a voice calling out from the darkness. Behind them, forty or fifty yards down the freeway, a car door slammed and a woman’s voice called again, “Please, can someone help me?”
Her voice was high and panicked. She was clearly terrified.
Ammon hesitated, staring at the emptiness behind them, then turned to Luke. “Come on,” he said.
They started moving toward the voice that was sounding from the darkness. Sara grabbed Ammon’s arm as he moved away from her, slipping her fingers down to grasp his wrist. “Be careful,” she said, squeezing his arm. “You don’t know who it is or what they want.”
Ammon turned toward her. “We’ll be fine, Mom.” He nodded to Luke and started walking. Luke followed him. Ammon stumbled, almost tripping over the shoulder in the road where the asphalt dropped away to meet the gravel, the darkness deep around him, cavelike and complete. “Hey,” he shouted. “Hey there, can you hear me?”
“Yes! Yes! I can hear you. Can you help me?”
The voice was not far away now, just ten or twenty yards. He slowed and waited. “I’m here,” he said. “There are two of us. Can we help you?”
A small black woman emerged from the darkness, a fragile shadow in the starlight. “My car has stopped . . .”
Ammon shrugged. “So has ours,” he answered carefully. “I’m sure everything’s going to be okay, though. Sometime soon, they’ll send some help.” He was lying now and he knew it and his voice cracked because he wasn’t any good at it. “Don’t worry; I’m sure everything will be just—”
“No,” the woman interrupted him. “Look around you. Everything has stopped. No cars. No lights. It’s like there’s nothing out there.” She gestured around her with her arms. “It isn’t right.” She was silent a long moment, then took a step toward him, looking at his face. “I don’t know what to do now. Please, I have two daughters . . .”
Ammon looked past the small woman, searching for her daughters, but there was no one there.
Mary Shaye Dupree reached out to him. “I was coming back from a special clinic down in Columbus when my car stopped.” She looked around. “I have a little girl. She is sick. I’ve got to get her home.”
Luke bit his lip as he moved to her side. “I’m sorry, but that’s going to be a little difficult right now. But I’m sure—”
“She’s got to have her medication. I only brought enough for two days. If I don’t get her home, if she doesn’t get her medication . . .” her voice slowly trailed off.
Luke shifted on his feet, a heavy weight seeming to fall on him. Things were bad enough with just the three of them. What could they do for her? “Your daughter, is she okay?” he asked, sensing Mary’s anguish.
“No. No, she’s not. Please, can you help me?”
Ammon’s jaw tightened up as he turned to Luke. His brother stood back, unsure of what to do.
Mary watched them hopefully. Then, sensing their helplessness and indecision, she reached up, covered her mouth, and breathed deeply, her shoulders shivering with despair.
Chapter Twenty-Two
East Side, Chicago, Illinois
It was early evening and the sun had just set outside. Azadeh walked into the living room and stood again. She turned toward the television, but couldn’t figure out how to turn it
on, the remote control far more complicated than anything she had ever worked before. She sat down and read through the remains of the newspaper, reading aloud to practice, pronouncing every word as carefully and correctly as she could. From time to time she came upon a word she didn’t know and pulled out an English-Farsi dictionary to look it up. Legislator. She didn’t know that one. She turned for her dictionary again . . .
The lights went out suddenly.
She sat without moving at the kitchen table. The apartment was dark. Completely dark. No light bled in from the streetlights outside.
She waited, unsure of what to do.
Five minutes passed.
She heard voices in the hallway. Angry voices. Shouting voices. Somewhere in the rooms above her, she heard the pounding of heavy footsteps running back and forth.
Still no lights. The room was quiet.
She stood up and moved toward the window that looked out on the city.
She saw the brick-and-mortar wall before her. Standing to the side, she looked from the corner of the window past the brick wall to the city streets below.
All she saw was utter darkness. No streetlights. No car lights. No light at all.
Everything around her, for as far as she could see, was an absolute black hole.
“And the time speedily cometh that great things are to be shown forth unto the children of men.”
—Doctrine and Covenants 35:10
Chapter Twenty-Three
Metro Blue Line
Twenty-One Miles Northwest of Washington, D.C.
Sam Brighton stood in the aisle of the D.C. Metro, holding the overhead bar that ran down the center aisle of the train. Bono stood beside him, his head down, completely lost in his thoughts. Every few minutes, Bono glanced at his watch.
Sam watched him. “Dude, you really didn’t need to do this,” he said for the third or fourth time. “Go on. Go home to your family. They need you a lot more than I do.”
Bono looked up and forced himself to smile. “This won’t take much time,” he said.
“You’re crazy, man. Stupid of you to stay here when you could be on your way home to your wife.”
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