A puff of frozen dirt exploded at his feet, sending bits of gravel into his face. He wiped away the tears, remounted the bike and aimed for the neighborhood.
"Go!" someone yelled over the din.
Out of the corner of his eye, Chad saw lights in the distance. He lowered his head and hugged the bike, pedaling as if his life depended on it—which, he supposed, it did.
They're sending reinforcements from the high school. Come on…go faster!
Chad raced beneath the burning windows of the sniper's house and tried to avoid the larger bits of debris in the road. He headed west at top speed. The sounds of the battle still echoed behind him but he didn't risk turning to look. Another explosion lit up the sky and cast a lightning-like glow on the ground in front of him, so he pulled up onto the sidewalk and tried to stay as close to the houses as possible.
When he crossed the second intersection, the sound of the battle behind him had diminished to the distant clatter and crackle of fireworks on the 4th of July. Sweat soaked his clothes and he panted with the effort to ride the bike loaded with gear but he didn't care—he'd raced across the firefight and lived.
As he approached the third intersection, a thought struck him: I made it—I'm outside the army's search ring, Meigs and his men are way behind me, and I'm on my own! I have the bike and most of my food and water.
Chad looked over his shoulder as he coasted through the intersection. The firefight still raged. Orange and white tracers zipped back and forth at the neighborhood entrance. At least one of Meigs' group continued to fight.
They want to take me away to…somewhere…maybe not to the same doctors back at the airport, but maybe to somewhere worse.
Chad had had enough of other people telling him what to do. He turned as Meigs had instructed, but instead of stopping, he continued north.
I'll find my own way out of this mess.
CHAPTER 19
The Journal
CHAD COASTED TO A stop in the wide open parking lot. He felt naked without any trees or houses to hide behind. He’d been thinking about Meigs and not paying attention when the road just dumped him into the supercenter parking lot.
He stopped next to an abandoned car and regretted it instantly—his legs felt like jelly and he nearly fell over. A quick check of his watch told him it was close to midnight. He'd been riding for almost three straight hours.
I don't know where I am, but I need to find shelter soon. I'm so cold I can't feel my feet anymore.
The glow from the Fort Worth fires had taken on an otherworldly form now that he was closer. Instead of lighting just the western horizon, it had swallowed most of the southern sky.
To the north sat the supercenter. He guessed there were close to a hundred cars in the lot, most of them clustered haphazardly around the entrance, abandoned in place. Chad wasn't surprised, really. He figured the big department stores would be prime targets for looting in the first days after the scale of the pandemic set in. He'd sat on the couch himself with his elderly neighbor and watched people ransacking stores in Arizona and New Mexico on TV just a week ago.
Chad sighed as he passed an empty minivan. No, it was earlier than that—he'd buried Mr. Miller almost two weeks ago.
Mom, Dad, Helen, and Gracie have been gone almost a month…
Chad worked his way across the parking lot to the front doors, checking the sky for helicopters as he went. He hadn't seen any after the firefight. Part of him wondered if Meigs and his Oakrock contractors were out there looking for him again. Did any of them even survive?
Another thought caused him to stop before he reached the entrance: How many men died tonight because of me?
Chad stepped in through the store’s shattered main entrance, his shoes crunching on broken glass. He pulled the bicycle and his gear inside and inspected what he could see of the half-lit store. Most of the fluorescent lights were out, but several clusters still glowed and flickered occasionally, casting a dim light over the cavernous building.
This place still has power…
Beyond the cash registers, he saw rows and rows of mostly empty shelving. The store may have had power, but inventory was another matter all together. Women's clothing, located directly opposite the cash registers, looked like it had suffered an explosion. Racks had been torn down, clothes lay strewn everywhere, and someone had even spray painted a big black X on the dressing room door.
Wow. The end of the world and people loot the clothing section—weird.
Chad looked around as his eyes adjusted to the semi-darkness. He saw no movement but the place definitely had an odor problem. He breathed through his mouth as the stench of rotting food from the grocery department assailed his nostrils. Chad moved on and blocked out the odor—it was nothing compared to what he'd encountered in dumpsters at the airport.
Not wanting to travel too far into the store away from a quick exit, he worked his way down the front toward the little independent shops that always clustered around supercenter customer service areas. He found a sub shop full of rotting food and next to it, a ransacked hair salon.
The metal security grating had been partially closed in front of the hair salon. The inside had been savaged and bottles of product scattered willy-nilly across the floor, but at least he didn't see any bodies. Chad peered through the fence and took a whiff. He smelled flowers and…
That smells like honeysuckle. Chad looked toward the rotting deli. Better than the alternative, I guess.
The bike couldn't fit under the grate, but he could. He dropped all his gear by the gate before wheeling the bike to the closest checkout lane. He parked it against the register, reluctant to just leave the bike out in the open. Oddly enough, the cash register had not been ransacked. He'd expected to find the register all smashed up, but it looked shut down and forgotten.
Chad went back to the salon and slithered under the grate, pulling his bags in after him. He dropped his gear behind the reception desk and pulled his flashlight free.
The back of the little salon was pitch-black but Chad’s little LED light cut through the gloom like the noon-day sun. He stepped carefully through garbage and debris, avoiding the puddles of goo from busted bottles, and made his way to the back of the store. Behind the door marked 'employees only', he found a small room with a card table, some folding chairs, and a wall of cheap metal lockers.
All the lockers had been left open and empty. Chad took a quick look, then swung his flashlight to the left. There was another door marked "office". It was unlocked but had a deadbolt on the inside and no windows. It was the perfect hiding spot to grab some shuteye. He quickly retraced his steps, grabbed his bags, and locked himself in the manager's office.
It was only after he sat in the desk chair, leaning back with his head against the cool cinder-block wall with his feet on the desk that Chad realized what was wrong in the store. Power was out in most of the area around the store, but the lights were still on in the office so the supercenter still had electricity.
Now that he thought about it, Chad couldn't remember seeing many lights on in the houses he'd passed nearby. Without any streetlights, he'd navigated by the glow from Fort Worth.
He thought of Jess and wondered suddenly if she was comfortable or scared. He wondered if the army was taking care of her as he’d promised.
Chad pulled out her journal and read a little to relax after his exhausting ride. He was still too keyed up to think about sleep and his legs ached. He pulled a bottle of water free and took a long drink as he looked down at the notebook and ran his fingers over the handwriting on the first page.
Chad smiled. Reading the little book was like having Jess in the room with him. He could almost hear her voice, telling him what it was like for her in the first days of the Pandemic.
February 6th.
Tuesday.
Things are getting so bad out there that Dad says we can't go to school today. On the one hand, I'm like, yay! On the other hand, I was planning on going to the movies with Chris
sy tomorrow night.
I've been cooped up in my room listening to music and there's only so much depressing shit you can read on the Internet before you want to scream.
Anyway…I don't even know why I'm so stressed over this—it's not like anybody else will ever read this. Probably sometime next week when all this blows over, I'll look back and laugh, then throw this book in the trash.
Whatever. It's keeping me occupied for now. Besides, telling my brother I'm doing homework made him clear out of here faster than I don't know what. I should've thought of this before!
Okay, so I guess I should start at the beginning. I never really paid attention to what was going on in the news—Dad and Mom have been watching a lot of that lately. He's always got the stupid news on now, 24/7. It's kind of driving Mom nuts, but she sits and watches with him more than she wants to admit. I just can't stand seeing everybody getting sick.
I mean, it's just the flu, right? At least, that's what my friends and I told each other a few days ago.
I guess it was last Thursday when Kelly had to go home early because of an upset stomach. We all laughed because she was the only one of my friends who tried the baked spaghetti at lunch. On Friday though, Kelly didn't come to school at all—and neither did six other kids from my class.
Yesterday though, I got to school and half my class is out. There's only three teachers who showed up, and Principal Munson was a complete trainwreck. He closed school at like 1 o'clock. He didn't give any reasons, just said that we should contact our parents or have somebody come pick us up. Lucky for me, I had Dad's car.
So I picked up Sebastian and we were home by the time school normally gets out. Normally, the trip home takes about 15 minutes, but, the traffic was so bad it took over an hour and half! I mean, we're talking end of the world crazy traffic.
Dad says we're not going back to school. Maybe ever. Mom yelled at him for that, but I can't tell if Dad was joking or not. Every time I listen in on him watching the news, they're always talking about the number of people getting sick in Europe. Today I heard the news shows talking about the number of people who’ve died in Europe. It was in the thousands.
But it's the same flu that's over here, isn't it? That's some scary shit.
Yeah… I don't know if writing about it is working or not. I'll have to think a little more before I write again…
Chad closed the book. That wasn't exactly the light reading he was hoping for. When she said she'd been writing a journal—he assumed it had at something in it about her life before the pandemic started, even if only a little. He stared at the trash-strewn office and tried not to think about the fact he was probably the only living person for a few miles.
It was going to be a long night.
CHAPTER 20
Saying Goodbye
VANESSA CROSSED HER ARMS and glared at Father. “I want to call her.”
He looked up from his tablet and frowned at her over the rims of his glasses. “Why?”
There was no animosity in his voice, no frustration that Vanessa wanted to talk with her mother, only genuine curiosity. It was as if he couldn’t possibly fathom why anyone would want to talk to his wife.
She pouted. “Because you’re ignoring me, you won’t let me leave this hotel room—”
“Suite. It’s a suite—the Presidential Suite, I might add,” he said with a wink before turning his attention back to the tablet.
Vanessa rolled her eyes. “Whatever. I want to talk with her—I’m bored.”
“Well, we can’t have that, now can we?” he replied without looking up.
“What's that supposed to mean?”
“We both know Trung died because you were bored.”
Vanessa gasped, one hand over her chest. “You think I had something to do with that? I told you—he tried to rape me.”
Her father looked up, his eyes traveling every inch of her body. “Mmphmm.” He looked back at the tablet.
“You…you think—” she sputtered.
He sighed and removed the wire-framed glasses from his nose. “I don’t think, Sugarplum. I know. I know everything about you—I know how you work. You’re just like me,” he said with a smile.
I’m nothing like you.
The Senator sighed again. “Go on,” he said, gesturing to the wall-mounted teleconferencing setup in the dining area. “Call her.” He put his glasses back on, shifted his hips in the chair and settled in to read again.
“Just don’t tell her anything important. You know how the Press can tell if she’s lying.”
Vanessa narrowed her eyes at him but said nothing. She walked over to the terminal, sure his eyes followed her—she felt it, like a thin layer of sticky slime on her skin. As she waited for the call to connect, she pondered what that meant for the future—she’d always adored Father and felt especially thrilled to garner so much of his attention.
Now?
She glanced over her shoulder at Father's steel-gray head casually resting against the chair back, his face slack, lost in thought as he read whatever it was on his tablet. The faint glow from the little screen illuminated his face and highlighted the lines and creases of his skin. He looked…old.
“Vanessa, dear! How delightful to see you!”
She turned and put on her best smile. “Hello, Mother.”
“This is such a nice surprise—things have been so dull around here since you left.”
Vanessa relished the smile on her mother’s face—Isobel Brant could still light up a room when she entered. “Things haven’t been all that exciting around here, either,” she said flatly.
“Are you safe? The news is dreadful.”
Vanessa nodded, forcing herself not to think of Roger tumbling over the railing. “Yes, the security here is first rate—they have us well protected. How are you?”
Her mother waved away the question. “Oh, I’m fine dear, just fine. How’s your father?”
Vanessa ignored the caustic grunt from the Senator. “He’s fine. Busy, you know? Lots of speeches.”
The smile faded from Mother’s face. “And you, dear? How are you?”
She felt her own smile quiver. “I’m…I’m okay.”
A rather insistent knocking came from the far side of the suite. Father placed his tablet on the end table and walked to the door. Two security guards greeted him and the three men began a rather animated conversation. One of the convention organizers appeared in the foyer next, adding his voice to the discussion.
Vanessa turned back to the screen. It was the most privacy she was likely to get anytime soon. She took her chance and blurted out: “I killed someone yesterday.”
Isobel Brant, model politician's wife, unflappable during the height of any scandal real or perceived, went white. “W-what?” she stammered. “You killed someone?”
Vanessa smiled weakly. It felt good to talk about it. “He tried to rape me—”
“What!” her mother exclaimed. “Did he—did you—why didn’t Thaddeus tell me?”
A quick look over her shoulder and she continued in a lower voice. “I don’t have much time—he said not to say anything.”
“What?” her mother gasped.
“Really mother, you sound like a parrot,” snapped Vanessa. “Father’s covered it all up, it’s fine. Honest.”
Her mother tried to peer over Vanessa’s shoulder. She raised her voice. “It most certainly isn't fine. You're upset! We'll see what your father has to say for himself. Thaddeus! I know you can see me, don’t ignore me—”
“Mother, please!” hissed Vanessa as Father’s heavy footsteps approached. “I said I’m fine!”
“Turn that off,” barked the Senator as he walked past.
“Thaddeus!” demanded her mother.
“Why?” Vanessa asked her father. She eyed the security guards who took up stations inside the main door. More people from Father’s staff and the convention organizers appeared, heads together, whispering like conspirators.
“What is it, Father?
” she called.
“I said turn it off!” he shouted from the bedroom. “Start packing!”
“Packing?” asked Vanessa.
“Packing? Where are you going? Thaddeus—what’s wrong? Where are you taking her now?”
Vanessa watched Father move quickly back and forth as he snatched up clothes and file folders. He dumped everything in a large suitcase.
“Father—”
“Get packing or you’ll have nothing but what you’re wearing,” he said, glancing at her again. “Damn it, I forgot the tablet.”
Vanessa blinked. “What’s the matter?” She turned at the sound of people running in the hallway. Several blurs zipped by the open door. The guards leaned out to keep an eye on the commotion, but didn’t leave. One of the convention organizers threw his hands up and backed out, merging into the traffic in the hallway.
Father passed her in the doorway on his way to retrieve the device. “Go on, get packing, Vee,” he said from the living room as he looked at the glowing screen in his hands. “You’re running out of time.”
“For what?” pleaded her mother from the screen. “Will you talk to—”
“Say goodbye, Sugarplum,” he said heading back into the bedroom without a glance at his wife.
“Why?” asked Vanessa. There was something in the way he'd said "goodbye" that made the fine hairs lift on the nape of her neck.
“We’re evacuating,” he replied tersely, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I’m taking you to Tarly Buckhouser's ranch out in Odessa. We have a private plane to catch—we’ll be safer there.”
“Evacuating? Is it the flu?” squeaked her mother's image on the screen.
He didn't answer. Vanessa stepped forward on legs that were suddenly unsteady.
"Father? Answer her."
“Yes,” he replied after a moment, watching Vanessa. “Someone attending the conference is infected with the flu. People are panicking out there. We need to leave.”
The Source: A Wildfire Prequel Page 12