by Orton, D. L.
I push down my growing apprehension.
What the hell happened? A nuke launched from the Middle East?
“They don’t have the capability—at least, I don’t think they do.”
Maybe a suitcase bomb—or something like 9-11?
If the President of the United States sent out an emergency alert, it would have to be something pretty big, and he would have to be pretty damn sure it wasn’t a red herring.
Maybe the Russians had some sort of coup, and a panicked comrade launched a handful of ICBMs?
Somewhere in the back of my brain, I know that it takes about thirty minutes for an intercontinental missile to get here. I do the math and then slam my hand against the steering wheel.
I won’t get to her in time. Please let it be a false alarm.
When I get off the freeway, there are police everywhere, stopping cars and telling people to take shelter. After being delayed twice, I wave them off and keep driving toward Isabel. The traffic is getting worse, and at one point, I have to run a red light and cut across a lawn to avoid a long line of stopped cars.
Wait for me, Iz.
It takes longer than I want, but I manage to get to her building in just over thirty minutes. The parking lot is almost empty, but I see a white Porsche with the license plate “Stan T Man” parked across two spaces, and let out a sigh of relief.
She’s probably still here.
I pull up next to the entrance, kill the engine, and jump out of my car. The main doors are locked, and there’s no one at the guard station. I bang on the heavy glass portal, knowing it’s futile, and then step back and force myself to think.
Try the easy stuff first: call her.
I do, but the lines are jammed, so I type in a text message telling her I’m outside. It takes a couple of tries, but it eventually goes through.
Okay. Now what?
A creepy sense of déjà vu comes over me.
Well, at least this time the building isn’t on fire.
“At least not yet.”
I take a look around. Her office complex is a glass and steel behemoth with high-tech security on every door. It would take me weeks to figure out how to get in. And I have no reason to believe she’s in any more danger than I am. My best bet is to stay here and wait until she comes out.
I glance up at the sky.
If she comes out.
“Don’t go there.”
I jog back to my car and switch on the radio, but there’s nothing new, so I lean against the door and wait. The fall evening is mild, a slight breeze blowing out of the south, the crescent moon hanging low in the west. I gaze up into the falling darkness, searching for god-knows-what, but don’t see anything except the glowing contrail of a jet heading over the mountains.
At least I’m not up there, with her stuck down here.
And then I remember the note. The first line says “Prepare for the worst.” I stare at the large packages of toilet paper, over-the-counter drugs, and various other items in the back seat—the last few things on my shopping list. I stopped this morning—it’s what made me late for work.
Cutting it a bit close on the timing, mae.
Even if the “possible nuclear attack” turns out to be a false alarm, everyone will be spooked, and it will take weeks, if not months, for the repercussions to subside. Supply lines will be interrupted, prices will soar, and frightened people will start hoarding everything from flour to guns to, well, toilet paper.
And if, god forbid, there is an attack on the US. It will all be over before you can say “mutual annihilation.” Even if it turns out to be an accident, the hawks will be demanding that we bomb the Middle East back to the stone age—and take out North Korea, Russia, and Africa just in case. And the rest of the world is not going to just sit around and wait to be murdered by faceless drones.
Any way you slice it, things are going to get ugly, and fast.
I look out into the city around me. Despite the order to stay inside, the streets are packed with cars. Flashing lights are everywhere, and the cool evening air is filled with the sounds of sirens, skidding tires, and horns. I imagine the grocery stores and camping supply outlets will be overrun in a matter of minutes.
I walk back to the entrance and sit down on the cool tile floor, my back resting against the windows. I study the sliver of the moon as lights around me wink on.
Maybe you’re wrong, mae. Maybe people will remain calm and face the future with thoughtful compassion. Maybe everything will be okay.
The wind shifts and I smell smoke, probably from the fires in Denver, or maybe even Albuquerque or Kansas City. After “extinct” volcanoes started erupting all around the world, people started listening to the doom-sayers, and the insanity spread quickly.
A thoughtful and compassionate future, my ass. We’re screwed.
My phone beeps, and I almost drop it as I jump up and wrench it out of my pocket. It’s from Isabel:
One US nuke launched by mistake. Attempting to dump in ocean. Possible retaliatory nukes in flight. Wait for me!
Just as I’m sticking my phone back in my pocket, I notice a group of people moving into the lobby. Isabel is not with them.
The woman at the head of the group sees me and gives me the OK sign. As the others gather around the TV at the guard’s station, she hurries across the large lobby and lets me in. “You must be Diego. I’m Kelly, her boss.” We shake hands. “I’m sorry we didn’t get up here sooner, but I wanted to make sure we heard the whole news report before people left.” She puts her hand on my arm. “Don’t worry. Isabel will be down in a minute. She went up to grab her laptop. You know how she is.”
“Yeah, I do. Thanks.” The panic I’m feeling drops a notch.
She leans in, her voice low. “I know you two have a long drive home, and given the circumstances, you are welcome to stay with me tonight.”
“Thanks for the offer. I’ll ask her when she—”
Isabel steps out of the stairwell carrying her laptop bag and three large tackle boxes. She scans the room, her face worried.
“Excuse me.” I push though the crowd.
When she sees me, she drops everything, and rushes toward me.
I sweep her up into my arms and hold her, unable to speak.
She clings to me, her face buried in my neck. “Thank you for coming.”
I can feel her heart pounding, and an overpowering need to protect her fills me. “No need to have worried, hun. You knew I’d come. I always will.” I hold her head against my chest, stroking her hair and kissing her until her heart rate slows. “But given the option, I am never letting you out of my sight again.”
She laughs and starts coughing, tears streaming down her face. “We have to stop meeting like this or it’s going to kill me.”
I wipe a tear off her cheek. “Kill both of us.”
Another alert tone sounds, and we crowd around the TV.
The news is not good: The US nuke detonated when it hit the water. The West Coast, from Seattle to San Francisco is being evacuated, with Southern California and the Pacific Islands put on high alert. Reports of three retaliatory Russian nuclear launches have been confirmed, one of which detonated in its silo in Siberia, and two of which are now being recalled.
Stan slaps the side of the TV. “How the hell do you recall ICBMs? They’ll have to detonate them in the upper atmosphere or dump them in the Arctic. Either way, it’s going to be a nightmare. Goddamn trigger-happy Russians.”
Someone calls out, “And how the hell do you launch a nuke by mistake? Goddamn trigger-happy Americans.”
The crowd shushes them.
North Korea and Pakistan are threatening to launch first strikes if the US doesn’t immediately locate and disarm all five thousand plus warheads, and the rest of the nuclear states have their collective fingers poised over red button
s. If someone slips up and presses one, life as we know it will be over.
The President has issued a state of emergency but asks all citizens to remain calm and stay indoors. Any military personnel are to report immediately. Schools and all non-essential government services are suspended until further notice. A list of the cities and counties being evacuated scrolls up followed by FEMA websites and phone numbers, and then the message repeats.
Kelly glances around the circle of worried faces. “All of you are welcome to stay here for the night. If you don’t live close by, you might consider waiting until the morning to brave the hordes. Those that do leave, please check the company website for updates on when we plan to reopen for business. In the meantime, stay safe and don’t panic.”
Stan turns and jogs out the main door, followed by most of the others. A few people head back inside the building or pull up chairs in front of the TV.
Kelly comes over to us. “Would you two like to stay with me tonight? I don’t live far, and the liquor cabinet is stocked, if not the refrigerator.”
“Either way is fine with me,” I say, looking at Iz. “I have a full tank of gas, but things are a mess out there.”
Isabel leans against me. “Let’s go home before it gets any worse.” She reaches out to Kelly. “But thank you. Would you like to come with us?”
“Thanks for the offer, but I’m a city girl through and through. I’ll take my chances with the hordes.”
“Okay.” Isabel gives her a hug. “Stay safe.”
“You too.” Kelly looks a bit wistfully at me. “Take care of her, Diego.”
“I will.” I pick up Isabel’s stuff, and we head out into the dark, moonless night.
Chapter 13
Diego: The Long Way Home
The roads are jammed, and it takes us more than an hour to get out of the city. When we finally get to the old highway and start climbing up the canyon, we both let out a sigh of relief. The traffic is heavy, but not as bad as I expected.
Isabel glances in the back seat and then puts her hand on my thigh. “I can’t believe you went shopping this morning. Thanks.” She looks over at me. “I thought you were crazy when you bought all those dried beans and rice, but I was wrong. How did you know this would happen?”
I put my hand on top of hers. “I didn’t. I was just being prudent.”
“Prudent, my ass. You’re a terrible liar, Diego. Did that guy who works for the Feds tip you off—you know, the one who had the photo of the sphere?”
“You mean Hank? No. I told you, I was just planning ahead—particularly now that I have someone else to worry about. It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together: between the volcanoes, the riots, the bombings, and a world full of aging nukes, something was bound to go wrong eventually. Hopefully, it’ll all blow over in a week or two—although I’m glad we’re not living in California now.” I squeeze her hand. “If you want something to eat, there are some dried mangoes in back.”
She leans over the seat, pushes on the overhead light, and rummages around. “What’s this?” She pulls a shiny gold box of condoms into the front seat, along with the bag of dried fruit, and then turns off the light and puts her seatbelt back on.
I attempt to make my voice sound nonchalant. “Impulse purchase. You know how guys are.”
“Right.” She tears open the bag of mangoes, and sets it between us.
“Thanks.” I take a handful and then drive in silence for a bit.
“Talk.” Her voice is flat, but I can hear the pain behind it.
There aren’t any streetlights, and the old highway is dark and narrow, our headlights pushing back the blackness as we cut though the steep canyon.
“Okay,” she says. “So we’re done taking chances. Is that what this means?”
I let out a heavy sigh, trying to decide what to say.
She gazes out her window into the night. “Well, to be honest, I’m grateful we don’t have to worry about taking care of a baby right now.”
I glance over at her. “I agree, and I think we should keep it that way for now. But as soon as things improve, we can go back to trying. Okay?”
She tosses the box of condoms into the back seat. “Sounds like you’ve got it covered.”
“I love you, Iz.”
She leans her head against my shoulder, tears running down her cheeks. “Ditto.”
I kiss her hair. “Thanks for saying you’ll marry me.”
She wipes her face on my shirt. “It’s not like I had any choice after you rescued me from a fire, snuck my kitten into the hospital, and presented me with a stolen wedding ring. How romantic is that?”
“About as romantic as you breaking into a burning building to see if I would come after you.”
“Hah.” She runs her hand up the inside of my thigh, across my crotch, and into the waistband of my pants. “I saw the ketchup in the back.”
“Easy there, Miss Sanborn, I’m trying to drive.”
“Yes, I detect a certain stiffness in you.”
“You do make it hard.”
She puts her hand back on my thigh—and then lets it wander a bit.
I turn on the radio to see if there’s any news, but the canyon walls are too steep, and the signal keeps cutting out—at least I hope that’s what’s causing the static. I switch over to Isabel’s playlist. She slides her fingertips across my jeans and sings along with the music, her mellifluous voice and feather- light touch filling me with warmth and anticipation.
We speed on into the dark night, strangely calm in a world teetering on the edge of disaster.
A few minutes after we drive through a deserted mountain town, I veer off onto the dirt road that leads up to our property.
And then slam on the brakes.
We skid to a stop, dirt from the road creating a small cloud around the car. I switch off the music, and the sudden silence is disconcerting.
It takes a few seconds for the breeze to clear away the fine powder.
Less than a meter in front of the car is a heavy metal gate, one that has never been closed before.
“What the f—”
Isabel opens the door and hops out. “I got it.”
I roll down my window. “Be careful!”
Cold mountain air pours in, and I shiver.
I put the car in reverse and inch backwards, the crackle of tires on gravel loud in the still night. I point the headlights on her and put the car back in gear, watching her untangle a heavy chain wrapped around the post. She’s wearing a skirt and heels, her bare legs stark in the harsh light and her breath visible in the cold mountain air.
But before she can finish, a figure emerges from the shadows and grabs her from behind. I reach for the door handle just as she lets out a muted cry.
The intruder wrenches her around in front of the gate and puts a knife under her throat, his eyes on me. “Put your hands up where I can see them and get out of the car.”
I glance over at the glove compartment.
Why didn’t I expect something like this? I should have been ready.
He forces Isabel to take a step closer to the car and presses the knife against her neck.
She lets out a frightened shriek.
I hold my hands up. “Okay. Take whatever you want, just don’t hurt her.”
“Do what I say, and no one gets cut.” He lifts Isabel’s chin with the knife. “Now!”
“Okay, okay. I’m getting out.” I push the car door open with my foot.
And then everything happens at once.
The heavy chain unwinds from the post with a loud clanging noise, and the massive barrier swings open.
It hits the guy in the back, and he lurches sideways out of its path, dragging Isabel with him. The gate pushes past them, groaning with disuse and picking up speed, and then it crashes into the hood o
f my car.
In one motion, Isabel grabs the guy’s arm, twists around, and knees him hard in the balls. The bastard lashes out with the knife as he doubles over in pain.
I jump out. “Get away from him!”
The car is still in gear, and the moment my foot leaves the brake, the vehicle lurches forward.
Isabel shoves the guy into the dirt and kicks the knife away. “You bastard. You messed with the wrong woman.” He makes a move toward the weapon, but she scrambles into the middle of the road and picks it up before he can.
I take a step toward them and then realize I can’t get there in time. “Watch out for the car!”
She looks up into the approaching headlights, bright red blood visible on her thigh. She stumbles backwards just as the gate plows into her doubled-over attacker. The heavy metal bars push him through the dirt, and then the gate bangs against the post, stopping the vehicle not six inches away from Isabel.
“Get in the car!” I run up, leap into the driver’s seat, and slam on the brakes.
The guy reaches out for her ankle, his shirt covered in blood, but she slips through the railing, and jumps back in.
I lock the doors and put the car in reverse, easing backwards until the gate swings all the way open. “How badly are you hurt?”
She takes a ragged breath and drops the knife on the floor. “I’m okay. Let’s get out of here!”
“Are you sure you don’t need a doctor?”
“Yes, damn it! I’ll be fine until we get to the cabin. Go!”
The guy is still rolling around in the middle of the road.
I lean my head out the window. “You’ve got three seconds to get out of the way, and then I run you over.” I set the back of my hand on Isabel’s uninjured thigh. “There’s a gun in the glove box, and it’s loaded so be careful. Hand it to me, please.” I hear her sharp intake of breath as I watch the guy attempt to crawl out of the way.
A moment later, she sets the cold metal weapon in my hand.
“This is going to be loud, so you may want to cover your ears.” I twist sideways so I can get my right arm out the window and then lean my head out too. “If I ever see you again, I’ll kill you.” I release the safety and fire one shot into the dirt a few feet away from Isabel’s attacker.