Meltdown

by Chuck Holton

  Olenka glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “Whoever is behind the attacks is targeting pipelines and the power network, things like that. They seem to be trying to cause panic and chaos across the country—and from the news coverage, the terrorists’ plan seems to be working.”

  Mary shook her head. “Any deaths?”

  “Some in the first two explosions in Los Angeles, and the last bomb killed a billionaire in his office in Washington DC.”

  John’s head jerked up. “What did you say?”

  Olenka shrugged. “Right before I came to pick you up, the American news was reporting that a billionaire philanthropist was killed in his office near the White House. That caused quite a stir with your president’s security detail. Most of the politicians in Washington DC are being evacuated.”

  John’s face had lost all its color. “What was the billionaire’s name?”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t recall. Fountain? Something like that.”

  “Michael Lafontaine?” John’s voice was a whisper.

  “Yes, I think that’s it.”

  Mary couldn’t figure out why the tall, über-confident team sergeant suddenly looked like a slowly deflating balloon. Not only that, but Rip and Sweeney were looking at each other as if the air had been sucked out of the car. “What’s the matter, John? Do you know him?”

  But he didn’t answer. Instead, he buried his face in his hands. If she hadn’t known better, she would have said he was sobbing.

  Then Sweeney spoke in a quiet, almost reverent tone. “Michael Lafontaine was John’s godfather. And a very, very good man.”

  Now she understood. “Oh, how terrible! John, I’m so sorry.” She stared out the front window in a daze. Can this day get any more horrible?

  Just then, it did.

  Olenka braked hard, skidding to a stop.

  Fortunately, everyone was wearing a seat belt, but that didn’t prevent a chorus of surprised voices.

  “What was that about?” John asked.

  Olenka pointed out the front window through a stand of trees. “Do you see it?”

  “What?” Mary asked.

  “Police, or maybe Ukrainian army. They’ve found the safe house.” Olenka threw the vehicle in reverse and hit the gas.

  Mary braced herself against the front seats. Through the front windshield she saw where the road took a hard right turn. She knew the safe house was only two hundred meters or so beyond that. Peering through the tree line at the edge of a field to her right, she saw them: flashing red lights.

  “This is bad,” Olenka said, executing a quick three-point turn.

  John turned and gave Sweeney a grim look, not bothering to wipe away the tears that streaked his stubbly face. “Maybe we shouldn’t have dumped our weapons.”

  “What difference would that have made?” Sweeney said, almost growling. “We can’t shoot ’em.”

  “How did they find the safe house?” Rip asked.

  “Maybe a farmer was up early and saw us pass by on the four-wheelers,” Mary said.

  John craned his neck to look out the back window as they sped away. “Hope nobody noticed us just now.”

  Tension hung like chains on everyone in the vehicle. Mary could tell the team was taking the loss of Michael Lafontaine hard. For a long while nobody spoke.

  At length, Rip said, “Our clothes were at that safe house. What are we going to do about changing? Mary and I need shoes, and none of us exactly blends in.”

  Olenka was chewing her lip. “We should not go to Kiev—they will certainly be stopping traffic between here and there. But I have an idea. My grandmother’s village is about an hour to the west. If we stick to farm roads, we could still be there just after dark.”

  “Can we buy clothes there?” John said.

  She shook her head. “The village is very small. But my grandfather died last June, and I think she still has all his things. They aren’t fancy but would certainly help you look more like Ukrainians. And I’m sure she could find something for Mary.”

  John nodded. “I don’t guess we have much choice. Let’s go for it.”

  By the time they turned off the paved road and onto a double-track dirt path, the sun had set, and Mary and Olenka were the only ones still awake. Mary spent the time telling her Ukrainian friend about everything that had transpired at Chernobyl. Somehow doing so made her feel much better.

  “I just can’t believe they made me shower without giving me any privacy,” Mary finished.

  Olenka cocked her head. “Why? Does that bother you?”

  “Of course it does. Wouldn’t it bother you?”

  “I suppose it would, though I don’t think Ukrainians are as concerned with public nudity as Americans seem to be. They probably didn’t think anything of it.”

  Mary sighed. The cultural differences might help explain what had happened, but it didn’t exactly make her feel better.

  “Did they let you keep anything?” Olenka asked.

  Mary nodded. “They did return my…my underthings.”

  “Well, that’s good. Those are expensive!”

  Mary couldn’t help but smile. Olenka had a point.

  The track wound across a huge pasture dotted by black and white cows munching on scrubby grass. What looked to be a cluster of small homes lay silhouetted in the waning light.

  “Is this the way to the village?” Mary asked.

  “Yes. It’s called Peremyshl.” Olenka eased her foot off the gas and rolled to a stop.

  Even in the dim cab, Mary noticed the contorted lines of her face in the rearview mirror. “What?”

  “I…I don’t know if this is a good idea.”

  John sat up, blinking away sleep. “Are we there?”

  “Yes,” Mary said, “but it sounds like we might have a problem.”

  John looked at Olenka. “What’s up?”

  She hesitated. “It’s just that Baba won’t be happy about you coming to the village. She’s not unfriendly, but…well…she’s very superstitious.”

  John’s expression softened. “We have that superstition in the States too. It’s called ‘aiding and abetting known fugitives.’”

  Olenka sputtered. “Oh, it’s not that. Actually, I don’t think there have ever been westerners in Peremyshl. She’d be very excited to meet some. But because you’ve been in the dead zone…” Her voice trailed off.

  John thought for a moment. “You know, I hadn’t thought of that. Actually, it wouldn’t be right for Sweeney and me to drag our contaminated selves into that village and maybe jeopardize the safety of everyone there. How about you drop us in that wood line over there and we’ll wait for you to bring some new clothes? Then we’ll bury ours and get going.”

  Olenka considered his proposition. “That’s a good plan. There’s a small pond through those woods where you could wash off. Mary could come with me since she’s already been decontaminated, and we could bring back some clothes and food and pick you up here.”

  “Works for me,” Sweeney said.

  Rip slapped Sweeney’s shoulder. “I’ll guard your clothes while you go skinny-dipping, ese.”

  John frowned. “Okay, Olenka, we’ll do it. But try not to stay long. If someone finds the three of us out here, they’re liable to have seen on TV that there are fugitives on the loose and call us in.”

  Olenka gave a short laugh. “Except that nobody here has a television or a phone.”

  Outside Peremyshl

  John, Rip, and Sweeney watched the taillights of Olenka’s SUV bounce down the dirt track leading to the village. Open fields lay between them and the cluster of dark homes they could see a quarter mile distant. Aside from several dozen cows standing or lying down in the pasture, there was no other life visible around them. The cool air felt colder when the breeze gusted in their faces.

  “All right,” John said, “let’s find that pond and get out of these clothes.” The three men struck out into the gathering darkness, a gloom made deeper by the cover of the closely spaced pi
ne forest.

  Sweeney took point, pushing pine boughs aside. “She said it was only a few hundred meters. Let’s hope we can find it in the dark.”

  As they walked along, Rip spoke up. “Hey, Coop, I’m real sorry to hear about Mr. Lafontaine.”

  “Yeah, thanks,” John said quietly.

  “Do you know if he was a believer?”

  For some reason the question really bothered Sweeney. “Oh, come on,” he hissed. “Leave the guy in peace, will you?”

  John pushed a branch away from his face. “It’s okay, Bobby. That’s a valid question. The truth is, I don’t know. Michael went to a Catholic church in DC sometimes, but I never heard him talk about following Christ.”

  Sweeney was still perturbed. “So what? If he didn’t quote Scripture to everyone he met, that makes him a heathen?”

  John’s retort was matter of fact, but not confrontational. “Not necessarily, but the Bible makes it clear that all you have to do to see heaven is believe in your heart that God raised Jesus from the dead and confess with your mouth that Jesus is Lord.”

  “Michael Lafontaine was one of the most generous men I’ve ever met,” Sweeney said. “If he can’t make it to heaven, nobody can.”

  John nodded. “You’re right, he was generous. But nobody can make it by being good or following all the rules, because heaven is perfect and even Michael Lafontaine couldn’t make that standard. Personally, I’ve done all kinds of horrible things in my past. If I have to make it by being a good person, I’m sunk from the get-go.”

  That sounds familiar, Sweeney thought. Coop must have heard one of Pastor Lawrence Sweeney’s sermons.

  “Me too, bro,” Rip said.

  It was completely dark by the time they found the half-acre pond a few hundred meters into the wood line. The water was as black and calm as a pool of molasses. The whirring crickets and frogs along its banks masked the involuntary gasp Sweeney made after he stripped off his contaminated clothes and stepped into the frigid water.

  John sucked in a lungful of air as he entered. “Man, this night just keeps getting worse. Rip, get busy burying our stuff.”

  “Roger that.”

  Sweeney just grunted, unable to speak. Twigs on the muddy bottom of the pond poked his bare feet as he knelt in the shallow water and began furiously scrubbing himself from head to toe. I’d trade my Harley for a hot shower right about now.

  Rip knelt on shore, scraping an indentation in the earth with a big stick. “Hey, what are you two gonna wear until Mary gets back?”

  “How about I beat you up and take your jumpsuit?” Sweeney grumbled.

  Rip chuckled. “You’d look pretty funny trying to catch me, bro.”

  “Let’s just hurry up and get washed off before we die of hypothermia,” John said.

  Sweeney couldn’t agree more. The thought of a slow death by some nasty form of cancer, however, was good incentive to be thorough.

  By the time the two men sloshed out of the water, a sliver of moon had risen on the horizon, making their white skin appear to glow in the dark.

  “Hey, check it out,” Rip said with a laugh. “Two full moons in one night!”

  “Rubio,” Sweeney said through chattering teeth, “as soon as I can feel my arms, I’m gonna punch you.”

  The darkened village consisted of little more than two well-kept rows of thatch-roofed white cottages, situated on either side of a tidy dirt road. Mary rolled down her window and inhaled the cool smell of hay and tilled earth. No lights were visible inside the windows. Apparently the villagers went to bed early.

  “Do they have electricity?” Mary wondered aloud.

  “Oh yes,” Olenka said. “But they don’t like it much.”

  “Expensive?”

  “Yes, but also they are superstitious about it.” She waved her hand. “They are superstitious about many things.”

  “Like what?”

  Olenka shrugged. “They would never ride in a car with the window down, like you are doing now. They believe drafts bring evil spirits. Sometimes they wear mirrors under their clothing to ward off the evil eye. Things like that.”

  Mary shook her head. “That’s fascinating.”

  “Here we are.” Olenka turned in next to a tiny white house. “You’re going to love Babusya.”

  They got out, and Mary winced as small stones on the driveway pricked her bare feet. They climbed wooden steps to a door on the side of the house and knocked. A moment later, a light came on inside. There was some shuffling, then the door swung inward, revealing the cutest old woman Mary had ever seen.

  Olenka’s grandmother stood just over four feet tall. She wore a faded blue housedress with a flowered print. Her crystal blue eyes were set into a face that looked like a dried apple. They went wide in surprise, then became sparkling gems as the creases on her face split into a wide smile. “Aaaahhhh!” the babusya cried, throwing her arms wide and wrapping them around her granddaughter. Then she pulled back and began chattering excitedly.

  Olenka held the small woman by the shoulders and explained the situation in rapid-fire Ukrainian. Mary stood to the side, smiling and feeling somewhat self-conscious in her white jumpsuit. After a moment, Olenka straightened and wrapped one arm around her grandmother, turning her toward Mary.

  “This is my friend,” she said in Ukrainian. She put a hand on Mary’s arm and spoke in English: “Mary, this is my babusya.”

  The old woman’s eyes sparkled as she reached up and cupped Mary’s face in both hands, then proceeded to smother it with kisses.

  Mary was surprised by this, but it was so sweet that she immediately felt at ease. She felt herself flush. “Oh, Olenka, she’s so cute!”

  The younger woman laughed. “Yes, she is, isn’t she? She says you can call her Millya.”

  Still chattering, Millya led Mary by the hand into a tiny kitchen lit by a single bare bulb. She sat Mary down at a sturdy wooden table next to a small brick fireplace, then went to the sink in one corner. It had no faucets, and it drained into a bucket. Millya poured some water from a pitcher into a basin and brought it over, placing it on the plaited rug at Mary’s feet.

  “She says for you to wash your feet in this while she finds you some clothes to wear,” Olenka said.

  Millya straightened and stepped back, sizing Mary up, then clucked her tongue. “Malenke, malenke,” she said, crossing herself several times before disappearing into the back room.

  Mary blushed. “I guess I do look pretty bad.”

  “You stay here while I go help her gather clothes.” Olenka followed her grandmother down the hall.

  Mary slipped one foot into the foot bath. But even as she enjoyed the feeling of the cool water on her feet, she couldn’t help but agree with the babusya’s assessment.

  A few minutes later, Millya and Olenka returned from the back bedroom with their arms full of clothes. “I think these will work for the guys,” Olenka said, holding up some faded overalls. “Grandpa was a little shorter than they are, but I don’t think anything will be too small. Plus, he had big feet. Mama Millya has some of his old work boots we can take.

  Mary smiled. “Please tell her how grateful they will be. And we can send you some money later to pay her back.”

  Olenka shook her head. “No, she wouldn’t accept it.”

  Then Millya took Mary by the hand and led her into the tiny back bedroom. From an aged wardrobe, she produced several worn work dresses and held them up to Mary’s frame, finding all of them were far too short. The old woman continued clucking her tongue and keeping up a nonstop, albeit one-sided conversation. Finally she found a blue denim dress that was longer than the others.

  “She says this belonged to her sister, and she never got around to altering it,” Olenka explained. “Try it on.”

  Mary would have preferred to do so in private, but it wasn’t worth making an issue over. It wasn’t the most humiliated she’d been lately. She quickly peeled off the jumpsuit and pulled the dress on over her head.


  “It’s a little snug,” she said, tugging at the waistline, “but it will do.”

  Mary could feel the time ticking away. She knew the men would be anxious to get going. Even still, it took them another fifteen minutes to break away from Millya, as the woman kept coming up with more and more food to send along with them for the trip, most of which was canned or pickled.

  “It’s a Ukrainian custom,” Olenka explained, balancing the quart-sized glass jars full of food. “We always give food when someone is going on a journey.”

  “Thank you,” Mary said again. “But we do have a long way to go.”

  When they finally made it back to the vehicle, Millya stood on the stoop and waved at them as they drove away.

  “What a sweet lady,” Mary said.

  “Yes, Mama Millya is a wonderful Christian woman. She loves to help people.”

  Mary dug a small loaf of bread out of a paper sack at her feet and took a bite. “Oh, this is fantastic.” She savored the tart sourdough. “I bet the guys are hungry too. Wait until they see all this food.”

  The satphone started ringing on the dashboard. Mary scooped it up, pressed a button, and put it to her ear.

  “Phoenix.”

  It was Major Williams. “You kids making progress?”

  “Yes sir. We all have clothes now.”

  “What?”

  She realized how that sounded. “Uh…I’ll tell you later.”

  “Listen. You folks need to get out of that country ASAP. We’re getting all kinds of chatter from the Ukrainians. They’re setting up a full-court press to find you and bring you in.”

  “Right. We’re doing the best we can.”

  The major’s tone turned sour. “We’ve had another explosion. A gas pipeline in New Mexico. They’re having to evacuate a couple hundred thousand folks. This is getting serious.”

  Mary’s stomach did a slow flip. “Oh no.”

  When Mary and Olenka pulled up to the wood line where they had left the rest of the team, only Rip emerged from the underbrush.

  He was sporting a wide grin. “Hey,” he said, sticking his head in the window. “Coop and Sweeney said to send some clothes quick.” He snickered. “I think we should make the two jaybirds come get them.”