Far northern New England seemed to have escaped the worst. Still, residents were told to stay home and wait for the Army assessment teams. No one was allowed to enter the “Affected Area”.
Cheryl surfed channels, and they learned of the destruction in other countries, mostly in Asia. One reporter called the situation “the edge of nuclear Armageddon.” Cheryl shut it off and stared at the blank screen.
“Hard to believe,” Ray said. “The world falling apart. Yet, somehow we’re here, alive and safe for the moment.”
“I thought we had it tough, but it’d be better in a few days. I would go to LA and live a normal life.” Cheryl shook her head. “It’s not going to be normal again for a long time, and we’ve got nothing—no home, no friends, or any way to survive.”
Ray shifted closer and put an arm around Cheryl. “It’s bad. I can’t tell you it isn’t. We’ve got a little money, transportation, and the means to defend ourselves. What we don’t have is a way to more money, a food supply, or permanent shelter. We need to work on those things.”
“How long do you think we can survive on our own?”
“What do you mean?”
“Before we go to the camps. That’s where we’ll end up isn’t it? In a tent with a hundred other people, standing in line for a bowl of soup and access to the portapotty, prey to every disease imaginable.”
“The camps probably wouldn’t be bad if there was a government to run them. What worries me most is there won’t be.”
Cheryl looked at him like he was nuts. “The Army’s everywhere. That’s the government.”
“It’s not supposed to be. Look, Washington was broke before this happened. They just lost a quarter of their biggest taxpayers and the best part of their administrative skills. I doubt who is left can collect enough money to keep things going. But you’re right. The military is dispersed and still functional and certainly very necessary. They will get all there is to be got.”
“And taking care of the homeless isn’t their top priority?”
“People are throwing around nuclear weapons, planning invasions. The displaced, us, are a drag on everything the military does. They tie up logistics and drain the food supply.”
Cheryl let the thoughts percolate for a few minutes. “You’re saying the government is going to collapse.”
“The states will be okay, the ones that didn’t take a hit. It’s the Feds who are in real trouble. And they will take a lot of people down with them.”
“You’ve got all these problems mapped out. Have you got a plan for surviving them?”
“Like I said: food, shelter, money, defense.”
“Well, that sums up the obvious. But in your as yet unannounced plan to acquire these necessities, am I an asset or a liability?”
Ray knew he’d get along better without her. He could have outrun the men that morning easily, alone on the bike. He could hunker down, use what money he had for food instead of the motel room. Alone, he could steal food if it came to it. Cheryl would try to stop him—insist on the camps. No doubt: survival would be easier with only one mouth to feed and only himself to look out for. He guessed she knew that, too.
“I’ve got you counted on the plus side of the ledger. There’s just no other way to look at you.”
Cheryl leaned in and kissed him. She lingered for a few seconds then pulled pack. “I had you pegged for a loner.”
“I guess that’s mostly true. Though when I’m sitting here with you, I can’t for the life of me figure out why.”
This time Ray kissed her.
Chapter 13
Karla woke and got ready for work. She watched the news as she prepared breakfast. War had broken out in Asia among the nuclear powers. Russia and the EU remained on the sidelines. Pakistan’s government, and its nuclear weapons, had been taken over by the Taliban.
In the US, residents of the “Affected Zone” were prohibited from travel beyond the nearest military camp. Those residents who had moved beyond the camps after January 26 were required to report to a military facility. Any vehicles or possessions from the zone were subject to seizure and destruction if they tested positive for radioactivity. No civilian was allowed to enter the “Affected Zone” for any reason. The military was in the process of marking and fencing the boundaries.
The only good news was that hundreds of thousands had hunkered in cellars and shelters and had survived the radiation cloud. Military exploration teams were finding them, but there were not nearly enough hazard suits for a thorough search, let alone to move people to uncontaminated ground. Army experts said it was only safe to breathe the air where there was snow. But walking in it could prove fatal.
Karla shook her head wondering how long the survivors would hold out. She washed the dishes and left for work. It was payday. She wanted to see what would happen.
* * *
At ten o’clock, Karla walked to the cafeteria for a company meeting. John Fraser, a group vice-president, stood at a podium, a bare wall to his back. He was fiftyish and athletic. He wore a blue suit with a red tie—a throwback to the days before every day casual.
“I’d like to get started.”
The buzz in the room died. They all wanted to hear.
“The events of the last days have been a shock. We as a country have never experienced disaster on this scale. I’d like to pause a minute, to express our sorrow at the tremendous loss of life, to give thanks that we were spared.”
Fraser clasped his hands on the podium and bowed his head. He held the position for sixty seven seconds.
“Thank you.” He glanced at his notes. “It is too early to tell the full impact of the devastation on the country as a whole. For us in the aerospace business the signs are clear and not positive.
“The Pentagon was destroyed and so was the treasury. Our customers are in some cases unable to contact their military project managers. The commercial side of the business is not much better. All civilian aircraft are grounded. There has been no date given for resumption of service. Worldwide, the major airlines are shut down and wary. They have cancelled or delayed orders. We have been asked to hold shipments.” He paused. “We do not see this situation turning around quickly.”
Fraser halted to let the murmurs die down.
“We will not stop production. We will continue with skeleton crews and essential staff. There will be rotating furloughs for most others. Your supervisors will be meeting with you later in the day to discuss what this will mean to each of you.”
He scanned the crowd. “We have an excellent team here. I hope the situation resolves itself quickly, and we can all get back to what we do best.”
Fraser stood at the podium. He didn’t ask for questions. He thanked the group and left.
* * *
Karla returned to her cubicle and stared at her improvement team list. Michael Krager stepped in and handed her a check, though she normally had direct deposit. He told her a list of banks that were open was posted on company bulletin boards. After Michael left, she walked over and scanned the list. The downtown office of her bank was on it.
Noon came, and Karla left for the bank. The entire office did the same, all of a mind to cash their checks while they could. At Karla’s bank, signs were posted on the door and next to each teller: Cash Back Transactions Limited to One Thousand Dollars per Day.
Karla stood fifteen minutes in line then handed the teller the check with her account number. “A thousand back, please, and I’d like a balance.”
The teller counted out the money and handed her the receipt. Karla read the balance and let out a tiny shriek.
“Is something wrong?”
“No. No. Everything is just fine.” Better than fine, she thought. Her 401 k had been transferred. At a huge loss, but she now had $127,000 in the bank. The question was, could she get it out if she needed it?
At three, Michael began calling employees to the conference room, which offered more privacy than
his glass-fronted office. Karla watched the first two engineers walk back stiffly. She was third. She sucked it up and went in.
Michael pointed to a chair across the cherry table from where he sat with a notebook, a short stack of hanging file folders, and a mug of coffee. He lifted the mug and took a sip.
“Let’s get to it,” he said.
Karla ran her teeth over her lips, anticipating the bad taste of the conversation.
“As long as we’re still in production,” Michael said. “We’re keeping an engineer. That’s you, for now, Karla. But you heard what the man said this morning. The order book is evaporating. When it hits empty, we’re all out of here.”
“And my projects?”
“Everything is on hold. All you have to worry about is keeping production moving.”
“How many are being let go?”
“These are furloughs. No pink slips yet.”
“Am I going to be alone?”
“Karla, you’ll find out when I’m done. You’ve got a job. Be happy.”
She stood. “What do I say to the others?”
“That I told you to send in Keith.”
She stepped from the room and passed the word to Keith.
* * *
Karla knew she shouldn’t, but she left early anyway. Michael was tied up; he wouldn’t notice. She drove to the interstate and headed south, careful of the speed cameras as she approached downtown. She exited onto 1st Street and parked behind the Wells Fargo Bank. She walked to Roger’s office at East Iowa Realty, taking in the aroma of roasting oats from Quaker, across the highway. She wondered why she hadn’t tried this two days ago.
The outer office had glass double doors, a tiled floor, and pleasant reproductions on the wall. Marta, the long-time executive assistant, sat behind a glass topped desk.
“Is Roger here?” Karla asked. Roger sold commercial properties and made a good living, better than her in the best years. He had a private office, not a desk on the open floor.
Marta gave her a funny look. “He said you left town.”
“Well I haven’t. Is he in his office?”
“No. I better call Brad.”
“What’s wrong, Marta?”
She picked up the phone, and twenty seconds later, Brad Tillson strode down the hall. He, too, did a double take.
“What’s everybody know that I don’t?”
“She’s looking for Roger,” Marta said.
“Where is he?” Karla repeated.
“He was last here on Tuesday. He collected his check from the Shulman closing. Said he was going to reconcile with his family, in Denver.”
“He said we were getting back together?”
“That’s what I understood him to mean.”
Karla glared at him. Even if Roger hadn’t meant her, he had no people in Denver. “So you have no idea where he really is?”
“Denver. That’s all he said.”
“He took Jessie. Did he tell you that? If he left the state with her, he’s going to prison. That is, if they can find enough of him to put there after I’m through with him.”
Brad glanced around the room. There was just the three of them. “Look. Roger’s not a hothead. I don’t know what’s happened, but why would he make up that story?”
Karla didn’t have an answer for that. “Did he quit, or just quit showing up?”
“Like I told you. He said he was going to Denver. He’d be gone at least a week. Maybe forever if things worked out.”
“So he still has a job?”
Brad shrugged. “Theoretically he’s on vacation. But no one is even looking at real estate right now. He can stay there as long as he likes.”
“If he comes back, will you call me?”
Brad looked past her, to traffic on First Avenue. “I’ll tell him you were here.”
“Thanks for nothing,” Karla said and walked out.
* * *
At home she watched the news. Clips of grocery stores empty of basics—signs limiting quantities of what remained. Food prices were climbing sharply in some areas and what deliveries came in were purchased as fast as the food could be unloaded. Caravans emerged behind delivery trucks when they hit city streets. The governors of several states denounced hoarding and black market food sales.
The US government had begun sending troops to “protect” distribution centers. Karla was sure it would only get worse when they started trucking food east. The last story she saw as a prelude: In Kentucky, dozens were hurt when employees tried to block the National Guard from entering a McLane food warehouse.
Karla thought about fuel. She had taken some steps, but wondered if it was enough. She had gas heat. She saw no reason those supplies would be disrupted. It might be even more plentiful with the cold northeast no longer drawing on the supply. In any case, her central air was actually an electric heat pump. It would keep the house from freezing if she lost gas. If she lost electricity, she had a backup diesel generator, courtesy of the original owner. It could power the house for as long as the fuel lasted. That was perhaps her weak link.
She’d start on improving that tomorrow. Now, she had other work to do. She climbed the stairs to the attic and stared at the rows of cardboard boxes against the north wall. They were marked by year. Karla kept records. She was fanatic about it. She skipped two years back and pulled a box to the center of the room. Inside were tax records, bank statements, credit card receipts, and utility bills. She opened the folder holding phone records.
Roger used his phone a lot. He was in the real estate business. On call at all hours. The phone an essential tool—fully tax deductable. Each monthly detail went pages. Karla brought them downstairs and wrote each new number on a pad. Most would be business. Some would be friends. A few might be surprises.
Chapter 14
Ray woke spooned with Cheryl. He ran a hand slowly down her thigh then back up. He stroked her soft skin and cupped her breast. She turned to him and he kissed her. She pulled back and gazed into his blue eyes. She slid a hand across his flat stomach, felt his arousal.
She rolled on top and kissed him. “We may never have this much privacy again.”
* * *
They rose late, showered, and ate leftover pizza from Flatwoods. They watched the news. Dolores Hart had set new rules. As residents of the “Affected Zone” at the time of the attack, they were prohibited from travel and instructed to report to a camp. They supposed the nearest one was somewhere in Virginia, Staunton, the deputy had said. The penalty for noncompliance wasn’t mentioned. Ray assumed it was severe. He thought of Cheryl.
“What will they do to us?” Cheryl was working on the same problem.
“The law is intended to stop the movement of contaminated people and property. Sending violators to a regular prison wouldn’t seem to serve a purpose. I doubt they’ll set up new ones.”
Cheryl sucked in a huge breath. “They’d shoot us!”
“I don’t know. It’s war. Those who spread radioactivity are a menace. People will surely become sick. Some might die.”
“Not us. We’re fine.”
“I think so. But if we’re stopped we’ll need a story, a way to prove we left New York before the attack.”
“But we didn’t.”
“We have two choices. Claim we did or throw away our ID, insist we’re from somewhere clean.” Ray paused. “Of course no one will believe that—honest people don’t dump their ID. I can toss the license plates, but the motorcycle numbers will come back to New York. My fingerprints the same. The Army has them, somewhere in Kansas, I think. Though the whole system might be down.”
“So, you’re a risk.”
“No more than you. Just laying out facts. If you want to go to Staunton, I’ll take you.”
“But you won’t stay?”
Ray shook his head. “I’d rather take my chances.”
Cheryl sat still for several minutes. Tears rolled down her cheeks. “I
can’t do it. I don’t want to be shot down on the road.”
“Fair enough,” Ray said. “I’ll get a map and we’ll get started.”
* * *
Ray flew east on I-64. He was pissed. He’d brought Cheryl six hundred miles only to have her bail out. That would have been okay, if he could have put her on a bus. But he couldn’t. He’d checked. So, now he was using his time, his money, and his luck hauling her to a so-called refugee camp from which she’d likely never leave.
That bothered him because he liked Cheryl and didn’t want to see that happen. But his biggest concern just then was how close he could get her to an Army run camp that was not on any map without getting scooped up himself.
He sailed through Charleston, past the westbound roadblock, then took US 60 instead of the Turnpike. The road followed the Kanawha River for a few miles as it twisted through the mountains then followed the New River for a while after that. Finally each went it its own way.
Ray was glad their last hours were on the motorcycle. It made avoiding conversation not only easy but necessary. He filled the tank once, and since Cheryl made no objection, rode close to three hours before stopping again at the Shell station south of Crawley.
Cheryl climbed off stiffly at the pump. “I’ll pay while I’m inside.”
“Thanks.” It was all Ray could manage, thinking she didn’t sound hostile, hadn’t sensed his anger either.
Ray filled the tank and moved the Honda. He wanted to go in, too, but their routine was that one always stayed with the bike and their supplies. Ten minutes and no Cheryl. He didn’t see how she could have ditched him or even why she’d want to. Then understanding women had never been his long suit—maybe why he’d joined the Army when his friends were busy hooking up or getting married.
Ray chained the bike, touched the gun in his coat pocket, and started for the door. The place didn’t appear dangerous, but he figured he’d better have a look. A pretty woman alone could sometimes find trouble when it shouldn’t be there.
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