by Tim Washburn
Chad stumbles forward and regains his balance.
Lori stomps a foot and screams, “You can’t let him go! He’ll just come back.”
Alyx gently places a hand on either side of Lori’s head. “Shh, it’s going to be okay.” Alyx gently turns her head, forcing Lori to look at her. “I promise.”
The shotgun roars and both women jump. Lori whirls around to see Chad lying in the middle of the road, his blood already pooling around him. She sinks to her knees again, and Alyx kneels next to her. “It’s over, Lori. He can’t hurt you anymore.”
Lori nods and continues to sob. Alyx helps her to her feet and Zane drops the tailgate. Alyx steers Lori over and gently helps her into a sitting position. Alyx sits next to the young woman and hugs her as she sobs, Lori’s entire body trembling. Eventually, the trembling subsides and the tears slow. Lori wipes her nose with the back of her hand.
“Do you have other family in town to stay with?” Alyx asks.
Lori nods. “An aunt and . . . uncle.”
“Do you think you can make your way there by yourself?”
Lori nods again. “Yes.”
When she’s ready, Alyx helps her up while Zane shuffles over to the cab and grabs a new shotgun shell and reloads. Lori is tentative at first, but a glance at Chad’s body strengthens her resolve. Zane can see her squaring her shoulders and her steps become more determined. Once she disappears down the highway embankment, Zane and Alyx return to the truck and climb in.
“Any remorse?” Alyx asks.
“Not a bit.”
CHAPTER 99
Ottawa, Kansas
The flashlight-for-headlights gig lasted only so long. The high number of expired vehicles on the highway made the going treacherous. After several harrowing miles, McDowell turned off the highway and cruised slowly along the access road and spotted a new-car dealership. He turned into the lot and parked behind the building among a slew of other vehicles. He and the rest of the crew bedded down in the service waiting area. After only three short hours of sleep, McDowell climbs back behind the wheel at daybreak. Two days of gunplay have left him strung out. It’s Lauren’s turn in the cab while Melissa serves her shift in the back with the group of cranky teenagers.
Lauren wraps a strand of her dark hair around her index finger. “How far to Oklahoma City?”
“On a good day, maybe three and a half hours. Today, who knows? Things will probably get gummed up when we reach Wichita.”
“Another military base?” Lauren asks.
“Yes, McConnell Air Force Base. They’re a big refueling outfit that was probably high on the target list.”
“Have you been to every Air Force base there is?”
McDowell smiles. “Not all of them, but a bunch. I spent twenty years in the Air Force. They like to move people around.”
“Did you attend the Air Force Academy?”
“Nope, but I ended up selling my soul to the Air Force anyway. I went to Texas A&M on a ROTC scholarship. Graduated from there and went on active duty.”
Lauren turns in her seat and leans against the door. “Did you like the Air Force?”
“Mostly. They taught me how to fly, which allowed me, in retirement, to climb behind the wheel of a civilian airliner.”
“What was the worst part of being in the Air Force?”
McDowell glances at Lauren. “Dropping bombs on people.” He turns his gaze back to the road.
“Which war?”
“Dubya Bush’s. Iraq. I flew a bunch of sorties during the opening days. I’m just thankful I punched out shortly after.”
“They ever try to recall you, later in the war?”
“They tried, but I had my twenty in and a steady job.”
“Can they compel a person to return to active duty?”
“Yes, until you’re five years past retirement. I made it by the skin of my teeth, before they did the big buildup in Afghanistan. Hell, mostly now they fly drones. Some pilot sitting at Creech, out in Nevada, can control a plane on the other side of the world. Or could, I should say. Won’t be much flying anything for the foreseeable future. What about you? Did you always want to be a teacher?”
“Yes. I think it’s a calling. I know it’s damn sure not for the money. There are far more good days than bad.” She nods toward the back. “This is a critical time in their lives. Middle school is a turning point in a child’s life. They transition from childish behaviors, or at least most do, into young adults. It’s a very impressionable age and it’s rewarding to see a child blossom before your eyes.”
“You’re a better person than me, dealing with those kids. I think I would pull my hair out if I had to spend every day in the classroom with them.”
“There are days when I feel the same, but overall it’s the perfect job for me. Like I said, it’s a calling.” Lauren turns back in her seat, kicks off her shoes, and props her feet on the dash.
McDowell slows to steer around a group of expired semis. The truck bumps over to the shoulder and he slowly navigates around the bottleneck, pulling back on the road when clear.
“Why are you going back to Dallas?”
McDowell glances over. “Don’t really know. Don’t know where else I’d go.”
Lauren lets the silence linger for a moment, before turning to look at McDowell. “Come to Lubbock with us.”
McDowell mulls that statement over for a while. “And do what?”
Lauren shrugs. “I have my own home. I thought, maybe, you . . . you could live with me.”
“Oh,” McDowell says.
They travel in silence for the next mile or two, McDowell’s brain zinging with unasked questions. Finally, he stumbles upon a safe one. “As roommates?”
Lauren grabs a strand of hair and twirls it around her index finger. “Or more.”
Well, hell. What does she mean by that? “Well . . . uh . . . you do realize I’m nearly twice your age?”
Lauren releases that strand of hair and grabs another. “Who cares?”
“Huh,” McDowell mutters. “We’ve only known each other for a few days.”
“Again, who cares?” She turns to look at him. “Don’t get hung up on the age issue, Stan, or the length of time we’ve known one another. They’re only numbers that don’t really mean a damn thing.”
“O . . . kay.” He switches lanes to avoid a pickup, his mind spinning. He steals a peek at Lauren, who’s still twirling her hair. He turns back to the road.
Lauren glances over. “No pressure, Stan. Just a possibility.”
McDowell switches hands on the steering wheel. “Can I think about it?”
Lauren laughs. “Of course. I’m thinking of my own future, too, and I want all possible options on the table. And one of those options, I hope, is you coming to Lubbock.”
McDowell’s face flushes red, and Lauren laughs again. “Stan, you’re blushing.”
“Well, hell, it’s a lot to take in.”
An hour later, nearing Wichita, McDowell’s prediction proves true. Wichita is gone. A few concrete buildings remain, the rest scoured from the earth. From the looks of it, not one living thing remains. The highway leading into downtown is clogged with the burned-out husks, some large, some small—all unidentifiable. Before they get in too deep, McDowell slows the truck to a stop to allow everyone a chance to stretch their legs and answer the call of nature.
McDowell exits and walks behind a charred auto to take a piss, his mind still turning with thoughts about Lauren and how all that would work. At fifty-six, I might have twenty years of good living left, maybe twenty-five if I’m lucky. Dad made it to seventy-four before succumbing to cancer and Mom made it to seventy-eight before Alzheimer’s took her. Okay, not twenty-five, but a good twenty, surely. Not knowing Lauren’s exact age, but assuming she’s in her late twenties, she could end up being a widow before her fiftieth birthday. He zips his pants and returns to the truck. Once everyone is loaded up, McDowell resumes his place behind the wheel and is somewhat relieved
to find Melissa parked in the passenger seat. “We need to find another road that bypasses what was the downtown area.”
Melissa tucks her legs under her. “I bet there’s a loop around the city. All fairly large cities have some type of highway loop to funnel the commuters into and away from the city.”
“I wonder what happens if we stay on this highway?”
“Guess we won’t know unless you try.”
“Good point.” McDowell steers over to the far shoulder to get around the roadblock and is feeling good about his choice until they top a ridge to see the highway in front of them gone.
“Hell, I forgot the Air Force base was down in this area.”
“Where was it?” Melissa asks.
McDowell points out the window. “See those big craters in what used to be a runway?”
Melissa sits up to look through the window. “Jeez, it looks like a meteorite hit.”
“Pretty much what it was, only worse.” McDowell makes a U-turn and backtracks north. After twenty minutes of turning, backtracking, and missed exits, he finally reaches a highway that leads south.
Melissa turns to look at him. “Do you have any idea where we’re going?”
McDowell shakes his head. “Not really. I’m kind of playing it by ear.”
“Well, I assume since you’re a pilot you have a pretty good sense of direction.”
“Oh, I do. But everything looks a little different on the ground.”
Melissa chuckles.
A mile farther on, they come to a highway running west again and McDowell takes it. It looks to be the highway he’s looking for, and it must have been a popular route, judging from the number of scorched auto frames. The going is slow as he weaves across the three-lane highway, making good use of the extra-wide shoulder.
Melissa uncrosses her legs and stretches. “How many people do you think lived in Wichita?”
“I don’t know for sure, but I’d estimate it’s north of three hundred thousand.”
“And they all died?”
“Most likely. Many of them would have been vaporized instantaneously, judging by the size of those craters.”
“And the rest of them?”
“Some would have died in the resulting pressure wave, especially if they were inside a building that wasn’t constructed out of concrete. What the blast and pressure wave didn’t get, the resulting firestorm would have.”
Melissa looks ahead at the long string of incinerated vehicles stretching out ahead of them. “Do you think these cars were occupied when bombs hit?”
McDowell turns to glance at Melissa. “Yes.”
Melissa shudders. “And this is just one city.”
“Yes. We’ll never know the exact number of those killed in the initial attack. And since then, a good number of people would have succumbed to their injuries or are currently suffering radiation exposure that could linger for a month or more.”
Melissa swivels in her seat, pulling her left leg under her. “How many of us do you think are left?”
“Lauren and I had this discussion. We have no idea the state of affairs in other countries. But when we were running scenarios at Global Strike Command, many of the results suggested two thirds of the world population wouldn’t survive the first week.”
“That’s unbelievable. Do you know how large that number would be?”
“Yes, I do know.”
They ride in silence for several miles, each consumed with their own thoughts. The highway eventually curves back to the east and McDowell mutters a string of curses and slows the truck to a stop. The loop road has led them to a spot that’s maybe a half mile from their original position before they were forced to turn back.
Melissa scoots to the edge of the seat. “Where did the highway go?”
“It got bombed to hell when they were nuking the Air Force base.” McDowell sighs. He spins the wheel and backtracks to the next exit. After driving west for about three miles, McDowell cuts back south, then east, and returns to I-35 south. An hour later they zip across the Oklahoma state line.
“It’ll be dark in a few hours,” Melissa says. “And we haven’t had much luck with our previous nighttime arrangements.”
“The last few nights have been a nightmare. I’m hoping tonight we can drop in on an old friend.”
CHAPTER 100
Weatherford
After getting the all clear from Henry, Gage starts the arduous process of climbing back down the tower. When he reaches the bottom, he ducks through the door and locks it behind him, before making his way over to Henry. “Is the transformer working?”
Henry glances up, a smile on his face. “Yes. On the out-feed side I’m measuring a consistent 34.5 thousand volts.”
“And what happens from here?”
“Well, if any of the other step-up transformers on the grid are operational, they’ll up the voltages significantly to provide more power to more places.”
“How are we going to know who has power?” Gage asks.
Henry closes the access door on the transformer. “We’ll know when it gets dark.” Out of habit, Henry moves his right arm to pick up his tools and mutters a few choice curse words. “Why’d the bastards have to shoot me in the right arm? Ever try to work left-handed when you’ve been using your right for sixty-eight years?”
Gage gathers up the tools. “You’re damn lucky you can move anything. A couple of inches to your left and we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
Henry sighs. “I suppose you’re right.”
They make their way to the truck and pause to watch the turbine in action before climbing in. Gage repositions the shotgun and fires up the pickup. When they pull into the drive of the Reed home, Henry shouts, “Hot damn.”
“What?” Gage asks.
“Look at the kitchen window.”
Gage stops the truck and stares at the window. When you’ve spent your entire life seeing something everyone took for granted, it takes a few moments for Gage’s mind to interpret the image. Then it does. The light above the kitchen sink is on. “I’ll be damned—we’ve got power.”
“Yes, we do.”
Gage pulls the truck around behind the house and stops. “I need to run an errand, Henry. I’ll be back in a bit.”
Henry reaches across his body with his left hand and opens the door. “Where are you going?”
“To see if my mom and brother have power.” Sounds like a sensible lie to Gage’s ears.
“If not, invite them out here. If we can’t make room in the house, the barn’s heated. We’ll make it work.”
“I’ll tell them.” Henry exits and Gage turns the truck around in the wide gravel area fronting the barn and eases back by the house, picking up the road into town. After a few minutes of driving, he steers into the doctor’s neighborhood and winds through the neighborhood streets until finding the white Volvo. He pulls in behind it, puts the truck in park, and kills the engine. After a long look at the shotgun, he exits the cab empty-handed.
Gage climbs the steps and he raps his knuckles on the door. He hears footsteps and the same man, holding the same gun, opens the door.
“Yes?”
“Is Dr. Samia here?”
The man eyes Gage for a moment. “You were here the other night, correct?”
“Yes, sir. I’m Holly’s husband.”
The man nods and moves aside. The interior of the house is dim, but there’s enough light to see most of the front room. The place is tidy, a stack of magazines precisely arranged on a wooden coffee table, and two wing chairs flanking a large leather sofa. On the far wall hangs a large flat-screen television—all things he didn’t see the night Holly gave birth.
“She’s in the kitchen,” the man says.
Gage nods and steps deeper into the house and finds Eliana Samia seated at the kitchen table, surrounded by a pile of books and a half-dozen lit candles.
She glances up and stands. “Gage, is Holly having complications?”
“No, ma’am, she’s fine. It’s the baby we’re worried about.”
Dr. Samia waves to a chair and Gage sits as she returns to her spot. “Tell me what is going on.”
“Doc, Holly’s milk still hasn’t come in. The baby cries all the time. I was hoping you might have some infant formula.”
“I don’t, Gage. I’m in charge of the mother and baby until birth. After that, the pediatrician is responsible for the baby’s health. The only items I have are several bottles of prenatal vitamins.” She puts a finger to her lips. “I don’t remember who you and Holly selected for a pediatrician.”
“We chose Dr. Abbasi.”
Samia visibly winces at the name. “I’m sorry to tell you, Gage, Dr. Abbasi was killed on the second day when a group of thugs broke into the hospital.”
Gage’s shoulders slump. “Maybe he kept some formula at his house. Do you know where he lived?”
“His home, I believe, was in Oklahoma City. He would come out here three to four days a week. His wife is a tenured professor at the University of Oklahoma, so they were forced to choose who would do the bulk of the commuting.”
“What about other pediatricians? I’m desperate, Doc.”
“Gage, I believe Holly will soon begin producing milk. You need to be patient.”
“When, Doc? And what do we do in the meantime?”
“Let nature take its course. You might supplement the baby’s feedings with a bottle of warmed broth. Do you have any broth at home?”
Gage nods, “Yeah, I think so.”
Samia stands. “Babies are resilient little creatures, Gage. Closely monitor the baby’s weight for the next day or two and supplement Holly’s feedings with the broth.”
Disheartened, Gage pushes out of the chair and stands. “And if the baby is losing weight?”
“Two or three ounces shouldn’t be an issue.”
“And if it’s more?”
“Let us not go there, Gage. See how she does over the next twenty-four hours.”
“Will you tell me where another pediatrician might live?”
Samia walks toward the front door, Gage following behind. She stops near the open door and turns. “I do not believe it is my position to involve others. Give it time, Gage.”