by Tim Washburn
“Mind if we come aboard?” the captain asks.
“Please,” Brad says.
The sub crew tosses down a net ladder and tie lines to the two officers’ harnesses and they climb down the net onto the deck of the sailboat one after the other. The captain frees his harness. “Just a little insurance in case we miss a step.” He steps across the deck and steps down into the cockpit, followed by Garcia. Brad steps forward and offers his hand. After a round of handshakes they all take a seat.
“Would you two like a glass of wine?” Nicole asks, clicking on a couple of flashlights.
“We would love a glass of wine,” Garcia says without checking with his boss. Nicole ducks below and returns with two more glasses and another bottle from the stash. She fills them and passes them across.
“Looks like you suffered a nasty bump on the head,” Thompson says. “You get rocked around a little?”
“Again, little doesn’t begin to describe it,” Brad answers.
“Want my medics to check you over?” Thompson asks. “That’s the least we can do.”
Brad waves his hand. “No, I’m fine. But I do have a request.”
Thompson takes a sip of wine and smacks his lips. “Shoot.”
“You have a desalination plant aboard, correct?”
“We have a lot of things aboard that I can’t divulge, Brad.”
Brad’s shoulders slump.
“But the desalination plant isn’t one of them.” Thompson laughs and takes another sip of wine.
Garcia puts a radio to his lips and orders a hose lowered to the EmmaSophia.
“Water’s about the only thing we do have to offer,” Garcia says. “Glad we can accommodate you.”
“Are you out of food?” Tanner asks.
“Not out, but we’re close. We’ll make it stretch for a few more days.”
“Speaking of food, can you two stay for dinner?” Nicole asks. “We have some fresh black sea bass.”
Thompson and Garcia share a glance before Thompson says, “Black sea bass sounds wonderful.”
Nicole pulls the cork on the new bottle and refills the four glasses.
Brad thanks her, picks up his glass, and takes a sip. “We were about a mile away when those Chinese ships launched a barrage of missiles.”
Thompson squirms in his seat as Garcia answers. “They took out one of our destroyers, the USS Grant.” Garcia pauses, swirling the wine around in his glass. “The captain was one of our good friends. We’d been sailing together for a couple of days, but were out of range when they attacked.” He glances at the fires in the distance and says, “I think their shooting days are over.”
“I’ll say. I’m very sorry for your loss,” Brad says. He tilts his wineglass and lets the wine fill his mouth, savoring the taste on his tongue before swallowing. “You said one of—are there more of our ships out there?”
“Not that we’ve found,” Thompson says, his voice subdued. “But you’d have to think some survived.”
“Have you had radio contact with anyone?” Brad asks.
“No,” Garcia says. “We established a sight-line radio link to talk to the Grant, but that’s it.”
Nicole places her wineglass on the helm. “Tanner, will you help me with the fish?”
“Sure,” Tanner says. They step to the stern and pull the fish aboard. Tanner helps Nicole clean and fillet them while Brad ducks down into the galley to fire up the stove.
Garcia appears in the hatch with the hose. “Where’s your freshwater tank?”
Brad kneels and lifts a hatch then steps up and takes the hose from Garcia and feeds it into the tank. After another radio call from Garcia, a stream of clean water jets out the end of the hose. “Give me a shout when she’s full,” Garcia says.
“Will do,” Brad says. “Enjoy the wine.” He pulls a large pan down and places it on the stove to heat and bends down to pick up a handful of spice containers. “That’s tomorrow’s project,” he mutters. Tanner arrives with the fillets and Brad places them in the pan as his son returns topside to rinse his hands. Once the fish is cooked he fills the plates with heaping portions and Nicole helps him carry them topside. “Dig in,” Brad says, taking a seat next to Nicole.
They eat at a leisurely pace, interspersing the food with pleasant conversation. There is no talk of war, or the dead, or the future. Most of the conversation is centered on recent adventures or past experiences of life before doomsday. Above them, sailors stroll along the deck of the submarine and the muted conversations or occasional laughter drift down to the EmmaSophia.
Brad occasionally checks the water level of the tank, and on the next trip discovers the tank full. Garcia radios the boat and the water is turned off and the hose retrieved.
“How long are you going to stay surfaced?” Tanner asks.
“We’ll slip under the water before daylight,” Thompson says. “On a normal deployment we never surface. Too many eyes in the sky.”
“How long’s a deployment?” Tanner asks.
“Usually seventy days—some missions stretch to ninety days.”
“And you’re under the water the whole time?” Tanner asks.
“Yep, we only surface when we return to port.”
“I don’t think I would like that,” Tanner says.
Garcia laughs. “Some people can’t handle it, but you do get used to it. Hey, Tanner, you want a look inside the boat?”
Tanner scoots forward on the bench. “Yes. I’d love to.” He glances at his father. “Dad?”
“Fine with me. But keep your hands off the buttons.”
They all laugh, something they’ve done very little of since it all began. Garcia makes a radio call and leads Tanner to the bow of the sailboat, where he straps him into a harness. “Now the hard part, Tanner. You have to climb the net.”
It’s a struggle for Tanner the first few times, but he eventually gets the hang of it and scampers up the net. After another hour or so of conversation and with the wine bottles empty, Thompson and Garcia push to their feet as Tanner returns as excited as Brad has seen him in a very long time.
“How was it, son?”
“It’s awesome. Everything’s computerized and the bridge looks like the control room of the Starship Enterprise. And they let me look through the periscope.”
“So you ready to sign up?” Brad asks.
“Uh, no. It was okay, knowing I could climb out the hatch anytime I wanted. But I get the willies thinking about being in there for days.”
Thompson and Garcia laugh. Garcia says, “Once you’re on mission, you don’t really think about being underwater.”
Tanner thanks them and eagerly shakes their hands.
“Where are you headed?” Nicole asks the captain.
“Probably the U.S. Virgin Islands. We’ll see where we end up. What about you?”
“We were hoping to dock or anchor at Key West,” Brad answers.
Thompson shakes his head. “Key West is a no-go. There’s a big naval air base on Boca Chica Key, about four miles north of Key West. I have no doubt it was hit, and hit hard.”
“If not there, then where?” Brad asks.
“That’s a tough one to answer, Brad. There are some very large military installations in the Carolinas, Georgia, and Florida. Your best bet is probably the Bahamas.”
“I guess that’s where we’re headed,” Brad says. “Good luck to you in your journey.”
“May I have a word, Brad?” Thompson asks.
“Certainly,” Brad replies.
Thompson takes Brad by the elbow and leads him to the back of the boat. He pulls a folded piece of paper from his back pocket and hands it to Brad.
Brad looks down to see three names and Thompson’s last name, along with an address, written on the outside.
“My family was vacationing around Myrtle Beach when everything happened. If you pass that way on your travels, I’d appreciate it if you could pass on this letter to one of the locals. Maybe it’ll eventually find
its way to my family. They were staying at the Bayshore Resort.”
“Of course, Captain. I’d be happy to.”
Thompson pats Brad on the shoulder. “Thank you.” He turns and gives Nicole a hug and, after another round of good-byes, both officers pull on their harnesses and Thompson says, “Brad, you can stay tied up for the night. I’ll send someone from the crew to untie your boat before we depart.”
“Thank you,” Brad says.
Thompson shouts up to the deck and the two men climb the net with assistance from the crew above. Brad rinses the plates as Nicole gathers up the wineglasses. Once everything is clean and stowed away, they bed down for the night. For the first time since their journey began, they can sleep peacefully, knowing they’re safe.
CHAPTER 109
Oklahoma City, Oklahoma
With darkness only a few hours away, and with the kids’ growing curiosity with the two dead bodies on the ground, it was decided the explanations could wait. Now on I-40, east of Oklahoma City, Zane and Alyx are at the head of their small caravan, the flatbed truck following closely behind.
“They did a number on Oklahoma City,” Alyx says.
“You knew it was going to be that way. Tinker was probably pretty high up the food chain when it came to selecting targets. They probably dropped six or seven nukes on it and the blast waves and firestorms ate up the rest of the city.” Zane squirms in the seat, trying to get comfortable. “What’s the deal with this Stan guy?”
Alyx smiles. “Who would have ever thought? The odds of running into him there have to be astronomical.”
“We’ve established the unlikely nature of his appearance but who is he to you?”
“I told you, a friend of my dad’s. Actually, they were more than friends. They were fraternity brothers at Texas A&M. He’d drop in on us occasionally over the years. Mom and Dad would run down to Dallas a couple times a year and spend the weekend doing who knows what with Stan and his wife, or ex-wife, I should say.”
“How did he get hooked up with that group?”
“He didn’t have time to tell me the entire story. A large group of travelers were stranded at the Minneapolis–Saint Paul airport. He said some of the international flights survived and the closest place they could find to land was there in Minnesota. The students were on their way home after spending some time overseas with one of those student ambassador groups. They’re all from the Lubbock area, and from what I understand the situation at the airport was degrading, or they were running out of food. I’m not sure. Like I said, he didn’t have time to provide details, but somehow they got together and decided to strike out for Texas.”
“I assume the two adult women are chaperones?”
“Yeah, I think so. What a nightmare for them. Can you imagine?”
Zane slows to steer around a looted semi. “No, I can’t and don’t really want to. Being responsible for a bunch of kids that don’t belong to you in this environment—jeez, it almost gives me a headache thinking about it. They deserve some type of humanitarian award. But back to the situation—what I find astonishing is that Stan is headed the same place we are.”
“Just for a day or two. It does make sense when you think about it. Weatherford sits along I-40, and that same highway runs straight into Amarillo. From there it’s a short jog south to Lubbock. I don’t know if you’ve ever been to Lubbock, Texas, but there’s no easy way to get there. The easiest way from here is the Amarillo route.”
* * *
McDowell is back behind the wheel and he’s back on the fence in regard to the decisions he must make. He can still get to Dallas by dropping south out of Weatherford and heading through Wichita Falls and on into Dallas—a rugged journey on foot, but doable. But for what? In all likelihood, Dallas no longer exists. He steals a glimpse of Lauren as she stares out the side window.
Melissa had tried to enter the cab back at the truck stop, but Lauren had nudged her away and whispered something in Melissa’s ear. Now Lauren is in the cab and Melissa’s in the back. He’d almost prefer Melissa be up front so he didn’t have to think about it. He found it impossible to tell Alyx that he was thinking of going to Lubbock with a woman half his age, so when she asked, he told her the matter was undecided. Hell, he might be better off hanging around Weatherford. Find an abandoned house and settle in. Knowing Henry, he’ll probably have the lights on in no time.
He steals another glance at Lauren. This time she catches him. She smiles. “You know, I can actually talk, too.”
McDowell blushes. “I know that. I’m just trying to figure out what I should say.”
“Do you want to discuss the pros and cons of coming to Lubbock with me?”
McDowell shrugs. “Already did that in my head—several times.”
“And?”
“There’s a lot to like about it on my part. But I’m concerned you haven’t thoroughly thought out the situation.” He glances at Lauren. “That’s not a knock on you, but I don’t want you to make an impulsive decision you’ll regret later.”
She turns in her seat so that she’s facing McDowell. “There’s nothing impulsive about my decision, Stan. I’m not suggesting we chain ourselves together until the end of time, but I do feel a connection between you and me that I would like to explore further. Like I said, no strings attached. We play it by ear and see what happens.”
McDowell nods. “Okay.”
“Okay? Does that mean you’re going to think about it some more?”
McDowell glances at Lauren. “No, okay means we’ll give it a try and see what happens.”
Lauren nods and smiles. “Good. You made the right decision. Why was it so hard for you?”
“I still get hung up on the age issue. I don’t want you spoon-feeding me before you even hit menopause.”
Lauren laughs. “Quit worrying about the future, Stan. Let’s just worry about the here and now. Deal?”
McDowell nods. “Deal.”
They travel the next few miles in peaceful silence until McDowell glances over to see Lauren’s face pinched with worry. “What’s wrong? Changing your mind?”
She sighs. “Not at all. I’m worried about what to tell Hannah’s parents.”
“Only one thing you can tell them. The truth.”
“But I was responsible for her. And you don’t know her father. He’ll spend every dime of his substantial fortune to make sure I pay for the death of his daughter.”
“How? There was nothing criminal on our part about what happened, only on the part of the man who raped and murdered her.”
“What if her father takes me to court?”
“There won’t be any courts for the foreseeable future and even if there were there are no grounds for a lawsuit. Hannah was just at the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“But I was responsible for making sure that didn’t happen.”
“Lauren, no one could have predicted what happened. I think you’ve done a tremendous job in the worst possible conditions anyone could ever imagine. Look in the back. There are sixteen other kids who are here because of you and Melissa.”
“You don’t know Alexander Hatcher. He’s a vengeful, spiteful, hateful egomaniac. Believe me when I say, he’ll find a way to punish me.”
“You’re right, I don’t know this man, but I know his type. You let me worry about Alexander Hatcher.”
They pass a sign signaling the Weatherford exit one mile ahead.
Lauren grabs a strand of hair and curls it around her index finger. “And what about the person responsible for her murder? How do we know he won’t do it again?”
McDowell glances at Lauren. “That is one thing you won’t ever have to worry about.”
* * *
Zane takes the Weatherford exit, the off-ramp dumping them onto Washington Avenue.
“Turn right,” Alyx says.
Zane does as instructed. They pass a couple of looted restaurants before entering a residential area. Washington Avenue is lined with a row of small ran
ch homes, many in need of paint or repair and, instead of curtains, most of the windows are covered with sheets or cardboard. Older-model autos are parked in the driveways, many with mismatched wheels or missing hubcaps.
Zane arches his brow. “This is home, huh?”
“Hey, every town has some undesirable neighborhoods. But there’s not a lot of wealth in these small towns. For many it’s a hardscrabble existence, doing what needs doing and little else. Besides, I was only here for a few summers.”
“You excited to see your family?”
“Of course, and I’m really looking forward to being in one place longer than twenty-four hours.” Alyx glances forward. “Stay on this road as it takes us out of town. I’ll tell you where to turn.”
Zane nods. They enter another residential area, this one a step up from the previous one. The yards are well tended, the cars a little newer, the homes a little larger. After another mile, the neighborhoods fade, giving way to a wide expanse of farmland. Here the homes are few and far between, separated by fields of row crops like soybeans or corn, interspersed with idle fields waiting the next planting.
Alyx scoots to the edge of her seat. “Make the next right. We’re not far now.” She looks back to make sure Stan’s truck is still following and finds it is. She has mixed feelings about Stan’s group trailing them to her parents’ home—most of them selfish. Her homecoming will be short-lived and there will be no quiet time with her family, time she was hoping to use to assimilate Zane into the family. But it is what it is. “The next road to the left is their driveway.”
Zane nods. “Looks like a nice spread.” He glances over at Alyx and smiles. “Where’s your dad keep the tractor?”
Alyx laughs. “In the barn. There’s a small apartment on the second floor inside the barn and that’s probably where we’ll be staying. If you play your cards right, we might have a little midnight hanky-panky involving the tractor.”
Zane grins and glances out the side window. “Hey, it just registered with me that some of the homes have lights on.”
“I bet Dad and Gage got some of the turbines working. That means we’ll have water and other creature comforts we haven’t had for a long time.”