Shock Wave

by Keith Taylor

  He couldn’t help himself. He knew he was being cruel. He knew it wasn't Garside's fault that his traumatized mind had taken refuge in triviality rather than address the situation head on, but the man just had a certain punchable quality about him. There was something about his priggish manner that made Jack’s fists clench without his brain ever sending the message to his hands. Shock had given him the sort of dim, supercilious arrogance of a man who was too stupid to realize he was stupid, a walking example of the Dunning-Kruger effect, and Jack found it easy to imagine that if he asked Garside when he’d last been punched in the face the answer would come in weeks, not years.

  He slammed down the hood, sending Garside into a full body flinch. He tried to take a more conciliatory tone, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself from affecting a bumbling English accent just to annoy the man. “If it wouldn’t be too much of a bother, old boy, would you mind awfully if I ask you to get behind the wheel and prepare for locomotion?”

  Garside broke into a broad smile, either ignoring or completely missing Jack’s mocking tone. “You think you can get me moving again?”

  Jack shook his head. “No. I think I can get us moving. This thing’s a stick shift, right?” He noticed Garside’s gormless expression, and shifted into his language. “Your car has a manual transmission, am I right?”

  “Of course it’s a manual,” Garside spluttered. “It’s only you Americans who like to drive automatics, like some sort of enormous couch on wheels.”

  Jack ignored the insult. “Good. That means it should be easy enough to push start it without the starter motor.” He shoved past Garside, moved to the back of the car and pulled open the rear door. “Up you go, Boomer, go on.”

  Garside watched in horror as the dog hopped up onto the back seat and immediately began to slobber over the driver’s head rest. “I told you I won’t have that thing in my car!” he protested, moving towards the door.

  Jack blocked his way. “Now here’s the deal, Doug. Push starting a car is a two man job. I push, you pop the clutch. You can’t do it alone without a big ass hill, and I don’t see any around.” He pushed closed the rear door with a sense of finality. “So Boomer stays, or she and I walk away. Now get in the damn car, turn on the ignition, shift into second and hold down the clutch until I say so.”

  Garside began to protest, but when he met Jack’s defiant gaze he deflated. His haughty bravado abandoned him and he slouched around to the driver’s door, muttering under his breath.

  “Glad we got that cleared up,” said Jack, moving to the back of the car. “Oh, and one more thing, Doug. When I get this thing moving I want you to stop and wait for me, and leave the engine running. If you try to leave without me Boomer will tear your throat out before you can get out a scream. She’s well trained. Do we have an understanding?”

  The color drained from Garside’s face as he looked through the windshield at Boomer, and Jack forced himself to hold back a smirk. He couldn’t imagine what bloodcurdling image Garside had conjured in his mind, but in reality Boomer was snuffling around the footwell, licking the chocolate from a discarded candy bar wrapper.

  “I’ll stop,” Garside nodded, his voice weak. “Just don’t let her touch me.”

  Jack braced himself against the trunk of the car. “Good. Boomer, sit.”

  The dog lazily climbed up onto the rear seats and rested her muzzle on a headrest, looking through the rear window with an expression Jack had come to recognize as do you have snacks?

  “Good girl. Now stay. Doug? Second gear. Handbrake off.”

  Garside carefully lowered himself into the driver’s seat, hunched forward over the wheel to maintain as much distance as possible from the slobbering labrador behind him. “Good boy,” he said, before quickly correcting himself. “Sorry, girl! Good girl… Please don’t bite me.”

  With slow, exaggerated movements Garside turned the key and shifted into second gear, and he gripped the wheel for dear life as Jack planted his shoulder against the trunk, pushing the car slowly forward with what little strength he could muster.

  “Straighten it up,” he called out as the Civic veered to the right, further into the undergrowth. “Guide it back to the road.”

  Jack felt like he was burning through the final few calories of his energy reserves now. The counter was about to hit zero, and despite the chill in the air his forehead beaded with sweat as the car began to creep forward. Every inch was a struggle, but when the tires finally crept onto the smooth asphalt the going got a little easier, and the slight downward slope was a gift for his trembling legs.

  Eventually Jack felt the car begin to overtake his feet, and he shifted the pressure from his aching shoulder to his hands. His aching legs moved like pistons, boosting the car a little faster with each push off the asphalt, and after just a few moments he found himself moving at walking pace. “OK, pop the clutch now,” he called out.

  Nothing happened. Exhaustion burned at his calves.

  “Doug, pop the clutch!”

  From behind the wheel Garside called out through the half open window. “I don’t know what that means!”

  Jack groaned. “It means lift your damned foot off the clutch, quickly!”

  “Ah, sorry. Righto!”

  Jack felt the weight of the car double against his hands as the clutch disengaged and the gearbox pushed back against him. For a moment he feared it would grind to a halt and he’d have to somehow dredge up the energy to start again, but just as it seemed about to roll to a stop the engine coughed, coughed again, and finally came to life.

  “It’s working!” Garside cried, squeezing the gas and jolting forward, leaving Jack’s hands to slip from the trunk. He stumbled forward into a run as the car roared forward, and when Garside slammed on the brakes Jack went barreling into the back of it, his legs trembling and his energy spent. He fumbled his way along the side of the car, yanked open the door and fell into the passenger seat with a relieved sigh.

  “Drive,” he ordered, pointing out the windshield.

  “Where to?” Garside asked, as if the narrow country road offered a range of options.

  “Doesn’t matter. Just… forward. South. We’ll keep heading south until we reach a town with power, and then… I don’t know, then we’ll decide what to do next.”

  Garside nodded and sent the car rolling. “OK, south is good for me. I’m flying out of Los Angeles on Tuesday, so I was heading in that direction anyway.”

  Jack turned and stared in disbelief at Garside, searching for evidence that the man was just playing with him. Surely, he thought, this must be some kind of genius level trolling known only to the Brits. Surely nobody could be quite this clueless and still manage to get through the day without falling down, but no matter how hard he looked Jack could see no hint of guile in the man’s expression. He felt a laugh bubble up from his deep in his gut, unwanted and unwelcome, but he couldn’t hold it in.

  “What’s so funny?” Garside asked, perplexed, as Jack began to laugh uncontrollably. He seemed alarmed by the tears streaming down Jack’s face.

  Jack struggled to take a breath. “You’re flying out of LA?” he asked, trying to stifle a laugh that came more from stress and exhaustion than humor. “You might find that a little tricky, Doug. There’s a good chance LA is a hole in the ground.”

  An amiable smile crept onto Garside’s face as he shrugged. “Oh, it’s not so bad,” he said. “The traffic can be a bit of a nightmare, but at least the weather’s pleasant.”

  It took a moment for Jack to understand Garside’s error. He shook his head, wiping the tears from his eyes as he fought for breath. “No, not a hole. A hole in the ground. It was probably nuked. It’s gone, just like everywhere else.”

  The smile began to slip from Garside’s face, and he slowed the car to a crawl as he turned to stare at Jack, searching for the joke. “You’re not serious?” he asked, the half smile still clinging on for dear life as doubt crept in.

  “Of course I’m serious! Did
you think a terrorist with one nuke on his hands would choose to launch it at Oregon? You think Eugene makes a good target? This thing is everywhere, Doug. They’re attacking the entire west coast all the way from Seattle to LA. We’re done. Up in God damned smoke. But what do you care, right? What did you say? You’re just a visitor. It’s not your place to comment.”

  Garside suddenly looked a decade older, small and hunched, his drawn expression like a death mask. Finally he spoke, his voice barely a whisper.

  “My wife is in Los Angeles.”

  Jack felt as if all of the air had been suddenly sucked from the car. His manic, stressed laughter died away to silence, and his loathing of Garside was forgotten as a wave of sadness and loss emanated from the man.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” he muttered, unable to find anything better to say. Garside looked on the verge of tears. “Look, I don’t know if it was really hit. Maybe I’m wrong. It probably was just Oregon,” he lied, but it was clear from Garside’s expression that he didn’t believe him.

  “She… she wanted to do a little shopping and spend some time on the beach,” he mumbled, letting the car roll to a halt as if he’d lost all interest in moving forward. “She said she didn’t want me getting in her hair.”

  His mouth opened and closed silently for a moment. “I never enjoyed the beach. Never liked the feeling of sand between my toes, so Brenda told me to bugger off and spend a few days up in the woods where I’d be happy. You see, that’s the thing about marriage,” he said, gazing down at the gold band around his ring finger. “After a few years you stop trying to change each other. You just accept them for who they are and…” He trailed off. “She always loved the beach, but I didn’t like the sand between my toes. Takes days to get rid of it.”

  Jack winced with discomfort, watching the man fall apart before his eyes. “Look, I’m sure she’s fine. This was all over the news for hours before it happened. I’m sure they evacuated the cities in time. She’s probably waiting for you right now, worried sick about where you are.”

  He looked over his shoulder at the rear seats, where Boomer was gnawing on one of his shoes. “Hey, why don’t you get in the back and lay down for a while? You don’t want to be driving while your mind’s elsewhere. OK?”

  Garside nodded. Without another word he pushed open the door and climbed out of the car, trudging to the back and climbing in without noticing that Boomer was still back there. His fear was forgotten now, and he didn’t flinch as Boomer lay down beside him and rested her head in his lap, looking up at him with wide, sad eyes.

  “Come on, Boomer, up front,” Jack ordered as he climbed awkwardly into the driver’s seat, but the dog paid no attention. When he settled behind the wheel he turned to find Garside nervously resting his hand on her back.

  “It’s OK,” he mumbled, distractedly. “I think I’d like the company, if you don’t mind.” He sat bolt upright, still acting as if Boomer might attack at any moment, but it seemed as if there was some need strong enough to overcome his fear.

  “Brenda always wanted a dog,” he said, gently stroking Boomer’s fur. “I never told her I was too afraid.”

  Jack remained silent. He couldn’t think of anything to say, so he fixed his eyes on the dark road ahead, shifted into gear and drove.

  ΅

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  BACTINE WON'T CUT IT

  KAREN STARED UP at the flickering flourescent light in the ceiling above her, waiting for the moment the room was plunged into darkness.

  The generators had started to power down a little after nightfall, shutting down systems in some kind of power conserving sequence. The first to go were the cameras. Half the screens had gone dark, and then an hour later the rest had blinked out one after the other. The lights in the bathroom and break room had flickered out next, and then the hum of the refrigerator had fallen silent, quickly filling the room with the musty, plastic odor of melting freezer frost.

  It was only when the strip lights in the office began to flicker out one by one that Ramos finally spoke up.

  “It’s time,” he said, staring fixedly at the clock on the wall.

  Karen shook her head, pulling Emily’s sleeping body closer towards her. “It’s too soon, Doc. You said it yourself. You said we have to wait at least twenty four hours before leaving a safe shelter.”

  Ramos nodded. “I did say that, yeah, but this isn’t a safe shelter anymore. It’s only safe for me and Emily. Every moment you spend down here brings you a step closer to…” He didn’t want to say it, but he didn’t have to. “That makes it unsafe for all of us.” He saw that Karen was about to protest, and he beat her to it.

  “No more arguments. It’s time.”

  Karen wanted to argue, but she knew he was right. Her condition had only grown worse since her exposure to the fallout. Her head was pounding behind her eyes, and her stomach stabbed at her with cramping pains. The skin around her neck was dry and cracked where the dust had gathered at her collar, and already the cracks looked inflamed.

  Ramos had found a bottle of Bactine in a first aid kit in the break room while he searched for a bandage for the graze the bullet had scored into his arm, but she knew a dab of Bactine wouldn’t cut it. Eventually one of her wounds would become infected, and then… then Emily would have to watch her mom die.

  She looked down at her daughter, buried beneath one of the adult sized high visibility jackets they’d found in the lockers, and she reluctantly moved to wake her.

  “Pumpkin?” She gently shook Emily by the shoulder. “Emily, wake up. It’s time for us to go.”

  Emily moaned in her sleep, shrugging away her mom’s hand. Karen knew she must be exhausted after the day she’d had. She’d already slept for hours, but it was clear she needed more. It was only when Karen reached under her arms and pulled her up that she began to stir.

  “Come on, honey,” she said, her voice soft. “Doctor Ramos says it’s time to leave.”

  Emily frowned and rolled to her side, burying her head in Karen’s lap.

  “Come on, Emily,” Ramos cajoled. “We have to go get that medicine to help your mom get better. What do you say?”

  Emily finally began to move. Her eyes fluttered open, but she didn’t sit up.

  “Mommy,” she said, her voice a hoarse whisper. “Mommy, I don’t feel so good.” Her shoulders suddenly heaved, and without warning she leaned forward and vomited on the floor beside her.

  Ramos was by her side in an instant. “It’s OK, honey, just relax,” he said, brushing back her hair and holding a hand against her forehead. He turned to Karen and whispered. “She’s running a temperature.”

  “Mommy,” Emily wept, gagging once again. “What’s happening?”

  “Don’t worry, pumpkin, it’s OK,” Karen assured her, trying and failing to stay calm. She lowered her voice. “Doc, what’s wrong with her?”

  Ramos shook his head, lifting Emily up until she was sitting, propped against Karen’s shoulder. “Emily, where does it hurt? Does your head hurt?”

  Emily shook her head. “Nuh uh. Just my tummy, and…” she waved a hand around her throat. “It’s itchy.”

  Karen tilted Emily’s head back, pulling the collar of her jacket away from her neck, and when she saw what was beneath she recoiled in horror. “Doc!”

  Ramos saw it. Running across the front of Emily’s chest from one shoulder to the other was a line of radiation burns, bright pink and swollen. “Has this coat been outside?” he demanded, pulling it away from her inflamed skin.

  “No! We got it out of the locker along with the rest of them. It’s clean.”

  Ramos frowned, staring at the burns. “Then how…?” It finally dawned on him. “Oh, shit.”

  “What?” Karen demanded, panic creeping into her voice. “What is it?”

  Ramos grabbed a bottle of water and began to douse the burns. “I should have figured it out sooner. I can’t believe I didn’t think about it, but I was distracted by you and my damned arm. Stupid.”
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  “Doc, what is it? What are you talking about?”

  Ramos emptied the water bottle and opened another. “Jared,” he said. “It was Jared. He had his arm wrapped around Emily’s throat.”

  Karen still wasn’t getting it. “I… Are you saying he hurt her?”

  Ramos nodded. “Not intentionally. He tracked it in with him. He was covered in the stuff, falling off him like dandruff.”

  “You mean…”

  “Yeah.” Ramos closed Emily’s jacket back over the swollen, angry burns. “I mean she has radiation poisoning, Karen.” He swallowed, bracing himself for what was about to come. “And if she doesn’t get treatment soon she’ll die.”

  ΅

  CHAPTER NINE

  WELCOME TO PINE BLUFF

  JACK BALANCED HIS cell phone on the steering wheel, glancing down at the screen whenever the unlit, snaking road ahead straightened out enough to allow it.

  He wasn’t expecting to find a signal. Hell, he hadn’t seen so much as a working light bulb in hours, so he’d be amazed if his phone showed any bars, but in the distance he’d noticed something that gave him a glimmer of hope. It might just be his imagination and tired eyes playing tricks on him, but after hours of staring at a pitch black sky the darkness ahead seemed to be taking on a slightly different texture.

  Directly above the car he could still see sharp pin pricks of stars glimmering on a black velvet sky. It was the kind of night sky so clear that you could make out the curve of the Milky Way if you held still and let your eyes adjust. Up ahead, though, the crystal clear stars seemed to be turning muddy, fading into a black-orange haze above the endless forest.

  Jack knew that sky well. It was the same sky he’d seen almost every night of his life above towns and cities, the glow of streetlights tempering nature’s beauty, banishing all but the brightest of stars. On any other night he’d find the washed out haze an eyesore, but tonight… tonight it gave him hope.