by Keith Taylor
“Hold up a sec,” Garside cheerfully called back from the driver’s seat. “It looks like we’ve finally stumbled on a spot of good luck.” A curve straightened in the road ahead, and playing against the trees on either side were red and blue flashing lights. “You can always rely on a policeman for decent directions.”
Jack and Cathy both craned over the front seats to look out the windshield. A few hundred yards ahead they saw the cop car parked at an angle, blocking half the road, and Garside began to slow as the car flashed its headlights twice.
“I’m not sure I like the look of this,” Jack muttered, watching the car with suspicion. “Are you sure we want to stop here?”
“What? Of course we want to stop!” Garside spluttered. “It’s the police. Do you want me to just roar past without so much as a by your leave? This isn’t Smokey and the bloody Bandit!”
“OK, Doug, settle down. I’m just saying that it’s the middle of the night on an isolated mountain road, and we don’t really know what’s going on. Maybe we shouldn’t just automatically assume the cops are still playing for our team, know what I mean?”
Garside harrumphed. “Well, I’m the person behind the wheel, and I’m stopping. If you want to let paranoia get the better of you then I suppose that’s up to you, but I’m not willing to let society and common courtesy fall by the wayside, and that’s that.”
“OK, OK, we can stop,” Jack replied. “Just… keep your foot over the gas. And maybe keep the doors locked? Just as a precaution, OK?”
After a few moments of indecision Garside reluctantly flipped the central locking, making it clear with his body language that he was only doing it to settle Jack’s nerves. As he pulled up alongside the cruiser he rolled down his window and waited with the polite, innocent smile of a man who’d never met a cop in a bad mood on the graveyard shift.
“Good evening, officer,” he called out, as a man climbed with what looked like great difficulty from the driver’s seat. “I say, I wonder if you might be able to help us with directions. I’m afraid we seem to have gotten ourselves a little turned around.”
The cop waddled slowly to the truck, his almost perfectly spherical paunch straining against the hardest working shirt buttons ever to grace a uniform. His face glowed pink from his thinning buzz cut down to the spare chins gathered above his collar, and when he finally reached the car he leaned against the door as if it was an effort to stand.
“Evening, folks,” he said, slightly out of breath. He peered in through the window and noticed Cathy. “Ma’am. Hey, what’s that accent? Is that some kinda British?”
Garside smiled. “Why, yes it is. Cambridgeshire, as a matter of fact. Douglas Garside, how do you do?”
A broad smile spread across the cop’s face as he enthusiastically shook Garside’s hand. “Boy, my wife would just eat you up. She loves that show, you know, with the fancy Brits? Downford something?”
Garside let out a dismissive snort. “Downton Abbey, I believe.”
“Yeah, that’s the one, Downton! Gosh, it’s just her favorite show in the world. One time the TiVo forgot to record an episode, and I swear she still shoots that box the evil eye whenever she walks past. I don’t mind saying, she’d just flip her lid if she met you. I don’t think she’s ever met a real life Brit before.” He thrust his head almost entirely through the window and looked to the rear seats. “Are you folks all Brits?”
Jack leaned between the seats and held out a hand. “Sorry, no such luck. Cathy’s from Oregon, and I’m from San Francisco. Jack Archer, nice to meet you.”
The cop took Jack’s hand, visibly disappointed. “Well, I guess Oregon’s OK, but I can’t say I much care for San Francisco. Too many hills for my legs. Oh, I’m Sheriff Parsons, by the way. Bill Parsons. Welcome to Plumas Creek.”
“Plumas Creek?” Cathy muttered to herself from the back seat. “Can’t see that on the damned map.” She leaned forward, craning over the passenger seat. “Can you tell us where we are, Sheriff? We were looking for the turnoff to the 89 at Lake Almanor, but I don’t know if we already passed it.”
Parsons stood up, hiked his pants an inch and looked back the way they’d come. “The 89? Yeah, you passed it a good fifteen, twenty miles back. You gotta keep a look out for the sign, ‘cause you won’t see the lake in the dark.”
“Twenty miles? Damn,” Jack cursed, wishing he’d woken up sooner. If he’d been awake and looking for the turnoff they’d have been an hour further along the road by now. An hour closer to Emily.
“How about gas stations?” he asked. “We haven’t seen one for a while and we’re almost empty. Can we find gas on the 89?”
Parsons scratched his nose, setting his chins wobbling. “Well yeah, but…” He leaned in through the window and took a look at the gauge. “Oh boy, you’re not kidding. From here it’s about forty, fifty miles to the station at Greenville. You’d be cutting it real close if you try to get there on fumes. There’s no need to risk it, though.” He jerked a thumb behind him. “We got a Mobil right here in town. Won’t be open this time of night, but there’s a little motel where you can bed down until morning.”
Jack scowled. “Thanks, but we’re really in a hurry. My wife and daughter are waiting for me in Modesto, and we can’t afford to take a break. I guess we’ll have to take our chances on the 89.”
“That’s your call, but you won’t have much luck tonight. It don’t open until nine or ten in the morning, or whenever Jake Preston decides to roll out of bed. You’re in the country, son. We don’t exactly run on your twenty four hour city schedule.” He scratched his belly and glanced at his watch. “The Mobil opens at nine, so you won’t lose much time if you take a rest.”
Garside turned to the back of the car. “I could do with a few hours sleep, if I’m honest. I’ve been on the go since this morning.”
Cathy nodded. “And I wouldn’t say no to pancakes for breakfast, as long as cash is still good. Sheriff, you got a diner in town?”
Parsons laughed and shook his head. “No need. My place is right by the motel, and I’m sure Joan would be happy to cook up a royal feast for the chance to hobnob with a real Brit.” He shook back his sleeve and checked his watch. “I’m headed back into town right now. You want to follow me in?”
“That sounds lovely,” Garside beamed. “We’ll be right behind you.”
Parsons tapped the side of the car cheerfully. “Hot damn. You’re gonna be a real hit at the breakfast table!” He strode back to his car with a spring in his step, and Garside turned to Jack still smiling.
“Oh, ye of little faith, Mr. Archer,” he chuckled, wagging a finger. “I told you it’d all work out for the best. You just need to be a little more trusting.”
Jack slumped back in his seat, watching Parsons as he climbed back into his cruiser and grabbed his radio. He spoke a few words into the handset before gunning the engine and turning the car towards town.
“Yeah,” he said, feeling a shiver of apprehension. “We’ll see.”
΅
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
MOMMY WON'T WAKE UP
RAMOS STARED OUT at the road ahead through bleary, red rimmed eyes, tapping out a rhythm on the steering wheel just to keep himself awake, but it wasn’t working. He could feel the lead weights attached to his eyelids growing heavier with each passing minute, willing him to close his eyes and take a rest.
What he really wanted to do was crack open a window and feel the cold air on his face, but he knew it was a risk he couldn't afford to take. Without knowing which direction the high altitude winds were blowing there was no way to tell if they were still in middle of the fallout zone. Even with San Francisco far behind them, a breath of fresh air could still be fatal.
He felt like he was barely holding on. It had been years since he’d pulled an all nighter, and even as a fresh faced, eager young doctor he’d never been any good at burning the midnight oil. He’d always been a mug of cocoa and bed by ten kind of guy, and happy with it. Now the sky w
as turning a lighter shade of blue to the east, and he knew that soon enough the sun would creep over the horizon and he’d have to face another grueling day. The one that was just now ending felt like it had lasted at least a week.
Karen and Emily had been sleeping fitfully for a couple of hours as Ramos wove the Prius along the half blocked highway to Sacramento. A couple of times he’d been tempted to wake them, just for the company, but he knew they were weak. If they were going to survive they needed their rest, so he settled for the unsatisfying company of the static hiss from the radio.
It seemed all the local stations were down on the FM band, even though the power was still on all the way east of Oakland. Ramos was no good with technology, but he’d stabbed randomly at the radio with his fingers until it finally began to scan through the frequencies, and so far the only thing he’d picked up was a few seconds of what sounded like a Spanish language station. A hushed, urgent voice had drifted in for a moment, but before he could make out a single word it had drifted away, replaced once more by the familiar, lonely static hiss.
He stared at the radio, willing it to produce a voice from the ether. Any voice, saying anything. A farmer’s auction calling out beef prices. An androgynous teen singing some Godawful pop song. Hell, at this point he’d take Gilbert Gottfried and Bobcat Goldthwait screeching a duet of Endless Love, just so long as that damned static went away. He was sick to the back teeth of—
“Shit!”
His eyes returned to the road just in time to see the back of a truck looming up towards the car, and he slammed the brakes so hard it felt like his foot might punch through the floor. The Prius slowed so quickly it seemed as if the back wheels jumped from the road as the front dug in to the asphalt, and after just a few seconds the car came to an undignified stall rather than a dramatic screeching halt, just a couple of feet shy of the back of the truck and a sudden, painful death.
“Holy crap, that was close!” Ramos gasped, his knuckles white where he gripped the steering wheel.
Already he was kicking himself for his stupidity. He knew this was his fault. He was barely keeping his eyes open, barely watching the road, and it was nothing but sheer luck that he hadn’t plowed into the back of the truck and killed them all. He angrily pushed open the door and climbed out of the car, amazed to see that through the panicked, squealing stop Karen and Emily hadn’t even stirred from their sleep.
“Get it together, Cesar,” he hissed to himself, slapping his cheeks. “There are no ambulances out here if you screw up.” He leaned against the car and took a deep breath, waiting for his heart to stop racing, and it was only when he finally felt the fresh air begin to calm him down that he took a look out at the road ahead.
The truck was just the last in a long line of vehicles crowding this side of the highway, and as Ramos walked around its side he saw the extent of the blockage and cursed. There was no way through. As far as the eye could see the highway was jammed with abandoned vehicles, hundreds of them crowding all five lanes. Even the shoulder was packed. There were vehicles abandoned on the steep grass verge that looked like they’d tried to climb away from the road entirely, only to get bogged down.
This must have been the first wave of the evacuation, he realized. Back when the news first broke there must have been… Jesus, hundreds of thousands of people must have followed the advice to head east out of the city on the 80, all of them trying to make it to the safe zone. The road couldn’t possibly handle that kind of traffic, and this had been the inevitable result. Barely fifty miles from San Francisco the artery had become completely blocked.
Ramos scanned the cars for signs of movement in the early pre-dawn light, but it only took a glance to see that there was nothing. Folks hadn’t camped out in their cars, waiting for the road ahead to clear. They’d climbed out and continued on foot, and it was hardly surprising. The mushroom cloud looming over the city would have been visible even here. If there was one thing that would convince thousands of people to abandon their beloved cars and run in the other direction it was a nuclear explosion behind them.
He trudged back to the Prius in a foul mood. He’d been praying that the authorities had managed to keep the 80 clear all the way to the safe zone, wherever it was. With an open road they could have made it as far as Reno in less than four hours, but now…
Hell, he didn’t even have a map. Even if he knew which way they were going it’d take the best part of a day to make it that far on the back roads. There was no telling if either of the girls could survive that long without treatment, and he knew for damned sure he couldn’t keep himself awake long enough to make the distance.
With a deep sigh he slumped back into the driver’s seat and pulled closed the door as quietly as he could manage, but as he started the engine he heard movement behind him.
“Doctor Ramos?” a quiet little voice asked. “Are we still on the bridge?”
Ramos twisted around in his seat and replied in a whisper. “No, honey, not any more. We’re going to find medicine for you and your mommy.”
Emily nodded, relieved. “Good. I didn’t like it on the bridge. That man scared me.”
“I know, honey, he scared me too. It’s OK, though, we left him behind. It’s just us now, and you’re perfectly safe. How are you feeling?”
“Umm…” Emily seemed to consider the question for a moment. “A little better, I guess. My tummy doesn’t hurt any more.”
Ramos smiled. “Well that’s great. That means you’re getting better. We were a little worried about you back there.”
Emily looked up at her mom, stirring a little in her sleep. “Is mommy feeling better too?”
Ramos looked at Karen, slumped forward against her seatbelt and so pale she appeared almost translucent. The only color in her face came from the inflamed pink around her nose and eyes, where her skin was so raw it looked like it had been scrubbed with wire wool. “I’m sure she's feeling better, yeah. She’s just having a little nap until we get to where we’re going, so let’s be quiet as mice, OK? We don’t want to wake her up.”
Emily pursed her lips together and nodded, and with a comforting smile Ramos turned back to the wheel and began to guide the Prius back the way they’d come. He remembered passing an off ramp about a mile back along the highway, and he just prayed the roads at ground level wouldn’t be as jammed up as the highway. He knew Karen wouldn't be able to walk in her condition.
By the time they reached he'd guided the car back to the off ramp the sun had begun to peek above the horizon. The Prius cast a long shadow on the empty asphalt, and in the golden dawn light Ramos felt a sudden burst of energy. He knew it was only a fleeting high, just a quick rush of optimism now that the darkness was being banished for another day, but he prayed it would be enough to keep him going until he figured out some sort of plan.
For now, though, they’d just keep driving east toward the rising sun. Sooner or later they’d reach some kind of civilization. They’d find people, doctors, medicine, equipment… they’d find relief, and he wouldn’t have to bear the weight of caring for Karen and Emily alone. Just the thought of being able to relieve himself of the responsibility and collapse into a bed was enough to make him almost giddy.
He turned the Prius in a wide arc and powered down the off ramp, overjoyed to find that the road beyond the highway was almost completely clear. There were a few vehicles abandoned here and there, but they weren’t snarled up in bumper to bumper traffic. It looked like they’d just run out of gas.
On a steel frame above the street Ramos saw signs pointing to Dixon, Allendale and Batavia. He had no idea where any of those places were, whether they were five miles away or a hundred, small villages or large towns, but right now he didn’t give a damn. They were options. That was all that mattered. As long as there was a clear road ahead they could drive anywhere they pleased, and he had faith that sooner or later some kind of plan would present itself.
“Ummm, Doctor Ramos?” Emily whispered, leaning between the fron
t seats.
“Yes, honey?”
“Did you give mommy a haircut while I was sleeping?”
Ramos frowned. What kind of a question was that? He almost laughed as he answered. “No. Why do you ask?”
Emily held her tiny hand over the driver’s armrest, and when she opened her fingers Ramos felt his heart sink.
She was holding a bundle of blonde hair in her fist. Karen’s hair.
“It’s OK, honey,” Ramos assured her. “It’s just… it’s nothing, don’t worry about it.” Without thinking he pressed his foot a little harder on the gas.
“Mommy? Mommy, are you OK?” In the back Ramos could hear Emily shake her mother. “Doctor Ramos, mommy won’t wake up.”
“It’s OK, honey.” Now his voice wasn’t even convincing enough to fool a seven year old. “She just really needs to rest. Let her sleep.”
He felt the panic constrict his throat now. His heart began to thump in his chest, and he was ashamed to realize that his first thought was entirely selfish.
If Karen dies I’ll have to take care of the little girl.
He cursed himself for it, but he knew it was true. Jack was probably dead, and if Karen didn’t survive he’d be stuck trying to live through a nuclear holocaust with a seven year old in tow, like an escort mission in a video game that lasts a lifetime. He just wasn’t ready for that kind of responsibility. He didn't know how to keep a kid alive.
In the back seat Emily began to cry, still shaking Karen by the shoulder. “Moommyyyy, please wake up, I’m scared!”
Ramos ran a red light and barreled across a deserted crossroads, the weedy engine of the Prius whining in protest as he jammed the gas pedal into the floor. Now he knew where he needed to go. It was far from perfect, but he’d take any port in a storm, and right now he knew that port lay about a half mile ahead, in a sprawling mess of low flat-roofed buildings surrounded by a parking lot that looked large enough to hold every car in the state.