by Tim Washburn
THREE YEARS LATER
CHAPTER 86
London Heathrow Airport
The relationship between Captain Steve Henderson and copilot Cheryl Wilson had soured after working so well to land their injured plane without serious injury to any of the passengers. The strain of being stranded in a foreign country so far from home finally took its toll. They had stayed together long enough to reach London, but parted shortly after. Now, in a cruel twist of fate, Captain Henderson and newly appointed captain Cheryl Wilson are scheduled to fly one of the first flights back to the United States.
After the power was restored, the pilots were forced to attend a monthlong immersion in flight simulation along with refresher courses in the classroom. Once completed, the flight crews spent some time flying the empty aircraft after each plane had undergone a very thorough inspection. The two had encountered each other during the training sessions, but never with enough time to rehash the old hurts. But today they’re going to be confined in the small cockpit for at least nine hours.
Captain Henderson arrives early and threads his way through the growing crowds, down the Jetway, and into the cockpit. Three years since he had last sat in the cockpit of a plane that was going to be carrying live human beings. His last flight was one he hopes to put out of his mind forever.
He turns when he feels someone step aboard and sees Cheryl Wilson removing her hat. She steps into the cockpit and takes the right-hand seat.
“Good morning, Captain,” she says in a chilly voice.
“Good morning to you, Captain.”
“How long until we push back?”
“We’ll start loading in the next ten minutes. We’re scheduled to spin the engines in thirty.”
“Good,” Captain Cheryl Wilson replies as she reaches for the preflight checklist in the side pocket of the chair.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Captain Henderson says.
“About what?”
“Never mind,” he says, already counting the hours down until they can once more separate.
CHAPTER 87
The Oval Office
Due to the national crisis and after some constitutional wrangling, President Paul Harris is five and a half years into his four-year term. Without electricity any thoughts of having an election were snuffed out. The next presidential election is scheduled for next year, but President Harris has already announced he would not seek reelection. Three years of the worst struggle the world has ever known have taken their toll.
He strides into the Oval Office, where the bright rays of the sun again paint shadows on the handmade carpet. One of his first acts, after the power returned, was to have the heavy steel panels hauled out of the office and shipped off to a scrapyard. Chief of Staff Scott Alexander is following a short distance behind and arrives at the desk as the President takes his seat.
“Paul, are you sure you don’t want to run for another term? Hell, the campaign would be a cakewalk for you,” he says as he sits in the chair flanking the desk.
“Scott, how many times do I have to say no? I’m tired and I just want to go home with my wife, maybe do a little fishing, spend some time on the golf course. My time in the White House has felt like two decades. One and a half is enough for me.” He quickly changes the subject. “What do we have today?”
“FEMA Director Donald Carter should be here momentarily. The new Iranian ambassador has requested a meeting for this afternoon,” Scott replies while looking over the schedule book.
“Put him off for a day or two until I can get up to speed on what’s happening over there. General Safani still in charge?”
“Last time I heard, and that was yesterday. So far he has resisted all provocations to allow another supreme leader to take charge.”
“I guess that makes him our friend, doesn’t it.”
The intercom buzzes. “Mr. President, Director Carter is here.”
“Send him in, please.” The President stands from behind the desk and meets him halfway across the room. “Let’s sit over here, Don,” he says, waving to the sofas.
They each take a seat on opposite sides of the coffee table. “Coffee, if you want it,” he says, pointing at the table. “Scott, come on over here and join us.”
Scott ambles over and takes a seat at the far end of the sofa.
The President pours coffee for all three. “Okay, Don, where are we on restoration?”
“About ninety percent of the country is back to full power. I don’t know what you said to the South Koreans, but they’re a godsend. The other ten percent will be restored soon, probably within the month. Some high-line issues, I believe. Something you would expect after three years of nonuse.”
“Don, you did a fantastic job on everything.”
“Thank you, sir. It’s been a team effort, but we still have a ways to go.”
President Harris leans back, coffee cup in hand. “What about communications?”
“If you haven’t noticed, we are being treated to some incredible light shows in the night sky as all the dead satellites fall from their orbits. The landline phone system is up and functioning almost nationwide, but cellular service is probably at least two years away. NASA is working around the clock to launch replacement satellites, but it’s an arduous process. There are several private space companies that are also working to launch all types of satellites: communication, weather, and even broadcast television.”
“Frankly, I hope the restoration of the cellular networks takes longer,” President Harris says. “Do you know how nice it is to pass someone in the hall who actually says hello, rather than ignore your existence, busily thumbing through their smartphones? It’s refreshing.”
“I agree, sir. We’re actually enjoying live conversations with our children instead of the constant text messages. But at some point we’ll need to reestablish service—cell phones are too big a part of our daily lives.”
“How long before I can watch ESPN, Don?” Alexander says.
Both President Harris and Director Carter chuckle at his comment. “I know. It’s like when we were kids,” the President says, “back when we had only two or three channels to watch.”
The FEMA director takes a sip of coffee. “My children can’t understand how anyone could have survived without cable television. But, to answer your question, Scott, soon, I hope. The National Football League is hoping to resume play as soon as possible but I can’t imagine they would do it without satellite television. All of the networks are spending through the nose to speed up the satellite-building process.”
President Harris leans forward and places his coffee cup on the table. “On a more serious note, Don, are all the water and sewage facilities up and operating?”
“Yes, sir. That was priority one, and I’m glad to say we accomplished it quickly.”
“Don, you’ve earned yourself a long vacation,” the President says as he stands from the sofa. He shakes Don’s hand again and walks him to the door.
As he turns to go back to his desk, Scott says, “Paul, what if I find you a running mate that will take some of—”
The President stops in his tracks and gives his chief of staff an angry glare.
CHAPTER 88
The home of Dr. Samuel Blake
The power in Boulder is slowly returning, but it’s intermittent at best. Numerous power lines were downed over the three-year period, the heavy snow collapsing poles all over the city, including the larger transmission lines that bisect the Rocky Mountains. The Space Weather Prediction Center is still mothballed because with no satellites in orbit there is little to do, but there are discussions about a reopening sometime in the future.
The ringing of the telephone interrupts the romantic dinner that Sam and a very pregnant Kaylee Connor are enjoying. “Let it go to voice mail,” Kaylee says.
“Are you kidding? The damn thing hasn’t worked for three years and you want me to let it go to voice mail?” He stands from the table and races across the kitchen to answ
er.
“Hello?” He listens, then says, “Yes, she’s sitting here with me.”
Kaylee arches her brow and stands, wobbling into the kitchen.
Sam slowly hands her the phone. “The New York City Police Department.” He stands next to Kaylee, one arm wrapped around her as she listens.
Tears begin to leak from her beautiful eyes, and Sam knows his fears have been realized. They had failed to connect with Kaylee’s parents after numerous attempts.
Kaylee, now openly sobbing, hands the phone to Sam and turns away. Sam takes a moment to write down the contact information of the caller before joining Kaylee, curled up on the sofa.
“What happened?” he says gently.
She wipes the tears from her face and Sam allows her time to compose herself.
Kaylee sniffles and reaches her hand out, grasping Sam’s hand as if it were a lifeline. “In the process of reopening the hospitals in New York”—she pauses to wipe away more tears—“they found the remains of my parents in one of the abandoned medical buildings.”
Sam slides closer to her and wraps her in his arms.
“They found my father’s wallet among the remains.” She pauses again and turns to stare at the darkness lurking beyond the windows. “My dad had one of my business cards in his wallet. They’ve been trying to track me down for the last couple of days.”
“I’m very sorry,” Sam says, pulling her closer.
Kaylee, still sobbing, turns angry. “My God, they died all alone in some godforsaken place.”
Sam reaches up to wipe the tears from her cheek.
“They’ve been . . .” She turns her gaze to the flames dancing in the fireplace. “They’ve been dead for a long time,” she whispers.
“I’m so sorry, Kaylee.”
“No wonder they didn’t answer their phone.”
Sam holds her and rocks her until all of the tears have dried.
Sometime later Kaylee reaches down and rubs her hand over her belly. “Can we name the child after one of my parents?” she asks.
“Of course. I think that would be a good way to honor their memory.”
They sit on the sofa holding each other as their dinner grows cold and the fire in the fireplace burns to ashes.
CHAPTER 89
The Peterson home
It’s a beautiful spring day when Zeke leads Aubrey outside to Summer’s car. She and Summer’s father arrived back home almost a month ago, but the last month has been a period of adjustment for everyone. More so for Aubrey, who had to adjust to Zeke being in her mother’s life.
The schools remain closed because a sufficient number of teachers can’t be found to staff them all. He’s taking advantage of the opportunity by taking Summer and Aubrey to meet his family, the first time Zeke will have seen them in over three years. They have talked on the telephone but they have yet to meet his new family.
After buckling Aubrey in, he puts her suitcase in the trunk and turns to help Summer, her arms loaded down with a car seat and their two-year-old son. Jacob is a beautiful redheaded little boy, full of rambunctious energy and always on the go. He already has Summer’s father wrapped around his little finger. Aubrey wasn’t sure what to make of her new brother when she first arrived home. When she left, her mother was in the ending stages of divorce. Just in the past week Aubrey’s gotten more comfortable with all the changes, actually taking time to play with Jacob on occasion.
It takes Zeke a while, but he finally gets the car seat buckled in. Although the power is slowly returning, it has taken a month of continuous around-the-clock work for road crews to remove the abandoned vehicles from the roadways. According to the local news, the only news they get, all of the cars are being towed to an immense field north of Dallas in case the owners ever want to reclaim them. His guess is they’ll rot there while the insurance companies try to honor their policies by replacing them.
Summer hands him Jacob and it takes him even longer to get the toddler strapped into the damn contraption. Aubrey sighs, but reaches over to help. Summer walks back to her father and gives him an extra-long hug. She breaks the embrace and gives him a peck on the cheek before turning and skipping to the car.
They’re happy. Extremely happy.
She climbs in and buckles her seat belt. Zeke starts the car as she brushes her curly red mop from her face and slips on her sunglasses. He puts the car in gear and eases down the gravel drive. She reaches her hand over, interlaces her fingers with his, and graces him with the most beautiful smile he’s ever seen.
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Copyright © 2015 Tim Washburn
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ISBN: 978-0-7860-3653-0
First electronic edition: November 2015
ISBN-13: 978-0-7860-3654-7
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