The polite answer would have been to say no. To let them go on their way. But Holly wanted them to come up. Not because she was afraid. More so because she wasn’t sure what she would do if her friend wasn’t home.
“Where will you go after this?” she asked Manny.
“First I gotta find a place for Johnny and then I’ll head home to my family and hope everyone’s safe and accounted for.”
“Okay,” she said, rubbing her hands as she bucked up the courage to leave the warm cabin. She helped her son do up his jacket. “You ready, Dillon?”
He nodded without looking her directly in the eye. Another funny characteristic of those with Asperger’s.
All three of them exited with Holly and Dillon lugging their suitcases behind them. They arrived at the front entrance and entered a small reception area. On the wall was a keypad for guests to announce themselves and be buzzed in. Except none of that was working. Nor did it matter, since the second set of glass doors had been smashed.
“Not a promising start,” Johnny said.
The banker might have opted to stay in the snowcat if he wasn’t afraid of encountering members of the city’s rampant criminal community. No power also meant no elevators. By the fifth floor, the group guiding themselves with the final remnants of their cell phone flashlights, Johnny really began to whine.
“What floor did you say they lived on again?”
“Twenty,” Holly said, eyeing the walls of the staircase, which were spray-painted with all manner of vulgarities.
“Mom, what’s a johnson?” Dillon asked.
Johnny howled with laughter. Up ahead, Manny put a hand over his mouth.
“Honey, that’s not nice.”
“But isn’t it someone’s last name?”
“Not the way they meant it.”
Dillon thought about this. “If it’s bad, then why is it up there on the wall?”
“Because some people think it’s okay now for them to do whatever they like. They love that the people enforcing the rules have gone away. That’s why we have guns,” she said, tapping the pistol on her hip. “To stop them from hurting us or anyone else.”
“Like that bad man Earl?” Dillon asked.
“That’s right,” she replied, her breath wavering as she lugged her suitcase up one riser at a time. “The world has always been filled with Earls, honey. It used to be that bad people hid in the shadows. But now they don’t need to hide. Not anymore.”
“So we’ll see him again?” Dillon asked innocently.
“Not him,” she replied. “But others just like him.”
They reached the twentieth floor and started down the darkened corridor. Trash and discarded possessions littered the hallway. Children’s toys, a Diaper Genie, heaps of clothing, the list went on and on. Most of the apartments greeted them with closed doors, but some stood ajar, offering an eerie view into lives that now sat abandoned, slowly rotting.
Holly arrived at the door to Amrita’s condo. A single sheet of white paper had been taped to the surface. The message on it was chilling.
Amrita, if you make it home, I’ve taken the children to the shelter at the Field Natural History Museum. Ravi
Holly tried the door and found it locked.
“They left,” a curt voice shouted from next door.
Holly spun to see a stout woman who probably couldn’t break five feet even with heels on. Her short brown hair was curly and surprisingly well kept.
“You a friend of the Patels?”
Yes, that’s right, Holly remembered. Amrita’s husband is Ravi Patel.
“Dear old friends,” Holly said.
“Tammy Schofield,” she offered, introducing herself. “My husband and I were among the first residents in the building. What a shame when you see what it’s become.”
Right now, Holly’s mind wasn’t on the sorry state of the Kensington Estates. “I just read the note on the door. Did Amrita ever make it home?”
Tammy shook her head. “Not that I know of. She was staying at her parents’ in the suburbs when it happened.”
“Her parents?” Holly said, not understanding.
“Trouble in the marriage, I suspect,” Tammy answered, putting a hand to the side of her mouth like they were sharing a secret. “Let me tell you, these walls aren’t nearly as thick as they look. Not for the price we paid anyway. If you ask me, she hit a real speed bump. Found motherhood too taxing. Life with Ravi wasn’t much of a treat either, I’m sure. So she took a few days off, least as far as I could tell.”
Manny looked about him. “Lady, are you sure it’s still safe to be here?”
“A lot safer in here than out there,” she assured him, propping up her chin as if to accentuate her courage. “Besides, me and my husband have enough to make do until this passes.”
It sounded like to her the power outage was a fever that was bound to break sooner than later. If Holly had a drop of water for every person at the airport who had voiced a similar opinion, she’d be up to her elbows.
“What about temporary shelters?” Johnny asked, motioning to the note Ravi had left on the door. “Is the Natural History Museum the only one around?”
“From what I heard, by day two, the mayor went shelter-crazy,” Tammy said, her short arms gesticulating wildly. “Every major public building’s been taken over. But good luck getting in any of them.”
“They’re already full?” Holly asked, suddenly concerned about where they would go next.
“Packed to the rafters, all of them. I heard the museum had an outbreak of the flu,” she said, pointing to the note on the door. “When the water cut out, the hubby and I decided to head over to the convention center. An absolute zoo. We turned right around in disgust. I heard the only shelter still accepting people is the one the Red Cross is running at the Grand subway station.”
“Thank you. Hey, why don’t you join us?” Holly suggested.
Tammy waved her hands like a person stuffed from dinner and refusing dessert. “After the trouble we had getting back, we aren’t going anywhere. This is our home. If I’m about to meet my maker, I’d rather do it in my own bed than lying on some ratty old cot.”
She did have a point, although Holly’s old bed was back in Seattle with Travis. Given the virtual mountains Holly had had to climb making it here from the airport―a journey of several miles―trying to make it halfway across the country was nothing short of suicide.
“So then it’s settled,” Johnny exclaimed with glee. “We’re going to the subway shelter. Let’s go then, people. Chop, chop.”
He seemed unusually upbeat at the idea of hitting a subterranean shelter. It could only mean one thing. The discarded remnants of people’s old lives scattered about them were giving him the willies. And perhaps they should.
They headed for the stairwell. Along the way, Holly couldn’t help thinking this was how Pompeii must have looked seconds before the streets were buried in ash.
Chapter 18
The ghostly snarl of traffic along Interstate 90 only grew the closer Nate and Dakota got to Chicago. There was something eerie about weaving around vehicles trapped in the snow. In a few cases, they managed to catch a glimpse of what was inside. Sometimes the cars were empty. Sometimes they weren’t. The freezing cold had an unsettling way of locking a person in the moment of death, creating the false impression of slumber. They stopped a handful of times to lend a hand, only to discover those inside were long gone.
It was what Guy had done for them, by stopping to ensure they were all right. And Nate was sad to see their new friend go on his way.
But now, entering the outskirts of Chicago, Nate and Dakota were greeted by new sights and smells. The first was the smoke. Thick, black pillars of the stuff dotted the horizon. There was hardly a street in Chicago that didn’t seem to have a house or building on fire. For Nate, passing the burnt-out shell of a police station in Norwood Park was particularly haunting. If there was anything that summed up what Guy had told them earlier
as they had shared a meal, it was the complete disintegration of law and order.
The second sight was in many ways just as heartbreaking. Dozens of refugees, many of them dragging sleds packed with children along with a few choice possessions, were trudging along the edges of the interstate. A few stopped to wave as they slowly passed. At least, that was what Nate thought they were doing. But soon, it became clear the waving hands had nothing to do with social grace.
It wasn’t a greeting. It was a warning.
Go no further. Probably the same kind of warning the residents of Louisiana might have given as they fled Katrina’s destructive wrath.
They were now only five miles from the city center.
“What will we do once we reach the shelters?” Dakota asked. There was a hint of fear in her voice, as there should be. This wasn’t a deserted city they were driving through. At one time, millions had called this home. Since the catastrophe, some of those people had fled, some had died, and some had stayed behind.
Nate was in the middle of that very thought when he spotted a man standing in the single freeway lane with a pistol in one outstretched hand. The other was gripped around the handle of a suitcase. He was screaming something at them, and it was loud enough for those moving along the outer shoulder to stop and observe.
The man was thirty feet out and once again Nate had a decision to make. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. The man’s pistol had done the deciding for him. There was no way in hell Nate was going to stop. Instead, he nudged the accelerator. The Beast growled as Dakota ducked down and Shadow continued snoring from a comfy spot on the back bench.
The man kept screaming, pointing the gun as the truck drew closer.
“Move, you idiot!” Nate shouted, waving his hand.
But moving was the last thing on the man’s mind. In one rapid motion, the wedge scooped him up off his feet and sent him fifteen feet into the air, sailing over the median and into a puff of snow. Dakota clamped a hand over her mouth in shock.
A group of refugees cheered, throwing their hands up, signaling a successful field goal.
“I can’t believe you just hit that guy.”
Nate scoffed. “It wasn’t my first choice, believe me, but what the hell was I supposed to do? Stop and reason with the guy? Engage him in a vigorous debate on road safety? And didn’t you see that pistol in his hand? I see someone waving a gun and all bets are off.”
“He looked mentally ill.”
The corners of Nate’s mouth tensed in an ‘I feel really bad, but…’ kinda look. “I’m sure if anything, he just went for a little ride. When he wakes up he won’t remember a thing.”
“Guy’s warning about how bad things have become in Chicago. It keeps playing in my mind,” Dakota said. “I can deal with ambushes near rest stops and drunken idiots using Shadow for target practice. But somehow this felt different.” She was staring out the window at the unbroken line of people fleeing the city. “It’s been a week and they’re still leaving.”
“Those are the clingers,” Nate explained.
“The what?”
“The people who waited too long. The ones who thought help was on its way. That any day now the lights would turn back on. And when they didn’t, many of these folks were left without any kind of contingency other than to pack what they could carry and go. The further in we get, the more desperate the folks will be. Look at it this way. These are the lucky ones. They’re healthy and fit enough to have made it this far. Those who avoid freezing to death over the next couple days will likely make it to Marengo and dozens of other tiny cities west of here. To them it’s an exodus. To guys like Chief McGinley it’s an invasion.”
Nate glanced down at the fuel gauge and grimaced.
“We almost out?” Dakota asked.
He nodded. “I’m gonna need to pull off and find a safe, relatively secluded place to refill the tank.” The three-gallon gas cans roped down in the bed should do the job.
After passing the airport, Nate weaved through gaps in the wrecked vehicles and exited the highway. They came first to a large Greyhound bus depot. To their right was a side street that opened onto a long avenue lined with houses. Nate pulled over, the Beast coming to a stop in a sea of high snow.
He made a quick scan of his surroundings before hopping out. For the most part, the street was still and peaceful, save for the distant sound of gunfire. He climbed onto the truck bed, his G36 slung over his back. Dakota got out too, landing in snow up to her waist. She giggled.
“Wanna stretch your legs?” he asked.
Her eyes shifted to a convenience store across the street. “Let me see if they have anything left,” she said.
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” he protested, noting how one of the front windows had been smashed and the other spiderwebbed.
“I’m not going far.”
“All the same.”
“Stop jinxing me, I’ll be fine.”
“Famous last words,” he whispered, cutting a path around the side of the truck with one of the gas cans.
He watched her disappear inside, her pistol drawn and held out with both hands. At least she’d gone in armed, he reassured himself. As close as they might have gotten over these last few days, he had to remind himself more than once that he wasn’t the girl’s father. If she decided to head into a potentially dangerous situation, there wasn’t much he could do about it. Inside the cab, Shadow was awake and watching him through the rear window, a sight both reassuring and unnerving all at the same time.
Nate replaced the first empty gas can and unlatched the next one. In it went and still Dakota hadn’t returned.
What was taking her so long? Was she stocking up with junk food or had she encountered someone inside? Nate steadied his mind. Being out here, vulnerable, it was hard not to imagine threats closing in from every direction. He was preparing the third can when he spotted two men emerge from a house seventy-five yards away. He stood watching for a moment, the cold Chicago air stinging his cheeks. They stopped when they saw him and began heading this way. Nate returned to the driver’s seat, unslinging his rifle as he went. The men were on the left side of the street, which meant if need be, he could keep the door open and rest the barrel of his rifle in the crook.
Thirty meters. They were still coming. But neither was waving or showing any sign of friendliness. He checked his mirrors and checked his blind spots to ensure no one was trying to sneak up on him. Shadow was now glaring through the front windshield at the two approaching men. The G36 was across Nate’s lap, ready to be brought to bear at a moment’s notice.
He glanced quickly in the direction of the convenience store. The facade was dark, impenetrable, making it impossible to tell what was going on inside.
As the two men drew closer, they began shouting at him.
“Hey, man! Whatchu doing over there?” said the boldest of the two. He was scrawny and dangerous-looking and wrapped in an eight-ball jacket.
“Guy’s just sittin’ in his car,” the other said, sporting a black beanie topped with a pompom.
“Who you waitin’ on, old man?”
Nate glared at them but said nothing. If they were smart they’d keep walking.
They were maybe twenty feet from the convenience store when Dakota emerged, a large smile on her face. She was waving something around. It looked like a newspaper.
The growl coming from the back of Shadow’s throat grew louder.
Both men were now chopping the air with their hands.
“Dang, honey, you are fine.”
“I got a place down the street. What do ya say we head back there and chill out, leave Daddy behind?”
When they took a purposeful step toward her, Nate decided he had seen and heard enough. He reached over and popped open the passenger door. A grey streak pushed into the front seat and out the door. Dakota was wading through the deep snow as the men closed the distance.
“Let’s go,” Nate shouted, as one of the men unzippe
d his winter jacket, his hand disappearing inside. At once, Nate came up with the G36, setting the barrel in the groove of the open driver’s side door, his finger moving off the receiver and onto the trigger.
That voice in his head was back and in full force.
Always maintain trigger discipline unless you’re ready to kill.
Eight-Ball’s hand came out of his jacket holding a glass pipe and Nate shot it right out of his fingers. He recoiled, right as Shadow leapt at him, growling as he sank his teeth into fabric and flesh alike. They fell over. The wolf shook his head as Eight-Ball, now lying in a mound of snow, tried in vain to fend off the animal. Pompom shouted and pulled something from his waistband. Nate didn’t wait to see what it was and placed two clean shots directly in his chest. He fell and stopped moving.
A fresh group appeared down the road. They seemed to be coming from the same house as Eight-Ball and Pompom. Another few minutes and the entire neighborhood would be after them.
The new group was hurrying in their direction. Nate pulled the G36 back in and started the engine as Dakota hurried over, wading through the deep powder. A minute later she was in, but Shadow was still gnawing on Eight-Ball.
“We can’t just leave without him,” Dakota said, out of breath.
“He’ll catch up,” Nate assured her, throwing the truck into reverse.
The Beast shot back through an empty lane already carved by the plow. Drawing even with the street, Nate swung the truck around and honked the horn three times.
A grey, furry head popped up above the snow drifts. Moments later, Shadow was racing toward the truck. Dakota opened the door and he scrambled in over her and into the back seat. The wolf stared at them, licking his chops.
Nate threw the truck into gear and sped off.
They returned to the interstate, resuming their journey toward the center of town. They hadn’t been here more than a few minutes and already one man was dead and another seriously injured.
Let it go, Nate thought. What’s done is done. He drew in a deep breath, waiting for that sage advice to settle in.
America Offline (Book 2): America Offline [System Failure] Page 13