Karen was all too familiar with those questions. They’d been running through her head on a loop ever since Ramos had found her in the hospital back in the city. Ever since they’d left the building, knowing they were leaving hundreds of other patients behind to die. She knew the Doc had only come to find her because he’d made a promise to Jack, but the hospital was full of people just as deserving of life, and nobody had come to save them.
She’d asked herself again as they passed evacuees running towards the bridge. Maybe not so much with the looters – they’d made their own bed – but the people running to escape the city while Karen shot by in the Corvette? Surely they hadn’t deserved to die.
Again when the bridge collapsed, when she’d looked down at the lower deck and locked eyes with a man trapped beneath a concrete block. When the upper level collapsed down on him and the people trying to save him Karen couldn’t help but wonder why she was allowed to escape, but the Samaritans who’d risked their lives to help weren’t offered the same gift, and all because she’d chosen one deck and they’d taken the other.
Finally she’d asked herself when she saw the woman in the pharmacy crouched over her dying husband, not understanding that he wasn’t going to make it. What had they done to deserve such a terrible fate? Why had the world decreed that this poor woman should spend her final hours watching her husband die in agony? What crime could she possibly have committed to earn that sentence?
The whole thing was just flat out ass backwards. There was no rhyme or reason. People died on the flip of a coin, good or bad, right or wrong, and the Pats kept winning the Super Bowl no matter how often everyone else thanked Jesus for their touchdowns. After two days and two nukes Karen was still breathing, and there wasn’t a damn thing she could think of to explain why she’d been allowed to sail through it all as if she were invincible.
Was it really just dumb luck? Was it really as simple as choosing to turn left instead of right, rolling the dice and hoping for the best, or was there some divine hand guiding her, making sure she wove the perfect path through a world that was falling to pieces around her? Was there some force leading the way, helping her miraculously escape the disasters that killed those judged less deserving?
She pulled Emily a little closer and sighed. Honestly, she didn’t know what terrified her more. She didn’t know whether she’d prefer to live in a chaotic, uncaring, Godless world, as random and cruel as the roll of a die, or a world in which God had decided to help her out and screw everyone else.
And now… now Valerie would be asking herself those same questions, but in her case it would be a thousand times worse. She’d have to go through the rest of her life wondering not only why she was spared while other died, but whether she was truly worthy of the life the pilot had traded for his own. She’d have to spend the rest of her life wondering if fate had struck a fair bargain. Whether the world was better with her in it, or if the pilot had sacrificed himself for nothing.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
Karen’s attention snapped back to the present, and she realized she’d been staring back at the mushroom cloud with glazed eyes, not really seeing it. Krasinski crouched beside her, his torn corduroy jacket flapping gently in the breeze that crept through the open tailgate.
“Sorry, Ted,” she replied, flustered. “I was a million miles away. I was just thinking… oh, never mind. I don’t suppose it matters.”
Krasinski awkwardly lowered himself down to the tailgate, steadying himself with his one good hand. For a moment he wobbled, almost toppling out the back before he found his balance, and Karen breathed a sigh of relief when he finally took his seat.
“What’s with this stuff?” He pointed at her left arm, her hand clinging to the steel ribbing that supported the canvas roof. A needle ran from just below the inside of her elbow, and from it a thin length of tubing ran back to an IV bag that hung from the frame of the truck. “You OK?”
Karen nodded. She’d almost forgotten it was there. “Oh, yeah. It’s nothing. I think it’s called Filgrastim. It’s, umm, a treatment for radiation sickness. The Doc found it in one of the crates.”
“Wow, seriously? You have radiation sickness?” Krasinski seemed almost impressed.
Karen chuckled. “I doubt I’m the only one, Ted. Maybe you noticed the enormous mushroom cloud about ten miles behind us?”
Krasinski gave her a bashful smile. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right. I guess it’s about as common as the flu right now. Are you gonna be OK?”
“Yeah, I think I’ll live,” Karen replied, with more confidence than she felt. “Doc said it’s just a precaution. Something to do with boosting my white count. Though if I make it through this I think I’m gonna be sporting the punk look for a while.” She reached up and ran her fingers through her hair, and her hand came away with a dozen loose strands. “I don’t think there’s anything back here that’ll save my hair.”
Krasinski grinned and rubbed his hand across his bald head. “If you find something, I’ve got dibs. Seriously, though, shouldn’t you be in hospital right now? If you’d told me you had radiation sickness we never would have sent you to the safe zone. We have doctors back at the base.”
Karen tapped the IV bag. “This is the reason we were headed to the safe zone. We didn’t know where else we could find this stuff.”
“But you’re sure you’re OK? I mean, we could always—”
“Honestly, Ted, I’m fine,” Karen interrupted. “I’m trying not to think about it. Sorry. Can we maybe change the subject?”
“Sure, sure,” Ted nodded. “No problem at all.” He fell silent for a while, looking back at the gray cloud of ash and dust billowing thousands of feet above them in the distance. Eventually he let out a long sigh. “I wonder how many people died back there.”
Karen shot him a sidelong glance. “I was really hoping we could change the subject a little further than that, Ted. Maybe we can shoot for something that doesn’t involve talking about death?”
“Sorry.” Krasinski blushed, awkwardly adjusting his torn jacket. “I’m afraid I was never all that good at small talk. Years locked in a small room slaving over a calculator. The job doesn’t encourage the development of a sparkling wit, know what I mean?”
Karen snorted. “If you think that’s bad you should try being a parent. Endless hours of Peppa Pig and Dora the Explorer turn your brain to mush after a while. Kids’ TV should come with a health warning for parents. Either that or free wine.” She squeezed Emily a little tighter and looked up at Krasinski. “Do you have any kids?”
“Me?” He crinkled his nose with mock distaste and shook his head. “No, I never pulled that trigger. My ex-wife wanted a whole posse of rugrats, but honestly I couldn’t imagine anything worse.”
“You can’t imagine anything worse than kids?” She nodded toward the mushroom cloud. “You know a nuke went off right over there about a half hour ago, right?”
Krasinski laughed. “You know what I mean. I like things neat and tidy. Everything in its proper place. I just can’t imagine anything worse than sharing a home with a little monster who exists to make a mess. Kids are… well, they’re sticky.”
“Sticky?”
“Yeah. I don’t know what it is about them, but they seem to walk around all day using jars of peanut butter and jelly as mittens.” He narrowed his eyes. “You never noticed that? Half the stuff they touch gets covered in a layer of their last meal, and the other half ends up dripping with snot.”
Emily frowned up at Krasinski. “I’m not sticky. I’m not sticky, right mom?”
Karen shook her head. “Of course you’re not, pumpkin,” Karen assured her. “You’re perfect.” She pulled Emily towards her and planted a kiss on the top of her head, and while she wasn’t looking Karen looked up at Krasinski and nodded with a sly smile.
“So,” she said, changing the subject as Emily shot daggers from her eyes, “what do you think this is all about?”
Krasinski shifted awkwardly
on the tailgate, trying to ignore Emily’s judgmental glare. “All what about?”
“This.” Karen gestured towards the mushroom cloud. “All of it. Why do you think our own people would want to launch nukes at us?”
Krasinski sniffed, scratching his bald dome as he gazed back at the destruction. “Well,” he said, squinting against the bright sunlight. “You’d have to ask an expert, but I’ve been working with the military for more than two decades, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned in all those years it’s that this kind of thing always comes down to money.”
“Money? How do you mean?”
“I mean exactly that. If you’re looking for the motivation behind pretty much anything, go deep enough and you’ll eventually find someone who thinks it’ll make him a few dollars.” He sniffed. “Hell, even Islamic terrorism is all about the Benjamins. Maybe not for the deluded morons who blow themselves up because they’ve been told they’ll get a whole mess of virgins in Heaven, but go up the ladder and abracadabra, there’s some guy sitting at the top who cares more about the paint job on his new Rolls Royce Phantom than he ever did about the Koran. It all comes down to money in the end.”
Karen looked doubtful. “You really believe there are people out there willing to nuke their own country for the sake of money?”
“Karen,” Krasinski sighed. “I believe there are people out there who’d be willing to nuke their own kids if there were enough zeroes on the check.”
“Oh, come on. You can’t seriously be that cynical.”
“Maybe I’m cynical,” he shrugged, “or maybe I’ve just seen so much greed that it’s hard to see anything else any more. Just look at the wars we wage.”
“You think our wars are just about money?” Karen narrowed her eyes. “I bet there are a few guys back at your base who might have an issue with you saying that.”
Krasinski dismissively waved a hand. “No, think about it. When was the last truly just war? Y’know, the last war where we stepped in because it would have been morally offensive for us to sit back and watch from the sidelines?”
He let the question hang in the air for a few moments. “It was World War Two, right? That was the last time you could say, hand on heart, that if we’d stayed home the world would have gone to hell. That was the last time you could say that every American life lost was really worth the price, because every last soldier died trying to beat back evil.”
He sighed, as if nostalgic for a simpler time. “That kind of Captain America good versus evil world only exists in the Marvel Universe now. These days we don’t fight to save our civilization. We fight to protect our interests.” He held up his hands. “And hey, don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that’s a terrible thing. I’m not naïve. I know there’s a damn good reason my gas doesn’t cost ten dollars a gallon. We’ve done pretty well out of the global status quo, and sometimes you have to bring out the big guns when someone gets it in their head to screw things up for the rest of us.”
Karen chuckled. “You sound just like my father.”
“Oh yeah? What, is he a cynical sonofabitch too?”
“He was, yeah. He was a major in the Army. Saw a lot of action in the Gulf. If he was here right now I’m sure he’d be nodding along as you spoke, and my mom would be cheering beside him.”
Krasinski laughed. “Sounds like a smart lady.”
“Nah,” Karen shook her head with a grin. “I mean yeah, she is, but that’s not why she’d be cheering. She’d be cheering because you proved her theory.”
Krasinski tilted his head. “What theory’s that?”
“Just a theory she had about why my dad was so screwed up. See, ever since he came back from Iraq he was always… well, let’s just say quick to anger. He was always suspicious of people who looked like they enjoyed power. He hated them. And I’m not just talking about obvious assholes, like guys who raise a hand to their wives. He hated, like, assistant managers at McDonalds who gave orders to the staff without a please and thank you. He hated pretty much anyone who stood above someone else and looked like they enjoyed the view. It just set him off. Made him want to start throwing punches.” She looked at Emily, and noticed that the rumbling of the truck had sent her to sleep. She lowered her voice and shifted her arm around her.
“He was never like that before. Before he went to the Gulf dad was… he was Mister Rogers on steroids. He was a peacemaker. Mom always said that’s why he joined the Army, to end the fight as quickly as possible.” Her smile faded at the memory. “But then he spent some time at a refugee camp. Too much time, I guess. When he came home he told me all the stories. Horrible stuff. Just the worst of humanity, all the greed and cruelty and selfishness. He said he watched people in that camp fight to control it. He watched people kill each other just to be the top dog in a crappy patch of dirt out in the desert, and when he got home…” Karen sighed. “Well, that was all he could see any more. He stopped seeing the good in people. He just saw… predators, I guess. He figured the guy at McDonalds who got delusions of grandeur when he got an extra star on his badge was the same kinda guy who’d start killing people in a refugee camp if the circumstances were a little different.”
“Sounds like he had a rough time out there.”
“Yeah, he did,” Karen nodded. “Anyway, my point is that if you asked him what all of this was about he’d say power without a moment’s hesitation. He wouldn’t even pause for breath. He’d think it was some wannabe Hitler who wanted to rule over the rest of us, because that was his experience.” She pointed to Krasinski. “Now you, you’ve spent a lifetime working with numbers. You’ve spent your whole career staring at the balance sheets of war. Of course you think it’s all about money, because that’s your experience.”
“Well, maybe,” Krasinski shrugged noncommittally. “I guess we all view the world through our own personal lens, but I still think I’m right. If we ever find out why any of this happened I’d bet my ass it wasn’t ideological. This thing was too well organized to be a bunch of nuts trying to bring about the end of days. Someone stands to gain from all this, and I’m betting that it all comes down to dollar signs.” He fell silent for a moment, picking at a loose thread on his jacket sleeve. “What about you, though? Is there some weird psychological trauma in your past that leads you to think this is all about… I don’t know, racism or blueberry donuts or something?”
Karen laughed. “I’m sure there is, Ted, but I don’t like to psychoanalyze myself.” Emily shifted in her sleep beside her, and she squeezed a little tighter. “No, I don’t have any theories. The way I see it, the only people who could really understand why anyone would do something like this are the ones crazy enough to launch the missiles. I don’t even like to kill bugs.”
Karen turned at a noise behind her, and she found Ramos edging his way toward the tailgate around the stacked crates. By the look on his face he’d had no success brightened Valerie’s mood, but at least she was standing up now. Behind Ramos Karen could see her on her feet beside the crates.
‘Hey, Doc.” She lowered her voice and nodded toward Valerie. “How’s she holding up?”
“She… umm, I think she needs a little more time,” he replied, stepping behind Karen and reaching for the IV bag that hung above her. “She’s taking it pretty hard. How are you feeling? Any better?”
“Well, I don’t feel like I’ll die anytime soon, if that’s what you mean.” She held her arm steady as Ramos tore away a strip of tape and slid the needle from beneath her skin.
“Yeah? Give it a few hours,” Ramos smiled, patting her on the shoulder. “The side effects can be pretty rough. Lemme know if you feel any deep muscle or bone aches coming on. I can give—” He reached out to steady himself against the frame of the truck as it suddenly slowed, and he almost lost his footing as they took a sharp left turn. “Whoa, nearly went down there. That would have been embarrassing. What was I saying?”
Karen pressed her hand against the puncture wound on her forearm. “I think you were di
splaying a little more of that world beating bedside manner, Doc. Something about terrible side effects and bone aches?”
“Oh, yeah.” He gave her a dismissive wave of the hand. “Don’t worry, you’ll probably get away with just a minor headache, but give me a yell if you feel anything worse. I can give you some painkillers to take the edge off if it gets too…” His voice trailed off. “Hey, why are we off the highway? Ted? Aren’t we supposed to be headed back to Beale?”
“Hey, guys?” Karen caught Valerie’s faint call from the other end of the crates, but she kept her focus on Ted.
“Yeah,” Krasinski nodded, frowning. Out the back they could see the convoy continue on west back toward the base, but their truck was now alone on a narrow, dusty side road heading south. “As far as I know all the trucks were ordered back to the base.”
Karen leaned her head out the back of the truck, peering around the side to see if there were any other vehicles on the road ahead. “Did you ask the driver where we were going before we climbed in? There’s nobody else ahead of us.”
“I…” Krasinski fumbled for words. “Well, no. I don't think the driver even knows we're on the truck, but the entire convoy was ordered back to the base. If everyone was going off in different directions it wouldn’t be a convoy. It’d just be traffic.”
Karen slid back from the edge of the tailgate as the truck began to bounce on the rough surface. By the look of the pockmarked, piecemeal asphalt this road hadn’t been repaired in decades. “Do you know what’s in this direction? I don’t suppose this could be a shortcut to the base?” she asked, optimistically.
“Shortcut?” Krasinski shook his head. “Not a chance. The highway runs in pretty much a straight line all the way back to Beale. This is… I don’t know, due south? There’s just a whole lot of nothing in this direction. Well, nothing apart from an old airfield, but it’s been abandoned for years.”
“Hey! Guys!” Now Valerie was more insistent, her voice louder. Ramos turned back to her.
“You OK?” he asked. “What do you need?”
Jack Archer (Book 3): Year Zero Page 10