Empty Cities

by E. E. Isherwood

  “A little,” he agreed. “A bit cozier.”

  He glanced up front to check for anyone walking nearby. When Emily saw what he was doing, she tipped open her window and yelled, “Clear prop!”

  They shared a look.

  She winked. “I’ve been flying since I was a kid, remember?”

  “How could I forget?”

  After he turned the key, the plane’s propeller sparked to life. The sound level was loud, but not obnoxious.

  “Here, did you see this?” He handed the headphones to her. Once on, he added, “Can you hear me?”

  “Check,” she replied.

  Ted did a cursory inspection of oil pressure, fuel level, and avionics, but he left the transponder off. That was a no-no back when things were normal, but now he planned to fly off the grid. No need to broadcast their flight plan to a dangerous world.

  The 172 was the plane model he’d learned to fly decades ago. It was one of the most common aircraft in the world, and flying it was rudimentary compared to the jumbo airframes he’d been tossing around. He had the plane taxiing toward the runway in moments.

  “We’re flying with visual flight rules today,” he said in a cheery voice. He didn’t want Emily to know how worried he was that they’d be seen.

  “There’s no one in the tower to clear us anyway,” she added.

  He glanced back to the tower as second-nature and caught sight of movement at the end of the runway. “Fuck! They’re already here! They must have gone off road to get down the railroad grade like we did.” They had four-wheel drive trucks; he should have anticipated they’d disobey traffic rules.

  “Go, go, go!” she insisted.

  He was faced with another dilemma. They were at the end of the commercial runway, which was probably 10,000 feet long. If they took off toward the trucks, and they shot at them, they might end up in a fiery wreck like Airforce Two.

  Emily seemed to notice the problem immediately. “We have to take off downriver.” She pointed left, which was also the ending of the strip.

  Ted hit the throttle and headed out onto the runway.

  “I think they’ve spotted us.” He pointed to the trucks through the front glass. Two of them drove toward the buildings, but three others turned to get on the runway, as if intending to block their departure. The Humvees sped down the strip side by side to cover the most ground.

  “There won’t be enough space,” she said sensibly.

  Ted continued to taxi as fast as he dared right toward the trucks.

  “Oh, Ted, you’re giving me a heart attack.”

  He expected gunfire to come barreling down the runway at them, but so far, the trucks seemed content to speed their way. Maybe the guys inside wanted to make sure he and Emily were the bad guys before killing them?

  Ted went as far down the runway as he dared, then jammed on the brakes and turned them around. There was no rearview mirror, but he guessed the trucks were a couple thousand feet behind them. Well within rifle range if they wanted to hit the giant metal target.

  “Here we go!” He adjusted the fuel mixture, and for one stomach-clenching moment, the engine bogged and threatened to stop, but it got stronger a moment later. He gave it more throttle and held the yolk as they started down the short section of runway.

  Emily held her lap belt as if frozen with fear.

  “How do we look over there?” he asked, simply as a way to make her feel useful.

  She looked out her window. “Clear to the end.”

  The Cessna was probably as old as he was—they’d been making nearly the same model since the 1950s—but the engine sounded strong, and he gave it as much throttle as he thought it could take.

  “We’re well inside the thousand-foot threshold,” she advised.

  He guessed they had five-hundred feet until the end of the paved runway. Beyond that, there were a few navigation lights, then the river.

  “I’ll tell you when it’s safe to get up and move about the cabin,” he mused.

  It was always important to keep the passengers happy.

  A “pling” sound made him and Emily look at each other.

  “Was that a gunshot?” she asked.

  St. Louis, MO

  “Oh my god!” Tabby blurted out. “Someone hit us!” Her heart had stopped beating for a few seconds, but now it came rushing back like a tidal wave. Her breathing became erratic as she fought the panic.

  “Quick! Get the guns!”

  The truck struck them in the rear, but they’d been moving slow, so no one inside her car got hurt. However, the three kids seemed as jittery as her.

  She gripped her shotgun, fought to get her seatbelt off, then opened the door. Belatedly, she put her foot on the emergency brake to keep it from moving.

  The four of them spilled out of their respective doors, guns at various states of readiness.

  Peter was behind Tabby, and he had his gun raised at the two men in the white truck. Audrey’s shotgun slid out the door when she opened it, and she cussed at herself for letting it drop.

  “Come out!” Tabby yelled to the other occupants.

  As she stood there with her shotgun, she wondered why holding the gun was her first thought after the crash. Shouldn’t she be getting out insurance information?

  The driver put up his hands. “Don’t shoot.” All she could see was his face, because he sat high up in the truck. However, it was covered in dirt, like he’d spent a lot of time working on cars in a garage. His white and gray mustache was stained with dirt, too.

  The passenger was younger. He put his hands up like his friend.

  She strode past Peter and put some space between her and the driver, but she wanted to get a better look at him. They couldn’t have been driving the tractors at the Arch, but they looked like they could have been tractor drivers. Maybe they were coming back from a break.

  His giant truck had a large cylinder in the back, as if it was used to deliver water. It said MSD, with a picture of the Arch on it.

  “We don’t want to mess with your operation,” she advised. “All we want to do is find the cordon.”

  The older guy laughed. “You think we’re with them?”

  She pointed at the Arch symbol.

  “We’re with the Metropolitan Sewer District. M-S-D.”

  “Oh,” she breathed out, feeling a tiny bit better.

  The man went on. “We’ve been watching the Arch since this morning. Hoping we’d see some people who weren’t playing with computer toys.”

  “So, you really aren’t with them?” Peter pressed.

  “Nope.”

  “Who are they?” Tabby wondered aloud, lowering her shotgun a bit.

  “No idea, but they are the only people we’ve seen in the city since we came out of our job site yesterday. We spent a free night up in the Riverside Hotel, but it wasn’t as fun as you’d think. It was like we were in a haunted city. The lights were on, but nobody was home.”

  That described her experience to a T. Driving into St. Louis was like driving into a cemetery. She should have been overjoyed to see signs of life under the Arch, but now she felt better about doubting the whole thing. Here was someone else expressing the same doubts.

  Tabby finally pointed the shotgun at the ground. “We’re sorry for the guns. I think we’re all scared out of our minds.”

  “I’m not,” Peter bragged. He lowered his police shotgun, though.

  She pointed back down the path. “We should keep moving. They have tractors and drones and all kinds of weird…things…that could come get us.”

  “That’s what we saw from up there.” He pointed to the round hotel at the edge of the Arch property. “We came down here to stop you from going in, but we didn’t expect you to drive on the path.” The guy chuckled. “I’m Gus, by the way. My partner here is Vinny.”

  “Hey,” the other guy said. She could barely see him from her perspective on foot.

  “We should get out of here,” Gus said matter-of-factly. “Why don�
��t you follow us? I’ll take us into the city where we can talk.”

  “No way!” Peter burst out.

  “Wait,” Tabby said in a more measured tone. “I agree on getting out of here. We’ll get back in our car and follow you, but don’t try to lead us to those people.” She thumbed in the direction of the Arch.

  Gus smiled, though he was missing a couple of his teeth, making him look like a hobo who had happened upon the truck, rather than an employee of the company.

  “Donovan, guys, let’s get back in.” Tabby ushered them inside the car like a sheepdog with a wild flock.

  Peter seemed to resist. He kept his shotgun at the ready and took small steps in reverse, like the two men were going to get the drop on him. Eventually, however, he jumped in the backseat.

  Tabby got in a few seconds later.

  After setting the gun on the floor between her and Donovan, she took a few seconds to let the fear shake out of her. They’d found more people who’d survived the disaster, but it didn’t instill nearly the same confidence as when they’d happened upon Sister Rose and her dog.

  “I don’t trust them,” Peter said the second all the doors were closed.

  “I don’t, either,” she agreed. “But we need to find out what they know. Maybe they’ll tell us where we can go to get safe. Someone has to know.”

  The MSD truck pulled off the lot.

  After a second of deliberation, she decided to follow.

  CHAPTER 10

  USS John F. Kennedy

  After confirming Kyla couldn’t help with coding and notation done in a different language, the captain sent her off the bridge. She and Meechum went back to their target shooting, but the range took on a more ominous feeling for Kyla because it had the potential to become an active battlefield at any minute. They both kept one eye on the target and one on the sky.

  The other Marines took watch at both ends of the super carrier, acting as simple lookouts for the billion-dollar war machine.

  “Do you think they’ll come back?” she asked when she couldn’t take it anymore. Meechum and the other Marines never seemed to worry about anything, which made it more frustrating for her. She worried endlessly about what might be out there.

  “If they do, we’ll be ready. We’re topped off on ammo and have more than enough to kick anyone off the boat we don’t like.”

  Kyla shook her head. “I wish I had that kind of confidence.”

  “You can,” the short-haired woman replied as they both stuffed rounds into their magazines. “You just have to believe.”

  “That sounds like Peter Pan. That doesn’t seem like you.”

  Meechum turned. “What do I seem like?”

  Kyla laughed. “You’re the most intense woman I’ve ever met. How you hang with those tough guys I’ll never know. I want to be like you, but the most dangerous thing I’ve ever done, before yesterday, was a weekend hike on part of the Appalachian trail when I was in high school. And that was with a big group of people.”

  “Attitude, my young friend. The secret is to always act like you know what you’re doing. It’s something boys learn when they’re young, though I can’t understand how. Any problem these guys get, they jump in, grab it by the short hairs, and figure it out. You and me? We’ve been taught to stop and think things through. Be careful. Always look before you leap.”

  “Yep. Those last bits sound like me,” Kyla chuckled.

  “Well, unlearn all that shit.” Meechum picked up Kyla’s gun, which currently didn’t have a mag inside. “You see this? When you are in your bunk room tonight, take it apart. Learn the pieces. Put it back together. Then, do it again. It isn’t that hard. Get it done.”

  Meechum handed it back. “When you master this, do the same for heavier stuff. Eventually, you can break down a sniper rifle in your sleep. That will earn you some points with the men.” She pointed at one of the Marines standing guard nearby.

  “I don’t really care, but have you ever gone out with one of them?”

  Meechum’s face lit up with a “girl, let me tell you” look, but it changed again when she pointed toward the coast. “Incoming!”

  Kyla had the foresight to grab her magazine and pistol, then she ran with Meechum toward the island of the aircraft carrier. The other Marines on deck stayed where they were, though they were each heavily armed.

  “Hang out here,” Meechum advised. “Let’s see what we’ve got. It’s a chopper, for sure.”

  “Not a drone?” Kyla wondered.

  They waited for a minute or two before Meechum seemed ready to give her an answer. “No alarms have gone off, so it’s one of ours. Longbow 3, I’m pretty sure.” Despite her haughty attitude, the woman was clearly glad it wasn’t an enemy.

  “Follow me,” Meechum ordered.

  Kyla didn’t want to go out on the deck, but the helicopter swooped in and landed about a hundred and fifty yards away. Meechum had her stick to her like glue.

  “Do we have to go so close?” Kyla remarked, though Meechum didn’t hear her. They continued to inch closer, until they were about fifty yards from the spinning blades of the large helicopter.

  “This Seahawk took a scout team out this morning,” Meechum yelled. “These are our people!”

  When the aircraft had settled on the deck, the rear doors opened. Kyla recognized the men in the back. They were from Carthager’s squad.

  They hopped out and went over to Meechum like she was a customs official.

  The first guy yelled like a lion; Kyla heard him even with the wash of rotors. “We didn’t find shit! I hope you have better luck!”

  He patted Meechum on the shoulder, then he and two other Marines went by her. They barely looked at Kyla as they headed away.

  Meechum looked at her, then leaned in so they could chat. “The captain said I could have one other Marine for this next mission. I want an extra set of eyes, and there won’t be any fighting, so why not you?”

  Kyla recoiled in horror. “Not me! I’m just a…” Meechum was a Marine. Kyla was a civilian. That seemed like enough of a liability to get her a pass from this duty, but the salty Marine didn’t seem to be in the mood for lame excuses. “I’m just not equipped to go with you.”

  Meechum pointed to Kyla’s pistol. “You’ve been training all morning. No one is going to fuck with you and your weapon. If they do, just fuck with them back.”

  It was the kind of thing a no-bullshit Marine like Meechum would say. Not Kyla the programmer. She figured out the other woman was trying to help her overcome her confidence issues.

  “I’ll follow your lead.”

  “That’s my dudette!”

  Harrisburg, PA

  Before Ted had a chance to worry about possibly getting hit by gunfire, the plane made it to the end of the runway.

  “Come on!” he yelled at the struggling engine.

  The Cessna 172 was a small plane with tricycle-style landing gear. The three wheels were always down, so when he pulled on the yolk to get the old craft into the proper upslope, he worried he’d hit the navigation lights and lose the tires.

  “A little more,” he said, mostly to himself.

  The plane caught an updraft the instant before hitting the lights at the edge of the field, and Ted used every last inch. However, rather than build on that success and keep going higher, he let the 172 fly at treetop level until he was out over the water. Then he dipped back down.

  “Ted, my mom was the stunt pilot. You’re making me regret this mode of transportation.”

  He settled the plane about ten feet over the Susquehanna River and stayed close to the left shore so the trees would hide them temporarily from the men at the airport.

  “I’m sorry. We barely had enough runway to get in the air. That was a near-run thing.” He had survived fighter-pilot levels of g-force training, but he’d never come as close to losing his lunch. “And I think we got hit by at least one round.”

  She looked out her window. The wing was above them, so she could easily
see if there were any holes in the underside. He scanned the wing above his window, but only for a moment.

  “The river doglegs right, to the south. We’ll be visible to them for a minute or so until we get farther down the river. Hang on.”

  He angled the nose up and rose above the treetops again.

  Emily looked out her window to the rear. “I see them back there.”

  “Are they shooting?”

  “I don’t think so. One of the trucks is going to the base, though. Another is sitting at this end of the runway, like it’s watching us leave.”

  “Damn. This is all happening faster than I thought. They’re spreading out from airport to airport, like we’d talked about.”

  The Cessna was up to speed now, so his maneuvering was more fluid as he rode above the treetops heading south. Emily saw the airstrip, which meant they saw them back. That gave him a few extra seconds to worry about getting shot.

  “Almost clear…” he said in an even voice.

  “I don’t see it anymore,” she replied. “Wait!” Emily paused for two seconds. “No, now it’s gone for good. We have an island between us and them. There’s plenty of trees blocking us.”

  Ted leaned back in his seat and exhaled all the bad air he’d been holding since takeoff. “See? I told you it would be better than walking.”

  She slapped him on the arm. “That was the shortest takeoff I’ve ever seen. You’re supposed to protect me, not get me killed.”

  He thought she was serious, but when he glanced over, she smiled at him.

  “What?” he asked.

  Emily brushed hair out of her eyes. “That was incredible! I can’t believe the Air Force made you sit in that back seat on Air Force Two. You’re an amazing pilot.”

  He was going to reply, but he had to focus on flying. The river was broad and shallow, with rocks everywhere. Ahead, a long, thin island hugged the left bank while a second island sat in the middle of the river. It would have been easy to fly above them, but he wanted the cover they provided, so he stayed low.

  “Let’s get by the Three Mile Island nuke plant,” Ted suggested, “then we can celebrate.”