by Orson B Wolf
He released his hold. “You gotta be kidding me. Why didn’t you tell me?”
Even though she did her best to hide it, Diane Colt sighed with obvious relief.
***
They sat on the sidewalk by the side of the parking lot under a narrow-roofed shed. The rain struck the asphalt hard and water gushed down the drainage ditch.
Paul looked at her as she gathered her wet hair with both hands, squeezed the water from it, then rubbed her aching neck. She groaned silently.
He felt remorse over the way he had interrogated her a few minutes before. Diane Colt looked fairly young, not even thirty, and yet she had not cracked under the pressure of the investigation and revealed nothing. He respected that and felt the need to apologize.
“Look,” he started to say, but turned silent when she raised her hand.
“It’s all good.” She carefully moved her head from side to side and emitted another sigh. “I would have acted the same way.”
“I didn’t know you were a fed,” he stated. He truly wanted to apologize, but more importantly, he wanted to obtain the information he needed. If only he could talk to her, she might reveal to him why the world’s most advanced intelligence agency had taken an interest in him, Paul McBride, a recently unemployed detective.
“Diane, had I known you’re from the agency, I would never have—”
“Like I said, it’s all good.” She coughed again and carefully felt her nose.
Paul noticed that it was swollen and began to change colors, and felt another pang of remorse.
“And you don’t have to call me by my name to create an emotional response. I’ll tell you whatever I can.” She lowered her eyes to the ground and added with a whisper, “everything is lost anyway.”
***
Paul drove back home. He slowly turned left onto Highway 105 and thought of what Diane Colt had just told him.
For the past three years, the Bureau had been trying to track down the prophet. The investigation included looking into organizations that may be in direct or indirect contact with him.
Not a simple challenge: the prophet concealed himself and his actions behind a veil of servers and constantly changing IP addresses, leaving no traces in the virtual space—almost.
When their monitoring systems had discovered that a giant corporation had hired the services of an anonymous detective and relocated him to a small town in which several prophet-related anomalies had recently taken place, it certainly got heads turning at the bureau.
Diane had volunteered to look into who exactly Paul McBride was—now here she was, following him in the freezing rain instead of sitting in her comfortable office in D.C.
Paul was surprised by her willingness to give him that information, but he said nothing, even when she told him about a special team created to try and crack the prophet’s system of predicting the future. It was a highly compartmentalized department, but there were plenty of rumors about what was taking place behind its armored doors.
“They’re trying everything there,” she added. “And I do mean everything. Hypnosis, telepathy, cross-dimensional channeling, even distorting time and space. The stuff of science fiction.”
When he asked her why they had decided to pick up the pace of their investigation, she chuckled bitterly.
“Haven’t you heard? The world is coming to an end.”
He raised an eyebrow and she continued.
“Everything you have… everyone who means something to you, to me, to all of us—all of them are going to be wiped out. Kate, Holly, Cynthia. If I were you, I’d hurry back home to say goodbye to them.”
The fact that she knew the names of his wife and daughters wasn’t a surprise to Paul, but to hear her actually say the names out loud—that was sickening.
Even now, while driving his car back home, a shiver travelled down his spine. He had almost reached his apartment, driving slowly down Montgomery Avenue and remembering how he had risen to his feet, demanding an explanation. “What do you mean, ‘wiped out’?”
“Everything is going to evaporate, nothing will remain.” She began to laugh uncontrollably. Her laughter sounded like it verged on insanity. He looked at her with confusion until her laughter turned to tense silence.
“Five thousand. So many,” she muttered.
“Five thousand what?”
She peered into the air with terror in her eyes, as if witnessing a terrible sight.
He leaned toward her. “Five thousand what? I won’t ask again.”
“Nuclear missiles. Aimed at us.” She suddenly raised her head and looked at him. “What time is it?”
“Almost ten thirty, why?”
She let her head drop and muttered, almost unheard, “Everyone is talking about it. The decision has already been made… in less than twenty-four hours, we’re initiating the first strike.”
43
A Yellow Tennis Ball
David lay in bed and realized he was awake.
He hadn’t been able to sleep for more than a few minutes at a time all through the night. The sheet beneath him was drenched with sweat, and the pain in his head and throat intensified.
He opened his eyes and tried to swallow, feeling a painful lump somewhere deep in his throat. He stretched up on his elbows and blinked. The light of dawn oozing through the blinds hurt his eyes.
He wanted so much to get back to sleep—he desperately needed it—but he knew that there were many tasks waiting for his attention. He rubbed his eyes and yawned. A few minutes before, his mother had marched into his room to tell him she was going out for a little while. “You’re running a fever. Don’t even think about going outside. I’ve already notified your school.”
He coughed. The sound was alien to his ears, like an old man’s. It was a little funny, but instead of laughing, another cough rose from between his clenched lips, turning into a fit that refused to settle for long moments.
He lay on his back again, his head spinning, and sighed. “I guess I’m really sick.” His temples throbbed.
Max came to him, wagging his tail slightly, his eyes showing a deep understanding.
“Hey buddy,” David muttered. “You must be dying to get outside for your morning walk.”
In reply, the dog placed one large paw on the mattress and slanted his head sideways, asking for permission to climb.
“Go ahead,” David said softly and closed his eyes.
Max gracefully lunged up on the bed, which bounced up and down under his weight. The boy felt as if he was rocking and bobbing in a boat in the deep seas. The dog sat beside David and pressed the wet tip of his nose to his face, sniffing and feeling him from up close, his whiskers tickling David.
“Cut it out, Max.” David smiled, kicked the blanket off in a single motion, then stretched up and reached for a tissue. The box was empty. “That’s just great,” he murmured hoarsely, trying to think of another solution; he had to blow his nose right now.
His eyes landed on Max’s soft fur, and the dog tilted his head.
David chuckled. “Why Max, you should be ashamed of yourself. What a disgusting idea!”
He slid off the bed and hurried to the bathroom, then noisily blew his nose. After that he went into the shower. He allowed the steaming water to massage his sore neck, opened his mouth wide to fill it with water, then gurgled and spat several times.
Some of the ache in his throat seemed to have been partially washed out. He coughed several times to clear his lungs. After showering, he took a look in the mirror and was startled to see his own face. He was as pale as a sheet, his eyes red and sunk inside their sockets.
No wonder his mother had insisted that he stay home today. He went down to the living room. The morning paper was on the breakfast table, its main headline proclaiming in red bold letters: “Thousands of Russian Missiles.”
The subheading did not bode well: “U.S. preparing for any scenario.” David sighed. Perhaps the prophet software had finally come up with an answer. He’d check it while taking Max out for a walk.
He opened the refrigerator and took out a carton of orange juice. “We’ll be going out in a minute,” he muttered to his dog, then poured himself a glass and thirstily gulped it down. Max growled impatiently.
David took the leash and Max’s favorite tennis ball. The dog immediately reacted by running in circles excitedly.
“You get to have all the fun, Max,” he muttered. “What’s your biggest concern in life, when do I pee?”
Max looked at him with pleading eyes as if to say, “Come on already!”
***
They stood in the small garden near the apartment building, in a covered area that was protected from the rain.
David saw a small yellow flyer stapled to the bulletin board. It bore the Department of Defense logo. He unleashed Max and allowed him to happily run around the garden, then he went to the bulletin board to look more closely at the notice:
Message to all Building Tenants
Following the instructions of the Homeland Security Department, the shelter is now open.
The shelter in this apartment building complex is a standard Army issue 330ASH model (Instruction No. 220800/2) designed for protection from non-conventional weapons. The shelter was built to withstand a nuclear missile attack (‘Atomic Shelter’).
General Description:
External reinforced concrete 25 inches thick
Life support systems for protection from radiation and heat
Air purification system
Double doors and escape hatches
Emergency generator
First aid kits
Water, Fuel and dry food for ten days
Chemical toilets
Shower with water recycling system included
External and internal heat and radiation sensors
External communication means
15 outdoor survival suitsFor further comprehensive information, visit www.military.gov.us/nuc_shelter1
Apartment owners interested in placing equipment in the shelter, must provide an inventory list for advance approval. Due to space limitations, only the equipment appearing on the inventory list will be approved for admittance. Toys and board games for children are welcome.
An orderly briefing regarding the use of the shelter and the various regulations concerned with it will be held on___________
Thank you for your cooperation.
Someone had written down the date and time of the briefing. It was today’s date: Thursday, May 1, 8:00 pm.
David sighed and turned to Max, who looked at him expectantly. He raised his hand and threw the tennis ball as far as he could. The dog raced to the ball bouncing on the grass, but then abruptly stopped next to a bush, raised his leg, and peed.
David watched him and could have sworn Max’s face reflected sheer joy. This made him chuckle—then cough again. He took out his phone and prepared to check the prophet software, but then he saw there was a new message from grandma.
The message contained an image. He waited a few seconds for the large file to be downloaded. From the corner of his eye, he saw that Max had discovered a butterfly and was now chasing it all over the yard with impressive feats of acrobatic jumping.
The image file was finally fully downloaded and David tapped it open. It was large, so only a small part of it was shown on the screen: a close-up of an eye, with bluish makeup, wide open and revealing spider veins.
David knew that eye. “Why would grandma send me such a…” he muttered and with trembling fingers made the display grow smaller and smaller until it fully fitted the screen.
His head began to spin, his knees buckled and he dropped to the ground as he realized what he was seeing: grandma, sitting, tied to a chair, mouth gagged with duct tape, and her eyes wide open.
The picture came with a brief message: “Grandma is waiting for you at home. Come now.”
44
Are You all Right, Kid?
Paul sat in the car and watched David’s building.
He was extremely tired from last night’s events. His ankle was bothering him again.
“I guess that interrogating people in the rain in the middle of the night isn’t that good for me,” he mumbled and sighed while carefully stretching his leg, testing its mobility.
Last night, when he had gotten back home, tired and limping, Kate was up waiting for him. She sat in the living room in front of the muted television screen showing a program about civil defense during wartime. Holly and Cynthia were sleeping in the guestroom.
“I couldn’t fall asleep,” she replied to his questioning look.
“And this is what you watch?” he asked and pointed at the screen.
“They’ve been showing it on a continuous loop. It’s pretty scary, actually.” She stood and helped him take off his coat.
“Wow, you’re soaking wet.” She sniffed his clothes and added with astonishment, “Have you been smoking?”
“Believe it or not, it was part of the job.” His look made her realize he wasn’t joking.
“All right, I actually believe you.”
After he had showered and gotten into bed, she clung to him, trembling from longing and desire. Despite his tiredness, Paul felt aroused by her touch.
When she mounted him, he grabbed her with both hands, shut his eyes and allowed himself to yield to her scent, her touch, her voice. Finally, when he rolled off her, exhausted, and drifted away to the realms of sleep, he felt her covering him with a sheet. A moment before falling asleep, he heard her whispering, “Good night, hero.”
When he got up in the morning, the bed was empty. Kate and the girls had already left. There was a note on the kitchen table, scribbled with thick letters traced with a purple marker: “To Daddy! It was real fun to visit you and now we miss you very, very much all over again. Cynthia and Holly. Mom helped us write this.”
Now he was sitting in his car and watching the building entrance. David still did not leave for school. Perhaps it had something to do with yesterday’s events, his encounter with Jackie Richmond and his gang. David’s parents left for work as usual—first his dad, then his mom.
Paul reported to his superiors at GP&K Industries about the previous night’s events. Matthew sounded impatient when he answered the phone. “I’m in the middle of a meeting. Is it urgent?” But when Paul began to describe his encounter with FBI agent Diane Colt, Matthew became attentive. “I understand,” he finally said. “Let me run this by Ron and the rest of the team. Meanwhile, keep looking for the kid. This is our top priority.” He sounded as determined as ever.
The conversation had ended a minute ago, but Matthew’s words still echoed in Paul’s head.
“That’s exactly what I’m doing,” he muttered, and at that very same moment, the door of the building opened and a huge black dog came running outside. David closely followed. He seemed paler than usual, coughing and blowing his nose.
“Don’t go to school today, I’ll give you an absence note,” Paul mumbled and scanned the street. It didn’t seem like anyone was following the boy. David burst into a coughing fit while his dog happily ran around him in circles.
Suddenly, the boy collapsed to the ground, leaning against the wall, looking like he was about to faint.
Paul panted and looked both ways. Was it a sniper’s shot? He quickly got out of the car, scanned the area once more, then began to hobble quickly toward the building. He knew that he mustn’t attract attention, but the boy needed help and every wasted moment could prove critical.
He quickly narrowed the distance and realized the boy was actually conscious and looking at his cell phone in fear. Paul slowed down and prepared to turn aside when David raised his f
ace and looked at him. He had no choice but to make direct contact.
“Are you all right, kid?” Paul came up with the obvious question. “I saw you suddenly drop to the ground.”
David looked like he’d seen a ghost. He didn’t answer, just continued to stare at his phone. A few seconds later he raised his eyes to Paul again and muttered, “Yes, I just don’t feel so well.”
Paul stood beside him, not sure what he should do next. He suddenly realized that this was the first time they had ever spoken to each other. “All right, I’d stay in bed and rest if I were you.” David didn’t answer and lowered his eyes back to his cell phone.
Paul turned away and kept going up the street without looking back. He walked around the block. The walk had taken less than two minutes. When he got to the car and opened the door—he took another look at the building.
David and Max were no longer there.
45
Hubris
David’s heart was beating fast. From the corner of his eye, he noticed Paul drawing further away. Apparently, he had managed to convince the detective he had collapsed simply because he wasn’t feeling well.
Grandma’s picture, tied to a chair, her mouth gagged, her eyes open with fear, looking so helpless—he had almost fainted when he saw it. A million thoughts ran through his head.
Obviously, whoever had kidnapped grandma wanted to get to him. Had he exposed himself when he’d successfully bet on the football game? Or maybe Mr. Harrison, the psychologist, knew something and had passed the information to some extremist organization?
He shook his head. No, that wasn’t very likely. Jackie and his bunch of suck-ups, it had to be them. What were they planning on doing to her? He could not help thinking this was all his fault. Why did he have to taunt Jackie every chance he got? Why had he insisted on asking him whether he should say hi to his dad for him? What had he gained by that dig other than the momentary satisfaction of seeing Jackie turn crimson with anger?