by Eric Keller
Leaving suddenly seemed extremely foolish. Getting through the firestorm outside would be near impossible. Even if he could find a truck and enough drivable road to escape on it would only leave him on a highway in the middle of a freezing night with no idea of the safe direction to go. The decision to stay put was not an easy one to make as it might mean dying buried in the rubble of the apartment building, but he told himself staying remained his best option.
The decision definitively made, his mind immediately began to contemplate things he needed assuming the building remained standing. A lifetime working on oil rigs in far off, inhospitable places taught Hale how to get by when things failed to work, and the chaos of ideas running through his head promptly formed itself into a manageable list. Obtaining a source of drinking water quickly placed itself on the top of the list.
Hale moved to the bathroom and opened the bathtub taps on full. Thankfully the water was still running. Next, he opened the fridge to check his food supply. No welcoming light came on. It took him a moment to appreciate the wrongness of looking into a dark fridge. A bright, orange glow from the numerous fires came through the wide window so he didn’t need to turn on lights, but now he realized the power was out.
This realization was followed immediately by another. Cold. The heat also off. Going to be freezing inside before long, forty below kind of freezing.
Frustration at his situation boiled over, and he slammed his hand against the stainless steel of the fridge. A flash of grey crossed his vision and sting of pain lit from his shoulder. Hale spun, moving to defend himself. Crouched on the tile, staring up at him with an arched back, a fat, striped cat. The woman had a cat. Of course, she had a damn cat.
. . .
Pain filled Harrison’s side, but he got the hatch open and climb out of the wreck and into the deep snow, the rigid cold stabbing at him. The pilots managed to regain some control at the last second and soften the crash somewhat. He could hear the Colonel moaning, but Harrison ignored him and struggled to his feet. He half-walked, half-crawled through the drifted snow to the front of the ruined helicopter.
Looking through the busted windshield, Harrison saw both of the pilots strapped in their seats. One slumped over the controls, but the other looked at him with glossy eyes. Harrison said, “Nice landing.”
The pilot merely blinked a few times and then, with a slightly slurred voice, asked, “Colonel ok?”
“Heard him whining and moaning, so I guess he’s alive,” Harrison nodded at the co-pilot, “How’s your partner?”
The man took a breath before responding, “We hit nose heavy. Smacked our skulls pretty good. He hasn’t moved or said anything, I don’t think he made it...”
The stunned pilot began undoing his harness and said, “We should check on the Colonel.”
Harrison said, “Stay put. Let your head clear and make sure you don’t have any other injuries before moving. I’ll go around and check.”
As he moved through the heavy snow, Harrison became certain the pain in his side represented cracked ribs. It hurt like hell but considering he climbed out of a crashed helicopter, he counted himself lucky. Then, through the darkness, he heard the rumble of an explosion followed by a chorus of coyote howls, and he recalled the situation. He survived the crash but was now stranded in a frozen wilderness under attack from unseen foes. Lucky may be the wrong word.
Making it around, Harrison took a look at the co-pilot through the window. Hard to tell but Harrison did not think the man’s chest was moving and blood covered his neck. Either dead or would soon be dead. He trudged on through the snow to the Colonel.
“Sir, are you alright?”
The elderly officer, face looking especially gaunt, glared at Harrison and growled, “It took you long enough. My leg, my goddamn leg is broken. You need to get me out of here and to a hospital immediately.”
Harrison stared back at the clueless man and calmly said, “The pilot has a concussion, the co-pilot is dead or dying.”
The comment intended to remind the asshole that his first concern should be the men under his command. The Colonel apparently missed the point as he merely asked, “Do we have radio contact? We need to get out of here.”
“I doubt it. I think we need to hunker down for the night, at first light I can hike towards the base and see if there’s anything left -”
“I’m wounded. I can’t stay out in the freezing woods all goddamn night.”
Harrison merely turned away from the Colonel. As he worked his way through the deep snow, back towards the cockpit, he heard the officer yell at his back, “This insubordination will not go unpunished. Get me the hell out of here.”
Going to be a long night, the longest night.
. . .
Wind shook the truck. Morreign swayed back and forth with her youngest son, Huck, on her lap. He recently turned five and had been trying to fight off sleep, wanting to stay awake to witness all the strangeness of their adventure but sleep finally won out a few minutes ago. His older brother, Jacob, however, remained wide awake.
“Can I help, mommy?”
“Not this time Jake.”
The eager seven-year-old asked the predictable question, “Why?”
Outside the windshield, in the brightness of the headlights, Morreign saw Paul fighting with the winch cable in the blowing snow. They got off the highway, but the side roads were heavily drifted making it nearly impossible to see the edge of the road in the darkness. This was the third time they needed to stop to pull one of the trucks out.
“It’s really cold out there honey, you stay in here where it’s warm with me and Huck, ok?”
The kid climbed up from the backseat like a monkey; they bribed him to behave with candy, and now the sugar was energizing him. Morreign, feeling the powerful strain of the unbelievably stressful night, wished she had a tenth of his energy. Jacob bounced and asked, “Can I at least flip the switch?”
“Ok, but we have to wait until daddy tells us to, ok?”
They watched Paul push through the snow, dragging the winch cable towards his brother’s buried truck. When dread over possible attacks first crept into Morreign’s consciousness over a year ago, she did not know what to do. She subconsciously started coming up with a plan to get away, at first it came as escapism, something to think about in order to deflect worry. Over time, though, as the dread grew deeper and she became more and more certain attacks were imminent, her plan solidified.
Formally her title was Head Administrative Assistant, 44Canadian Brigade Group, CFB Northern Alberta Outpost 4 (Thule). In practice, she simply organized the support staff which managed the affairs of the forces sent to protect oil production in the area.
The first year Morreign worked at Thule everything seemed relatively standard. Patrols were sent out to make sure no one sabotaged anything while soldiers provided onsite security at the various facilities. Morreign and her staff mainly did the paperwork to make sure the troops had clean socks to wear and enough eggs for breakfast. Things shifted over time though.
More soldiers kept arriving, the increase always explained by a vague need for intensified security. Patrolling increased and they were moving farther and farther afield. Meetings with officials in dark business suits or dress uniforms went from a rarity to commonality. Then came the equipment. Morreign’s knowledge of military hardware was sparse but the equipment arriving seemed far more powerful and advanced and aggressive than that needed for a security detail.
Despite this, her concern stemmed from more than the force build up. Wars were breaking out across the globe, and increasing military presence everywhere became a fact of life. The overall alteration of the tone in the office worried her more. The pace increased, from t
he usually relaxed speed of government work to people continually pressing on matters with all humor replaced by seriousness. Whispers soon replaced office chit-chat, doors were often shut, and “Top-Secret” stamps were dusted off.
As the government began negotiations with the hapless Americans over exclusive access to the oilsands, the urgent, tense aura intensified even further. Media reports of the discussions were mainly positive, couched in terms of the Americans getting a protected oil source in exchange for heightened military support for Canada. However, from inside the base, Morreign sensed far more complexity and confusion than what was being presented to the public. Regardless of the secretive culture, busy officials often overlooked the ever-present admin staff, and she managed to overhear conversations and glimpse documents about the impact the talks were having on the Sino-Russian alliance and their possible reaction.
She continually contemplated telling Paul about her worries and subsequent escape plan but the possibility he would think she was crazy held her in check. Finally, with the help of wine, one-night Morreign told him she suspected Northern Alberta was going to be the first major battlefield in a world war about to erupt between superpowers in disarray. Even though she could not point to any particular piece of concrete evidence and she found putting her vague impressions into words difficult, Paul carefully listened.
When she finished, Paul merely said, “Ok. Should we move back south?”
This simplicity shocked her, and she asked, “Really? You’d be willing to move based on my fuzzy worries?”
“Of course. I can tell you’re deeply concerned and I trust your instincts. Remember that time I wanted to invest in that lumber company? You talked me out of it, and it turned out to be a scam. And you convinced your sister not to marry what’s his name which was a lifesaver for her.”
Looking more serious, Paul continued, “Throughout all our time together, you’ve been better at big decisions. If you feel it’s not going to be safe here, then we should all get the hell out. It’s not like Thule is paradise and, listening to you talk, I realized I’ve noticed a strangeness around here too. Everything is changing, we need to accept that and take the necessary steps.”
Her husband normally spoke jovially, and his sudden seriousness worried Morreign even further, made the imagined situation feel harshly real. They opened another bottle of wine, and she explained how she did not think moving to a southern city would be sufficient. The impression she got from her clerical espionage was that global war coming to Alberta meant all of North America, maybe even all of civilization would be at risk. They needed to disappear completely to escape the wide spreading carnage humanity’s massive arsenal would inflict. For the first time, she explained her fleeing fantasy.
Again Paul’s response was straightforward, “Alright Mo, but if we think all this is best for our family, I need to tell Leo and Ainsley, let them come and bring the girls with us if that’s what they want to do. I can’t leave them behind.”
At first, folding more people into her craziness scared Morreign because of the extra responsibility. But, talking it over at their kitchen table, the idea grew more solid and, if she thought this best for her children, it must also be best for her nieces. Maybe no attack would come. She would merely look foolish for this bizarre suggestion and for wasting their money and time, but she would be happy to look foolish if it meant everyone remained safe. And, if an attack did come, at least this would give them all a chance.
Now, sitting in a truck in the darkness of the snowy night, watching Leo, her brother-in-law help Paul set up the winch, she was intensely glad him and his family agreed to come. Not because she thought it meant more people were safe but because, selfishly, it meant her family was not alone in this frozen, fear-filled blackness.
Paul knocked on the hood of the truck, signaling they were ready to pull Leo’s truck from the ditch. Morreign said, “Ok, Jacob, go ahead and flip the switch.”
CHAPTER TWO
FEBRUARY 5, 2036
DAY TWO
Forcing himself to ignore the constant roar of the fires punctuated by explosions coming from everywhere about him, Hale spent the night organizing. Most of the innumerable possibilities of what could occur next were bad, but they were all unknown events for which he could not plan. He decided his best hope was the apartment building being ignored by the attack because this new area of Thule did not get included in the attacker’s plan, allowing him to shelter there and ride out the worse. Dispiriting to think his best hope was to be left alone in a stranger’s freezing apartment with no electricity and no heat but he remained focused on doing what he could in that harsh reality.
The cold immediately pressed itself forward as a dire issue. His absent hostess was much smaller than him, but he found a couple pairs of stretchy workout pants he could put on under his loose jeans. An oversized sweatshirt was only slightly tight across his shoulders. Adding his heavy parka, ski cap and his work boots over this outfit meant he was not overly comfortable but not freezing.
He found extra blankets, sheets, and pillows in a closet. The only room in the apartment without a wall bordering the frigid outside was the bathroom, so Hale set up a nest of bedding in the narrow space between the tub and the vanity. He figured the makeshift campsite would suffice to fend off hypothermia while he tried to sleep.
There was not a lot of food in the apartment beyond popcorn, wine, and yogurt but enough to sustain him for a week or so as long as he ate sparingly. If he made it that long without being killed by a bomb, he would consider himself lucky and happily worry about finding more to eat at that point.
Thankfully, candles were plentiful even if most were heavily scented. Besides the smelly candles, he found a flashlight with working batteries. It would not be bright, but at least he would not be in complete darkness once the massive fires burning outside the window went out.
Digging through the recycling bin, he managed to collect half-dozen plastic bottles which he filled with water and packed in a duffle bag. He added granola bars, a tin of olives, almond butter and three cans of lima beans. He then put in extra clothes that would fit in a pinch. No toolbox in the apartment but he found a hammer, duct tape, and scissors which he added to his collection along with a number of kitchen utensils he figured might be useful. Sitting the bag by the door, he figured, although it did not contain all he hoped, the makeshift emergency kit could still be helpful if he needed to flee in a hurry.
Unsure what was going on outside, Hale decided he needed to address rudimentary protection. Other than kitchen knives and a brand new, cast iron frying pan, Hale could find nothing to serve as a weapon if anyone were to come to the apartment with malice in mind. However, a few swipes of a knife against a broom handle turned it into a sad looking spear. It would do nothing against anyone with a gun, or even someone with a bigger stick, but, even knowing it was foolish, the pathetic armament made Hale slightly more confident about his position.
All preparations he could think of done, he turned his attention back to the window as the fat cat circled his ankles, purring for attention. Grey sunlight began to penetrate the thick smoke, but sunrise did nothing to improve the view. Total devastation surrounded him. Difficult to see everything with all the smoke but he could tell almost all the buildings once comprising Thule were now burning rubble, the bridge to the north completely gone and the ruin likely spread well beyond what he could see as the distant rumbles of explosions could still be heard. No humans could be seen. He thought he glimpsed a few far-off lights moving across the dawn sky but seeing who was doing this was impossible, the destruction fell invisibly from above.
Letting out a sigh, he decided, the who behind the disaster did not matter to him. He figured he was probably not alone in this realization, thinking people under burning rubble did not care about nationalism o
r pride or glory but only wanted the bombs to stop. As he watched, a trio of missiles screamed in from the clouds, disappearing for an instant into the smoke to the north before a massive shower of fire and debris shot up.
He picked up the annoying cat and turned away from the window, trying to decide what his next task needed to be.
. . .
Morreign awoke from her uneasy sleep when Paul gently rubbed her shoulder. Using the quiet tone parents speak in when they don’t want to wake children, he said, “We’re almost there.”
Blinking sleep from her eyes, she saw grey dawn. She said, “Sorry, I fell asleep.”
With a tired smile, he said, “I heard the snores. We left the road about ten miles back. A cut line took us right to the river, and we were able to drive pretty fast on the ice.”
Looking about she realized the truck was rolling along the frozen river. Up ahead, under a crooked tree extending from the bank, she could see the outline of something protruding from the shore, popping up through the ice. She asked, “Is that the dock?”
“Hard to say for sure but I think so.”
They were nearing their new home. Dense masses of pine trees lined the riverbanks as far as Morreign could see in every direction. With a sigh, she said, “We’ll definitely be isolated.”
“Yeah, but, given all that’s going on, isolation sounds pretty good to me.”
She put her hand on Paul’s leg as she said, “It’s only going be us from now on. No one else can help.”
He patted her hand. “I know, I know. We’ll be ok though, we’re smart, you’ve planned this out, and we’ll all work together.”