Take the Long Way Home (9 page)

“Maybe the pilot disappeared,” I said. “And the co-pilot.”

“Don’t they got those auto-pilot things?” Frank wheezed.

My eyes began to sting. I breathed through my mouth to avoid the smell.

“Sure.” I wiped the water from my eyes. “But you’ve still got to have somebody to land the plane.”

We cut through the woods, avoiding the sections that were on fire, and came out onto Old York Road, which ran alongside the interstate from Harrisburg to Baltimore. The road was quiet and deserted, free of abandoned or wrecked cars. It was darker here. No houses, businesses or even a traffic light. An owl called out from a tree limb, and a rabbit darted through the undergrowth along the bank. Somewhere in the night, a dog howled. The surrounding forest blocked out the moonlight and the glow from the fires on the nearby highway, but we could still smell the smoke and I wondered if the stench had gotten into our clothes. Then I noticed that the wind had changed direction and was blowing it through the trees. We started down the road and rounded a curve.

“Shit,” Frank said. “We should have walked this way to begin with, instead of sticking to 83. There’s no traffic at all.”

Charlie stopped and pointed. “Except for him.”

A county police car sat on the side of the road, the driver’s door hanging open. A young, baby-faced cop sat behind the wheel, his head in his hands. He looked up as we approached. His eyes were bloodshot and his face pale.

“Let me guess,” he sighed. “You called 911 and nobody answered.”

His voice sounded tired. Hollow. Beaten.

“No,” Charlie answered. “We were just—”

“Because nobody’s at the call center,” the cop interrupted. “Some of them went missing, and the others went home soon after. We were routing calls through Baltimore, but then that call center went off-line, too. We don’t even have a dispatcher answering the switchboard tonight. Cheryl and Maggie were supposed to start their shift at six and neither one of them came in. I can’t get in touch with anybody.”

We nodded in commiseration, unsure of how to respond.

Something squelched under my foot. I looked down and saw that I was standing in a puddle of vomit. Now I knew why the cop had his door open. I stepped back and wiped my heel on the grass.

Charlie cleared his throat. “You don’t have a partner?”

The cop’s voice was monotone. “No, I’m all alone out here. All alone . . .”

“Seems to be a lot of that tonight,” Frank said.

The cop ignored the comment. “You guys come from the interstate?”

“From the plane crash?” Frank pointed back the way we’d come.

The cop nodded.

“Yeah, we cut around it,” Frank said. “The fire’s spreading, though. Any idea when the firemen will get there?”

“I was the only person to respond,” the cop said. “Nobody else showed up. No fire departments. No EMTs or NTSB investigators. Or the TSA. No Feds. Just me. Where the hell is everybody? Even with dispatch out, you’d think they’d be patrolling.”

“That’s what we’ve been wondering,” I told him. “It’s like this everywhere.”

“Any of you guys got a cell phone? I thought about calling some of the other officers, but I don’t have a phone and the pay phones aren’t working. Nobody is answering their radios, except for Simmons and all he did was scream.”

I shook my head. “Cell phones are out, too. I’ve been trying to call my wife.”

A tear ran down his cheek, and his face crumbled. “There were parts of people hanging in the trees…intestines and stuff. I stepped on somebody’s face. It was lying in the mud. Just their face—I don’t know where the rest of them was.”

He reached in the glove compartment, pulled out a tissue, and blew his nose.

“There was a little girl, lying on the ground. I—I thought she was alive. I grabbed her arm, to pull her up, and it…came off.”

“It’ll be okay,” Charlie said.

“Her fucking arm came off in my fucking hands!”

Charlie stepped closer. “Listen, I know you’ve had a hell of an evening. We all have. But there’s nothing you can do for them now.”

The cop frowned. “Yeah, I know. I drove over here to escape the smell. It’s in my clothes and my hair. Can’t get away from it. I’ve just been sitting here, waiting. Not sure what to do next.”

Charlie held his hands out, pleading. “Could you give us a ride? We’re trying to get home. Just over the border.”

“Yeah,” Frank said. “We’ve been walking all night. A ride would be great. We’d appreciate the hell out of it.”

The distraught man buried his face in his hands again and shook his head.

“I can’t. Not until somebody else shows up. I’m all that’s left. You see?”

Frank tried again. “But nobody is going to show up. They’d have been here by now. It’s like this everywhere. You said so yourself. Nobody is answering the emergency calls.”

“All the more reason then.” The officer blew his nose again, and then sat up straight. “It’s my job. To serve and protect.”

“We’ll pay you,” I offered in desperation, pulling out my wallet. I opened it, and a picture of Terri smiled at me from behind the plastic sleeve. “I’ve got sixty bucks.”

“Sorry, guys,” the cop said. “Really, I am. I’d like to help you. But I can’t. I’ve got to stay.”

Charlie and Frank both checked their pockets. I stared at Terri’s picture.

“I’ve got forty,” Charlie said. “Frank?”

“Thirty-seven. How about it, Officer? That’s almost one hundred and forty bucks.”

“And,” I added, “I can write you a check for more when we get there.”

He paused, and I thought that maybe we’d convinced him. But then he sighed.

“I’m sorry. I’m just going to stay here.”

“But why?” I asked, frustrated.

“I’m afraid to go back out there. Afraid of what I’ll see. Good luck. Hope you make it home safe.”

We didn’t argue with him. Instead, we started off again. I cast one glance over my shoulder and he was still sitting there, slumped behind the wheel and crying. His sobs echoed through the night.

It was a lonely sound.

I knew how he felt. I’d missed my wife during the entire journey, but at that moment, it became a solid, tangible thing, swelling deep inside my gut and threatening to explode. My eyes started watering again, and this time it had nothing to do with smoke or fumes. My lips felt numb.

“Thanks, guys,” I said, my voice cracking.

Charlie tilted his head from side to side, cracking his neck. “For what?”

“For coming along with me. For not letting me do this alone.”

“Safety in numbers, remember?” Charlie winked. “And besides, this is just an extension of our carpool.”

“And I needed the exercise.” Frank grinned. “Doctor’s always on me to do more walking. Well, he got his fucking wish.”

His laughter was infectious. We walked together, side by side down the center of the road, and when the darkness swallowed us up, we didn’t notice.

8

We reached Hereford, which would have been Exit 27 had we stayed on the interstate. It was a small town, no industries or shopping centers, and only a single bar. The streets were empty, no traffic or pedestrians. Televisions flickered in the windows of some of the homes, but many more were dark and lifeless. Everything looked yellow in the sodium lights that lined the sidewalk.

“I don’t know about you guys,” Frank wheezed, “but I need something to drink.”

His face was as pale as cottage cheese, and his clothing was completely drenched with sweat.

“You okay?” I asked, concerned. “You don’t look so good.”

“Don’t feel so good, either, to be honest. I’m too old for this shit.”

“We can stop,” I offered. “Take a break?”

Frank shook his head stubbornly. “I’ll be okay soon as we find something to drink. I’ve never gone this long without a beer. Must be withdrawal.”

He smiled, trying to laugh it off, but I could see that he was serious.

“Yeah,” Charlie agreed. “I’m thirsty, too. Don’t know about a beer, but I’d kill for a bottle of water right now.”

The Exxon gas station and convenience store was still open, so we stopped there. A bell rang as we walked through the door and the lights were on inside, but there was nobody behind the counter.

Charlie cupped his hands around his mouth. “Hello?”

The fluorescent lights hummed softly in the silence. In the back room, the air compressor kicked on, making sure the soda and milk aisle stayed refrigerated.

“Hey,” Charlie yelled again. “Anybody home? You got customers!”

“It’s deserted,” Frank said. “Maybe the clerk vanished with everyone else.”

Something didn’t feel right to me, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. The compressor suddenly shut itself off. My ears rang in the silence. I sniffed the air and caught a faint trace of cordite.

“Doesn’t look like they have a public restroom,” Frank observed.

“Maybe they’re in the back, using the crapper.”

“Screw it,” Charlie said. “Let’s just take what we need and go.”

I started to protest, but he cut me off.

“We’ll leave our money on the counter, Steve. That way we’re not stealing.”

Frank frowned. “It smells like gun smoke in here, don’t it?”

I nodded. “I smelled it, too, but I thought it was just me.”

Charlie headed down one of the aisles and grabbed a bag of potato chips.

“Hello,” I called out. “Anybody here?”

A low moan answered me. We glanced at each other, surprised.

“Behind the counter,” Frank whispered.

We ran to the register, and looked over the counter. A Filipino man lay on the floor. He’d been shot in the chest. Blood leaked from the corner of his mouth and pooled beneath him on the tiles. His eyes were open, staring at us in alarm. He coughed, spraying the lottery ticket machine with tiny flecks of red.

“Charlie,” I shouted, leaping over the counter. “Call 911. Frank—check in the back room. See if you can find blankets or something.”

The manager (he had a name tag that said his name was ‘LOPEZ’ and he was the ‘MANAGER’) looked up at me and tried to speak. More blood spilled from his lips. He was obviously in shock. His skin had the color of paste and was cold and clammy to the touch.

“Shhh,” I quieted him. “Don’t move. We’re gonna help you.”

Lopez the manager raised his head and whispered into my ear, spattering my shoulder with blood.

“Maraming salamat . . . kaibigan.”

I didn’t understand, but I smiled, trying to look confident and reassuring and feeling anything but.

“Fuck!” Charlie yelled. “Steve, 911 isn’t answering!”

“Keep trying. This guy’s lost a lot of blood. We’ve got to get him help, fast!”

“I’m trying.” Charlie hung up the store phone. “It’s just like that cop said. Nobody’s there to answer the call.”

I slapped my head, frustrated. In my panic, I’d forgotten about that. Then a thought occurred to me.

“Do you think you could make it back to that cop?” I asked Charlie.

“Maraming salamat,” the man on the floor repeated.

“What’d he say?” Charlie asked me.

“I don’t know. Did you—”

Thunder crashed, cutting me off. Then it roared again. On the floor, Lopez flinched and squeezed my hand. His expression was terrified.

That’s not thunder,
I thought.
Somebody’s shooting . . .

A third gunshot rang out, echoing through the store. I felt the concussion vibrating in my chest. My ears felt like they’d suddenly closed up. Charlie and I both jumped and the manager began to whimper.

“The back room,” Charlie whispered.

My ears were still ringing and I had to strain to hear him.

“What do we do?” Charlie asked.

I jumped up. “Frank? FRANK!”

He hollered back. His voice sounded weak, and in pain. “Steve . . . Charlie . . . Run!”

Before we could do anything, the door to the back room flew open and two skinheads stormed out. Both wore tight blue jeans, black combat boots and leather jackets with patches sewn on the front that said, ‘Eastern Hammer.’ My stomach fluttered. The Eastern Hammer skinheads were notorious in the mid-Atlantic portion of the East Coast, especially in Delaware, Pennsylvania and Maryland. Their headquarters was supposedly in nearby Red Lion. They’d been accused of and—in some cases—tried and convicted of a number of hate crimes, including murder. Supposedly, they were linked to the Sons of the Constitution militia group that was based down south.

I thought back to the Thornton Mill Road overpass. It seemed like years ago, but it had only been a few hours. The child molester, swinging from a noose, his shit splattered all over the highway. Skinheads, they’d told us. Skinheads had killed him. Charlie had been skeptical. I wondered what he thought now. I risked a glance in his direction. His eyes were wide. Then I looked back at the two youths. The tall one had a forehead like a caveman, his brow protruding a half-inch from the rest of his face. The shorter of the two had a long, pink scar on his right cheek and clutched a still-smoking pistol in his hand.