Burn District 1 (23 page)

“Victor, keep your voice down, please. That’s an awful thing to say.” Katherine gave her husband the benefit of the doubt; he was probably feeling guilty staying in the dark about what was happening in Washington, or for ignoring signs. Victor was
great
at ignoring signs.

“You know what I mean,” he said, frustrated. “I wonder what’s going on in Washington right now. Are they killing each other? Is there a bounty out on my head? I hate the unknown.”

Katherine looked carefully at Victor; certain they’d had a breakthrough in their marriage. He never admitted to a fault. Could this be the key to unlock the door to their ongoing issues?

“So, you hate the unknown. Well this is news to me. I thought you always had to be in command because you were a control freak.”

“Actually, I don’t like being in charge all the time,” Victor admitted. “But I can tell you one thing for sure, as soon as I see a sign of life over at the
commander’s palace
, I’m borrowing a car.”

“I’ll see what our kids want to do,” Katherine said, sliding the door open. Someone coughed a warning and the group suddenly got busy stirring coffee or nonsensical mutterings.

Lexie was in the berth lying on her stomach, looking out over the newcomers. “Mother if you thought your conversation was private, it was not.”

“Well, I’m truly sorry,” Katherine responded haughtily. “This hasn’t been easy for us. Try to remember we thought Miranda was dead until a few days ago, and your father is especially stressed out.”

“Yeah, Lex. Get over it,” Danny said.

“What’s everyone going to do?” Katherine asked, ignoring her children.

“Everyone but Lexie and Grace are leaving,” Miranda said. “I want to stay and rest a while but the men want to push on and I need to stay with my team.”

“I guess Daddy is going with you,” Katherine said. “Any signs of life out there?” Lifting the shade, she looked out the window to the barren landscape, dotted with rusty cars and storage containers. Maybe she’d rethink her choice.

“Not yet,” Grace said, putting her hand on Katherine’s shoulder. “Sit down and have some coffee. We have all day to plan what to do next.”

While Victor Garrison was lamenting over the unknown, Winston Clarke’s bodyguard was coming to on his boss’s palatial kitchen floor. Reaching up to feel his scalp, his fingers probed something cold and wet. “Oh, my head,” he moaned, looking down at his blood covered hand. From experience, he knew scalp wounds bled profusely. Getting up on all fours, he crawled to a row of barstools and slowly hiked himself into a standing position. It wasn’t easy, his head banging. The kitchen was dark; he had no idea how long he’d laid there. They’d arrived around four; now
the sun was down. He groped along the wall for a switch and found a bank of them, flipping one by one, the light went on over the sink, then over the island, then lit up the hallway. “Clarke!” Listening, there was no response. He tried to remember what had happened that afternoon.

Turning to go back to the rear entrance, he passed the maid’s quarters. The door was still closed. He knocked again, and again there was no answer. He felt for his holster and not surprisingly, it was empty. So whoever hit him, also got his gun. That was okay; he had a safe full of them in his apartment. He tried the maid’s door and this time it opened, but her room was empty. Forgetting his aching head, he sprinted to the front of the apartment. The elevator door was closed. He debated taking it, the wide, winding staircase stretching out before him, but he grabbed the railing and ran up. At the top of the stairs, a sliver of light coming from the partially open door to the left illuminated the dark hallway. Grabbing a heavy figurine off a wall shelf, he tiptoed to the doorway. Pushing it slowly open, he saw Mary Clarke lying across her bed, and Winston on the floor, a pool of blood encircling his head. Idiotically, Ralph had the sudden concern that if the attacker hit him with the same implement he’d hit Clarke’s head, their DNA would be mingled. He went to Clarke, praying the man was still alive, but he was ice cold. The wife, also dead.

Fear like ice flowed across his skin; he needed to get out of that apartment as soon as he could so he wasn’t blamed for the deaths. Now that he was ostensibly unemployed, he decided to make a quick visit to Clarke’s office safe. He knew the combination; it was one of his jobs to keep it stocked with ammunition and cash. Fleeing the bedroom and the scene of murder, he ran down the back staircase leading to floor of the apartment in which the office was located. Opening the safe without difficulty, he took two pouches; one that contained paper money, and the other filled with Krugerrands, mistakenly leaving behind cases of ammunition; the currency of the future. Creeping along the wall, he peeked out the door and saw there was nothing out of the ordinary, except a large tank truck and employees from a septic system company, pumping out the tanks at the apartment building next to Clarke’s. The sewage smell must have been due to a problem over there. The confusion of the septic problem aided Ralph’s departure.

Car still in the driveway, he pulled out his keys, slowly opened the door, and left the complex. Pulling away with his lights still off, he hoped no one saw the car. Quickly formulating a plan, he’d go back to his apartment, grab his computer and files and head west like everyone else was doing. It was Friday and the only one who might miss Clarke was David Parks. Ralph thought about sending a fake message from Clarke, releasing Park for the weekend, but he was afraid it would come back to haunt him, clueless about how little any of what he was worried about would matter very soon.

John Eastman was seething. His moron of a son-in-law refused to allow the twins to go back to Glennside with their grandparents. Amanda was terrified; she’d never crossed her parents, not once. Her father was powerful, a strict but loving man and her mother backed him up in every decision he made regarding their daughter.

But Amanda had never crossed her husband, either. And he didn’t want her to confront her father; Norm wanted the girls to stay home and for her parents to leave.

“I’ll handle this,” he said. Amanda grabbed his arm.

“Please don’t hurt my parents, Norm! I am begging you. Just lie to them, please.”

“That’s what I intend on doing,” he said. “Trust me.”

The story Norm told his in-laws seemed honest enough; he was going out of town on Saturday, his cousin was getting married and he wanted to spend those last minutes with his kids.

“Where’s this wedding?” Eastman asked, suspiciously. “Air travel is halted until this virus situation is brought under control.”

“Right,” Norm said. “I’m driving to…Frederick,” he answered, remembering a distant cousin lived there.

“What cousin?”

“My cousin, Bob,” Norm answered.

“Amanda, you should have warned us that we wouldn’t be taking the girls. We didn’t need to drive all the way out here on a Friday evening.”

“Stay for dinner, Dad. It won’t be a wasted trip then,” she pleaded. But Eastman was angry and didn’t feel like making small talk with Norm.

“No, I don’t think we will. Come on Mary, let’s go before traffic gets too bad.” She leaned in to kiss her daughter goodbye. Just as they walked to the door, an official looking Lincoln pulled up to the house.

“Dad, this looks like someone for you,” Amanda said, stepping aside. Eastman looked out the door as dress uniformed Air Force police and Secret Security officers got out of the car. The uniformed man opened the rear door for Albert Johnson, acting president.

“Oh, my god,” Norm whispered to Amanda. “The neighbors are probably having a fit.”

“Ha! Well, looks like I wouldn’t be able to take the girls after all.” Eastman turned to shake Norm’s hand. “No hard feelings.”

“None whatsoever,” Norm said. But Eastman frowned, giving him a
you moron
look which entailed eyebrows down, nostrils flared and pursed lips.

“I meant
me
,” Eastman said sarcastically, turning to offer his arm to Mary. “
I’m
the one with no hard feelings. Come on dear, our president waits.” They kissed their granddaughters goodbye and left the house to greet the acting president.

A light rain had started to fall, but the temperatures were dropping and occasionally a snowflake glistened in the moonlight.

“Albert, I’m flattered you’d come out to the suburbs on a crappy night like this,” Eastman said, sitting back in a comfortable leather chair in the president’s private home after lighting a cigar.

“It was on my way home anyway,” Johnson said dismissively. “And I didn’t want to say anything over the telephone. Clarke isn’t answering his phone and there doesn’t appear to be anyone at his apartment.” Eastman sat up quickly, putting the cigar in an ashtray.

“Break down his door for god’s sake. Why the sudden reticence? What about his PR man?”

“I’m afraid he was taken out this afternoon. The whole family was on the run. Now with Clarke missing, we are at a real disadvantage.” Eastman pulled himself up out of the chair and started to pace.

“Why aren’t you staying in the White House, if I may ask? Isn’t it a little dangerous to be out here with no protection?”

“Just the opposite. The White House is a giant target tonight. I’ve been advised it may be time to retreat to the Pine Hill Resort. If we go, you and your wife should accompany us.”

“Is that the famous bomb shelter?” Eastman asked, frowning. “It gives me the creeps. I don’t want to be stuck in a cave. My place is in the trenches.”

“With Clarke possibly out of the picture, I need you one hundred percent, John. The situation is dire. I have an irate European Unification. The Russian Coalition is on my back. This evening, the Chinese Alliance is demanding answers. We’re faced with a crisis here and I need my team with me, not hiding out, refusing my calls.” There was a knock on Johnson’s door and a secret police detail stuck his head in the door.

“With all due respect sir, you need to act now.”

“Give me a minute,” he said, putting a finger up in the air. Eastman shook his head in disgust.

“You’re the President of the United States, Albert. Stop whining and give some orders. I have too much to do to hide out with you, so forget it. You’d better do as your people are telling you and pull it together. We’re in charge now. If Clarke needs to hide, let him hide.” Johnson looked over at Eastman, at his scruffy appearance, the wild look in his eyes and decided that maybe he was better off without him.

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to give orders,” Eastman said triumphantly.

“Feel free to give them from the White House,” Johnson said, aware of the risk in to which he was putting Eastman.

“I would be honored!” Eastman replied, pulling his phone out of his pocket to call for a car. He needed to talk to
his
team; a group of like-minded former military men. They believed they were saving the country from domestic terrorism. But when he tried to make the first call, realized there was no cell-service.

Opening the door to the hallway, he called the Secret Service agent over. “Is your phone working?”

“No. The computer center for the D.C. area was damaged tonight. The towers in the vicinity were vandalized as well.” Eastman looked up from his phone.

“That’s impossible,” he said, heat flooding his body.

“Sir, check it out for yourself; the cloud isn’t accessible but we have the internet,” not adding
for the time being
. Johnson came to the door.

“You can use our landline,” he said. “It’s working.” But Eastman didn’t know the numbers by heart and was unable to access his contacts from the phone.

“Get me a car, please. I need to get to Washington tonight.” He’d go door to door if he could remember where everyone lived.

“This is turning into a real nightmare,” Johnson said, but immediately realized his error when he saw the look on Eastman’s face. “No reflection on the fine job you’re doing! No sir, that is
not
what I meant.” Icy fear gripped his body.

“Run to your bunker and hide with Clarke,” Eastman said. “I’ve got orders to give.”

“Go to the White House, John. I’ll give the orders for you to settle in there. Do everything you can to help General Eastman,” Johnson directed the Secret Service agent. “He’s my second in command.” The agent averted his eyes, wondering what was going on. Then he thought of his wife and children, vulnerable and alone. He might be joining his comrades who were quietly leaving their posts to return home, pack up the family minivan and run from Washington, D.C.

Chapter 23

New Beginning

“The lights are on but nobody’s home,” Victor Garrison lamented. A police officer had given him computer access at the temporary police post in Yuma after he begged the man, when flashing government identification didn’t impress him. Able to log on to his email accounts and read the available news while the others, including a distraught Katherine, were in the loaned van, waiting for him.

Now, as he got back into the van, near tears, everyone’s eyes were on him wanting the story.

“But you were able to log on?” Alex asked.

“Internet access is sporadic. I got my email, and let me tell you, we are definitely better off away from Washington. This mess might have started in New Jersey, but the hub is D.C. Albert Johnson is acting president but he’s in an underground bunker somewhere.”

“The speaker of the house? No friggin way,” Ed yelled.

“Ugh, I’m glad we’re not still there,” Miranda said. “Did they say anything about Winston Clarke?”

“I didn’t see his name mentioned. But General Eastman is making a lot of noise. And so are the Russians. I don’t want to upset you, but the country is a sitting duck for lack of a better cliché, for every power who hates the U.S.”

“Probably wide open for a terrorist attack,” Alex said.

“Let’s try to find a place to stay,” Ed said, pulling out of the parking lot. “We need to be proactive.”

They’d encountered roadblock after roadblock, not sure why they were given the go ahead to move along. “We must not look like trouble makers,” Alex offered.