The Big Bang (34 page)

“We can spare five minutes for some practice,” the old cowboy said.

That five minutes probably saved their lives.

As Hanner drove, Baldwin practiced loading the pistol and dry firing the pistol. His right wrist ached slightly from the earlier shooting. He had an empty magazine that he fed into the receiver.

“Do it without looking,” Hanner suggested. “Things get ugly, you can't be looking at your hands or you'll get your head blown off.”

“Just what was it you did in the military?” Alec asked, looking forward through the windshield.

“Can you keep a secret?”

His hands fumbled with the mag and the pistol, then oriented. “Sure.”

“So can I.” The old cowboy laughed.

The magazine slipped into the pistol. “Have it your way.” It didn't take him long to find the rhythm of loading the weapon and jerking back the slide. One of the skills any relatively decent actor has to possess is the ability to repeat a physical action without appearing to think about it, especially for film. You had to hit your marks over and over while delivering your lines without allowing the physical behavior to interfere with the emotion of the dialogue. Knowing this made sex with actresses a little disconcerting, if he allowed himself to think about it. Was it real or was it a well-rehearsed performance?

He sighed, letting the unloaded pistol drop onto his lap. “What's the plan?”

Hanner answered him in a flat voice, a voice that carried a new weight of authority and focus. “Gas will get harder to find as we get closer to the big cities. We need to tank up well outside them, at rural sites, if possible. That ought to carry us around the cities. We don't want to go into any of the larger towns, if we can help it.”

“Until we get to L.A.”

The other man nodded. “Yeah. That might get a touch sporty, too.”

Baldwin mulled on that. He was realist enough to know that many parts of Los Angeles were rough, dangerous places; Beirut on the West Coast. Absent law and order and certainty, the criminality of some of the inhabitants would surely spread. He realized he might actually have to use the gun. “Is there a holster back there for me, too?”

“Uh-huh, next to the water filtration.” Hanner began to talk about the choice of holster, how he'd settled on a standard hip mount, but that everyone developed their own preference and in time Alec would find the rig that was most comfortable for him, whether it was under the arm, cross-draw, or some combination of the two.

As the old man spoke, Baldwin couldn't help but think,
This is nuts
. It had only been, what, four hours since he was standing in the tiny airport terminal? In four hours, everything had changed. It wasn't like someone had…died. He didn't like to even think
that
word; a superstitious, primal part of him feared even letting the word enter his consciousness. But something fundamental in him had changed. Maybe his illusions had been stripped away, the illusion that he could manage to control anything or keep anyone safe. Here he was, speeding down a backcountry highway in a Jeep with a pistol in his lap while some old spec ops guy expounded on the virtues of different kinds of holsters. He didn't know if his daughter was alive. He didn't know if his home in Los Angeles still stood. Once, he thought he knew about life and the world. Now, he realized, what he might have known before had no bearing on the new world in which he found himself.

He was jolted out of this melancholy reflection when he felt the Jeep slowing. “What's up?”

Hanner checked both the mirrors, and flipped up the turn signal lever. “Semi behind us, flashing his lights.” The brief sound of gravel under the wheels and the Jeep coasted to a stop at the side of the highway, engine still running. Alec could sense the presence of the large semi shuddering to a halt behind them.

“Load your pistol,” Hanner told him, not stirring from the driver's seat, his eyes focused on the mirrors, one hand on the steering wheel, one hand on the stick shift.

Baldwin felt cold suddenly as he reached for the full mag at his feet and popped it into the receiver. “Trouble?” There was a strange quaver in his voice.

“Just want to be ready.” Hanner's eyes were moving now, tracking something in the mirror. “You watch to be sure nobody comes up on us from the right side of that truck.”

Holy Christ
, Baldwin thought,
this old bird is serious and he is not screwing around
. Alec shifted in his seat to watch the semi, but the angle was awkward. He could actually see better using the mirror. He heard Hanner's window crank begin to turn. Sitting at an angle like this, his back to the driver, Alec felt deeply vulnerable. Sweat began to trickle from under his hair and down his neck.

The hot wind from outside blew into the car. “Howdy,” Hanner said.

“Howdy!” an excited voice said from outside. “Man, have you heard what's going on?”

“Just what's on the radio,” Hanner said. Alec forced himself to keep watching the mirror. He'd have to trust the old ranch hand to watch his back if anything went down. Although he didn't know it, he was learning his first lesson in warfare. Do your job, and trust that your buddy is doing his.

“I'm hearing CB chatter all up and down the coast. Man, the stuff they're saying is wild. Fires and explosions, A-rabs in the street.”

In the distorted image reflected in the passenger mirror, Baldwin saw nothing from the truck, no movement. He risked turning his head toward Hanner for a moment. “Can you reach anybody in L.A.?” He got a quick impression of the semi-driver; a sense of a short, roundish person with spectacles, then turned back to watch the mirror.

“I could try. CB doesn't have that kind of range, but you never know, it could skip, or someone might have passed something on. Lemme see who answers.” Again, Baldwin had a sense of something happening, a sense of the semi-driver walking back toward the cab of his truck. It was interesting, this ability to pick up information without getting it all from his eyes and conscious awareness. It would come in handy, in the future.

“See anything?” Hanner asked quietly.

“Nothing from this side. No other shapes inside the cab.”

“I'm getting out. You hear any shots, you climb your ass into the driver's seat and haul outta here.”

“The hell I will.”

“The hell you
will
. You need to get to your little girl.”

“I won't drive off and leave you on the side of the goddamned road, John.”

It was one of the odder conversations he'd ever had. Both of them, their eyes on their respective mirrors, pistols ready, three-quarters turned away from each other, arguing.

There was a thoughtful silence from the old cowboy. “I'm going to get out first. Then you get out on your side. Keep the passenger door between you and the semi. It's flimsy as hell and won't stop a bullet, but it might deflect one.”

As it turned out, none of Hanner's precautions were needed, although they were valuable training for later. The only thing in the semi was the driver, Mike, and about forty live cattle in the trailer.

“Nope,” the roundish man said, climbing out of his air-conditioned cab. “Can't get through. Just wild stories.” He grinned at them. “Say, fellas, I can't sit here in the sun. Those poor beeves in the back will cook for sure.”

Something twisted in Baldwin's chest. He wasn't aware of how much frantic hope he'd put on the idea of talking to someone, anyone, in Los Angeles. Hanner was saying, “Thanks for checking for us.”

“Where you fellas goin', anyway?” Mike asked them.

“Los Angeles,” Baldwin answered, his throat tight.

“I'm headin' to Sacramento, myself. You boys want to caravan down there together? Might be, you know, safer for all of us.”

Hanner's eyes cut over to Alec. He shrugged. “Sure.”

No one knew it at the time, but they'd just recruited the second member of what would become Baldwin's Brigade. Mike Rydall, from Tampa, Florida. Ever cheerful, faithful, hardworking, he'd die in a successful sabotage bombing of an Emir's cargo ship.

He'd die smiling.

Hanner passed Highway 85, and stayed on 159. The cattle truck lumbered after them without slowing. Mike seemed to have taken on Hanner as his guide, and he stayed a close, but safe, distance behind them.

They took a circular route around Portland, staying well clear of the main arteries into the city. “Too much chance of getting caught in traffic if there's a panic. You always want to make sure you've got a way out. Have your exit strategy in place before you go in. And if you ever have to park, park facing out.”

Baldwin's impatience nearly got the best of him. He bit back the angry, frustrated words. Hanner sensed them and said quietly, “It will be faster this way. Longer, but faster.”

Baldwin nodded and looked out the window. It had been years since he'd spent this much time in a car. Most of his travel time had been spent on commercial flights the last twenty years. This seemed so screamingly slow. He looked up at the skies. “No planes,” he said, half to himself.

Hanner slowed, craned his neck to peer at the sky. Iridescent blue, cottony wisps, but no black dots of airliners, crawling like bugs across a huge sheet of glass, no contrails, either. “Grounded,” the old man said, then checked the gas gauge. “We'd better fill up soon.”

They found a small truck stop about an hour outside of Portland on a rolling stretch of highway, nearly thirty miles from the nearest small towns. There was a line of cement mixers, gravel haulers, and a few RVs. Hanner and Mike found their own lines and waited for their turn at the pump.

People weren't talking. They huddled close to their vehicles, paid their money, and hurried away. Baldwin appreciated their feelings. He didn't have the inclination to chat or waste any time. He wanted to get his fuel and get on the road as soon as possible. Not knowing about Addie was agonizing, like a red-hot piece of pig iron sitting on his chest, slowly burning its way through to his spine. But he'd have to wait. Mike apologetically approached to tap on the driver's side window.

“I have to water the cows,” he said. “Can't let 'em get all overheated and whatnot. Wouldn't be right.”

Surprising Baldwin, Hanner seemed impatient as well. “Goddamn, they're gonna be slaughtered soon, aren't they?”

Mike looked even more embarrassed. “Well, yeah, sure. But…it's a long, hard drive. No reason to make 'em, you know, suffer. You fellas can go on ahead.”

Baldwin felt a sudden stab of real affection for the simple son of a bitch. The chubby trucker was concerned about the welfare of those poor steers. He wasn't able to close his mind to the fact they were living, breathing beings that could know pain, maybe even fear. “No, it's okay, John. We can wait.”

Hanner nodded and climbed out of the driver's seat. “I'll be right back.” He strode toward the small convenience store in the center of the fuel pumps. To have something to do, Alec walked over to the semi and helped Mike hose down the cows. The semi driver had an amazingly gentle hand with the hose, careful not to hit any of the cattle in the face with the stream of water, talking soothingly to the animals as he sprayed them down. In the haze of confusion and fear and ignorance that had taken over the morning, Mike's kindness was like the clear peal of a bell, almost religiously beautiful in its simplicity. In that moment of clarity, Baldwin felt peace for the first time that morning. There was still human decency in the world. Seeing that gave him hope.

By the time he returned to the Jeep, Hanner was already in the driver's seat, a sheaf of printed maps next to him and a CB radio sitting on the floorboards, plugged into the cigarette lighter. “Took all the cash I had,” the cowboy grunted, gesturing at the CB. And that's every map I could find for up and down the coast,” he said.

After establishing comms with Mike on channel 12, they started up again. By then, the lines at the gas station had lengthened and cars were waiting on the side of the road. As the Jeep pulled into the road, Baldwin couldn't avoid seeing the faces of the drivers and passengers in the waiting vehicles. For the adults and older teens, their faces were drawn and stiff. The kids, bless them, the kids seemed mostly confused by the sudden change in routine.

Hanner glanced at his watch, then handed the maps to Baldwin. “Find us at least two routes around each big city, starting and ending about seventy-five miles on either side.” The old cowboy fished a pink highlighter out of his pocket, laid it on top of the maps.

Baldwin's mouth twitched, looking down at the highlighter.

“What?” Hanner said, accelerating the Jeep.

Alec picked up the highlighter. “I didn't say anything.”

“Fuchsia is easier to see at night.”

Unfolding the map, Baldwin repeated, “I didn't say anything.”

“All right then,” Hanner said and left Alec to his work.

It was a little like some of the games that he'd played with Addie, connect the dots or find a way through the mazes. He became engrossed in the challenge, and only half noticed the flash that passed over them about hour later. He was lifting his head to inquire, when Hanner downshifted and hit the brakes. The Jeep slewed hard to the side of the highway, but the old cowboy handled it like he was in NASCAR. “Get out!” he barked as the Jeep skidded to a halt. Pointing to the low place on the side of the road, he barked, “Head for that ditch.”

Alec fumbled for his seatbelt. “Bring your pistol!” Hanner told him. It would be the last time he'd have to remind Baldwin about carrying a weapon. Alec swept the maps off his lap, scooped up the loaded pistol, and stumbled out into the afternoon sun. He reached for Queenie, dragged her out by the collar. Hanner, older and shorter than him, was still fleet of foot and had raced back to the slowing semi behind them. The old cowboy leapt up on the running board on the passenger side and was shouting in the window. He sprang clear and ran for the ditch to crouch beside Alec and the confused German Shepherd.