Through Many Fires (Strengthen What Remains) (3 page)

Gradually
his eyes adjusted to the spotlights. He saw a Georgia State Patrol and county
sheriff car in the shadows. He glanced at the soldier’s insignia and name
badge, Lieutenant Turner. Caden looked at the road ahead. Two Stryker vehicles
with their 50 caliber guns pointed in his direction sat in the center of the
road.

Lieutenant
Turner gestured. “You can sleep in the parking lot of the Border Market.”

Caden
looked back over his shoulder.

“
And
frankly sir, you look like you need some sleep.”

He
rubbed his face and stifled a yawn. “Is there any way I can get to Atlanta
tonight?”

The
officer shook his head. “No, not tonight.” He pointed again to the parking lot.
“Get some rest. The road might be open in the morning.”

Caden
drove into the parking lot that had become a makeshift community of more than
fifty cars, vans and trucks. Several families cooked food over camp stoves.
Dozens watched a television set up outside of a camper. Large “No Gas” signs
hung from orange tape that circled the gas pumps.

If
I can buy food I should save what I have in the cooler. I’ll check in a few
minutes.
He
leaned back his head.

*
              
*
              
*

Caden
bolted awake. His eyes shot from right to left. His heart raced and cold sweat
covered his face. Two people walked casually by, silhouetted by streetlights.
Had he been dreaming? Fading images of death and fire lingered in his mind.

He
glanced at his watch. He had slept just over six hours. Stepping out of the
car, he stretched and wiped his face with his sleeve. Before dawn, and
continuing the final leg of his odyssey, there was his stomach to consider. He
stretched again, locked the car, and walked to the convenience store.

“
We’re
out of most everything,” the clerk said as Caden entered, “and I’m only taking
cash, no checks or credit.” Caden nodded and the man’s eyes quickly returned to
a television that hung from the ceiling behind the counter. Five others leaned
on the counter with him watching the news.

Caden
walked down one nearly empty aisle and up another looking for anything he might
need.

“
Now
back to the national news desk,” a television reporter stated as he finished
his story.

“
Thank
you for that report. Rebecca Thornton is here with us now. She has compiled the
latest information on the terrorist group claiming responsibility for the
attacks.”

Caden’s
eyes snapped to the television at the sound of his fiancé’s name.

“
I
told you they were terrorist attacks,” an older man said.

As
Caden walked toward the television, he studied the studio background trying to
figure out if Becky was in Atlanta or Birmingham.
Could she have gotten to
Birmingham during the night with roads so jammed? Could she have flown?
He
shook his head in frustration, unable to decide.

“
Can I
get you anything?” the clerk asked.

“
No,
just watching the news.”

“
Where
are you from,” another asked.

“
Washington
DC.”

“
Were
you there when the attack happened?”

Caden
nodded.

“
What
was it like?”

Eyes
fixed on him as he told the story of his escape from Washington.

“
What
are you doing here?”

“
I’m
on my way to Atlanta to pick up my fiancé.” Caden pointed to the television.”

“
Her?
She’s your girlfriend?”

Caden
nodded.

Around
the counter, there was general approval of his choice.

Becky’s
voice continued in the background as those beside him discussed how long it
would take Caden to get to Atlanta.

A
potbellied, middle-aged man in an angler’s vest said, “Under normal
circumstances it would be just a couple of hours.”

“
But
the traffic is nuts south of here,” someone added.

The
first man nodded. “Everyone is leaving the city.”

“
They’re
talking about making the freeway one-way out of the metro area.”

With a
slow, southern drawl an older man at the end of the counter said, “Have her
meet you here.”

Everyone
agreed.

Static
erupted from the television. Power failed. Darkness filled the air.

The
store clerk, his mouth agape, retrieved a portable radio from behind the
counter. He turned the dial until he found a Georgia station.

Caden
heard what he already feared, Atlanta had been attacked. He walked out of the
store into the chilly night and drifted across the parking lot. Some families
ran to their cars and hurried north, away from the blast.

She’s
dead.

No,
perhaps she went to Birmingham.

So
many have died.
The
ache in his heart ebbed and flowed between hope that Becky might be alive and
despair that she and so many others were already dead.

He
found himself on the edge of a group huddled around a radio. “The mushroom
cloud is still climbing over Atlanta. Firestorms are raging throughout the
metro…”

Caden
walked away. He did not want to hear strangers announce the death of the one he
loved. In a daze, he stumbled along the edge of the parking lot by the road. He
hardly noticed the squeal of tires as he aimlessly continued onward. A horn
blared. He was knocked hard to the pavement. A woman screamed. Gravel peppered
the side of his face as the car sped away.

“
Are
you okay?” someone asked as he sat up.

He
would be bruised, his face stung, but nothing seemed broken. He nodded. “Yes,
I’m okay.”

The
small crowd dispersed as if nothing had happened. Caden walked to his car, slid
down beside it, staring straight ahead. He wanted to be angry with himself for
not driving faster, for not insisting she leave, for not saving her, but he was
numb and the only emotion he seemed capable of was guilt. He sat there until
the first rays of morning light glowed on the horizon. A woman carried a small
television from a nearby RV. She placed it on a table as a man adjusted a
satellite dish on the top of the vehicle. An image snapped on the screen as a
crowd formed. Caden didn’t want to watch, but the news was like a siren song
that drew him in.

As the
sun peeked higher, he learned that the bomb detonated downtown. One report
mentioned the network headquarters building was gone and added, “It appears
Rebecca Thornton was reporting live from the studio when the blast occurred.
Here is her final report.”

The
voice, the face, were cold steel stabbing his heart. He turned and stumbled
toward a gray leafless tree standing alone in a nearby field. Caden’s eyes
fixed on what must have been a mighty oak now broken and alone in the field. He
stumbled toward the shell of the tree and collapsed against the hollow trunk.

He
remembered the first time he saw Becky. He was just days out of the Army after
a combat tour in the Middle East and had put off any serious relationships
while in the service, but then he was willing to entertain the possibility. He
had gone to the beach with friends. Becky, a fair-haired beauty with a soft
southern accent, was the friend of a friend. She had intrigued him early on,
but gave him scant attention. As he strolled on the water’s edge their paths
crossed and they talked. It was then he found out she couldn’t swim. “Come on.
I’ll teach you.” As they waded into deeper water, he placed his arm behind her.
“Lean back. I’ll show you how to float.” As she did, he placed his other arm
under her legs.

She
smiled nervously. “Don’t let go of me.”

“
Never.”
He wanted to pull her in tight against him and kiss her, but she had the air of
a southern lady, and he didn’t want to offend. He walked deeper into the surf
as he told her how to hold her back and head. Suddenly he fell below the
surface of the water. He had stepped off a ledge and was still sinking. Fish
swam by as he looked up to see Becky flail in the ocean above him. He stroked
and kicked with all his might as she sank into his arms. Holding her, he swam
to the surface. She wrapped her arms tight around his neck.

“
I’m
so sorry,” he said as they surfaced.

She
gasped for air.

“
Hold
on to my waist, I’ll take you to shore.”

As
they came up on the beach, he explained about the ledge and apologized again,
but he was sure that was the end of the relationship. Later that day she
playfully accused him of trying to drown her, but her smile told him all he
needed to know. That night they kissed.

Caden
leaned hard against the broken tree. The trunk creaked as his body heaved in
tears. Memories were all he would ever have. She was dead.

The
sun crept higher in the sky. Caden hadn’t noticed until now the cars leaving
the nearby parking lot. He knew he should check the wind direction and fallout
pattern from the Atlanta blast but he couldn’t find the will to act. Repeatedly
he cursed his slowness in coming to her, his unwillingness to order her out of
the city, his inability to save her. He told himself a thousand things he
should have done, a thousand things that might have saved her. Those
opportunities were lost to him now.

Footfalls
crunched the stubble of the field. Caden looked up enough to see well-polished
boots. Slowly his eyes crept up the camouflage uniform.

“
I am
sorry to hear about your loss.” It was Lieutenant Turner.

Caden
nodded.

Turner
sat against the tree in the shade of the trunk. For several minutes, he said
nothing.

“
My
wife and son were visiting family in Alexandria, Virginia.” He turned his head
and looked at Caden. “Do you know where that is?”

“
Yes,
I lived in Bethesda.”

Turner
sighed. “It’s been a rough couple of days.” He took a sip from his canteen.
“You want a drink?”

Caden’s
throat was parched. “Thank you.” Not knowing how much water the Lieutenant had,
he took a single mouthful.

“
I’m
busy all day with my men, but there is always some part of me that is worried
about my wife and son. Sometimes when I see a child or a woman, just for a
moment, I wonder, ‘is that my family?’” He glanced back at the checkpoint.
“When the supply truck came this morning, I hoped it brought mail.” He let out
a deep breath. “I pray they’re safe.”

“
You
have hope.”

The
Lieutenant nodded. “Yes, I do. I pray they are out there somewhere…safe.
Perhaps they’re with my parents in Richmond.” He looked slowly from side to side
as if searching for something. “Do you have anyone, a mother, father….”

The
words stunned Caden. “Yes.” In his grief he had forgotten his parents, his
brother and sister. How could he forget them?

“
They
need you now.”

Caden
knew those words were true. His mother would be heartbroken with worry about
him.

A
commotion spread across the parking lot. Turner stood as one of his men trotted
up to them.

“
Lieutenant,
the civilians say the fallout from the Atlanta blast is heading this way.”

Turner
held out his hand to Caden.

He
grasped it and with the Sergeant’s help, stood. “I’ve got satellite and
shortwave radios in my car.”

The
three walked briskly to the parking lot. Caden unlocked the door of his
vehicle, clicked on the radio and set it to search. It didn’t take long to find
a strong signal.

“…
law.
Winds are out of the south bringing the fallout over northern Georgia. FEMA is
advising residents to shelter-in-place and non-residents or refugees to
evacuate the area.”

Caden
slumped in the seat. He had held a vague, irrational hope of heading south to
see Atlanta and find Becky. He stared up at the sky. Clouds slid slowly north.
Following behind those clouds was the slow death of fallout. South was no
longer an option.

A
soldier ran up holding a sheet of paper. A frown grew on Turner’s face as he
read.

Caden
sat in the car while Turner read. The tears for Becky were invisible now, the
grief hid within. The pain he felt tore at him, but Turner had reminded him
that he had family. It made him feel immature, even a bit ridiculous, but if
tears came again; let them come with his arms around his mother.

Turner
handed the paper back to the soldier. “Tell the men to saddle up. We’re leaving
ASAP.”

“
Where
to?” Caden asked. “Richmond?” He knew that was unlikely, but he hoped his new
friend might be heading home.

He
shook his head. “Not even Virginia. The orders are to take my men to Fort
Rucker in Alabama and help set up a refugee camp.” Though the Lieutenant was
about his age, he looked at Caden with a fatherly concern. “Which way will you
be going?”

“
West.
I’ve got family out that way.”

“
Follow
us to Rucker. It’ll be safer and maybe even faster.”

*
              
*
              
*

For
the first couple of hours, Caden made good time as he followed the army convoy,
but as the day wore on, more military vehicles joined the procession, civilian
traffic increased and progress slowed. He was sure the line of army green
trucks and jeeps stretched over a mile long.

The
GMRS and CB radios on the seat beside him crackled with pleas for gas,
assistance with repairs, news and rumors. Thousands biked or walked along the
side of the road, rough looking individuals and entire families dragging
suitcases and carrying more. He felt guilty riding alone in his car.

A
young woman barely out of high school, by the look of her, carried a small baby
along the road. As he passed, their eyes met. Should he offer her a ride? If he
stopped, the convoy would move on. Would he be separated from them? Would he be
overwhelmed by the desperate people along the road? A bend in the road hid her
from sight.

He
drove on wondering what kind of world the baby would inherit. Visions of cities
burnt and desolate filled his mind, gray ash lying like a blanket of snow
across a cold and lifeless land. A land poisoned by radioactive fallout. He
remembered reading somewhere that cockroaches could withstand high levels of
radiation.
Because of the foolishness of man the cockroach shall inherit the
Earth.
He shuddered at the thought of a world full of cockroaches, but
otherwise sterile.

An
hour later, the young woman and her baby were out of sight and probably several
miles behind him but there were many children and babies along the sides of the
road. Would they live? How many had already died? Images of the friends he had
lost in the last 48 hours flashed through his mind. The mental list of
casualties always began and ended with memories of Becky.

He
remembered the last time they went out to dinner. Becky liked French cuisine,
but he was more of a meat and potatoes kind of guy, so that night they
compromised on Italian. The restaurant had been a good choice, small and quiet,
with excellent food cooked by an Italian family. They had planned to go back.
Tears welled in his eyes. They would never go back.

Brakes
squealed. Caden turned his head toward the sound of crumpling metal. One car
careened off another, up the shoulder of the road, scattering pedestrians in
all directions. Except for the two cars that collided no one stopped. Like a
river disturbed by two stones, the westward flow quickly resumed. Caden
resolved to focus on driving.

Tones
came across one of his radios. A tense voice carried over the airwaves. “10-55,
10-33, west on highway 59, milepost 83.”

Caden
tried to remember the 10 codes. He looked in the rearview mirror. Nothing was
obviously amiss behind him. Returning his attention ahead he spotted a milepost
that read ’81.’ The highway followed the contour of a hill, limiting his view
ahead.

From
behind, horns blasted. Metal crunched. In his mirror he saw pedestrians scurry
like bees from a hive.
Fear. That is what is causing this.
People were
frightened, fleeing wildfires and, he glanced at the gray sky, the unseen
poison of radiation. The winds were still out of the south. Good for him, death
for others.

Smoke
flowed into the air from the far side of a nearby hill. Cresting the knoll
Caden saw a burning pickup truck, smashed against a tree. He stared at the
scene as the convoy continued down the slope. Pedestrians darted in close to
the flames.
Why would they do that?
Then he noticed a crumpled small car
that had been hidden by fire and smoke.

The
convoy halted. Caden stepped from his vehicle when he saw Lieutenant Turner
walking back toward the accident.

“
There’s
a woman under the car,” someone yelled.

Turner
shouted to his men and ran toward the burning vehicle. Caden followed. The car
sat to the right of a growing inferno. He gagged on the smoke and fumes.
Soldiers knelt behind the wreck and pushed up. It lifted. Caden could only see
one limp arm. He grabbed it and pulled. She was still trapped. “Higher, lift
higher.”

Turner
and the other soldiers grunted and pushed.

Caden’s
face felt dry and hot as the flames licked closer.

More
soldiers joined the effort.

“
The
fire is moving this way. Pull her out.” Turner shouted.

Caden
reached under the car, grabbed both arms, and pulled. The body moved. He
stumbled back, regained his footing and pulled her clear. Others took and moved
the bleeding woman clear of the flames.

Caden
stumbled back several feet and sat on the ground trying to catch his breath.
The woman was covered with dirt and blood, both separate and mixed together. It
was hard to tell her age, but she was young. A growing pool of blood surrounded
her. The medic was also young, a corporal no older than twenty by the look of
him. After checking for a pulse he worked frantically on the injured woman
bandaging and taping her wounds.

Lieutenant
Turner called to a soldier checking out the burning car. “Anyone alive?”

“
No.
Gas cans exploded on impact. Two people, both toast.”

Caden
turned away from the fire and blood. Off to the left a lump of pastel blue
blankets caught his eye. Drawn toward them he stood, walked over and pulled
back the top cover. “There’s a baby here!” He drew back the remaining layer
revealing a blue shirt emblazoned with “Future Quarterback,” across the front.

The
medic continued to work on the woman. “Is it hurt?”

Caden
couldn’t see any blood. The babies eyes were red and puffy, he had been crying,
but wasn’t now. “No.”

The
medic called to one of the soldiers, “Come here. Press here—hard!”

Caden
cradled the baby in his arms his eyes fixed on the woman, her blouse now dark
with blood. He wondered if she had thrown the baby out of the way of the car in
a desperate attempt to save it. That thought brought him comfort. “Is she going
to make it?”

The
medic didn’t answer, but began CPR. Then he stopped and sat back on the gray
gravel. He looked up at Caden and the baby. “I couldn’t stop the bleeding,” he
sighed. “She’s dead.”

The
other soldier, his hands crimson, walked away.

The
medic looked even younger now. His eyes glazed. Caden wondered if this was his
first taste of death. He stood holding the baby. “You did what you could.”

Turner
walked up and stood by his medic. “She died?”

The
young man nodded.

Turner
knelt beside him. “Did you do everything you knew how to do?”

“
Yes,
sir.”

“
Then
you did all that any of us could for her.” He held out his hand and helped the
medic stand.

Turner,
walking toward the convoy, called down the line, “Platoon sergeants, gas up as
needed, but get it done quickly.”

As
soldiers trotted to the fuel truck with cans, Caden raced to catch up with
Turner. “What do I do with the baby?”

“
We
haven’t been able to contact local police or paramedics.” The lieutenant stared
at the body of the mother now covered by an army blanket. “Take the kid to Fort
Rucker. We’ll be there by morning.”

“
Me?”

The
medic walked up, his hands still red with the woman’s blood. “Here, you might
need this.” He handed Caden the woman’s wallet and a pastel blue diaper bag.

Caden
looked down at the baby.
I’m not a father, and I don’t want to be.

A
newer model red Lexus pulled up within inches of Lieutenant Turner and Caden. A
man jumped out leaving a woman and three children inside. “You in charge here?”

Turner
nodded.

“
I see
you’re refueling. I need gas.”

“
Military
vehicles use diesel and we don’t have any to spare.”

Knowing
this was not quite true, Caden stared at the Lieutenant with his best poker
face.

“
I can
see a fuel truck up there,” the man gestured along the convoy, “you’ve got
plenty.”

“
What
part of the word diesel is giving you trouble?”

Off to
the side Caden saw another man running toward them holding a gas can.

Turner
started to walk away when a pickup pulled onto the gravel in front of him. Two
bearded men stepped from the vehicle. The driver approached Turner, crunching
the stones beneath his boots. The other stayed very close to the truck.

“
I
need gas,” the driver stated.

Caden
noticed the man who stayed close to the car held a rifle at his side.

Turner
held up his hand to the driver. “The convoy uses diesel and we don’t have
extra.”

Looking
down at the baby in his arms, Caden knew the situation could turn ugly any
second. While Turner continued talking with the civilians Caden walked back to
the car, laid the baby and the diaper bag on the seat and discretely slid his
pistol in his jacket pocket. As he walked back, he noticed a sergeant
positioning men along the flanks of the civilians with just a nod or a raised
eyebrow.

One of
the bearded men asked, “You wouldn’t mind if we just checked to see what kind
of fuel you have, now would you?” He lifted the rifle and set it on the hood.

“
If
you try, I
will
kill you.”

“
This
is America you can’t just shoot us.”

“
This
is martial law. I can.” He unsnapped his holster. “And I will.”

Clutching
the pistol in his pocket, Caden’s eyes darted from Turner to those wanting gas.
Turner would not relent and give them fuel, Caden was sure of that. He prayed
the men would back down and leave. The only sound he heard for several moments
was his heart beating in his ears.

The
man with the gas can cursed and walked on.

Caden
took a breath.

The
driver of the Lexus spat on the ground and drove away. The bearded man grabbed
his gun and threw it in his truck.

As
that vehicle pulled away, a soft rain fell. Turner looked at Caden, “We do have
some regular gas. Have you got enough?”

“
Yeah,
Thanks, I’m fine.”

Caden
opened the car door and the baby wailed. With a frustrated sigh he turned on
the portable radio and scanned the NOAA weather frequencies. Over the cries of
the baby he listened.

“…
rain
is out of the south and free of fallout…”

Winds
out of the south were safe now that they were west of Atlanta. Once again he
had been lucky, or blessed. He struggled to safely strap the baby in. He had no
car seat so he tried wrapping blankets around the child and the seatbelt.

He
turned on his car radio. “…other news, Homeland Security, working with the
Nuclear Regulatory Commission and the International Atomic Energy Agency has
identified the plutonium used in the bombs as from a North Korean reactor. The
New York Times reports that President Durant is meeting with senior military
advisors. Repeating our weather news the rain is out of the south…”

He sat
back in his seat, finally satisfied that he had done his best to secure the
child for the trip. The raindrops that gently tapped against the windshield
were just water—no fallout. He and the baby would live another day, but America
was dying one body blow at a time and perhaps tonight, like a wounded warrior,
she would lash out at those who had hurt her.

Caden
pulled the pistol from his pocket and set it on the floor behind him. He turned
on the windshield wipers. While he waited for the convoy to move on he looked
through the wallet. There was over a hundred dollars in cash. “Well, young man,
you have a college fund.” The Driver’s license had an Atlanta address. He
flipped past it to a photo of the baby. There was writing on the back. He
looked over at the baby, “So little guy, your name is Adam.”

*
              
*
              
*