Things Fall Down Page 11

  “The kid was carrying this… you know, Baby Glock? A 26, I think it’s called. Turns out that’s what he used to break the window, and I guess he still had it in his hand when Robbie…” Jack took a shuddering breath, and coughed to cover his embarrassment as a tear ran down his cheek. “I don’t suppose he planned to hurt anyone. It was dark, is all, and he thought the house was empty. I guess he just saw movement and…”

  “Man. I’m sorry, Jack. I just can’t imagine…”

  Jack nodded. “Yeah. So. I didn’t wake up until I heard the shot. Didn’t know what the hell was going on. I came out of the bedroom half naked and damn near barreled right into the kid. He tried to run when… you know, when he realized what he’d done, but I still didn’t know what was happening. I couldn’t see Robbie from the doorway. So I’m just fighting with this scrawny kid, half asleep in my boxers. Just running on instinct, you know? I’m holding him down and punching him over and over again. I wasn’t even thinking about the gun in his hand.”

  Jack unbuttoned his shirt and pulled the collar aside, revealing the circle of puckered pink skin an inch below his collar bone. “Ricocheted off the bone and fragmented. Hell of a thing. It tore me up inside, but it seemed to go out of its way to miss all the important parts.” He tugged his shirt together and buttoned it back up. “I guess I must have passed out after that. It was all a little hazy from there. I don’t think I really came around until after the surgery.”

  Warren shook his head sadly. “What happened to the kid? They ever get him?”

  “Yeah, they got him. The cops arrived ten minutes after the silent alarm went off. Found him running down the middle of the street two blocks away. Dumb bastard tried to shoot his way out, so they had to take him down.”

  “Was he—”

  “Three in the chest,” Jack nodded. “He was probably dead before he hit the ground.”

  Warren stared straight ahead. “Good.”

  “Yeah.” Jack scratched Boomer’s neck and sighed. “Yeah, I guess so. Doesn’t bring Robbie back, though.” He sniffed and gazed out the window. “He would have turned nine next month.”

  “Man, I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say.”

  Jack let out a cold, joyless laugh. “No, neither did I. I had no idea how to explain to Emily that her big brother was gone, and I could hardly bear to even look at Karen.”

  “How come? It’s not like it was your fault, right?”

  “That’s what the therapist told me for a year, and I didn’t believe her either. It was my decision to keep him home. Karen wanted to take him to Dallas. If I’d just listened to her…”

  “No. No, you can’t think like that, Jack. You made the best decision you could. That’s all anyone can ask of a parent, but sometimes the world just deals you a shitty hand. There’s no point beating yourself up about it.” He patted Jack on the shoulder. “And hey, now you gotta focus on your little girl. She needs your help.” He tapped the fuel gauge. “You said your wife’s headed to Modesto, right?”

  “Yeah. Well, a few miles out of town, but close enough.”

  “OK. Well, I figure I’ve got the gas to make it that far.”

  Jack shook his head firmly. “No, I can’t ask you to do that. You have to get to your son.”

  “My son’s a forty year old man. I’m sure he can take care of himself for another hour or two while I refuel and fly back.”

  Seriously, Warren, I can’t ask—”

  “You’re not asking. I’m insisting.” He scratched his beard and sighed. “Look, if I lost one of my boys I’d chain myself to the other one for the rest of my life to make sure he didn’t come to harm. I’m getting you back to your girl if it’s the last thing I do. End of discussion. We’re going.”

  Jack finally nodded. “OK. OK, thank you. I really appreciate this.” He didn’t like the idea of taking charity, but if Warren could get him home to Emily a second sooner… well, he couldn’t say no to that. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. “But at least let me give you some extra money to cover your fuel.”

  Warren waved him away. “Don’t worry about it, Jack. The way the news was talking something tells me cash won’t be good for much pretty soon. When you get down there you should spend that on something useful, quick. The smart money’s on barter from here on out, at least until we know what’s really going on.”

  “You think so?”

  “Sure. You can’t eat money. If we do actually get attacked – and God willing this is all some huge hoax or something – it’s food and water you’ll need, not cash. Hell, just imagine if the whole west coast gets nuked. We won’t be able to trust the water supply, and you wouldn’t catch me taking food from a store downwind of a blast. Food and water you can trust will be worth its weight in gold, so stock up as soon as you get on the ground. That’s what I’ll be— Holy shit!”

  Warren stared wide eyed out the window over Jack’s shoulder. “Where in God’s name did he come from?”

  Jack turned, and he almost jumped out of his seat when he saw the fighter jet following their course, keeping pace off their port wing. He stared open mouthed as the jet rocked its wings from side to side. “What the hell is that? What’s he doing?”

  “That,” Warren replied, grabbing hold of the yoke and dipping the wings of the Otter in reply, “is a damned F-15 Eagle. US Air Force.” He reached to the instruments and started turning dials. “They’ve probably been trying to reach us over the radio, but this crate’s been on the ground so long I don’t even know if it still works. Hang on a minute.”

  He flipped a switch on a black box by his knee. For a second a green LCD display lit up, but as soon as it appeared it flickered out. “God damn it,” Warren cursed under his breath, slapping the side of the box with the palm of his hand.

  On the third slap the display came back to life. It read 256.0MHz, and Warren turned a knob beside the screen until the glowing digits read 121.5. “Guard frequency. If they’re trying to talk to us it should come through.”

  He grabbed the microphone and tugged it loose of the tangled cable, clicking the transmit button on the side. “F-15 off my port side, this is DHC…” He released the button. “Damn, what’s my registration?” He thought for a few seconds before clicking again. “This is DHC Six Five Four Romeo Charlie. Please respond. Over.”

  A few seconds of tense silence passed before the response arrived. “DHC, this is Air Force Eighty Four One Seven Two. You have entered a no-fly zone. All civilian traffic over Oregon has been grounded. Is your aircraft equipped with landing gear? Please advise. Over.”

  “Damn, he’s gonna order us down.” Warren sighed with frustration before clicking again. “Air Force, that’s a negative. We’re only equipped for water landing. Over.”

  “DHC, understood. You are to reverse course and set a bearing of zero one seven degrees. You’re cleared for landing at Fern Ridge Lake, four kilometers west south west of Eugene Airport. Coordinate with Eugene ATC on this frequency. Please confirm instructions. Over.”

  Warren dropped the mic to his lap and let out a long, anguished groan. “Eugene? That’s fifty miles behind us! Forget Modesto, it’ll be hours before we even reach Ashland if we have to go back there, and we’d need to find a car. Damn it!”

  “DHC, please respond and adjust bearing immediately.”

  Jack looked out at the F-15, locking eyes with the pilot. “Warren, what happens if we just ignore him? I mean, I know you’ll be in trouble, but what actually happens? Couldn’t we just… I don’t know, couldn’t we just stop talking and keep flying?”

  “DHC, this is your final warning. Please respond and change course immediately. Over.”

  Warren shook his head and clicked the mic. “Air Force, new bearing received and understood. I’m setting our new course now. Over.” He turned to Jack. “No, we can’t just keep flying. If air traffic has been grounded statewide that means we’re slap bang in the middle of a massive no-fly zone right now, and those missiles on his win
gs aren’t decorative. We’re lucky he didn’t shoot us down when we didn’t answer his calls right away, and now we’ve talked to him he’ll be authorized to put us on the ground if we don’t follow his instructions.” He sighed. “Sorry, Jack, this is game over. We’ll just have to find some other way to get you home.”

  Warren took hold of the yoke and began to turn the Otter in a long, slow arc back towards the north, and Jack felt his heart sink. With every degree of turn they were moving further from Emily, adding minutes, hours onto the time before he’d see her again, and he just didn’t have the time to spare. He felt his palms begin to sweat as the sun started to creep across the window, and for a moment he had to clench his fists to fight the irrational urge to wrestle the yoke from Warren and turn them back towards the south.

  Out the window the F-15 began to follow their course, shepherding them back in the direction they’d come. It banked and rose above the Otter, gracefully turning back towards Eugene, but halfway through its turn it suddenly changed course without warning. The fighter jet turned on a dime, veering towards the east in a bank so tight that it almost flew upside down, and it crossed the path of the Otter so close that Jack felt the plane tremble.

  “What in hell does he think he's doing?” Warren demanded, steadying the plane in the Eagle's wake. “He damn near hit us!”

  The radio crackled once again, and a terrified voice came through the speaker. “DHC, contact warning! We have incoming! Disregard instructions and go east! East! Get out of here, now!”

  Warren grabbed the handset. “Contact? Contact with what?”

  He didn't wait for an answer. He pulled the yoke sharply, increasing their rate of turn, but the Otter was only a fraction as maneuverable as the F-15. It was still only halfway through its lazy turn when the F-15 fired its afterburners and screamed away inland.

  And then it happened.

  To the west there was a white flash far above the horizon, a lightning bolt without any source. For a fraction of a second the clouds blanketing the sky were picked out in every shade from brilliant white to jet black, their curves and contours frozen in place by the light, and then it became so bright that the entire sky seemed to be nothing but endless blinding white.

  Warren pulled back on the yoke with all his strength, sending the plane into a steep climb. Jack covered his eyes, and a moment later the nose rose enough to obscure the flash and leave them staring at nothing but the glowing clouds above them.

  And then even the clouds were gone. Through squinted eyes Jack saw a pulse pass through them, blurring the thick clouds before a second wave simply erased them, revealing the pale blue sky above. In the cockpit there was a sudden judder, a buffeting followed by the sound of a screeching alarm, and then the engine faltered, coughed, and fell silent.

  The propeller on the nose began to slow, spinning down from a blur, and the sky above glowed red. Jack gazed out at the beautiful, terrifying sight of a blood red aurora, a wave of particles igniting as the atmosphere burned. He was still watching, entranced, as he felt his weight lift out of the seat, pressing him against his seat belt

  They were falling.

  “Hang on to something, Jack,” Warren yelled, wrestling with the yoke. “This might get a little rough.” The Otter was falling tail first, and Warren fought with the controls as the nose-heavy plane began to tip upside down. Jack felt his weight press against the shoulder straps of his belt, and from the back of the plane came a terrified yelp as Boomer and the heavy bags slammed against the roof.

  Jack cried out, completely disoriented as the ground came into view above them, and the sound of his own voice alarmed him when he noticed that it was the only sound. With the engine dead the plane fell in near silence, plummeting towards the ground with no sound but the wind buffeting the wings.

  He looked up awestruck, too confused and disoriented to feel any real fear, hanging from his straps as the ground grew closer, and he noticed a circle of sunlight striking the ground far above his head. The explosion had punched a miles-wide circular hole in the cloud cover, bathing the green fields and forests in bright sunshine and leaving everywhere beyond in darkness. Jack knew he should be terrified, but all he could think about was how beautiful the world looked from this new perspective.

  Now, finally, the dead weight of the engine began to pull the plane down nose first. The ground began to swing up ahead of them, and as it did Warren reached with flailing arms for the yoke, tugging back with all his strength to pull the gliding plane out of a fall and into a swoop, accompanied by the sound of aluminum protesting at the stress. Jack felt himself crushed down into his seat, the breath squeezed out of him as if a heavy weight had been dropped on his chest.

  “Are we going to crash?” he gasped, bracing himself against the roof.

  “Crash? No.” Warren didn’t sound all that confident. “But we’re not gonna land, either. I don’t know of any lakes within range, so I can’t just glide this thing down without power.” He yanked on the yoke once more to lift the nose, and with an ominous groan from the creaking hull of the plane the horizon finally leveled ahead. Warren was drenched in sweat, panting with exhaustion, but he didn't have time to rest. He shot a look at the altimeter and swore under his breath. “I figure we have maybe ten miles of glide left, so it’s time to start making decisions.”

  “Decisions? What do you mean? What are our options?”

  Warren looked over his shoulder to check that Boomer was OK, then turned back to Jack with a grim expression. “Well, there’s really only one option,” he replied, pulling the nose up a little higher. “Hold the stick for a second.” Jack reached out and took the yoke. “Just hold it steady, OK?” Warren climbed out of his seat and moved into the back.

  “Whoa, hang on. I can’t fly this thing!” Jack protested, panicking as he felt the plane try to nose down.

  “You don’t have to fly it, just hold it steady. Don’t let it pull away from you. I’ll just be… one… second…”

  Jack pulled back on the stick, fighting against the force of the air as it tried to push the flaps and send the plane towards the ground, and he sighed with relief as Warren returned to the cockpit, climbed into his seat and took control. With his free hand he dumped a backpack in Jack’s lap.

  “Put that on,” he ordered, slinging a second backpack over his own shoulders.

  Jack felt the blood drain from his face. He already knew the answer before he asked the question. “What is this? What are you planning?”

  Warren clipped a heavy buckle at his chest, and pulled the straps tight at his shoulders.

  “We have to jump.”

  ΅

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  BREAK DOWN THE GATE

  KAREN GRIPPED THE wheel so hard it hurt, her foot buried to the floor and the roar of the engine assaulting her ears. She tried to block out all the distractions, focusing on steering around the pedestrians who darted out into the road without looking, just as desperate as she was to reach safety.

  Hunched low beside Doctor Ramos Emily squealed in terror as the car jinked wildly from side to side, and above her Ramos steadied himself with both hands against the dash, yelling frantic instructions that came out as a streaming babble, all of which Karen ignored. Out the window pedestrians sprinted east, some with their mouths wide in screams drowned out by the engine, others running silently, jaws clenched, too focused on escape to waste their energy on anything else.

  Above it all the baleful wail of the siren threatened a terrifying countdown. Something is coming, it warned. It could be an hour away, or it could come before your next heartbeat. It was a useless sound, a fear engine intended only to instill panic and destroy rational thought.

  And it was working. Karen was terrified.

  Up ahead the road was blocked by a bank of orange plastic barriers and diversion signs pointing the way to the 1st Street on ramp to the Bay Bridge. They’d been in place for the last few weeks, ever since the westbound upper deck of the bridge had been closed fo
r resurfacing, but now they’d been joined by a military truck mounted with an enormous flashing arrow, unmistakably guiding the way for anyone looking to escape across the bay.

  But there were no troops. The driver’s door of the truck hung open, and around it lay the detritus of a hurried evacuation. Signs had been knocked down. Glowing batons flashed on the ground, and as Karen forced herself to touch the brakes as the corner approached she even saw rifles abandoned on the asphalt.

  The soldiers hadn’t just left. They’d fled.

  “Why are you slowing down?” Ramos demanded as she turned the corner, slapping the dash with his palms to spur her on. “We have to go faster!”

  Karen didn’t bother to respond. She just waited for Ramos to see past his panic and notice the world beyond the windshield.

  1st Street was a parking lot. From the corner of Market Street all the way to the on ramp hundreds of cars blocked the way, some with their engines still running and some clearly abandoned. Doors and trunks sat open, and weaving between the vehicles a mass of people ran for the safety of the bridge. Even the sidewalk was blocked with cars. There was no way through.

  Ramos gripped a handful of his hair, staring at the pandemonium ahead with terror in his eyes. “OK, we have to run.” He reached for the door handle, but Karen took his shoulder and pulled him back into his seat.

  “Hold on, Doc,” she said, shifting gear and turning back onto Market Street. “I think I have a better idea.”

  The tires squealed in protest as the Corvette sped towards the barriers, and there was a jarring thunk as the car mounted the curb and slipped through a gap on the sidewalk to the street beyond. Karen steered back onto the road, wincing again as the low slung sports car thudded down from the sidewalk, and she veered through the assault course of abandoned vehicles and dropped luggage that littered the street.