“I’m saving it for a surprise. But first things first.” Slayne consulted the display. “I’m going to bring us in just above the Narrows. From there we’ll cut across to 78.”
“I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“I always do.” Slayne turned the wheel while watching the display. “You should give me more credit. But then, Kurt Carpenter did say your psych profile showed you have a superiority complex.”
“What?”
“You tend to think you’re better than everyone else. Sorry, that’s not entirely true. You tend to think that you’re smarter than everyone else. I suppose there’s a difference, but to me it’s all the same.”
“Carpenter let you study my psych profile?” Deepak had understood that all personal information was to be held in the strictest confidence.
“I’m one of the inner circle, Mr. Kapur. I designed the bunkers. I designed a special vehicle you know nothing about. I stocked the armory. In short, anything and everything having to do with security is under my oversight.”
“That’s no excuse for Carpenter letting you see my psych tests.”
“Ah. But it is. Kurt needs you. The people at the compound need you. You’re a genius with computer systems, and we’ll need to rely on our computers heavily for the first ten years or so.”
“Ten years?”
“Projections, analysis, communications, those sorts of things. Don’t worry. The bunkers are shielded. We should be EMP-proof. I say should because the shielding hasn’t been tested under actual combat conditions. We couldn’t hardly set off a nuke, now, could we?”
“But ten years?’
“Maybe longer if the solar arrays and the batteries hold out. No one knows how widespread the aftereffects will be, or even what they’ll be. Oh, radiation is a given. But there are a host of biological and chemical weapons out there, and only a computer can even begin to make sense of the permutations.” Deepak began to realize that this man was more than muscle with a gun. “So that’s why Carpenter thinks I’m essential.”
“You are, Mr. Kapur. The sooner that sinks in, the better we’ll get along. Now why don’t you join your friend? I’ll be busy for the next ten minutes or so.”
Alf was at the rail, his face pale in the starlight. “Listen to that, will you? We’re lucky to be out of it.” From both shores rose the sounds of sirens and wails and occasional screams. Flashing emergency lights pierced the dark. They passed a well-lit pier where people were fighting over small craft.
“If it’s this bad now,” Alf said, “what will it be like when the missiles hit?” He answered his own question. “It’ll be insane. Only the strong will make it, and me, I never was very strong.”
“Just remember you’re not alone. I’ll be at your side, come what may.”
“Thanks, pal.”
The Kull swung in parallel with the shore and bore to the south, still without running lights. Eventually it slowed and the deck dipped until it was level. Ahead was a dock bathed by a single light. Beyond that was a brick building.
“There’s no one around,” Alf observed. “It looks safe enough.” The Kull eased broadside to the dock. Out of the wheel-house bounded Patrick Slayne. With great urgency he saw to the gangway, then ran to the Hunster and beckoned. “What are you waiting for? Get in.”
Deepak and Alf went over but they were in no particular hurry until Deepak asked, “What’s the rush?”
“I’ve been monitoring government frequencies. Homeland Security just got the word. We don’t have much time.”
“Time for what? Are the highways such a mess we’ll never make it out?” Alf asked.
“It’s not that.” Slayne gazed skyward. “New York City is about to be nuked.”
10. Fractured Lives
It got worse the farther west they went.
The National Guard had been called in to quell the panic and the looting, but most soldiers were sent into the bigger towns and cities. Rural America was left largely on its own. It was only a hundred miles or so from Trudale to Harrisburg, but it might as well have been a thousand. The interstate was a mess. Twice, early on, Soren had tried taking 76, and each time, within a dozen miles, he had come upon tangles of vehicles. The secondary roads were mostly clear, but they took a lot longer.
Toril wouldn’t stop fretting. “What if something has happened to her? What if a mob ransacked her house like they did our neighbors?”
“I very much doubt it,” Soren sought to soothe her. “Your mom lives in the country. She should be fine.”
“It’s near Interstate eighty-one,” Toril reminded him.
“Half a mile, at least.” Soren couldn’t see anyone tramping that far just to loot an old farmhouse. Freya and Magni were strangely quiet. Normally they bickered and teased but now they sat staring fearfully out the windows.
Soren had tried to get them to play “I see…” where one tried to guess what the other was looking at. He had tried to get them to play the license plate game, where they got points for each out-of-state license. He had tried to get them to sing. They declined and went on staring.
The radio started acting up. Now and then static and strange sounds drowned out the announcers. Soren wanted the latest news and kept switching stations. Late in the afternoon he stumbled on a pair of bombshells.
“…It is officially confirmed that San Diego has suffered a nuclear strike. It has also been confirmed that the Vatican has been destroyed. Initial reports indicate a backpack nuke was used. In the Mideast, Israel has launched multiple air strikes. Tehran has been hit hard, and there is word that much of that city is radioactive waste. From the U.S. Navy comes word of a fleet of warships bound for the eastern coast of the United States. It’s believed that New York and Philadelphia…” Static cut in. Soren tweaked the dial, but it did no good. He had lost the signal. They swung east of Harrisburg. Their route took them neat Indian Echo Cave, which Soren had visited as a boy, and on through Hummelstown to within a mile of 81. A turnoff took them along a country road past several farms.
At last the familiar white stucco farmhouse atop a hill came into sight. Toril sat forward and clasped her hands. “If only we could have gotten through to her. She could be ready to go.”
“We’ll spend the night,” Soren offered. The sun was already perched on the horizon, and a night’s sleep in comfortable surroundings would do the children good.
Gravel crunched under their tires as Soren wound up a long drive flanked by stately maple trees. He braked next to a lilac bush and everyone piled out. He brought Mjolnir with him. The rocking chair on the porch was empty, the house quiet. Toril dashed up the walk and knocked eagerly. When there was no reply, she tried the doorknob. “It’s locked.”
“Maybe Sigrid is watching television and didn’t hear you.
“Or she doesn’t have her hearing aid in.” Toril went to a potted plant, lifted it, and produced the key. The house always smelled of food. Today Soren would swear it was oatmeal. He followed his wife into the living room, but Sigrid wasn’t there. A dark hall led past the dining room, with its mahogany table and chairs, and into the kitchen.
“Where can she be? She wouldn’t go anywhere at a time like this.” Suddenly stopping short, Toril raised a hand to her throat. “Mother!”
Sigrid Uhlgren sat slumped over the kitchen table, one arm under her head, the other dangling. Toril ran over and grabbed her by the shoulders. “Mother? What’s wrong? Speak to me!” Soren confirmed that Sigrid would never speak again. She wore a peaceful expression, as if dying had been a pleasant passage from here to the hereafter. He looked at his wife and shook his head.