“I want to keep him here till… make it next Thursday just to be on the safe side,” the doctor was saying as he walked, scanning the readout of a handheld medical notepad. He was exhausted and rubbed repeatedly at his eyes as he spoke, but seemed more burdened by the nature of his more recent cases than the caseload itself. “The bullet smashed part of his upper rib cage and did a good bit of tissue damage. He lost a lot of blood, too, but it could have been a lot worse if the door hadn’t slowed the bullet down some before it hit him. He’ll be OK, but he was lucky, and luck’s something we haven’t seen much around here. He’s the fourth gunshot victim I’ve done since the weekend.”
“And his wife?” Ed asked.
“She’s fine. And I’ve already arranged a place for her to stay in town.”
Ed shook his head wistfully. “If this is what it’s like at small facilities like this one, I can’t imagine what’s happening in Hartford or Bridgeport.”
“Bridgeport?” C.D. snorted, picking up his friend’s train of thought. “How about New York? Or Boston? Geez, can you imagine—”
“I’d rather not.” Something in the sound of the doctor’s voice told him the man was glad to be in Middletown, and not one of the major metro areas.
“Well, I’m just glad we got him here in time to do something.” An armed guardsman stood at the back of the Chevy, and Ed could see that the gasoline and supplies the National Guard commander had promised him earlier had already been loaded inside. Bright orange stickers—temporary road use permits—had been affixed to the windshield and tailgate window. Carol was sound asleep, curled up on the back seat. He tossed the ball of blood-soaked blankets he carried into the back before closing the tailgate as quietly as he could to avoid waking her.
The doctor stood staring at the car. “This is yours? This is what you brought him here in? I said a moment ago that your friend was lucky, but…” He paused, running a hand appreciatively along one of the polished fenders. “I’ll tell you what, Mr. Ronson, take good care of this beautiful machine. You may need it.”
“How’s that?”
“Well,” he said, not taking his eyes off the car, “we’ve been able to follow things pretty well, thanks to everything the Guard has set up for us here. Word out of Washington is that the Chinese nuke that went off might not have been an accident.”
“Say what?” C.D. was incredulous. “They think it was terrorists? I knew it. Hey, what did I tell you, Eddie?”
“No.” The doctor shook his head. “Not unless there’s such a thing as economic terrorism. They seem to think that the way it happened—altitude, the timing of the orbital path, the blast coming at a time with the least amount of air traffic and such—was too coincidental to be random.” He shrugged. “More than a few are starting to say it was done deliberately in an effort to wreck our economy.”
“That’s a bunch of crap.”
“Why not?” Ed countered sourly. “Makes perfect sense to me.” He opened the front door of the wagon, then extended his hand. “Thanks for all you’ve done, Doctor. And thank your commander again, too, for the stickers and provisions. Everyone in the neighborhood will be glad to get the supplies.”
The sign read Hammonasset Beach State Park—5 Miles.
The drive from his son’s clinic in Old Saybrook, like the trip down from Colchester, had been uneventful. There were more derelict vehicles here on I-95 than there had been driving down Route 11, but most had been allowed to coast onto the wide shoulders when the EMP had killed their power systems. They had kept their speed low—partly because of the numerous abandoned vehicles, but mostly because they simply were in no hurry—but even at that the only vehicles passing them had been National Guard trucks and transports, or cars belonging to state or local police. One of the state cops had stopped them, but only to make sure they were all right and not on an emergency run of some type. The man had been quite friendly, and even took a few extra moments to retrieve a chocolate bar from his cruiser and give it to the kids before heading back on his way south.
As Ed and Carol had suspected, Paul and Joanie had their hands full at the clinic in Old Saybrook and were only too glad to let the kids spend the day with them. The two children, likewise, were thrilled with the idea of going to the beach, and giggled and sang happily in the back seat with their Grandma.
When they had risen that day to a hot breakfast in the National Guard mess tent, Ed had set down his coffee, looked C.D. in the eye, and said: “I’m taking your advice about the beach. As soon as we get back home, the three of us are going to pack blankets and food and charcoal and some icy wieners from your freezer and anything else we need into that car, then after a quick stop in Old Saybrook to say ‘hi’ to Paul and Joanie, we take the kids and head straight down 1-95. And we’re not stopping until we get to Hammonasset.”
He wiped the back of a hand over his eyes. “God, C.D., they’re getting big. Won’t be long before they won’t want to spend time with Grandma and Grandpap anymore.” He paused again, a broad grin spreading across his face. “And then I’m going to chase seagulls up and down the beach all day long with them, that’s what I’m going to do. To hell with Jason and Brandon… and to hell with the Chinese and their stupid satellite, too, for that matter.”
“I’m with you, buddy,” C.D. said. “Gunshots make me nervous. Besides, I’m not sure how I feel about going home just yet.”
“It’s not just that, C.D. It’s a bunch of things. I’m beginning to get used to the peace and quiet. And if I’m going to be living out of a campsite, I might as well enjoy it. You were right the other night. It’s been too long since we got out and got surprised.”
“That’s what I was telling you. Just because we’re a couple of old freaks doesn’t mean we can’t hit the road again. School’s out forever.”
“There’s something about being a Boomer—even a Gerry Boomer like you and me—that means you have to go out once in a while and get your head together. After that, who knows what we’ll do. Maybe when they put things back together again, we’ll see if we can make sure they do it right.”
And now, with the afternoon Sun shining down on them, they were carrying out Ed’s plan. With Carol enraptured in play with the children, Ed and C.D. had spent most of the trip just listening to them and answering their unending eager questions about everything from satellites to seashells, and had spoken little to each other except to comment on the beauty of the day or something that caught their attention as they drove.
At one point, however, when Carol and the kids seemed to be ignoring them as they played, C.D. turned and asked bluntly, his voice low, “You weren’t serious, were you? What you said to the doctor earlier, I mean. You don’t really buy this crap about the nuke being set off deliberately, do you?”
“Why the hell not? I’m not the least bit surprised to learn that someone on the other side of the world might be so wrapped up in his little corporate higher-faster-better mentality that they’d pull something like this. It’s just like Jason and his Glock, except that a whole bunch of their Jasons got together and wanted to do something bigger. Why should we be so conceited as to think that we’re the only country in the world that let a whole generation of Jasons and Brandons take over?” He chuckled softly, sadly at the thought. “You know, I’ll bet there’s some guy our age right now sitting over in Japan, or Korea, or somewhere in the E.C.—whatever the hell country it was that caused all this—and he’s sitting there shaking his head over the craziness of what their version of the younger generation considers normal.”