10
The roads up ahead were—as expected—littered with empty cars. By now, most pedestrians had wisely faded out of view. Hatfield assumed they were inside, taking cover. Some may have wisely made preparations for the event, but he knew most probably hadn’t. More likely, most of them were at home waiting for something. The government. The power company. Anything to fall from the sky to save them. He shook his head, thinking of them, but deep down, he knew he would have been one of them if not for what he had learned from his father.
The long, upward slant on Bank Street gave him an advance peek of what was in front of him. More cars were parked in the middle of the street. A few more pedestrians—possibly looters. But beyond that, an even greater threat lurked. A group of military men had blocked off the roads.
He could see no other working vehicles on the road, and it seemed unlikely that they’d let him and his family pass. But turning back wasn’t an option. He could tell from a few blocks away that he’d already caught their attention.
Barking orders at others, an officer waved him to the side, gestured for him to roll down his window. Hatfield did so, then asked him, “What seems to be the problem?”
Strong jawed and blessed with an intimidating glare, the Major—Hatfield knew by the insignia on his uniform—leaned forward and spoke. “I’m afraid we’re going to need to confiscate your car, sir. By order of the governor.”
Knowing this would be death for his family, Hatfield had no reply.
“Did you hear me, sir?”
“Why do you need our car?”
“Sir, we don’t have to argue over this. We have to—”
Gunshots clapped through the air, interrupting the standoff and sending everybody’s attention to the area behind the major. Other troops drew their weapons, looking for the source of the shots.
“Wait here!” the major commanded, then raced away toward the danger, screaming out orders as more shots, explosions, and screams echoed through the night.
All was silent and tense in the Hummer. Hatfield watched the combat unfold. In the distance, a gang of looters took shelter behind a fallen truck while the troops scrambled in opposition.
He dragged his gaze away just long enough to look at the stretch of road ahead. There were barricades in place, but nothing that could stop the Hummer. His wife’s face twitched in terror. A glance into the rearview mirror showed a similar look on Justin and Tami’s faces.
As the combat went on, the road ahead tempted him. There was a danger to disobeying the major’s command but a bigger danger to allowing his family to fall under occupation. If his father were around, there’d be no question which path he would recommend. He could almost feel his presence easing his foot off the brakes and onto the accelerator.
Gunning the pedal and barreling ahead, Hatfield could feel he was crossing into an important place. It calmed him to know he wasn’t doing it alone. “Your family matters more than anything else,” a familiar voice echoed as the Hummer sprang past the combat. “Anybody else hear that?” he asked the others.
“Hear what?” Justin asked.
“Never mind.”
NATHAN SWAIN WATCHED the Humvee crash through the barriers from a distance, binoculars to his eyes, a smirk falling across his chubby face. “Nice.” Something about watching the world crumble into chaos was amusing to him.
It may have been his history of capitalizing on the misfortunes of others. He’d gotten his start in pediatric medicine, taking advantage of a doctor friend who’d discovered a new treatment for many childhood diseases. By pretending to have pioneered the idea himself, Swain made a fortune. Sure, he lost a friend in the process, but who doesn’t lose friends along the way to the top? he reasoned.
His most recent break coming from someone less fortunate took place hours after the crazy outage that seemed to be rocking the city. A family mortgaging a home from him was already struggling to keep up with payments, so he thought of an ideal way to exact re-payment: he took back the home. Knowing the family’s home had been equipped for survival after an extreme emergency, he took up residence there. There was more he needed to learn about running the place, but he’d pick all that up in time. For the moment, all was well. He was safe, warm, and well-fed.
A rustle in the shrubs near the porch grabbed his attention. A group of guys, young ones, dressed like thugs, their faces hungry and sharp with menace. Nathan scrambled, looking for the pistol the Nickerson family had stashed somewhere.
Seconds later, the shatter of glass echoed, sending the portly little man scurrying through the hallway and into the basement. The good news was he found a rifle down there. The bad news was he had no idea how to use it. Even something as simple as cocking it was difficult. After two attempts, the gun tumbled out of his grip.
When it clanked to the floor, he scooped it back up and held it up hip-high. There was no time to learn to shoot, he figured. The best he could do was look like he knew what he was doing. Glancing into the full-length mirror across the basement, he practiced, knowing time was running out.
There was creeping going on upstairs, failed attempts to stifle laughter and move about silently. Nathan found himself breathing heavy and hard, his pulse racing. In a strange way, he loved it. Having spent his life in real estate, investing and running properties, he’d always waited for this kind of danger and intrigue.
But still, he wasn’t ready for the screams that followed. Four or five voices called out in horror at the same time. Nathan’s eyes grew big.
Soon the voices were crying for help, begging. He’d never heard agony like that before—strange when coming from a group that seemed so threatening minutes earlier. With the gun at his hip, he took cautious and quiet steps out of the basement. “Hello?” he asked, voice just above a whisper.
“Help, please!” they cried.
At the top of the steps, he looked to the living room and saw a surprise waiting for him. Five gangbangers were ensnared in a net as they hung eight feet off the ground. Nathan chuckled. “Man, this place is full of awesome surprises!”
With bulging eyes, every gangbanger looked at him, their faces getting more wrinkled with worry the closer he got. “Please! Don’t shoot!”
Nathan got a kick out of this. He’d forgotten he was holding the gun. It was good to get a reminder. “Okay, fellas. I’m going to ask you a really stupid question. And if you don’t give me a good answer, you’re done.”
“Please! Don’t!”
“Shut up!” he yelled. “The question is this: What are you guys doing in here?”
“Look, I’ll be honest with you, man. We’re desperate! We need food, water. Everything!”
Nathan shrugged. “Well, at least you’re honest. The only problem is, you’re stupid. You can’t just run into somebody’s house like this and assume they don’t have some kind of protection.”
“Sorry.”
He gave his head a slow shake. “That won’t cut it.” He circled the gang, moving in for a closer look. Something about them fascinated them. A gang, a real-life gang! The kind he’d seen in movies and read about in newspapers. “What do you guys have on you?”
“What do you mean?” one of them asked.
“You know! Weapons! What do you have?”
“We got some guns, a few knives.”
Nathan stepped closer, patted a few of them down with the butt of the rifle. The first few pockets he checked were empty. When he finally heard the thud of metal, he jabbed his hand into the net and fished a revolver out of one of their pockets.
He whistled, long and low, gazing at it. Just like the movies, he thought to himself. He gave the barrel a spin and started to do a Clint Eastwood, but couldn’t remember how the line went. “Is this your lucky day, punk—no, that’s not right.”