Most people, including Lana, had experienced inexplicable slowdowns in the functioning of their desktops or laptops. Sometimes that was because a hacker had hijacked some of the devices’ power. It was agonizing to accept that today’s attack might have harnessed much of the country’s own computer power — and then turned it on itself. Roughly speaking, she thought it was like putting a pistol into someone’s hand, pointing it at his head, then using his own strength to pull the trigger.
The North Koreans had surely sharpened their cyberwarfare skills since the end of the century’s first decade. Could they pull off an attack of today’s magnitude? She looked at the smoky skies and knew the answer was a terrifying “maybe.”
Those were her thoughts as she pulled into her driveway. Without pausing, she pressed the automatic garage-door opener, and then tossed it onto the passenger seat in disgust.
She ran to the front door, finding it unlocked, which infuriated her: When is Emma going to learn to lock up around here?
“Emma?” she shouted, once inside. “I’m home.”
No response. She charged from room to room, stricken with fear when she saw that her daughter had left the house.
After double-checking, she raced outside, looking up and down the block.
It’s a ghost town.
She hurried back to her car, planning to drive over to check with Amy Burton, one of Emma’s closest friends. If her daughter wasn’t there, then she would troll the streets. And then what? The police stations and hospitals, much as she didn’t want to allow for those darker possibilities.
As she closed the car door, the old gent from across the street — the guy she’d seen in his bathrobe a few hours ago — came rushing out of his house, fully dressed this time and waving his arms.
She jumped out of the car, realizing, as he hurried up with his eyes on her blood-smeared top, that she still hadn’t changed. He panted loudly, bending forward to hold his thighs for support.
Her first thought, admittedly uncharitable, was Please don’t die before you tell me what happened to Emma.
“She collapsed,” he gasped, sounding as if he might fall over as well. “Your girl, over there.” He pointed to the sidewalk down the street. She looked, but there was no sign of Emma. “I mean when the ammonia cloud passed over us.”
“What?” Then Lana remembered Holmes mentioning the crashed ammonia tanker and the evacuation order for within a mile of the tracks.
“But — but,” her neighbor sputtered, “they were warning everyone to get inside and were right there with an ambulance. Really, I didn’t even have time to get their attention.” His breathing had calmed. Lana’s chest, though, felt as tense as barrel staves.
“Was she okay?”
“I know she was alive. The cloud passed over us quickly, and they administered mouth-to-mouth. I could see from my window.”
“Do you know where they took her?”
He shrugged. “Maybe Suburban? They have a trauma center.”
“I was just there this morning, about eight thirty,” Lana said, opening her car door.
“This was later, closer to ten o’clock. They gave a lot of warnings. I don’t know how your girl missed them.”
“I’ve got to get going.”
He shooed her off. “I’ll have her in my prayers.”
As soon as she cranked the ignition, the radio started replaying “A Message to America,” or whatever inanity they were calling it. She swore cathartically as she switched off the dial.
It was impossible to find a parking spot within five blocks of Suburban. Lana grabbed her bag, strapped it across her chest, and took off running. As she neared the hospital entrance, she felt faint from all her rushing around, and remembered that she hadn’t eaten since this morning.
She forced herself to walk and pulled an energy bar from her bag, all but inhaling half of it before deciding that she’d better save the rest. It was not like they had a big supply of food at home.
When she saw people waiting eight deep at the hospital’s information desk, she pulled out her NSA laminate to try to look official, despite her worn appearance, and walked the corridors on her own.
No one stopped her. Every hospital employee was clearly in triage mode, and every hallway was crowded with beds and gurneys, IV stands and chairs — and suffering patients.
She came across Tanesa and Shawn up on the second floor. His leg was in a cast that extended from midthigh down to his toes, the plaster already blazoned with a couple of green Sharpie “get well” greetings. An odd bit of normalcy for such a bizarre and distressing day.
“You’re back!” Tanesa exclaimed with a wide smile. “You really made it back here.” She hugged Lana. “He’s doing okay,” she volunteered, nodding at Shawn. “They said his bones had clean breaks.” She nudged him. “Do you remember—”
“Sure,” he interrupted, beaming at Lana. “You got me here before the big line formed.” He reached out with both of his bandaged hands, and she hugged him, too.
“I’m glad to hear you’re feeling better,” Lana said, “but my daughter was exposed to ammonia from an overturned tanker car and might be here.”
“Upstairs,” Tanesa said, taking her hand. The girl turned to Shawn. “I’m going to show her where they took the ammonia people.”
“Yes, go,” Shawn said, looking concerned.
Tanesa rushed Lana toward the stairs. “They’re not running the public elevators. Saving power.”
“Smart.”
“I heard they brought in a dozen people who’d breathed in some of that stuff,” Tanesa said.
“Were they okay?”
“Don’t you worry,” Tanesa said as they stepped from the stairwell. “They’re amazing in this place.”
The third floor was less crowded than the first two levels. Lana spotted Emma almost immediately in a room with three other patients.
“How are you?” she asked as she rushed to her daughter’s side.
Emma’s eyes glistened with salve, and she spoke so softly that Lana had to lean close to her lips. “Sore throat. Gave me painkillers. Not supposed to talk.”
Lana held her girl’s face in her hands, marveling over finding her alive and intact. She wanted to claw apart the people who had done this to her kid.
Tanesa leaned in and said, “I’m going to leave you two.”
“Not before I introduce you,” Lana said, regaining her composure. After the formality, Lana told Emma how Tanesa and her friends had saved her life and the lives of many other drivers.
“Wow,” Emma mouthed.
“I’m going to run back down to Shawn,” Tanesa said, “and let you two have some space.”
“Thanks so much for your help,” Lana said to the young woman.
“Back atcha,” Tanesa volleyed, heading out the door.
Lana stayed by Emma’s bedside, providing sips of water all day. When the girl fell asleep at about four, she raced over to CyberFortress, but Jeff Jensen and the others had no news; even their contacts remained in the dark.
That night Lana slept in Emma’s room, and didn’t awake till almost seven a.m. A stocky nurse checked on Emma and the other patients, as he had during the night.
“She’s doing well,” he whispered to Lana; Emma was still sleeping. “She was very lucky,” he went on. “Paramedics literally saw her fall down and were right there. She might not be doing so great if they hadn’t been.”
Lana nodded, gripped once more by a raw anger that she’d never before known. The term “mama bear” took on a whole new meaning for her.