Harry figured with minimal traffic they’d be in Ohio by the next evening.
He hoped though, they would run into someone with answers.
After what he referred to as a strong nap in the chair, Harry did what he had been doing all night. He turned on the radio and waited for the Utah man to give a report.
Nothing was new, and the man in Utah was frustrated by lack of news coming from anywhere.
According to the Utah radio guy, a good part of America was in the dark, and people were told to stay inside.
The attacks weren’t over yet.
Harry figured whoever was doing it was hell bent on knocking the United States out of commission before invasion. They hit New York and probably Washington DC. Harry could only guess.
He prayed that he’d get more answers in the morning.
He planned on going north for a spell and then heading east, completely avoiding New York City or anywhere close to it. He needed to be cautious; he had a child with him. Harry was worried and he didn’t want Tyler to know that. In fact, Harry was worried as he sat in his own home that night. Something about everything, just didn’t sit right. For that reason, Harry dug out his old pistol that he stored in a lock box on top of his closet.
It had been years since he touched it and Harry wasn’t even sure if it still fired.
But something about having it near made him feel a bit more secure. Harry needed to feel that to get through the night and prepare for the next day.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Lana turned slightly on the chaise lounge and the pain in her back made her cringe and wake. She was cold, very cold. She lifted the covers as she turned to lie on her back. A blip of the sun made her blink. It was very bright and Lana sat up. “Ben, I think…”
One breath seeped from her body, hard and heavy as she gazed to the horizon.
“Ben.” She reached over blindly for him. “Ben.”
“What is it?” he asked.
“What’s happening?”
Ben sat up and rubbed his eyes.
On the horizon were ships. Five or six air craft carriers seemed to be moving closer.
There across the morning sky it looked like something from the Alfred Hitchcock movie, The Birds. Only they were planes.
More planes than Lana and Ben could count flew from behind the ships across the sky and toward the shore.
“Are they ours?” she asked.
“I don’t know. Probably.” And then just as Ben had delivered his response, a plane broke formation and within seconds, opened fire. Bullets hit the earth in a straight line from the beach toward the house.
Lana screamed.
Ben grabbed hold of her and pulled her from the chair to the deck. “Get inside. Go!” he ordered.
The crawled quickly as the bullets ripped through the deck.
The glass of the patio door shattered and Lana covered her head. She heard and felt the bullets as they ripped into the carpeting. “Ben!”
The sound of firing trailed off and then… Another plane, another set of bullets.
Ben grabbed Lana. “Bedroom!” he yanked her as hard as he could, pulling her to her feet.
She stumbled, tripping as she raced in a low crawl toward the back bedroom.
More bullets ripped through the windows.
“Get down. Now!” Ben told her and them both dropped to the floor of the back bedroom. It was a bedroom not facing the ocean, the blinds were still drawn tight, and Ben knew there was no way they could see them.
They couldn’t leave the house or go anywhere. Their only hope was to get some cover and even that was limited.
It was a tight squeeze, but Ben dragged Lana under the bed. He only hoped that the mattress and box spring would provide them some sort of protection.
He doubted it would, but it was their only chance.
Under that bed, they heard the massive number of planes flying overhead. More joined in, raining down bullets on their defenseless house.
Heads covered, shaking, confused and tightly squeezed in, Ben and Lana waited and prayed.
Harry was a smart man and was grateful he still had his quick thinking about him. He was also grateful that morning that he had gotten up pretty early.
Not that he had slept all that much, he didn’t. But he went down to the basement again, found the old camping stuff, pulled out the Coleman Stove and a tin percolator. He was going to have a cup of coffee, his first one in days.
The water in the pipes still ran, but he had a backup for washing the pot, the water heater.
He cleaned the pot and brewed some coffee.
Tyler was still sleeping and Harry kept the curtains closed in the living room, so the boy could rest. He’d need it. He’d had an emotional couple of days and more was ahead for him.
He’d wake him in a little bit, Harry thought. Heck, the sun had just come up.
Sitting and sipping his coffee he enjoyed the paper he didn’t get a chance to read before he left for the train. He searched for answers as to why the United States and England would have been attacked and by whom.
Salt Lake City guy said he’d be back on the air when he had an update, that government officials were asking him to refrain from delivering too much information and for the sake of his country he would oblige.
But what about those who were clueless, like Harry?
He rummaged through the news, trying to find some kind of warning, some reason that it happened. There were several little things, but Harry had a feeling in order to find out the ‘real’ reason, he’d have to go way back in the news. An attack on such a large scale took time, money, and planning.
Earlier, while the coffee brewed, he tried the phones. They were dead and the radio played nothing, which to Harry was much better than the hijacked station playing old anti-war seventies songs.
The anti-war songs—they were a piece of the puzzle, Harry knew they had to be. The anti war songs.
Maybe it was a message to the American people that they should have minded their own business on several occasions.
Harry couldn’t understand that mentality of ‘minding our own business.’ Not when he served in a war and so do his son.
He decided it a useless needle in a hay stack search, so Harry opted for the comics. Maybe something there would make him laugh.
It was then he heard it.
A soft rumbling mixed with a buzzing.
Harry stood slowly and looked out the kitchen window.
He didn’t see anything, but the sound grew louder.
Thinking the upstairs would give him a better view, Harry hurried up to his bedroom.
He didn’t know why he opted not to go outside; maybe he just didn’t feel like putting on his shoes. But it was a good thing he didn’t go.
The moment he peeked through the curtains of the bedroom window, Harry was glad he hadn’t gone outside.
Planes plastered the sky—an eerie resemblance to the photos he had seen of Pearl Harbor.
He didn’t have to question if they were American planes; he didn’t need to see them to know they were not.
The multitudes of planes were coming from the east and that told Harry they weren’t his country’s planes.
He shut the curtain quickly and backed out of the bedroom, steering clear of any windows.
He was a little frightened, not for himself as much as for Tyler.
By the time he reached the living room, the sounds of the planes’ motors were thunderously loud.
There was no ignoring them.
“Harry?” Tyler called out.
“Shh.” Harry put a finger to his mouth. He didn’t want to make a sound. Not a peep. Just on the chance whoever had arrived hadn’t just come by air.
He grabbed Tyler’s hand and led him to the basement. “We’re going down here,” Harry whispered.