Annihilation (The Seamus Chronicles Book 1) (12 page)

Part 3

It seemed only fitting that we had to go backwards to move forward. We went back to the roadblock and the crashed Escalade to get our things. I can’t believe I had completely forgotten about my lab equipment. Fortunately even a cargo van makes the 22-mile trip fast. Dad and I made the trip alone while Liam searches for confirmation of Remmie’s parents and possibly his name. Grace and Sofie are organizing supplies while the kid sleeps.

On both of the Escalades we have used to date, the Thule roof top carriers were properly mounted according to the directions. On this cargo van, they are tied through open windows and sliding around a bit on the roof. After the fire and the crash, I’m not too worried about my stuff anymore. The guns and our personal effects fit easily. It’s not called a cargo van for nothing and there is a lot more room in here than we had previously. Seating is an issue, but there is no one to pull us over for violating the seat belt laws.

By the time we get back to the truck stop, the rest of the gang is on the swing set waiting. We are all moving mechanically as we load the food supplies into the van. There is no spring in anyone’s step. While there is no desire to spend another night here, getting on the highway and racing down the road seems to have no allure either.

“Um, I found them.” Liam actually looks like he wants to cry. “They had a picture of him. I looked at the back but it didn’t have his name. I checked for a wallet or a purse or something, but no dice. The safe was closed so maybe they were in there.” Tears are streaming down his face, but his voice is steady.

Dad walks over and puts an arm around him. “I know that was hard. I’m sorry you had to experience that.”

Until now we have been spared looking at dead bodies. Dad has done all the gruesome work of checking places before we enter. I thought it was a safety check. Now I realize that he was relocating corpses. But Liam has taken a huge step. Dad trusted him with an important task and let him feel sadness, discomfort and emotional pain. Sophie, Grace, and I have still been spared the dead bodies; it’s Dad and Liam that will have those memories. It has me rethinking the roster of the grown-up team.

“So we are just going to take him?” Sofie is questioning our next move.

I don’t see how there can be any question. We are not going to stay here forever. We are not going to leave a 3-year-old alone. Yes, of course we are going to take him.

“Well Sofie, Wyoming is a far cry from the beach. There is no surfcasting here and that garden of yours may not have many productive months.” Dad is somewhere between lecture and concession speech. “Are you proposing that the two of you stay here, alone, together?”

Wait, this can’t be happening. There is no way we are leaving Sofie alone in Hillsdale, Wyoming. What can I say that doesn’t sound desperate, that makes sense, and convinces her that they have to come with us?

“No. Of course I’m not suggesting that,” Sofie says with a confused look on her face. “I just feel like we should say something. Give him the token chance to say what he wants to do. Because...” She trails off and looks at the floor.

“Because we never gave Sofie the choice of coming with us or not,” Grace finishes the thought. “We assumed that she would be better off with us. In some respects, we took advantage of her when she was in a state of shock from losing her parents.”

“It sounds awful when you say it out loud like that!” Sofie is horrified that this is what she was thinking. “I am better off with all of you. I am grateful for you everyday. It just feels like it wasn’t by choice. Even if it’s pretend, let’s give Remmie a choice.”

“You know what?” Dad looks ready to lay into all of us. His voice is raised and Mr. Nice Guy is nowhere around.

I can imagine what he is about to say and he is right. Things are different now. You’re not always going to get to make a choice. Not everyone has a say in what happens. Choices are binary; you come with us and live, or you stay behind and die. Make the decision; don’t stand around talking about it. When we get to California, you can act like an independent, selfish adult. Then when you’re starving and thirsty come find us again and we’ll take you back in.

A long exhale from Dad precedes his statement: “Fine. Give him the choice and then mount up. We need to get moving and get a new car.”

Of course he agreed to come with us. He also agreed to answer to Remmie. The name thing makes it feel weirdly like abduction. No one offered him candy to come with us, but I am creeped out by the outside view of what just happened.
“Hey little boy, get in our van and come with us. Let’s pretend your name is Remmie and you’re going on an adventure.”
It’s the right thing, but I hope our approach doesn’t scar him for life.

On the road I can see that Dad is not just being vain about getting a new car. The transmission in the van keeps slipping and the tires are way out of balance. There is no way this vehicle can sustain speed and get over the mountains safely. We thump along in silence, knowing that there will be another stop before we get going again.

It’s only three exits before we see the sign for a Chevy dealership. I’m hoping that a Suburban will be our fourth and final transport for the trip. Dad heads into the dealership to get keys while the rest of us unload the cargo van. We are silent and efficient. I can’t speak for the others, but I just want the task to be over. Let’s get in the car, head down the road and veg out.

As I untie my rooftop carriers, I wonder if I should look inside to check on my equipment. Do I want to know? If it’s damaged or ruined there is nothing I can do about it. All that will happen is I’ll be upset for a few hours and get angry about things that no one could have controlled. None of us need that. I’ll leave them closed until we get to California.

With the rooftop carriers mounted properly and the equipment and food transferred to the back, we are ready to move out. “Seamus, why don’t you sit up front with me?” Dad is looking at Remmie while he speaks.

I think that technically Remmie is supposed to be in a car seat, but we don’t bother. If there is another epic car crash, he won’t want to survive it. Plus with Grace’s arm around him he has a look of contentment and innocence that we are all longing for. Right now, being physically close with a human is more important than traditional highway safety.

The mountains approach almost immediately. Though we have seen them coming since we walked away from the road block, it seems like they rise from nowhere. We have spent a lot of time in the White Mountains of New Hampshire, hiking, skiing and sightseeing, but they are nothing compared with the Rockies. It’s hard to believe that they both get to be called mountains. It doesn’t seem fair.

After a few hours of driving and watching the breathtaking scenery, I grab Dad’s phone from the console. No bars. How long has it been since we spoke to Mom? I’m thinking it’s been at least two days. We were supposed to have met up with her last night in San Francisco. She must be worried sick, and more than a little bit angry.

I suppose angry wouldn’t be what she felt. That’s me projecting. I’m angry that I forgot to check last night. Angry that I didn’t pick up the landline and try her. In fact, I can’t even remember thinking about her. No, Mom’s not angry. I am.

“Thanks for trying, bud.” Dad’s glancing at me while trying to keep his eyes on the road. “I think our next conversation with Mom is going to be in person.” He’s trying to eek out a smile but it won’t seem to come. “I checked last night. Heh, I even tried the landline to see if we could connect to anything.”

I hope they built travel delays into their plans for meeting up. I wish they would have let me in on the plan or even let me orchestrate it. Dad misses so many details and contingency scenarios. It seems like he prefers going to Plan B most of the time.

As I think about contingencies, the first snowflake hits the window. “Seriously?” The word comes out of my mouth before I can even process what a snowflake might mean.

“It’s snowing!” Grace hasn’t processed what snow might do to us. “Look Remmie, it’s snowing outside. Do you like to play in the snow?”

I want to give her a lecture about the problems snow can cause us. We are not on a ski trip and there is no school to be canceled tomorrow. Snow is cold and slippery and we are not prepared for it.

“Dad? What happens if they don’t plow the roads when it snows?” Liam asks. He could piece this together if he would spend a minute thinking about his question before speaking. But not Liam, he would rather hear the noise of his own voice.

“Really Liam? What do you think is going to happen?” Dad normally has little patience for questioning the obvious; now he has none.

“The road will get covered and we can’t drive?” Liam is answering as if there is a chance he is wrong. “I mean, did they ever not plow at home? Are we going to be able to keep going?” He has a concern in his head but he struggles to get it out.

“We are going to push on while we can. If it gets dangerous, I’ll get off the highway and we can find a place to hunker down.” Dad is part communicating, part convincing himself of a course of action.

Fortunately there is not a lot of accumulation. The snow is sticking on the grass but blows easily off the road. It seems to go on like this for hours and miles. Our top speed is down in the low 70s. It’s feels borderline safe, but I’m sure Dad considers anything slower to be the same as stopped.

The sun is getting low and dark is approaching fast. We have already had a bad experience driving at night. Driving at night in the snow is a downright terrifying thought. I’m about to ask if we can pull over and find a place for the night when we see a billboard for the Hyatt at the Salt Lake City Airport.

“I can’t believe it took us this long to get here,” Dad says as he fiddles with the navigation display. “I was hoping we could make Nevada before nightfall.”

The snow has stopped and Dad has us back up to 100 miles an hour. “I think we should stop at that Hyatt we just passed the sign for.” It’s my first act as co-pilot. “It’s twenty miles away. We can be there in less than fifteen minutes.”

“Agreed,” he says as we both look to the navigation screen like it has an answer.

The map is still being displayed, but our vehicle location is not being modified. I can’t believe that we got the Suburban with the defective navigation unit. I look closer only to realize that it stopped hours ago, while we were in the mountains. Dad must have realized this, which is why he was fiddling with it.

“I thought it was the snow causing problems,” Dad looks at me while he speaks. “But now I think the satellites may be shutting down.”

Of course. The satellite designers made accommodations for prolonged communications failures. If the satellite doesn’t hear from earth for a few weeks, it shuts down and moves to a safer orbit.

“Good thing I-80 is a straight shot to San Francisco. Even I can’t get lost,” Dad says.

What is it with the post-apocalypse and early mornings? If we get to San Francisco before four in the afternoon, I am going to let Dad know how bad his time planning is. There is no Internet and no landlines, so we are still in the dark as far as communicating with Mom.

Grace and Sofie shared a room with Remmie. That kid is a real trooper. He hasn’t complained about anything and even tries to help without being asked. He also has a sense of humor and laughs at some pretty random stuff. Dad, Liam and I all had our own rooms with king-sized beds. The sleep was magnificent. If Mom was not waiting for us, I would be strongly pushing to spend another night here. If the past few days have taught me anything, it’s that you never know what kind of mess you could wind up in on the road.

Just imagining Mom and her smile and her voice helped get me going, though. Getting that hug I know is waiting and sharing all the crazy things that Liam and Grace did on our trip will make me forget the pain we have endured. Last night, with a paper map and a ruler, Dad estimated that we have 900 miles to go before reaching San Francisco. After he went to bed I took the map and came up with closer to 700 miles. He is so imprecise it kills me.

Regardless of who made the better estimate, we have 7 to 9 hours of driving ahead of us today. That assumes that there will be no snow, no roadblocks and no other natural disasters. I’m riding shotgun again, and the girls were able to add some coloring books, board games and G-rated videos for Remmie. I’m hopeful for an event-free day, but I am not optimistic.

About an hour west of Salt Lake, we are in a serious mountain pass. The road conditions are fine but there are patches of snow underneath trees and in some shady spots. Fortunately the sky is clear and stunningly blue. Weather will not be a problem this morning. However, I do feel like I need to remain awake and vigilant. In the back of my mind, I recall the old stagecoaches and the origination of the term “shotgun.” It is not a stretch to think that I should have a weapon readily available to me.

“Dad, do you think I should have a gun up here?” I ask him casually so as not to alarm the passengers.

He surveys the mountains around us as if there was something there. “I suppose that makes some sense.” He pauses but I know there is more. “I don’t think it’s urgent though. Let’s wait until our little friend is asleep. Then we can have one passed up.”

Finding Nemo
is still a big hit with little kids and even Liam seems to be enjoying it. They are snacking and laughing at the film. I am torn between wanting to be in the back watching movies with the kids and my pride for being up front in the true “shotgun” position. I look out the window, and my mind wanders to what we will need to get done once we arrive in San Francisco.

“Why don’t you hold off on another movie for a bit? See if anyone wants to close their eyes and rest.” Dad’s voice interrupts my thinking. I’m not sure how long I was gone, but
Nemo
must be over.

My vigilance out the windows returns and, after about ten minutes, Dad whispers to the back: “Liam. Can you get one of the shotguns and a handful of shells and pass them up here to Seamus?”

When having a weapon was my idea, it felt logical and smart. When Dad puts it into action, it feels scary. Did he see something or someone? I suppose that as long as he leaves his handgun in the console I should feel safe. The barrel of the shotgun pokes me in the shoulder and I reach back to bring it forward. Guns are always heavier than I expect. Next come two handfuls of shells. Couldn’t he have just sent up the box?

“Make sure you load it,” Dad says, looking out the window.

Now I am frightened again. As calmly as I can, I load all of the shells into the shotgun. I’m gripping it tightly across my lap, wary of the trigger and keeping my finger well away from it.

“Now point the muzzle to the floor, and let go of the gun.” Dad is talking in very soothing tones. He must sense my tension, “Seamus, there is nothing to be afraid of. We have clear sailing ahead.”

Famous last words
, I think to myself as I lower the gun and look out the side window. Before long, I am fast asleep. Even after last night’s magnificent rest, I am in a deep slumber.

Eventually I begin to dream. Sofie and I are by the ocean. She is gardening and I am sitting on the deck of a small cottage reading a book. The sky is beautiful, the sun is warm on my face, and we are both so happy. But then commandos appear. Out of nowhere. They are rappelling down ropes from helicopters! Sofie is caught and is being forced face-down onto the ground. Now they’ve got me; I twist to get out of their grip, but it is too firm.

“Seamus, we’re coming into Reno,” I hear Dad’s voice before I open my eyes. “We’re making really good time today.”

Like every other town and city we have passed through, Reno is quiet. I don’t see any sign of life or electricity. I’m sure that the hydroelectric plants will fail eventually, but I didn’t think it would happen this soon. Maybe it’s more along the lines of a blown transformer or something breaking at the power substation.

“Are we going to stop for gas?” I ask, even though I can’t see the gauge.

“Yeah, there is a service area in a few miles. I thought we would gas up, stretch and get a little fresh air.” Dad is nodding while he speaks. I agree that it’s a good idea.

The service area has no power. From the state of the coolers, it has not been off for long; the drinks are still cold. We agree that any refrigerated food is off-limits and snack from the shelves with preservative-loaded foods. Dad is outside, working the manual pump rig. Once I get a drink and some Fritos, I’ll go out and relieve him.

Dad and Liam wind up playing a little football while Remmie plays hide-and-seek with Grace and Sofie. I’m content to operate the manual pump and watch them relax. The stop takes a lot longer than I had anticipated, but it is event free. I wonder if I’m the only one who is suddenly nervous about meeting up with Mom?

After blowing through Sacramento like it wasn’t there, we are on the San Francisco Bay Bridge. Off to my right, I catch a glimpse of the Golden Gate Bridge. It is a magnificent structure. Even though it is quite common and even rudimentary technology by today’s standards, its brilliance is clear. I can see the water of the bay rushing below us. Not only designing but also building a structure that can stand up to the massive power of the ocean is a feat. Having done so in the early 1900s is beyond my comprehension.

With no phones and no navigation, I’m not sure how we are going to find Mom. Dad has a street name but not an address or directions. Did they assume that navigation would be working and it would be obvious where humans were? It’s not like we can stop and ask someone for directions.

I’m combing through the paper map we picked up in Reno. I found the street name, but getting there from the highway is not straightforward. It seems like there are 100 turns we need to make over the course of less than a mile. The sun is getting low and I can’t imagine we’ll be able to find anything here in the dark.

We get off the highway and come to a stop. The tension in the Suburban is thick. The streets are empty and we don’t have to obey the stop sign we are in front of.

“I think you can go,” Liam says from the back.

“I’m giving Seamus a minute to get his bearings and find out where we are on the map.” Dad is looking in the rear view mirror addressing the back seat driver. “You kids aren’t used to paper maps. You’ve always had navigation and touch screens. I’ll wait while you adjust.”

“I’ve got it! Up seven streets, left for three streets and then right for four more streets.” I’m not even sure how to read out directions off of the paper map.

“Okay,” he chuckles. “Remmie, can you help the big kids count streets?”

After we start moving again I blurt out, “You’re looking for a left on 20th Street.” This feels like the right way to navigate for a driver. I think I remember he and Mom doing this when I was little.

Dad keeps slowing down as we approach stop signs. I want him to just blow through them. There is no one here and we are almost to Mom. Keep your foot on it, old man.

After we make the left, it’s as if he has heard my thoughts. The stop signs are whizzing by in a blur. We go three streets in the blink of an eye. The hard right has us all feeling as many G-forces as a Suburban can manage. I think we are back to our 100 mph average. If Mom is waiting in the street for us, we won’t be able to stop.

Dad doesn’t start to apply the brakes until after we pass the fourth street. It’s not obvious to me where Mom is staying, but maybe Dad can sense her presence? Now he’s hanging a U-turn and moving much more slowly. He pulls to the first cross street and stops, looking up and down the road. I do not want to spend a night in San Francisco without finding Mom.

We slowly roll to the next cross street and, there on the corner, in the last bit of sunshine on the street, is Mom. She is standing defiantly with her hands on her hips. Her face possesses not quite a scowl but certainly not the smile I was expecting.

We don’t know quite what to do. Why aren’t we bursting out of the truck and running to her? There should be smiles and laughter and cheering. We made it!

Dad slams the SUV into park and Grace starts the eruption. Her door flies open and her cry of “Mom!” fills the vehicle. Mom’s face breaks into a broad smile and she is running the short distance to the car while I get my door open. I manage to make up the small gap between Grace and me so that we meet in Mom’s embrace at almost the exact same moment. An instant later, Liam is on us completing our group hug and adding to the “I love you’s,” tears and laughter bubbling out of our pile.

When we finally break our embrace, I see Dad holding Sofie. From the heaving of her back I can tell that she is sobbing. There is no reunion coming for her. Seeing us with Mom and realizing that our family is reunited is a painful reminder of what she has lost.

Grace hurries over to console her and Dad takes the opportunity to greet Mom. They hug tightly and then share a long kiss. The stress is completely gone from Dad’s face and posture. We are all back together. Whatever happens from here out doesn’t matter. I doubt that we will ever separate for long again.

“You’re late,” are the first real words out of her mouth. But she’s not mad. “I’m so glad you are all okay, I have been so worried I don’t think I’ve slept in two weeks.” She’s standing and surveying all of us like we’re being inspected before the first day of school.

“Come inside! We were just wondering if we should hold dinner for a third straight night.” She’s turned and is walking toward the steps of the closest house.