Powerless (29 page)

 

A
full week has passed since Carl's encounter, and Zeke's finally making preparations to leave. Unfortunately, he forgot to bring saddles for the two mares and had spent most of the week trying to fashion something out of the cargo carriers he had built for the trip down. With a sufficient number of blankets, he's made riding passable, though not extremely comfortable for Ruth, Carl, and the kids.

The food his mother had packed was depleted within a couple of days and Zeke had scoured the urban landscape for any type of food. They've dined on squirrel and rabbit, supplemented with a goose he snared off the lake at the country club down the road. All of it cooked on Carl's state-of-the-art gas grill that Zeke had to gut so he could build a wood fire. Noah and Emma didn't much care for the squirrel or the rabbit, but they feasted on the goose meat.

A smudge of orange is just appearing on the horizon as Ruth uses her key to lock the front door of their home. They stand as a group on the front lawn and stare at their home, as if posing for a painting, while Zeke tamps down his impatience to be under way. Finally, after Ruth wipes the tears from her eyes, they all walk over to where Zeke's waiting, the reins of the three horses in his hand.

“Carl, I'm going to put Noah on with me until we see how well you tolerate the movement of the horse. Ruth, you and Emma are going to ride Ruby, and Carl, you're riding Tilly.”

Zeke couldn't find anything in their garage to make any stirrups that wouldn't irritate the hell out of the horses so he's lashed a step stool to Murphy's back for later down the road. Right now, he uses a five-gallon bucket from the garage for Carl and Ruth to use for mounting the horses. Ruth stands on the bucket and throws her leg over Ruby's back and Zeke hands Emma up to her. He moves the bucket to Tilly and helps Carl into the makeshift saddle. Noah uses one of the saddle stirrups, and with Zeke's help, gets situated aboard Murphy, sitting in front of his uncle.

Ruth is comfortable on a horse, but he's not sure about Carl. “You want me to clip a lead to your horse, Carl, or can you handle her?”

“I'll be fine,” he mutters through his closed mouth.

“Tell me if you change your mind.” Zeke gently nudges Murphy forward and they fall in behind him. Zeke silently repeats the word
patience
as they trudge slowly up the street. He glances back frequently to make sure his party is keeping up and to see if Carl has passed out from the pain. They're troupers and they make better progress than he had hoped for. Along the way they stop for frequent breaks, to give everyone a chance to stretch their legs and to give the horses a breather. Ruth and her family hadn't ventured beyond their neighborhood during the crisis and they're astounded at the number of cars and trucks abandoned in the middle of the road.

Sometime later they close in on the place where Zeke had shot two people. He calls a halt to resituate everyone. Noah moves over with his father, leaving Zeke free to operate. He doesn't tell them what had happened but they can sense his tenseness. He rakes his hand across his hip and loosens the Glock.

“Carl, you think you can manage if we have to run the horses a little?”

He nods and wraps one of his arms around Noah in front of him.

Ruth's face is pinched with concern. “What's wrong, Zeke?”

“Nothing. But I want to be prepared.”

Zeke remounts and tells everyone to stay close. He scans from one side of the road to the other. As they near the car parked parallel to the road, he's relieved to see someone has retrieved the bodies. Dark stains form amoebas in the asphalt and Zeke's eyes are glued to the apartment complex. It's the middle of the day and he sees only one other person up and about. They pass unmolested and Zeke wiggles his shoulders to loosen the tension.

By the time they reach Beltline Road the sun is riding low in the sky. Zeke had been hoping to reach Summer's house before dark, but his hope fades with the light. Everyone, horses included, is exhausted. As they cross Beltline Road, he spots a golf course off to the east with a small stream running through the middle. He steers Murphy in that direction and turns in the saddle to make sure the rest are following. The area around the golf course is heavily wooded, he assumes to keep out prying eyes.
What could possibly go on during a round of golf that would concern the members enough to spend a fortune planting trees around the entire perimeter?
It made no sense to him, but he's cursing them as he searches for a way in. Maybe that's why, he reasons—to keep the unprivileged out. He finds a cut into the trees and he pushes Murphy in that direction. It's a service entrance of some sort blocked by a single iron-bar gate. There's just enough space on one side to squeeze the horses through.

He dismounts and signals the others to do the same. He puts a finger to his lips and ties Murphy's reins to the gate and steps a little deeper into the shadows to reconnoiter the area. There's a house fairly close, but he doesn't see any activity. Across the once-manicured fairway he spies a thicket of trees next to the small creek. Perfect. Houses line the golf course on both sides and he takes a moment to watch for movement.

Not seeing anyone out and about, he retraces his steps and unties the reins, then whispers to the others, “There's a house close on the right, but I didn't see anyone. But houses are all along the golf course. I'm going to lead us as far in as possible to put some distance between those houses and us. Take it nice and slow and be as quiet as you can.”

He leads Murphy across the overgrown fairway and into the thicket of oak trees and persimmon bushes. He picks a spot equidistant to the surrounding homes and waits for the rest of the crew to catch up. They relieve the horses of their burdens and Zeke leads them down to the creek to drink. Once the horses have drunk their fill, he strings a rope between a pair of trees and clips the horses' leads to them, freeing them to munch on the still-green grass.

The night is nearly full dark by the time he's finished the chores.

“Uncle Zeke, can we start a fire?” Noah says, shivering.

“We better not, little buddy. Too many houses around.” Zeke unfurls a blanket and wraps it around Noah's shoulders.

Ruth and the kids appear to be holding up well but Carl looks absolutely miserable. “How you holding up, Carl?”

“Fine” is his curt answer, but Zeke can tell he's in pain. They had been putting some of the deer jerky into a pot of water and heating it up to make a broth for Carl to drink through his straw, but without a fire there will be no broth tonight. He grabs his canteen and gives it a shake.

“I'm going for water.”

“Where are you going to get water?” Ruth says.

“You know Dad. He's always good for something unusual,” Zeke says.

His statement puts a smile on his sister's weary face.

“He had some water purification tablets tucked away. I have no idea where he got them, or when, but they're pretty damn handy right now.”

“I miss Mom and Dad.”

“We're going to see them in a day or two,” he says before slipping down to the creek.

He dips his hand in the water and takes a sniff. With their constant need to fertilize their fairways and greens, golf courses are some of the heaviest polluters of waterways.
Don't want the members to be dissatisfied with a lack of lush grass
, Zeke thinks as he dribbles some of the water into his mouth. He walks a little ways away and tugs up a plug of grass. He discovers that most of the course is in Bermuda grass, which means the last application of fertilizer had probably been a couple of months ago. He dumps a few of the tablets into the canteen and returns to the small creek to fill it.

Back at camp, Zeke hands the canteen to Carl first. He pulls the straw from his pocket and pops it in and takes a long drink. Zeke shakes out four ibuprofen tablets from the first aid kit and hands them to Carl. He has to feed them into his mouth one at a time to keep his jaw from moving. When he's finished he passes the canteen to Emma for her to drink, then on down the line until it's his turn. The canteen is nearly empty by the time it returns to him. He pops some more purification tablets inside and returns to the creek for a refill.

By the time Zeke returns to camp, Carl is curled up in a blanket, dead asleep. “All right, guys, we have deer jerky for dinner.”

After a few groans they all take a hunk of meat and begin chewing. It's not long after their makeshift dinner before everyone falls asleep. Zeke pulls the Kimber from the scabbard and wraps up in one of the blankets. It takes him a while to doze off, but the steady rhythm of the horses munching on grass is enough to send him over the edge.

Zeke is up before daybreak preparing the horses for another day on the trail. He freezes when he spots one of the homeowners walking her dog along the cart trails. But she passes without even glancing in their direction. He's glad the dog hadn't caught the scent of the horses, but the woman's appearance creates a sense of urgency. He kneels next to Ruth, both children snuggled up on either side of her, and gently stirs them awake. Zeke lets Carl sleep for just a bit longer, hoping the extra time will speed his recovery. While Ruth and the children take care of their morning business, he takes the canteen down to the creek to refill it.

When they're close to departing he wakes Carl up. A majority of the swelling has retreated, but Carl's jaw is a mixture of purple and yellow hues. It hurts to look at him. Carl steps behind one of the trees to relieve himself and they mount up. Zeke leads them off the golf course and back to Preston Road, where they turn back north, that much closer to home in Oklahoma.

After several rest stops, they make it to Summer's home sometime around midafternoon. Zeke dismounts, hands the reins to Ruth, and steps up on the porch while removing his hat. She must have heard his footfalls, because the door swings wide.

“Zeke,” she shouts as she lunges into his arms. He wraps his arms around her, somewhat surprised by the greeting.

“I didn't think you were coming back,” she says, taking a step back.

“We had some difficulties. Okay if we bed down in the barn?”

“No.”

Zeke is momentarily stunned by her response. “I thought we agreed—”

She puts her hand to his mouth. “You're not staying in the barn.” She looks past his shoulder. “C'mon in.”

 

P
resident Harris is at his desk when Chief of Staff Scott Alexander enters the Oval Office. “It's been a pretty good week, considering,” Alexander says as he sits in the chair flanking the historic desk.

“Yeah, the old ‘Other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, how was the play?' phrase pretty much sums up the week.”

“Hey, the Iranian troops are heading home—that's something.”

“I suppose you're right, Scott. But there's a hell of a lot more stuff to deal with. What did the South Koreans say?”

“They want about half of next year's total budget to ship the transformers to us.”

“Those bastards.” President Harris throws his pen on the desk and stands. “After all we've done for that fucking two-bit country?” President Harris begins pacing. “How about we pull every last American troop from their country? Did you ask them that?”

“No, I didn't,” Alexander says, watching the President's furious march from one side of the room to the other.

President Harris stops and turns. “How much aid did we give them last year?”

“Offhand, I'd estimate about a billion dollars.”

“Well, that stops right this damn minute. If they want to play hardball I'll shut them down before they even get started. I won't let another damn Hyundai or Kia roll off a ship. I'll strangle their damn economy.”

“Paul, slow down before you stroke out.”

The President stops and shoots Alexander an angry glare before stalking back to his desk.

Alexander waits for the President to sit. “They're just trying to get the most for their product. A product we're in desperate need of. And they know exactly how desperate we are.”

“What happened to helping your fellow man? Are the South Koreans immune?”

“Not necessarily. The manufacturer is not a state-owned entity. It's a private business.”

“Bullshit, Scott. The South Korean government has their hand in all those businesses. They're just using that for an excuse. Hell, they could take over the whole damn plant based on a national security need. I know how the bastards work.” The President stands again and paces another lap around the office.

Scott gives him time to sort through the possibilities. Although President Harris can be a hothead when provoked, he's better known for his well-thought-out reasoning.

“Scott, would you please get President Choi on the phone?”

“You don't want to handle this through the State Department?”

“Hell no. It'll take six months for them to even connect on the phone. I want to talk to him man-to-man.”

“Are you sure, sir?”

President Harris stops pacing and turns to face his chief of staff, “I'm sure, Scott.”

“Okay, sir,” Alexander says as he walks to the phone near the two sofas across the room. He instructs the President's secretary to place a call to the president of South Korea.

“I suppose you don't want an interpreter,” Scott says.

“No. He got his master's and Ph.D. from Cambridge. He probably speaks better English than I do.”

It takes longer than usual to place the call. Finally, the intercom buzzes. “Sir, President Choi on line one.”

President Harris walks to one of the sofas and takes a seat, grabbing the handset on the way down. “Good day, Mr. President, thank you for taking my call.”

Scott takes a seat on the opposing couch. He can hear only one side of the conversation, but he cringes during some of the more heated portions of the phone call.

After several minutes, President Harris plays his ultimatum. “Mr. President, I'm thinking of embargoing all future South Korean exports to the U.S.”

Scott can overhear the raised voice of South Korea's president from where he's sitting. The President glances over at his chief of staff and raises his eyebrows as the verbal tirade on the other end continues.

President Harris listens, then says, “What was the last portion, President Choi?”

More babble over the phone. When the South Korean president finishes, President Harris says, “Sounds reasonable.” More chatter on the other end. “I believe that's reasonable.” More chatter. “Thank you, President Choi, for your empathy.”

The President glances up and gets an eye roll from Alexander.

“Thank you. I'll talk to you soon.”

President Harris replaces the handset.

“Well?” Alexander says.

President Harris smiles. “They'll have four of the largest transformers on a ship within a week.”

“That's all?”

“No, there's more. They will ship four of the behemoths a month until our electrical grid has been restored.”

“I'll be damned,” Scott says. “What did you promise them?”

“Nothing. You were sitting right there listening to my half of the conversation. Did you hear me promise them anything?”

“So he caved at the threatened embargo?”

“Of course. Their country would return back to the rice paddy days if American markets were closed to their products.” President Harris walks over to one of the bookshelves and pulls a lever. The bottom portion swings open to reveal a well-stocked bar. “Now, I'd say we've had a decent week. What'll you have, Scott?”