Read Through Many Fires (Strengthen What Remains) Online
Authors: Kyle Pratt
Through Many Fires (Strengthen What Remains)
Through Many Fires
Strengthen What
Remains
By Kyle Pratt
Through Many Fires
Camden Cascade
Publishing
Copyright ©
2013 Kyle Pratt
Paperback
ISBN: 0615808387
Kindle Version 1.51 –
November 2013
All Rights Reserved
Cover design
and cover art by Micah Hansen
Editor Barbara Blakey
This is a
work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the
product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any
resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely
coincidental.
All rights
reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner
whatsoever without written permission from the author.
Dedication
Many authors say that their spouse is their biggest fan. My
wife Lorraine most certainly is mine. This book would not exist without her
support, ideas and constant encouragement.
I would also like to thank my friends and fellow writers,
Joyce Scott, Robert Hansen, Barbara Blakey and Carolyn Bickel. You have all
taught me so much about the craft of writing.
Those
who were murdered cry out for justice.
Senator Stevens scanned the pages of the
terrorism legislation.
They will soon have it.
He was pleased with the
progress of the bill, but he could not let up now. Sliding by a portly
colleague, he maneuvered toward the senator from Oregon, “Do I have your
support, Dave?”
“
Sure,
you do.”
“
Thanks.”
Stevens stepped away.
“
What’s
the rush?”
“
I
need to bend the ears of a few senior members before the president speaks.”
“
Okay,”
he grinned. “Always on the job, eh?”
“
Always,”
he said with his gaze fixed on the National Security Advisor. As Stevens neared
he gripped the man’s arm and asked, “Did he do it, Jake? Did the president
include my proposal in his final draft?”
“
Yes
but,” Jake lowered his voice to a whisper, “how many will support the president
this late in his second term?”
“
I
know he’s a lame duck, but we need to go on the offensive again. This bill
provides a comprehensive approach to terrorism.”
Jake
shrugged. “You don’t need to sell me. We need support from Congress.”
“
Okay.”
Stevens slapped the man on the back. “Thanks for taking it to the president. I
will
get the support you need.” He scanned the House chamber for another colleague
when applause thundered. Turning toward the rostrum, he sighed.
The
president stood behind the lectern, cleared his throat and smiled broadly.
Stevens glanced at his watch.
Nine o’clock. I wish I had more time.
He
waved to another senator, moved quickly to his seat and leaned back as the
president began to speak. A departing aide casually opened a door to the house
chamber.
*
*
*
One thousand yards away
a nondescript van pulled into an alley and stopped. The driver leaned forward
and muttered a prayer.
White
light, as intense as the surface of the sun, seared the retinas of Senator
Stevens. Before blindness registered on his brain, superheated air scorched his
lungs. The chair splintered as scorching wind threw his body through the wood
and upholstery. His skin blistered, boiled and dissolved.
Walking toward the door
with his co-workers, Caden Westmore sneaked a look at his watch.
8:55
.
Feeling a hand rest on his shoulder he turned.
The
Chief-of-Staff thrust his free hand forward. “Well, how does it feel to be
Chief Foreign Policy Advisor?”
“
I’m
sure you knew Stevens would promote me days ago,” Caden said as they shook
hands, “but I only found out a few hours ago.” He shrugged. “I’ve hardly had
time for it to sink in.”
They
continued to talk as they stepped outside. The January wind tingled against
Caden’s face and the icy air reached deep into his lungs. The winter sun had
long since gone down; he could see his breath in the glow of the restaurant
window.
Buttoning
his suit jacket, he said goodbye. A gentle snow fell, tickling his exposed
hands and face, as he ambled up the street towards his car. He glanced at his
watch.
Two minutes till nine.
The dinner had ended at just the right
time. Congress would be assembled and waiting on the president. He turned the
corner and picked up his pace, eager to get to his car and listen to the
address on the radio.
Caden
smiled as a woman with flowing blond hair walked past. Images of Becky came to
mind. He wished she was with him in D.C.
I should call and tell her about my
promotion.
He retrieved his phone and tapped her name. At the sound of her
soft southern accent he smiled. “Hello beautiful.”
The
night flashed as bright as a desert noon. Light penetrated his suit and warmed
his back like a hot summer day. He squinted then closed his eyes tight. Even
with eyelids firmly shut, a blood red glow filled his vision. He flung his arm
across his face. The phone squealed. He jerked it away. Then there was silence.
Tentatively he opened his eyes as all the world seemed to wait—but for what?
“
Becky?
Becky?” He glanced down. The phone seemed to be off. He pushed the button, but
it did not turn on. He dropped it into his pocket.
What happened?
The
crackling of a rifle shot ricocheted around him. But unlike a rifle shot the
sound did not fade, it grew and echoed. He turned left and right trying to see
where it came from when a boom like none he had ever heard reverberated through
him. He stumbled, regained his footing and wiped his eyes only to have wind
slap him several steps back. Dust hung in the air. Car alarms and people
screamed. Caden’s eyes darted left and right. Dozens stood like him, confused
statues. Never-ending rolling thunder filled the night as debris, carried by a
strong wind, buffeted him.
Several
feet away a woman screamed. Caden followed her terrified gaze. His heart
pounded. As if the gates of hell had been thrown open, out from the very bowels
a satanic belch of fire and light raced towards the heavens. Lightning crackled
across the sky in a dozen directions as he watched in disbelief. A boiling
mushroom cloud formed in the southern night sky.
A
cacophony of horns sounded as the normally quiet suburban street filled with
panicked people all going away from the cloud. Repeatedly jostled and shoved he
wondered where the crowd came from.
Screams
grabbed his attention. At the street corner the blond woman from moments ago
was knocked to the ground by the frightened crowd. Others trampled her in a
panic. He tried to help her, but the throng was like a riptide going in the
wrong direction. Caden struggled to stay on his feet as he was shoved and spun
around. The surge of the mob carried him away. Looking back over his shoulder,
he saw only the growing torrent of people and cloud.
Caden
thanked God the horde moved towards his car. As the flow of people brought him
near, he pushed and shoved his way to the vehicle. He jumped into the driver’s
seat, slammed his foot on the gas pedal and turned the key. The car sputtered
and died.
God, help me!
He realized he still had the gas pedal to the
floor.
Calm down. Calm down.
He took his foot off the gas and turned the
key. The car coughed and shook, then started. Caden let out a sigh, pulled away
from the curb and joined the fleeing masses.
Traffic
was already heavy as a plan formed in his mind. He would go to his apartment
and get everything he could.
And then what?
Just get away from the
blast. But to where?
Becky!
He would go to Becky in Atlanta. Caden
wondered if she was safe. Had Atlanta been attacked? Would it be attacked? He
tried his phone again. It turned on, but when he tried Becky’s number nothing
happened.
What about Mom and Dad, Peter or Lisa?
He was sure they were
okay—for now. He speed dialed his parents, then his brother, then his sister,
but there was only silence. Looking at the phone in frustration he noticed
there was still no signal. He threw the phone on the seat beside him.
The
roads were jammed. Every stoplight and streetlight was out. Escape from the
firestorm was painstakingly slow. It was like some horrible nightmare where he
tried to run, but couldn’t. He could walk faster than his car moved. Usually
the drive from the restaurant to his apartment in Bethesda was a mere ten
minutes, but tonight, it was the longest half-hour of his life. When he finally
pulled up to his building he was relieved that, at least on this night, there
was plenty of parking in front.
As he
ran into the lobby the darkness slowed him.
“
Mr.
Westmore, what happened?” The woman shined a flashlight in his direction. “The
explosion. The power is out.”
The
voice came out of a fog, familiar but distant and detached.
Yes, of course,
the power is out.
He continued across the lobby.
She
grabbed him by the arms. Even with such feeble light he saw the terror that
filled her eyes. “What happened?”
He
recognized her—the building manager. “Nuclear explosion. Get away from here.”
He raced across the lobby and felt his way down the hall and up the stairs.
In his
apartment, he snatched a flashlight, grabbed the camping gear from the closet
and threw it next to the door. Dragging a duffle bag from his army days behind
him, he hurried to the bedroom. There he yanked open drawers and poured the
contents into the sack. Anything that landed on the floor stayed there. He
pulled the drawer from the nightstand and spilled it on the bed. Then he
grabbed the cash, ten old silver dollars and the .38. Both were gifts from his
father when he moved to the big city.
Thanks Dad, I might need the gun.
His
dad had always said keep a Bug Out Bag prepared and handy, but Caden thought it
was unnecessary and a bit paranoid, so he never did. Now he was throwing one
together with a mushroom cloud growing in the distance.
He
flung open the cabinet doors in the kitchen and shook his head.
What a
miserable collection of food.
He dropped a jar of cheese dip, a box of
cereal, a can of olives and several similar items into the bag.
The
faucet only gurgled as Caden twisted the knob to fill a canteen. He cursed. In
the refrigerator, he found a pitcher with water. He poured it into a thermos.
He emptied a liter soda bottle into the sink, then hurried to the bathroom. He
took the lid off the back of the toilet, dropped it to the ground with a thud,
and plunged the canteen and then the soda bottle into the water tank.
Becky
would be horror-struck to see this, but the water is clean. Becky!
Twisting
the caps on his water supply, he trotted to the living room and grabbed the phone.
No dial tone. He tapped the receiver. Silence.
Clutching
the duffle bag, Caden headed for the door.
Can opener.
He ran into the
kitchen and grabbed it and a random assortment of flatware.
Lugging
his belongings, he abandoned the apartment, thrust everything into his car and
joined the slow exodus.
Traffic
was worse than rush hour. Honks sounded and brakes screeched in a continuous
assault on the ears. Caden didn’t merge onto the beltway—he pushed; his car
acquiring dents and scrapes in the process. When finally in the stream of
traffic he saw several cars headed towards the blast.
Who would be so
foolish? Who would head into the city?
He bit his lip.
People with
family downtown
. He sighed.
God help them.
A
motorcycle cut in front of him. Caden pressed his horn, but the rider, slicing
between cars, was already yards ahead. Another cyclist roared past so close
that he could have reached out and grabbed him. He checked his speedometer,
five miles per hour.
At least the bikers are getting away.
Glancing at
his gas gauge he sighed with relief.
Three quarters full.
Caden
looked left into the storm. Flames licked the sky in a swirling, spinning,
demonic dance. Every cloud glowed with the reflected light of hell.
Even if
the firemen can get to the inferno the water mains are shattered, the pumps
have no power. The city will burn for days. Maybe weeks.
He turned on the
radio. Mellow jazz filled the car from the satellite receiver.
“
Music?”
Where’s this broadcast from?
He shook his head.
Not Washington D.C.
Cars
swerved in front of him. Ahead, a sign barely readable in the dark, announced
the exit for highway 267. Accompanied by soft jazz he maneuvered to the exit.
Glancing
in the review mirror, Caden saw fire consuming the dying city.
Dying!
How much radiation have I been exposed to?
Snow dotted his windshield.
Could it
be fallout?
He wondered if his escape was short lived. Would he soon die
anyway? The blast seemed close but he had been in Silver Springs.
Surely the
explosion must have been over downtown, the Whitehouse or Congress. Congress!
Like a punch to his stomach he realized Senator Stevens, his boss, was in the
Capitol for the State of the Union Address.
Oh my God, if I’m right they’re
all dead, the president, every senator and every representative.
Memories
of the people he worked with flashed through his mind.
Dead. Everyone was at
the Capitol, the justices of the Supreme Court, the Joint Chiefs of Staff. All
dead.
Scott and Rachel had stayed behind at the office.
Dead.
Caden
weaved his car from one side of the road to the other like a drunk as he
avoided wrecks. One moment he sped up, the next he slammed on his brakes.
Are
we at war? Who did this to us?
A driver cut in front of him.
Have other
cities been hit?
Brakes squealed. The car in front fishtailed. Caden
swerved. Behind him cars piled into one another.
With
traffic stopped, he leaned on the steering wheel, catching his breath. He
looked down at the radio.
Maybe, just maybe I can get something on it now.
He
switched his receiver over to the AM band and pressed search. After several
moments it locked on a station.
A
voice struggling to sound calm filled the car. “…fighters from D.C. and
surrounding cities are attempting to get control of the firestorm as survivors
flee the metro area…” The signal faded.
Ahead
he heard metal crunch and scrape and looked up from where he had rested his
head on the wheel. A tow truck pulled the wreck to the side of the road. He
wondered how the truck had gotten to the scene. As soon as there was space,
cars began squeezing past. He followed.
“…
fallout
spreading downwind towards…”
He
cursed the radio as it fluctuated between static and inaudible. He considered
trying to find a more reliable station, but was afraid he might lose his only
source of news.
“…
blast
centered over the capital mall…”
His
stomach churned. Cold sweat ran down his forehead. “So it is true they’re all
dead.” Bile rose in his throat and he wondered if the churning, sweating and
nausea was radiation sickness.
No, not this soon.
The symptoms were most
likely shock.
“…
fires
raging…loss of power throughout the metro…”
Even
if this radio station was fading in and out there was hope of a good signal
later.
“…
life
is in imminent danger do not use the telephone or call 911…”
That
thought brought him back to his cell phone. He grabbed it and the display
showed one bar.
Yes!
He had a signal. But no dial tone. Despite a
momentary feeling of guilt, he phoned anyway. Nothing happened. He tried again
and again. Looking at the car ahead he could see the driver with a phone to his
ear and realized that perhaps a million people were doing exactly what he was
doing. The whole system had been destroyed, damaged or was hopelessly
overloaded.
He
thought of Mom and Dad, back in Washington state. They must be worried sick
about him. He tried their number anyway and heard only silence.
He
dropped the phone on the passenger seat as a familiar sound cut through the
static of the radio. He had often heard the sine wave attention signal as he
grew up, but it had always been a test. This was no test. The Emergency Alert
System had been activated.
“
The
Secretary of the Army, Benjamin Oates, has ordered the activation of the
Emergency Alert System to advise citizens in the nuclear disaster zone…”
“
Secretary
of the Army….” The announcer continued but Caden did not hear. It took a
presidential order to activate the EAS.
If the secretary of the Army did it…
His mind recoiled from the truth.
All of them—The whole cabinet…they’re
dead.
