Without Warning (44 page)

He paused to look around. Heather had closed her eyes on the couch, but he had everyone else’s undivided attention.

“I can’t do anything about the politics. I’ll talk to the army about letting the councillors go, but we have to proceed on the assumption that they won’t. So, despite the fact that everything has changed, I don’t see that anything has changed. We have a good plan to pull the city and the state through this. We just need to make it work. Which means we
are
going to need the military’s help, no matter how difficult that might be to swallow for now.”

Barney Tench shook his head firmly.

“I don’t know about that, Kip,” he said. “What these guys look like to me is fascists. My mom’s family, way back when, they came from Croatia. You only got two types in Croatia. Fascists and commies. That’s why Grandpa moved here. To get away from that bullshit. And arresting elected officials, no matter how useless, just because it’s convenient. That’s fascism. And I can’t have any part of it.”

“So what are you saying, Barn? You’re going on strike? I need you, buddy. The city needs you.”

Barney shook his head.

“You think I don’t know that, Kip? My family lives here. Anything I won’t do for you, I can’t do for them either. But this dictatorial bullshit, I can’t do. I’m sorry, man. Some things are just too important. I’ll leave you a formal letter of resignation before I go. But I will go, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

Marv Basco dipped his head. “Damn,” he said. “Do you think Barney’s right, Kip? Do you think we should all just walk off until the army agrees to get back in its box?”

Again, Kipper felt the weight of everybody’s anxiety and expectations settle upon him.

“I don’t know, Marv. I got no fuckin’ idea. But I do know that if there had been a truckload of soldiers at South Street this morning like there was supposed to be, a lot of people would have lived, instead of getting shot down. I admire Barney’s strength of conviction, but I can’t afford it. I’ve got half a million people to look after, to feed and shelter. Half a million terrified people at that, all of them looking over their shoulder at that wave wondering if
it’s gonna decide to gobble them up any time soon. The only reason most of them haven’t bugged out overseas is that nobody’s willing to come in here and get them. If we still had transport out of here they’d be gone. I’d be gone. Nobody wants to be here, but here we are anyway, trapped. You ever seen what a trapped, hungry, frightened animal can do to itself? To anyone who gets too close? It’s not pretty. So, if I can’t get them out of here right away, I can at least do something about keeping them fed, and safe from the things I can guard against, like mass fucking psychosis.”

He paused then, to calm himself down a bit. He was beginning to lose it, raising his voice and barking his words out. He sighed, and shook his head in apology.

“I’m sorry. But does anybody else feel like Barney? I need to know right now.”

Nobody answered.

The burning rain had closed in again, early in the evening. The army’s weather guys told him it was due to an isolated pocket of toxins caused by a series of fires that had ripped through Portland two days earlier.

Kipper was glad of the weather in one way. It meant he couldn’t see the glow from the Wave. It was visible at night, high up in the tower, as if the devil had thrown open a furnace door on the far side of the mountains to the south. It was a good thing most people couldn’t see it—that Barb in particular couldn’t see it. He was supposed to go out with some of Blackstone’s people tomorrow to inspect the thing “from a safe distance.” Whatever the hell that meant. He didn’t think he’d be telling Barb about that little day trip. Her idea of a safe distance probably meant Guam.

“I’ll be going now, Kip, if that’s okay with you?” said Ronnie. “I’ll take Heather back to my place. She can sleep on our couch for a while. Poor child. She don’t need to be alone.”

Kipper turned fractionally and smiled at Ronnie.

“Thanks for staying and helping out, Ron. It was kind of a madhouse here today, wasn’t it?”

“It surely was,” she agreed. “And are you okay now, boss? Should I be pushing you out this door to your beautiful wife and child?”

“I’ll be leaving soon, don’t worry. I got no appetite for hanging around here at the moment. It’s just that I have no choice.”

Ronnie frowned at him.

“Don’t talk like that, Kip. There’s always choices.”

“Yeah, but sometimes they all suck.”

“Ha!” she laughed. “You sure you ain’t a black man?”

Kipper pressed his face against the cool pane of window glass, beaded with millions of starry droplets of poison.

“Barney won’t be the last one, you know.”

“How’s that?” asked Ronnie.

“A town like Seattle, people aren’t going to stand for this takeover. And that’s what it is, Ronnie. A military takeover, pure and simple. And I’m helping them do it. I should be stopping them.”

“Oh, horse hockey! All you’re doing is keeping people warm and safe and fed and watered.”

“Keeping the trains running on time?”

“What trains?”

“Sorry. I was being obtuse. What I mean, Ronnie, is that I don’t know I can hold this place together. The council, let alone the city. I wonder if we shouldn’t be planning to get the hell out of Dodge. I mean, look at that thing …”

She kept her eyes on him, rather than looking at the eldritch glow coming from just over the horizon.

“… it took everyone, Ronnie. Everyone. Who’s to say it’s not going to jump out here and take the rest of us in two minutes?”

“Nothing,” she replied quietly. “Nothing but my faith in the Lord. I know you’re not a praying man, Kip. But I say some extra prayers on your behalf every Sunday to make up. And what the good Lord tells me is that nothing he does is without meaning. It all serves a purpose in the end. His purpose. And I do not believe his purpose would be served by laying another tribulation upon us. What is,
is.
This is for us to endure. For you to bear, Kipper. Whether you’re a believer or not.”

“I wish I was, Ronnie,” he said. “I wish I was.”

“So does Jesus, Kipper.”

From anyone else, he’d have taken offense. But Ronnie and he went way back and he knew she meant only the best.

“You coming in tomorrow?” he asked.

“As if you need to ask.”

“I’m sorry. I’m on the edge of a decision here. I think I’m going to confront Blackstone. Demand that he release the councillors and ease off on the restrictions on people.”

“Set my people free?” smiled Ronnie.

“Something like that.”

“And what if he throws you in the clink too?’

“Well, we all have our choices to make, don’t we?”

“We do. And I’m sure you’ll make the right ones.”

Kipper didn’t reply at first, instead looking out the window at the largely empty city center. “You look after Heather,” he said at last. “She’s a good girl, but she’s lost.”

“She wouldn’t be the first stray we took under our care. Or the last, I’ll wager. And you look after yourself, Kip. Don’t sit here all night. Get yourself home. Your family needs you, too.”

“I will, Ronnie. Good night.”

He turned back to the window as she left, staring out into the rain. The city was dark, with only a few lights burning here and there in offices where he could see other people moving around working. As he watched, a few of them flickered out, too. He tried to pick out the smoldering red light of the Wave but failed. The weather was really closing in.

Ronnie was right. Time to go home.

The walk back to his car was uncomfortable, the rain constant and stinging. They said a big chemical plant had gone up in the Portland blaze, and he thought he could feel it in the pores of his skin where the water soaked through.

The drive home was thankfully uneventful. No riots. No ambushes. Only the usual military checkpoints, through which he sailed without delay, thanks to a new upgraded pass from Blackstone. He tortured himself the whole way, wondering if he should have followed Barney out the door. If they all should have.

He could see candles burning in the kitchen at home as he pulled up, and a curtain twitched aside. He turned off the motor and hurried up the driveway as the door opened.

“Come in, Kip. Hurry up. That rain’s gone bad again they say.”

“Hang on, Barb,” he said, shaking off as much moisture as he could on the porch, and removing his muddy boots.

“Come on. I’ve kept some dinner warm by the fire. And I poured you a whiskey.”

“Thanks, darlin’. That’s just what I need.”

“Barney called,” she said.

“Oh. He told you.”

“Everything … I’m so sorry, Kip. All those people. You must feel awful.”

He dried off with an old towel she handed him and closed the door. It felt good to shut out the weather.

“Yeah. It wasn’t a great day,” he said wearily. “And this thing with Barney and the council. I’m just…”

Barb shushed him and took him by the arm through the lounge room,
where a small fire crackled and glowed in the hearth. A plate, covered in foil, sat near the flames, and a tumbler of whiskey waited for him on the coffee table.

“I’m sorry about this morning,” said Barb. “I was a bitch. I shouldn’t have put all that pressure on you. I’m sorry.”

“Damn.”

He squeezed his eyes shut.

“What?”

He looked at his wife helplessly.

“I forgot the fucking Piglet video.”

She stared at him for a full second before they both burst out laughing.

Admiral Ritchie was right. Jed Culver, of the Louisiana bar, did not take three or four business suits along with him on vacation. He only ever took one, just in case. As soon as he’d learned of the Disappearance, however, he’d gone straight downtown and bought four new outfits, off the rack, but quickly tailored to fit his ample frame. As always they were either blue pinstriped and single-breasted, or charcoal gray, ditto. Two Brooks Brothers. One Zegna. And a rather subdued Armani. He put the charge on one of his European cards, a Visa issued by Barclays Banks in London, where he had worked for three years as an equity partner with Baker & McKenzie before moving home to set up his own firm. The Barclays Visa he normally saved for annual trips to Europe with Marilyn, but as of three days ago none of his U.S.-issued plastic was working. Diners, Amex, and MasterCard, none of them were any good. The local merchants had stopped taking them in payment or their billing systems simply locked up when presented with the account details.

For now, at least, there was no such problem with his English credit card. Even so, aware that some might think his use of credit an imposition on the goodwill and touching naïveté of Mr. Rajiv Singh, the owner of the high-tone

gentleman’s outfitter on Beretania Street where he bought all four suits, Culver explained exactly how quickly Singh needed to lodge his accounts this month, which was to say, immediately.

“And don’t take no guff from those sons a bitches neither,” he’d advised. “Get your money fast, and if you’re in the market for some further and better advice, get the hell out of the suit business, too. Ain’t gonna be much call for all these fancy duds soon.”

Mr. Singh had not needed telling twice. Eighty percent of his business came from mainland tourists dropping disgraceful amounts of money on exclusive leisurewear. Business attire was a sideline. The next time Jed Culver drove past the shop it was closed. He never saw Singh again.

“Best damned investment I ever made,” he said to himself while climbing into the jacket of his new favorite, the Armani.

“What’s that, Jedi Master?” his wife called out, distracted, from the lounge room where she was glued to the television.

Culver tugged at his shirt cuffs as he walked through into the main living area of the Embassy Suites–serviced apartment. Marilyn, his third wife, and definitely his favorite, sat curled up at the end of the lounge nearest the TV, ignoring the glorious vista of Waikiki Beach and Mamala Bay in the floor-to-ceiling picture windows. The pollution storm had not yet reached this far around the world, and the best advice they had was that the worst of it probably wouldn’t drift so far south anyway. Intensifying low-pressure systems were likely to draw the poisoned banks of cloud back up to the northern latitudes. Even so, Marilyn, a forty-year-old who looked thirty and sometimes acted twenty, remained at the end of the sofa, a black three-seater covered in a strikingly dense pineapple motif.

She was, he thought fondly, a bear of little brain, but such a beautiful bear, and so cuddly and loving that he couldn’t help but love her all the more. She was just so much easier to live with than the harsh, angular, carnivorous bitches he’d married by mistake the first two times. (And if there was one upside to the otherwise unmitigated horror of the last week, it was realizing that those two life-sucking trolls had winked out of existence.) In comparison with Vanda and Louise, Marilyn’s needs were simple, if expensive, and she gave him so much in return that he could only worry at the change that had come over her since the Disappearance. What she lacked in book smarts, his wife more than made up for in a vast store of emotional, physical, and spiritual resources. She was a woman who rushed at the edge of life, gleefully, like a child, chasing soap bubbles on the breeze.