Authors: Suzanne Jenkins
“Don’t make no difference,” she said. “I’d turn around and get out of here if I were you. You’re as guilty of murder as if you took a gun to each human life. Ain’t no one left to prosecute you, but word gets out with all these miscreants, your life might be in danger. I’m just warning you.” Elise grabbed his arm.
“She’s right, Chris. If your folks aren’t here, there’s no reason to expose yourself to the danger.” She was thinking,
and me either, for that matter
. He rolled the window up without saying goodbye to the officer, but she moved away from the car and signaled that he could make a U-turn. There were no other cars around, except the one behind them.
“Oh shit,” he said, remembering. He rolled the window down again. “The man in the car behind us is having a heart attack. I forgot they were following us here to get help.” She nodded, but shrugged her shoulders.
“Nothin’ I can do about it.”
“Yeah,” Elisa said softly. “Well now they’re your problem. Let’s go back to the compound.” Chris nodded, silent.
Laura and Mike sat on the deck long after sunset, holding hands. She could see light shining around the sides of the bedroom curtain from the little trailer where Randy and Carol lived. Laura knew that it was coming from a small light over their bed; they were either making love or reading. Looking over at her dad’s fifth wheel in complete darkness, she bristled. It was a huge regret that she’d included Kelly in their plans, and now it was irreversible. Mixed feelings flowed over her about the people she was living in intimacy with, so much so that she’d been trusted with details about their personal lives she’d rather not know.
“I need to say something because I’m hoping for your wisdom,” she said.
“What is it?” Mike said, looking up at the star filled sky. Tiredness was clear in his voice, the exhaustion of a man who’d worked non-stop without taking a moment for himself. Now, when he finally had time to clear his head, his wife was going to lay something on him that required thought.
Laura glanced at him. Always slender, he was bordering on skeletal. The first concern for his health hit her. When had he started to look so bad?
“Are you okay?” He turned to her, his eyes ringed with gray, and heat struck her in the chest. Mike was sick.
“Is that what you wanted to ask me?” he said, exasperated. “My wisdom tells me you’re changing the subject.”
“You don’t look like you feel good,” she said, worried.
“I’m just beat. But who isn’t? What did you want to say that required my wisdom?” Forgetting for a moment, she remembered it was something catty and irrelevant about Kelly and Steve.
“Nothing. It’s not important. Now I’m worried about you and there’s no hospital or doctor to take you to.”
“I’ll live,” he said shortly.
“Do you feel sick?” she asked.
“No, just tired.” He sat up abruptly. “Who the hell is that?” Laura looked off in the darkness, following Mike’s eyes.
“Is it Elise? Why would they come back already?”
“It is!” Mike said, leaping up. When they were sure it was Chris and Elise, they ran to the gate to open up, Elisa wildly waving. Chris pulled the car as Mike directed him.
“That was quick,” Laura said as they got out.
“Did you find your folks?” Mike asked. Chris repeating what the officer in Yuma had said, including the threat she’d made regarding Chris’s guilt for murdering the people who were burned to death in the blast.
“I never thought of that,” Laura said, frightened. Were they now harboring a murderer? She glanced at Mike but he was only relieved that Elise was safe at home. The couple told Mike and Laura about the old man, and the devastation they saw, burned out buildings that appeared to have been set fire and not bombed.
“It didn’t make any sense to me; small gas stations and houses in the middle of acreage burned with the surrounding area intact.”
“Arson,” Mike simply stated. “Not uncommon with anarchy.”
Where Chris was going to sleep was a problem. Carin already back in her bed, Laura thought Kelly and Steve might need to be inconvenienced since she was responsible for him being there in the first place. As if getting her vibes, Steve came out to see what was going on.
“You’re back!” he yelled to Elise, grabbing her in a bear hug. “You two miss the comforts of home?” When they repeated the warning of the police officer, Steve in his irreverent fashion, refuted it.
“That’s bull shit! Prove it,” he blasted.
“We’ll have to increase our vigilance against outsiders,” Mike quantified. “I’ve said all along we need to close ranks, discourage visitors. How can we fortify our camp? I wonder about building a berm across the road frontage.”
“That’s a great idea but we’re all exhausted,” Laura said as Elise yawned. “Can we talk about this in the morning?”
“Okay, business meeting after breakfast,” Steve replied.
“Dad, can Chris stay with you? Carin and Elise need their beds back.” He agreed without hesitation.
“He can have one of the bunks,” Steve said. Unloading bags and food out of the trunk, Laura was using every ounce of energy she had just to remain upright. Mike put his arm around Elise as they walked back to the trailer, only turning to Chris once smiling at him. Sighing relief, Laura believed a disaster had been narrowly averted.
Chapter 15
In high school, Miranda Garrison was everyone’s sweetheart. Student Council president, Prom Queen, Most Likely to Succeed; she had all the engraved plaques, honorary statutes and award placards. During her junior year at Yale, she heard her father say something that would instigate a change of major and of her life plan. Standing before a huge crowd with her mother’s arm through hers and Lexie and Danny standing in front of them, Victor Garrison was at the podium on Election Day, addressing his constituents, thanking them, reassuring promises repeated. The family stood off to the side, beaming with pride, but stifling yawns; it was old hat. Forever in politics, Victor Garrison and his father were familiar figures in their district, family men who were counted on to give a straight answer and follow an honest course while they were in office.
After his speech, after the family shook a million hands and were finally released, herded into the back of a limousine, Victor Garrison would slip up in front of his daughter and say the words that would alter her life.
“Where are the wet wipes?” he asked, digging through the side pockets and compartments of the limo. His assistant, a brut of a man sitting up in front with the driver handed foil packets of disinfectant back to waiting hands.
Lexie was a little girl back then, maybe eleven. “Why are you doing that, Daddy?” she asked.
“Just getting the riff raff off my hands,” he said, scowling. Miranda sat across from him, the words searing through her brain. He was calling the multitudes who were responsible for getting him in office
riff raff
. With disdain. She didn’t address it, never telling him that he was directly responsible for what she did next, changing her major from art history to political science with an emphasis on American Politics; he thought she was doing it in admiration of him. What she discovered was that she could read what many politicians said they were going to do, and they’d actually do the opposite. It made no difference what their political affiliation was, either. Conservative or liberal, or any shade in between, a politician was a politician. That afternoon in the limo with her family, she made a decision that she would continue to love him as her father, but that she would fight what he stood for. During her senior year, she began the Podcast that later would keep her listeners informed as the horrors unfolded, beginning with the innocence of a hurricane which was quickly utilized to scare a nation, paralyzing the citizens as they focused on a lie.
Miranda tried to imagine what the next step would be. At the time, people were lining up at drug stores for a vaccine against a non-existent virus while Clarke developed a plan to annihilate a nation. Insiders; those who witnessed the Clarke/Eastman plan of takeover, fed Miranda and her staff tidbits of information, the best informant Ben Adamiac’s wife, Beverly.
The way it came about; a researcher who worked on Miranda’s podcast found a piece about Winston Clarke in The New Day magazine, detailing a plan to hire those who collect public assistance by making an enormous contribution to a non-partisan employment initiative. The plan to employ former welfare recipients was so out of character for The Winston Clarke Humanitarian Fellowship, it exposed a chink in their conservative armor. Something had to be brewing. The next move was to contact those on Clarke’s staff. Emails went unanswered. They visited the offices next, with no results. Then Miranda found home addresses and started going door to door but as expected, no one would talk to her. That is until Beverly Adamiac found out Miranda had been to her house.
Ben was at work when it happened. Alex, a muscle bound genius who wrote most of the narrative for Miranda’s blog but looked so scary they decided he should drive her too, watched from the car as she walked to the Adamiac’s front door. She held on to a paper with the names and addresses of all of Winston Clarke’s henchmen, Ben Adamiac the very last on the list. Lightly tapping the door, the sound of a small yappy dog running preceded the turning of a lock, leaving a chain in place.
“Can I help you?” A girl answered, appearing to be preteen or younger.
Miranda handed her a business card with the words
Find the Truth, Miranda Garrison Podcast
on the front, her email address and office phone number on the other side. She introduced herself and then asked to speak to Ben Adamiac. The girl ignored her.
“My mom can’t come to the door right now, but I’ll tell her you were here,” she said, closing the door after she reached for the card. Miranda didn’t push. It was probably a rehearsed dialogue, useful if a stranger showed up, surprised they allowed the children to answer in the first place.
Walking back to the car, she shrugged her shoulders to the inquiring look Alex gave her. He pushed the door open for her. “What happened?”
“Mom’s not home,” she said. “Let’s go back to the office.”
“You know, we could always go right for Winston Clarke,” Alex said. But Miranda shook her head.
“I don’t know about that,” she said, cautious. “I just want to know what he’s up to for the broadcasts.”
When they returned to the office, Ed had a message from Beverly Adamiac. “She asked that you call her before four,” he said. She took the paper from him and went back to her cubicle.
Beverly Adamiac 555-3092. Please don’t leave a message.
So began their relationship. Beverly risked her life so Miranda could warn the public. Deciding to tell her everything she discovered, all of Ben’s pillow talk recorded and sent directly to Miranda’s voice mail.
Sitting at her desk Miranda looked out of the window, at the urban scene before her, the unsuspecting public scurrying about their business while less fortunate souls scratched their heads in confusion. It was happening so fast, from day to day more lies. A text came through from Beverly to call her right away. She didn’t want to make the call from her cell phone, or from the office. The only place she knew of which still had pay phones were the airport and the public library in Fairfax. Gathering her papers, she shoved her laptop in a case and grabbed a full backpack. On her way out, she called for Ed.
“I’m going to find a pay phone,” she said. “Then I think I’ll head home.”
“Let me get a jacket and I’ll be right with you,” he said.
“I can walk,” she answered, going for the door. Adamant, he stepped in front of her.
“No, I don’t think so,” he said quietly. “There’s a lot of murmuring on the street about you right now. Better be safe than sorry.” Miranda knew she was going to make enemies by reporting the truth that opposed what the government was telling people. It had risks she was sure, but risky enough for concern?
“Murmuring about what?” He nodded toward the door.
“I’ll tell you outside,” he answered, worried about bugs in the office. It was one thing to broadcast a string of facts as they were discovered, quite another to speak of private concerns.
Getting into the van, Miranda anxiously waited to hear what he was going to say.
“Now I’m curious,” she said. “Hurry up.”
“The story is, there’s a bounty out on you,” he said bluntly. Shocked, Miranda chuckled.
“Ha! Well let them try,” she said. “That doesn’t scare me at all.”
“Let’s just not get careless,” Ed replied. “No using the subway or walking alone. Got that?”
“Okay, whatever I have to do,” she answered. “But just get me to a phone. This woman wants to talk and I want to hear what she has to say.” They drove threw the darkening streets, crystals forming on the pavement as the temperature dropped.
“I wonder if they’ll escalate the burns during the winter.” Miranda said.
Ed frowned. “Why would they?”
“People will be more vulnerable in the cold weather,” she said. “If the goal is to eradicate the population, doing it in the winter seems like a more efficient way to do it.”
“It’s an awful thought, but plausible. And more sickening.”
Pulling up to the library, Ed pulled her coat when she started to open the door. “I’m going in with you,” he said. “Let me get out first.” She waited for him to come around.
“I guess I am sealing my own fate, taking this as far as we have,” she said and he nodded. They walked into the library, an attractive young couple who could be there to study for exams.
“The phones are in the basement,” the librarian said. Ed followed Miranda down the stairs, two phones in the wall, side by side. A large lighted room just ahead was partially full of people with head sets on, looking at the library computers, reminders that not everyone had technology at their finger tips. How long would its availability last?
Ed took her computer bag as Miranda got the paper out of her pocket, keying in Beverly Adamiac’s number. She answered at the first ring.
“I’m so glad you called me back,” she said urgently.