Harvesting Ashwood Minnesota 2037 (31 page)

“We’ll talk about that,” he responded.

“If there is a security risk fine. Don’t be protecting me from unpleasant. We’ll be out of here in about three minutes.”

Under Andrew’s direction, the kids cleaned up cards and books and chairs. I shut down the security station. “Ready?” I asked as I initiated opening of the sealed door. The younger ones ran ahead. Andrew stayed at my side.

“Do you need a shoulder?” he asked as if his were tall enough to fit under my arm.

“No, but you’re kind to offer. If you stay near, that would be a comfort.”

Together we hurried to freedom. Lao met Noah and John. “I hear you kids are hungry,” he said. “Cook Terrell is ready for you in the kitchen.” They hesitated, waited for me. “Your mom and I have business to discuss. Go ahead.”

“Do you have news about Dad?” Phoebe held her brothers back. “Mom said the soldiers saw him. Is he rescued?”

Lao shook his head. “Nothing new, Phoebe. Now go to the kitchen.” Andrew hesitated. “You, too.” Lao put a hand on Andrew’s arm. “Life at Ashwood is actually calm. Enjoy lunch.”

As they clattered up the steps, Lao turned to me. “A full military investigation has already begun in the office building. They need twenty-four hours. It is better you stay away.”

“Are we allowed to access the building?”

“You and I have access.”

“How many died in there?”

“That isn’t important, Anne.”

“Everything connected to Ashwood is important to me, Lao.” I began walking, upset by what felt like my right-hand security person usurping authority. “I want to see the DOE building. Then we can do an update in the estate offices.”

This third walk down the long basement hallway zapped my energy. I paused to rest.

“We tucked the wheelchair in the supply room. Want me to get it, Annie? I can push you up the delivery ramp.”

Looking out a window at gray skies, David came to mind, maybe walking under the midday Paraguayan sun with a wounded shoulder. We had reason to believe he would come home. Now I wondered how this time apart would affect our future.

 “Annie.”

“Thanks for the offer. I think I better get used to moving slowly.” I leaned on the cane and stepped forward on my good foot. “Just stay by my side.”

Patiently Lao did that. He talked to me about how well staff managed the evacuation and Sarah’s tears as she and Paul refused to leave Ashwood. We made it to the steps. He climbed behind me, offering words of encouragement. At the top I moved out of his way, leaned against a wall, and rested.

“Let’s get you to the kitchen for a drink and someone to rewrap that ankle.” He put a hand in the small of my back and steered me to the right, away from the DOE building. I accepted the suggestion.

Terrell waited for us at the kitchen’s entrance. “We need about ten minutes,” he said to Lao, then helped me to his office and closed the door.

“Put your foot on that low table.” Terrell gathered supplies. “You got a choice of low-, medium-, or heavy-duty pain medication. How alert do you want to be for the next three hours?”

“I’m just looking to take the edge off,” I replied. “I don’t want to feel drugged.”

He selected an inhaler, cracked off the tip. “Lean back and exhale. Breath deep on three.” He shook the small container. “One, two, three.” He shook the container once more, inserted the inhaler in my other nostril. “Again. One, two, three.”

“This pad will take down some of the swelling.” Terrell wound a thin disposable patch the size of a sheet of legal paper over my heel and ankle before he replaced the wrapping and strapped on a walking boot. “I want you here after dinner for a rewrap and concussion check.” Each layer of treatment brought more physical comfort.

“Thanks, Terrell, for everything since you returned.”

“Before you go, you listen to me, Anne.” He handed me a glass of water from the crockery jug behind his desk. “You think you’ve seen bad stuff. I’m not discounting what you’ve been through back in the Depression. But I pretty much know you’ve never seen anything like what’s happened in that building.”

“Part of the destruction happened because Peterson got angry at me. Remember? I saw the monitors. I think I’m prepared.” He held his large hands tight between his knees, his eyes appeared to focus somewhere beyond the room. “I’ve stepped over a corpse, Terrell. We’ve just never had reason to talk about the guy who died in the hallway of the boardinghouse where I lived.”

His attention returned to the moment. “Fresh dead in your own surroundings is different,” he said. “You’ll know what I mean.” He stood, extended a hand. “I’m coming with you. Lao’s got plenty to do and you will need a friend.”

“Terrell, I can’t cover my eyes when life gets ugly and expect others to do the hard work.”

“No, Anne Hartford can’t do that.” He took off his cook’s coat, stuffed two washcloths in his pants pocket. “Let’s go. Amber’s in charge. I didn’t expect to change your mind.”

The residence felt calm as Lao, Terrell, and I walked through its main halls. My kids sat with their friends eating lunch. I avoided eye contact with Sarah and Paul, not to be distracted from this responsibility and not wanting my father-in-law involved. I realized I hadn’t eaten anything this day. I suspected that would be good.

“First, tell me why Peterson chose Ashwood,” I said to Lao as we walked. “I understand he was a rogue military leader, but that doesn’t explain the campaign against us—David’s assignment to the Paraguay group, the combine requisition, the command post, and the home invasion.”

“Don’t know.” My clumsy motion slowed our progress. “You and I will have an early dinner with Milan to debrief.” We turned a corner into the hallway to the DOE building. “Anne, nothing has been cleared from the building. The military investigation is underway so we will be escorted. Do not touch anything.” He squared his shoulders, put his hand through my arm. “Ready?”

I nodded. We approached a temporary security checkpoint, were required to suit up in protective clothing and boots. Terrell bent to help slide everything over my ankle brace. Lao convinced the guard to access Terrell’s records for permission to enter as a medic attending me. Before the door opened, we slipped on masks and gloves. I left my cane at the door.

I half listened as the guard gave final instructions. My mind focused on constructing a hasty repair plan for the building. If we could find competent laborers, I wanted the work started the minute the military left. Perhaps by the end of the week I could settle back in my office with its views of David’s desk and our orchards. I reminded myself where I saw the photo of my parents on the floor of my office as Peterson’s goon carried me away. The last photo taken of my father before he died.

The door opened slowly, a great gush of smells and sounds filling my senses.

“My God.” My utterance exited in a hybrid of anguish and prayer as the monitor’s small and poorly lit images now surrounded us in real life. Lingering smoke, a variety of chemical smells, and the odor of human bodies mingled in a most unpleasant soup. I stepped forward too quickly for my boot brace, stumbled toward a pile of sodden cushions that used to cover a lovely restored upholstered sofa presented to us by Magda when I was pregnant with John. Our babies all napped on that sofa.

“Easy, Annie,” Terrell murmured as he helped me step over what was now trash. “Look down and be careful where you put your feet.”

Looking around, I could see glass from all six inside office windows covered the floor, not sparkling as one might expect, but dirtied from smoke and water. And blood splatter. Building windows, bulletproof, remained intact except in my office, where the outer wall no longer existed. Sadness dulled my senses as I surveyed my beloved haven.

From the window cavity I forced myself to assess the rest of my office. The large conference table was shattered with bits of chairs tossed about. And next to the rubble Peterson’s body sat upright against the long inside wall. His eyes remained open as if he were staring at my desk, a number of flowerlike red spots dotted his upper body. Blood spatter stained the wall, the calm green paint Phoebe and I chose just last spring mocked by mayhem.  I turned, saw another man’s body face down near the reception area’s coffee table.

“Are these the only fatalities?” Unconsciously my hand reached for the strength of Lao and he stood by my side. “What about the lower level?”

“There are only two.” I focused intensely on his words. Perhaps Terrell had been right and I should have stayed away. “The lower level sustained water and smoke damage.” He covered my hand with his own. “The DOE is sending a team to test for hazardous material leakage from the labs. We can’t go down there, and we shredded the monitors’ connections before we pulled you and Paul out.”

We moved no further. “When will the investigation be done?” I asked because no question really made sense in this chaos.

“General Manager Hartford.” Behind a full face mask I recognized a DOE representative who dealt with us on property management issues, a nice guy in an agency of seasoned bureaucrats. He tipped his head in greeting. “Chief Engineer Lao. I’m Peter Jones, DOE property management services director. I’m sorry this is the reason I am visiting Ashwood.”

“It’s good to see a familiar face,” I responded.

He moved aside, reopening my view of the offices. “A transport just arrived to remove the bodies, and I understand the military is leaving two investigators to work with our team to assess the damage.”

I pointed to people in David’s office and asked who they represented.

“Members of the DOE data recovery unit, General Manager Hartford. They’re inventorying Director Regan’s work-related materials.”

Fortunately David maintained personal files on a private system Lao managed for our use and we were careful about keeping paper documents in a safe in our bedroom. Ashwood documents, early drafts of a book he was writing on intellectual public service, and plans for the business he hoped to develop when he was free from his contract remained confidential. “Are you emptying his office?”

“I believe that would be premature,” Peter said.

Terrell stepped forward to offer food for the crew, and the three men talked. I pulled away from Lao, once again surveyed the offices. If hazardous materials were found, I knew DOE would condemn the structure. I thought of my first discussions with David in this space, of the day his first wife sat here and asked me to consider him as a future partner.

“If I make a list of items in my office that I would like removed, can that be handled?” I broke into their conversation. “There’s a picture of my parents and brother that I last saw under the desk.” Peter’s deep-brown eyes showed empathy. “It would mean a lot to me. There’s also a dark wood frame with three pencil drawings of our children that David gave me for my birthday. I can’t replace those items.”

“Let me ask one of the staff.” Jones moved faster than I thought a big man in a hazmat suit could in this mess of overturned furniture and death.

“I’ll be in here with a recovery team tomorrow, Anne,” Lao said. “Make a list for me.”

“I’ll be in here as well.” I didn’t wait for his approval. “Peterson kicked that picture of my family before he hit me with the chair. It’s important.”

Terrell cleared his throat. All three of us lost so much during the big
D
that neither man questioned my request. “Cleanup of this place is going to be tricky,” he said as he gently turned me away from the bodies.

“I don’t think it is going to be put back together.” Breathing hot, wretched-smelling air through my mask began to turn my stomach. “After Peter comes back I need to leave.” I turned a quarter of the way toward the back office area. “How did it happen that Ashwood, our home, has become a place where two people died so violently?”

My friends could not answer, didn’t even try. I now stood with my back to my office, felt Peterson’s dead eyes on me.

“General Manager Hartford, the investigators did a quick wipe down on these and want you to have them.” A DOE person handed me the pictures. “They might need some professional restoration, but they can be saved.”

My voice thickened and I couldn’t say a simple thank you. I nodded my head, bit my lips together.

“It’s okay,” Peter said. “I’ll be here for a few days.”

“Thank you. Please call me Anne,” I choked out.

He tipped his head and excused himself.

“Want me to carry those?” Terrell lifted the pictures from my hands. “Let’s get out of here.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

As gentle as a parent stripping away a child’s wet snowsuit, Terrell removed my protective garb and booties. Neither hot chocolate or warm blankets could touch the cold that made me shiver. Chaos and darkness now existed within the sanctuary of Ashwood.

“You gonna talk about what we just saw?” Terrell asked as we walked the hallway back to our residence. “What’s brewing in your head?”

“I’m not going to talk about anything right now. I’m going to carry these pictures to my room, look at my injuries, and take a shower.” Terrell walked protectively on one side, Lao behind him. Creating distance from the damaged building demanded the fastest steps I could take. “Then I’d like to piece together what the hell has happened in our home.” The steadiness of my voice created a facade of control I didn’t feel. An odd, murky set of odors settled in my nose and throat.