Powerless (32 page)

 

A
night disrupted by gunfire and death ended with the most passionate lovemaking Zeke had ever experienced. He stirs awake before the sun breaks on the horizon. One more grim job weighs on his mind. He slides from beneath the covers and slips on his clothes and carries his boots in hand as he tiptoes from the room. He eases open the door to the second bedroom and pads across the floor to stir Carl awake. While Carl dresses, Zeke pulls on his boots and steps outside to stir the coals in the fire pit.

He avoids looking at the dead man lying in the yard.

After adding a couple of logs to the fire, he pours water into the coffeepot and sets it next to the coals to warm. Carl pushes through the screen door and eases it closed. He turns and brakes to a halt when he spies the body.

Zeke approaches and says in a whisper, “They need to be gone before the kids get up.”

Carl nods, his head still wrapped in the sling.

He takes Carl by the elbow and propels him past the body, where they huddle close together.

“I'm open to suggestions,” Zeke says.

Carl pantomimes a digging motion.

“Digging a grave big enough for three bodies will take us most of the day.”

Carl shrugs. “I'm new to all this, Zeke,” he manages to say.

“I hate like hell to disrespect the dead, even if I'm the one who did the killing. But we need a speedier solution. I'm thinking of tying them together and using Murphy to drag them as far away as possible.”

“Whatever,” Carl mumbles, not meeting Zeke's eye. It comes out “wha-evuh.”

“Look at me, Carl.”

Carl slowly looks up to meet Zeke's stare.

“I need you to be okay with this because I can't do it alone.”

Carl nods, but then he's overcome by an intense anger, thinking about what might have happened. “Fuck 'em.” It comes out “fa 'em.”

Zeke says no more as they head toward the barn. He slips the bit into Murphy's mouth and throws on the saddle blanket. Carl tosses on the saddle and Zeke cinches it tight. They scour the barn for available rope and find enough to do the job. Zeke leads Murphy from the barn and stops near the two men he killed. The horse balks at the coppery scent of the blood that has soaked into the earth. Zeke strokes the horse's withers and whispers softly to him. He hands the reins to Carl and rolls the two dead men together.

Carl does his best not to look, but he does. He sees two unrecognizable faces. He whips the sling from his head and vomits onto the grass.

“Coyotes,” Zeke says. He lashes the ankles together and ties the rope off on the saddle horn. He takes the reins and leads Murphy over to the third man. Zeke quickly lashes the ringleader to his sons.

With a cluck of his tongue and a gentle pull of the reins, Murphy lurches forward. The three men are heavy and the horse strains to get the three bodies moving. Zeke leads him around the barn and he tells Carl to run ahead and open the gate so that the horse won't have to stop. Murphy drags the bodies down the ridge and through the grove of oak trees at a slow walk until they arrive at another fence.

Zeke stops and looks back toward the house. “See if you can find a gate, Carl. We need to move them as far as we can.”

Carl walks along the fence line, searching. Midway down he finds an old barbed wire gate held up by wooden poles. He unties the baling wire holding the near post and pulls the gate open. Zeke restarts the horse.

They traverse another hill and at the bottom Zeke spots a thicket of persimmon bushes and steers Murphy that way. At the brush line he has to tug on the reins to get the horse to step through the brush. When they're deep enough in, Zeke halts the horse and unties the rope from the saddle horn.

Carl makes a coiling motion with his hands. “Rope?”

“Leave it.” He goads Murphy back through the thick brush and they begin the return journey to the house. Carl turns to glance back, but Zeke walks steadily forward.

 

 

They spend four more days at Summer's home. Zeke bagged a deer on the third day and they feasted for a third night, another night where everyone went to bed with full stomachs. On the fifth morning, Zeke's up early to prepare the horses for travel. No doubt his parents are beside themselves with worry. The only way they'll know the rest of their family is safe is by Zeke and the rest showing up at their door.

His emotions are all over the place. Summer and he experienced some very tender, exquisite moments—moments Zeke hasn't had in his life in a long, long time. Maybe never. He continues to beg Summer to come with them, but her fear of abandoning her daughter is insurmountable. With sadness, he finishes saddling and leads all three horses up to the house.

Carl is doing much better, and Emma and Noah are excited to see their grandma and grandpa. Ruth steps out on the porch and offers Zeke a hug of encouragement. He hands her Murphy's reins and steps into the house.

Tears are drifting down Summer's face, matching the ones falling from his own eyes.

“We can leave a note and I promise we'll come back down here as soon as the power is back on,” he says.

She tiptoes up to kiss him. “A piece of Aubrey is here, Zeke. I would wake up every day wondering if she and my father had made it home. That's not fair to you.”

“I don't care about fair. If I thought Carl and Ruth could find their way to the truck I'd stay here in a heartbeat.”

“Just make sure they make it home, Zeke. They need to be safe.” She wraps her arms around him and he encircles his around her. “Come back if you can?”

Zeke nods and backhands the tears from his cheek. They stand like that for as long as possible. He leans down and the two share one last tender kiss. He removes the locket from around his neck and carefully withdraws the small picture of Amelia. He tucks the picture into his front pocket and slips the chain and locket over Summer's head. With no further words, he breaks away and makes his way out to the porch. Still leaking tears, he shuffles across the gravel drive and slips his foot into the stirrup, pulling himself aboard Murphy. With foolish anger he wheels the horse around and walks him out to the road. He looks back to make sure everyone is following, and catches sight of Summer standing on the porch. His heart breaks a little more as he nudges Murphy down the road.

Zeke is sullen as they ride throughout the day. The sun is out, the sky is a brilliant blue, but he takes no notice. He's confined to his misery. They stop for short breaks along the way, and he finds more of the little streams, this time with water, for the horses to drink from. In his self-imposed anger, he sets a fairly brisk pace and they make it to where the truck is parked as darkness begins replacing the light.

With Ruth's help, Zeke gets the horses unsaddled and loaded into the trailer. The kids are in the backseat with their father and Ruth takes the seat in front. Zeke retrieves the keys from where he had hidden them and rams them in the ignition. Before he can turn the key to start the engine, Ruth reaches over and puts a hand on his arm.

“Go back to her, Zeke,” she says in a soft voice.

He sighs and leans back in the seat.

“We can get home from here, Zeke. You've done your part by rescuing us from Dallas. You've done enough.”

He turns to face his sister.

“Go rescue yourself, Zeke.”

He opens the truck door and walks to the back of the trailer. Ruth helps him separate Murphy from the other horses and also helps him resaddle him. Before he mounts up, Zeke gives his sister a long hug. Damn if they're both not crying, him for the second time today.

“Tell Mom and Dad that I love them and I'll see them soon. And tell the kids to take good care of Lexi,” he says as he pulls onto Murphy's back. Zeke gives him a nudge with his heels and turns to wave bye to Ruth and Carl, Emma and Noah. They disappear into the darkness of night.

 

T
he relationship between Captain Steve Henderson and copilot Cheryl Wilson had soured after working so well to land their injured plane without serious injury to any of the passengers. The strain of being stranded in a foreign country so far from home finally took its toll. They had stayed together long enough to reach London, but parted shortly after. Now, in a cruel twist of fate, Captain Henderson and newly appointed captain Cheryl Wilson are scheduled to fly one of the first flights back to the United States.

After the power was restored, the pilots were forced to attend a monthlong immersion in flight simulation along with refresher courses in the classroom. Once completed, the flight crews spent some time flying the empty aircraft after each plane had undergone a very thorough inspection. The two had encountered each other during the training sessions, but never with enough time to rehash the old hurts. But today they're going to be confined in the small cockpit for at least nine hours.

Captain Henderson arrives early and threads his way through the growing crowds, down the Jetway, and into the cockpit. Three years since he had last sat in the cockpit of a plane that was going to be carrying live human beings. His last flight was one he hopes to put out of his mind forever.

He turns when he feels someone step aboard and sees Cheryl Wilson removing her hat. She steps into the cockpit and takes the right-hand seat.

“Good morning, Captain,” she says in a chilly voice.

“Good morning to you, Captain.”

“How long until we push back?”

“We'll start loading in the next ten minutes. We're scheduled to spin the engines in thirty.”

“Good,” Captain Cheryl Wilson replies as she reaches for the preflight checklist in the side pocket of the chair.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Captain Henderson says.

“About what?”

“Never mind,” he says, already counting the hours down until they can once more separate.

 

D
ue to the national crisis and after some constitutional wrangling, President Paul Harris is five and a half years into his four-year term. Without electricity any thoughts of having an election were snuffed out. The next presidential election is scheduled for next year, but President Harris has already announced he would not seek reelection. Three years of the worst struggle the world has ever known have taken their toll.

He strides into the Oval Office, where the bright rays of the sun again paint shadows on the handmade carpet. One of his first acts, after the power returned, was to have the heavy steel panels hauled out of the office and shipped off to a scrapyard. Chief of Staff Scott Alexander is following a short distance behind and arrives at the desk as the President takes his seat.

“Paul, are you sure you don't want to run for another term? Hell, the campaign would be a cakewalk for you,” he says as he sits in the chair flanking the desk.

“Scott, how many times do I have to say no? I'm tired and I just want to go home with my wife, maybe do a little fishing, spend some time on the golf course. My time in the White House has felt like two decades. One and a half is enough for me.” He quickly changes the subject. “What do we have today?”

“FEMA Director Donald Carter should be here momentarily. The new Iranian ambassador has requested a meeting for this afternoon,” Scott replies while looking over the schedule book.

“Put him off for a day or two until I can get up to speed on what's happening over there. General Safani still in charge?”

“Last time I heard, and that was yesterday. So far he has resisted all provocations to allow another supreme leader to take charge.”

“I guess that makes him our friend, doesn't it.”

The intercom buzzes. “Mr. President, Director Carter is here.”

“Send him in, please.” The President stands from behind the desk and meets him halfway across the room. “Let's sit over here, Don,” he says, waving to the sofas.

They each take a seat on opposite sides of the coffee table. “Coffee, if you want it,” he says, pointing at the table. “Scott, come on over here and join us.”

Scott ambles over and takes a seat at the far end of the sofa.

The President pours coffee for all three. “Okay, Don, where are we on restoration?”

“About ninety percent of the country is back to full power. I don't know what you said to the South Koreans, but they're a godsend. The other ten percent will be restored soon, probably within the month. Some high-line issues, I believe. Something you would expect after three years of nonuse.”

“Don, you did a fantastic job on everything.”

“Thank you, sir. It's been a team effort, but we still have a ways to go.”

President Harris leans back, coffee cup in hand. “What about communications?”

“If you haven't noticed, we are being treated to some incredible light shows in the night sky as all the dead satellites fall from their orbits. The landline phone system is up and functioning almost nationwide, but cellular service is probably at least two years away. NASA is working around the clock to launch replacement satellites, but it's an arduous process. There are several private space companies that are also working to launch all types of satellites: communication, weather, and even broadcast television.”

“Frankly, I hope the restoration of the cellular networks takes longer,” President Harris says. “Do you know how nice it is to pass someone in the hall who actually says hello, rather than ignore your existence, busily thumbing through their smartphones? It's refreshing.”

“I agree, sir. We're actually enjoying live conversations with our children instead of the constant text messages. But at some point we'll need to reestablish service—cell phones are too big a part of our daily lives.”

“How long before I can watch ESPN, Don?” Alexander says.

Both President Harris and Director Carter chuckle at his comment. “I know. It's like when we were kids,” the President says, “back when we had only two or three channels to watch.”

The FEMA director takes a sip of coffee. “My children can't understand how anyone could have survived without cable television. But, to answer your question, Scott, soon, I hope. The National Football League is hoping to resume play as soon as possible but I can't imagine they would do it without satellite television. All of the networks are spending through the nose to speed up the satellite-building process.”

President Harris leans forward and places his coffee cup on the table. “On a more serious note, Don, are all the water and sewage facilities up and operating?”

“Yes, sir. That was priority one, and I'm glad to say we accomplished it quickly.”

“Don, you've earned yourself a long vacation,” the President says as he stands from the sofa. He shakes Don's hand again and walks him to the door.

As he turns to go back to his desk, Scott says, “Paul, what if I find you a running mate that will take some of—”

The President stops in his tracks and gives his chief of staff an angry glare.