Nightmare in Slow Motion

  Nightmare in Slow Motion

  A novelette in the Strengthen What Remains series

  By Kyle Pratt

  Nightmare in Slow Motion

  By Kyle Pratt

  Copyright © 2016 Kyle Pratt

  All Rights Reserved

  Edition 1.02 – March 2016

  Editor: Barbara Blakey

  Cover design and cover art by Micah Hansen

  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.

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  Nightmare in Slow Motion

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  Nightmare in Slow Motion

  This is a novelette in the Strengthen What Remains series. The characters and setting of this 13,000 word story are from Through Many Fires, A Time to Endure and Braving the Storms. Several readers of those books asked me for more details about what happened to Caden’s older brother, Peter. This is Peter’s story.

  From the top floor of the abandoned hospital, Renton police officer Peter Westmore stared across a vast expanse of the southern Seattle metro area. After the evacuation of Renton he had been assigned to general evacuation duty.

  Swirling black smoke climbed into the cold February wind from a fire a block away. Looters had started the blaze earlier in the morning and that had probably cut power to the hospital, but the terrorists were the more ominous threat. Out there, somewhere, they had a nuclear bomb, and threatened to detonate it at any moment.

  The fear churning through him had brought back a childhood nightmare. Satan, with huge horns, a wicked grin, and whip-like tail pursued him. As hard as he tried to run, he barely moved. Every time he looked over his shoulder the wicked demon drew closer. In that awful dream Peter had struggled with all the might of his young legs to get away, but Satan leapt upon him.

  Now, years later, he stood on the top floor of the hospital and felt that urge to flee grow like a storm in his gut. Once again he tried to call his wife. The phone showed a good signal. He tapped “Sue” on his contact list, but it didn’t connect.

  He pressed transmit on his radio. “Leon, the top floor is clear.”

  “Roger. I’ll meet you on the roof.”

  As Peter ran from the room, the lights flickered and died. He hoped this didn’t mean a new problem, but that the generator had merely run out of gas.

  Using his flashlight, Peter took the dark steps two at a time.

  On the roof a doctor and two nurses loaded the last three patients into the waiting copter.

  Although Peter wanted desperately to leave and head south, out of the range of the nuclear bomb, he waited by the stairwell door for his partner of nearly three years to climb to the roof.

  An American flag fluttered nearby. The wind blew from the west. He looked north toward Seattle and thought of Sue. Again he tried to contact her on the phone. Again he failed.

  The last nurse had just climbed aboard when Leon dashed from the stairwell. Together they ran to the helicopter.

  The pilot shouted over the roar of the blades. “I’m sorry, I’m already overweight.”

  Anger, mixed with fear, rose within Peter. Again, just like in his dream, he wanted to flee, but couldn’t.

  The pilot pushed the throttle forward producing a frigid whirlwind.

  Peter and Leon stumbled back as the helo rose into a cloudy gray sky, and then turned toward the south and safety.

  “Was that the last helicopter?” Peter asked as the sound of the blades died in the distance.

  “I think so.” Leon walked to the parapet.

  Peter joined him. Below sirens wailed, horns honked, and people shouted and screamed in an endless slow-motion struggle south.

  “We are so screwed.” Leon shook his head.

  “Our patrol car is still in the parking lot.”

  “Do you really think we can get to safety in a car?” Leon looked down at the vehicles below. “It doesn’t have much gas.”

  “I need to get home to my wife any way I can, and right now the squad car is the best option.”

  “I thought you phoned your dad and asked him to take Sue to the family farm.”

  Peter sighed. “I did, but we got cut off before Dad replied. I’m not sure he heard me ask.”

  Leon nodded. “Okay, let’s go.”

  Peter hurried from the roof with Leon right behind. Racing down one dark flight of stairs after another it seemed they would never reach the first floor and the squad car.

  When they did burst into the lobby daylight, the stillness and silence stunned Peter. Glancing over his shoulder for any oncoming devils, he turned and rushed toward the exit. Suddenly a car horn broke the silence of the empty building.

  Leon shook his head. “If it were night, this would be really creepy.”

  “It’s still creepy.” Peter pointed down an empty corridor. “This way.”

  As they hurried, the blaring horn grew louder.

  The two officers pulled open a sliding door and rushed out.

  In the driver’s seat of a nearby car, a woman rocked back and forth as she pounded the steering wheel.

  Peter jogged over to the vehicle just outside of the emergency room.

  The young woman grimaced, leaned back hard against the seat, and beat on the horn.

  “Are you okay?” The pained look on her face told him she wasn’t. She wore a loose coat, but appeared to have a large belly. I’ll practice my investigative skills. Young woman, large belly, pain, at a hospital entrance. You’re in labor. But, still he asked, “What’s wrong?”

  “Contractions.”

  Peter bit his lip. This was not a good time to be having a baby. “How can I help?” He heard footsteps and glanced over his shoulder. Leon approached.

  Her eyes darted between Peter and his partner. Tension seemed to flow from her. She breathed deeply. “Can you help me into the hospital?”

  Leon shook his head.

  “It’s deserted,” Peter frowned. “We were about to leave.”

  Her mouth dropped. “Deserted?” Tears flowed.

  “Has your water broken?” Peter asked.

  Her teeth gritted, she nodded.

  “How far apart are the contractions?” Leon asked.

  “About five minutes.”

  Peter’s thoughts turned to his own pregnant wife. He prayed for Sue’s safety and vowed to return to her as soon as possible. “Leon, get the squad car.”

  His partner sprinted away.

  “Let me help you out.” Before she pulled out the key, Peter glanced at her gas gauge. Inwardly he sighed. Empty. “We’ll take you to North Hillcrest Community Hospital. It’s farther south, and last I heard, still open.”

  “Still open?” She grimaced. “It could be closed too?”

  “I’m sure it’s still in operation. Peter spoke with more confidence than he held. “Is this your first child?”

  She nodded, and slid her feet to the pavement.

  “Hold my arm.” He eased her from the car. “What’s your name?”

  “Leslie.” She stood with a moan. “My husband’s in the army. They deployed his unit after the D. C. blast. I don’t even know where he is.” Tears rolled down her cheeks.

  Leon pulled up i
n the squad car as a cold drizzle filled the air. Together the two men helped Leslie into the back seat.

  Peter drove away from the empty hospital and raced down several nearly deserted side streets. The stillness amid the chaos made the day all the more foreboding, but soon they reached the gridlocked line of traffic headed to the freeway. Peter tried to console himself with the fact that they were at least pointed south, but now he grew even more certain his childhood nightmare had become real. The three of them were caught in a sea of people that wanted to speed away from Seattle, but at best, crawled at an agonizingly slow pace.

  The metro region had awoken to news that terrorists had a nuclear bomb in Seattle. The exodus that had ebbed and flowed from the urban areas for nearly a week turned into a panicked gridlock. Peter looked at the speedometer and knew he could walk faster. Some people did walk along the edge of the freeway. Others ran. They inched past a car with doors ajar, but no one inside. How many of those fleeing on foot had abandoned their cars and added to the traffic problems of others?

  A stream of police calls crackled across the radio. Like the roads, every channel seemed filled with urgent messages and few answers.

  After repeated attempts, Leon reported their position, their passenger, and destination. “However, we are currently stuck in gridlocked traffic and will be unable to respond to calls.”

  “Roger. Keep heading south. You might be far enough away if the blast comes.”

  But they weren’t heading anywhere. Traffic had halted. Peter glanced at the gas gauge. Less than a quarter of a tank remained. He looked in the rearview mirror at their passenger. Leslie’s grimace revealed her pain.

  The maniacs had proven in Washington D. C., ten days ago, that they were willing to detonate their weapons and die for their cause. The horror had been repeated in Los Angeles, Atlanta and other cities. Now he lived the nightmare.

  He looked again in the mirror. With each glance he expected to see a demonic mushroom cloud, but this time he saw only gray sky.

  He retrieved his cell phone and tried to call Sue.

  Only silence met his ear.

  Peter shoved the useless device back into his pocket, and eased the police cruiser forward a few inches.

  People ran and jogged along both sides of the highway. The old and those with children trotted or walked. They crept past more abandoned vehicles as the squad car gas gauge dipped toward empty.

  He pressed the brake and stopped inches from the bumper of the car in front.

  Minutes passed and they moved forward a few yards. People now moved among the vehicles as if through a parking lot.

  He glanced again in the mirror. No mushroom cloud, just a very pregnant shifting and moaning woman in the back seat.

  “I’m convinced that there are three types of people in the world,” Leon said.

  “What?” Peter raised an eyebrow and glanced at his partner.

  “Yeah, there are three types.”

  “Okay…good, bad and what?”

  Leon shook his head. “Those who panic early and those who panic late.”

  “You said, there were three types of people. What’s the third?”

  “Those, like us, who never panic.”

  Since they were barely moving, Peter took a long look at Leon. “The gates of hell are about to open behind us, we’re barely moving and you’re not scared?”

  “Being scared is normal. Panic is…” He looked at the endless mass of cars and people crowding down the broad highway. “Panic is useless. I don’t mind saying all this scares me, the other cities being nuked, the FBI finding a terror cell in Seattle, the evacuation order—”

  Leslie released a loud groan.

  Leon turned to her. “Your baby will be fine. How are you doing?

  Peter again called his wife. He put the phone to his ear, but heard nothing from it. He shoved it in a pocket and turned so he could see both Leon and Leslie. “If we don’t want to deliver a baby on the freeway, we better come up with a plan to get her to a hospital.”

  Leon snapped his fingers. “I have an idea. I’ll drive for a while.” He exited the car and walked around the front.

  “That’s your plan?” Peter looked south down the line of cars. “It’s more like parking.”

  “You go be a traffic cop and get us to that off-ramp there.” Leon pointed south. “The side streets are moving better than the freeway.”

  Peter stepped out.

  Leon slid into the driver’s seat and turned on the light bar.

  Peter leaned against the door. “You didn’t want to drive. You just wanted to play with the lights.”

  His partner smiled. “I thought I handled that rather smoothly.”

  “Arghhhhhhh,” came from Leslie.

  Peter stood in the middle of the freeway directing traffic. A car rolled toward the spot Peter wanted for the squad car. He stepped in front of it, wagging his finger, and mouthing, “No, no, no.”

  The driver, a man in his forties, flushed red, but stopped.

  Leon drove into the lane and Peter walked over to the next. After nearly a half hour of traffic direction and maneuvering, the squad car arrived at the exit.

  Peter walked ahead of their vehicle, up the off ramp, asking drivers to pull over as far to the right as they could. This created a lane for Leon to drive the car ahead. Farther south on the freeway shots rang out. He stared in that direction for a moment, but resisted the urge to investigate. Looking toward Leon, he waved. “Follow me.”

  “Hey!” A man with a scruffy beard and wearing a worn brown jacket shouted, “I need to talk to you.”

  The man hurried toward him, Peter felt uneasy. The coat could easily conceal a weapon. As he neared, Peter held his hand up in a stop motion. “That’s close enough.” His hand rested on his Glock.

  The man gritted his teeth. “I’m out of gas.”

  “What do you want us to do?” Peter stepped back closer to the cruiser.

  “Ah…well…You’ve got gas. Give me some. I don’t need much.”

  Peter shook his head. “You and tens of thousands of others need gas, a spare tire, radiator fluid—and a dozen other things. Sorry, we’re on our way to the hospital.” He pointed down the street. “I’m not sure we have enough to get there. Perhaps you should—”

  “If the terrorists set off that bomb now … me, my family, we’ll die.”

  Peter looked around at the sea of cars and people. “If a nuclear bomb goes off anytime soon, all of us will die.”

  “I have a Rolex. You could have it for a few gallons of gas.”

  Peter eyed the man hard. How had this man in worn clothes gotten an expensive watch? He shook his head. “I don’t need it.”

  The man wilted at Peter’s words.

  Despite the attempted bribery, Peter remained empathic, but there was little he could do. “Take your family to the hospital. They have a shelter.”

  The man turned and ran back toward the freeway.

  Leon rolled down the window. “The gas gauge is on the ‘E,’ and Leslie is running out of time. That is, unless you want to play doctor.”

  A moan boomed from the backseat.

  Peter nodded, walked ahead, and continued to clear a lane for the squad car. As he did, he thought about Sue. She was far enough south that the blast and radiation probably wouldn’t reach her, but in the growing panic he wondered what other insanities might occur. His little brother, Caden, lived in Washington, D. C., and had probably died the night of that first blast. Peter hoped his death came quickly.

  The roar of engines caused Peter to look back toward the freeway. Several motorcycles weaved around the unmoving vehicles. Such maneuvers were illegal in Washington State, but the riders would probably live. He wasn’t so sure about everyone else.

  A woman in a blue Lexus SUV rolled down her window. “Can you get this traffic moving?”

  “Not if my life depended upon it,” Peter replied. And it just might.

  “What are we supposed to do?” she aske
d.

  “We’re headed to the hospital. If you’re going that way, try to follow.”

  The roads remained congested as they inched away from the freeway, but traffic crawled forward at a more consistent pace. Leon maneuvered the squad car forward along the street, through parking lots and down sidewalks. A line of vehicles formed behind them as other drivers realized the squad car was moving, albeit slowly, south.

  Minutes later Peter jogged down a side street, gesturing and yelling for vehicles to move to the side so the squad car could pass. Even on cold wet days like this one he liked to run. It gave him time to think, and now those thoughts were of Sue, pregnant and alone. Please God, let her be okay. I’m coming.

  Even in rush-hour traffic his commute took less than an hour, but with the traffic today, it would take much longer. He looked back at the squad car. Each step brought him closer to Sue, but his southward jog was gut-wrenchingly slow.

  He pointed for a van to pull to the side of the road.

  As they neared the hospital, the traffic grew heavier until they were again jammed in a line of motionless vehicles.

  Peter trotted back to the side of the patrol car. “How is Leslie doing?”

  The engine sputtered and died.

  A groan issued from the backseat.

  “Oh, she could be better.” Leon tried to restart the vehicle several times. “We’re out of gas.” He looked down the line of motionless cars. “You know this area better than I do; how close are we to the hospital?”

  “About a half mile … no less.” Peter pointed to a tall building. “It’s just beyond that.”

  Leon sighed. “Let’s push the squad car to the side of the road and help Leslie to the hospital.”

  With the car against the curb, Leon grasped the mic and tried to report their situation and position. “I can’t get through,” he said after several attempts.

  “Come on, help me with Leslie.” Peter opened the backdoor. “We’ll get her to the hospital and maybe they have a way to contact our department.” He stood on one side of Leslie, and Leon on the other, as they walked from the useless vehicle.

  “Why are they all jammed onto this road?” Peter waved his arm at the line of cars.

  “What better place to be, if you can’t get away, than at a hospital?”