Race to Refuge Page 3

  Amy unstrapped the steel gas can and brought it over.

  As he opened the container, Ryan nodded toward the convenience store. “There’s a thermos in the bugout bag. Go fill it with coffee.”

  “I’m not your servant.” Amy crossed her arms and glared.

  Ryan knew he had been abrupt. Tension mingled with fear and together they grew inside him, but his mother had taught him better. “Please get coffee for both of us. This is going to be a long night.”

  “Sure.” Amy searched the bag, found the thermos, and hurried to the store.

  Ryan had just finished topping off both the tank and can when Amy returned with two large cups of coffee and the thermos dangling from two fingers.

  Reluctantly he returned the nozzle to its place; over eight dollars remained to be pumped according to the display.

  Mike cleared that with a turn of a key. “Pull forward,” he ordered.

  A vision of money swirling down a drain ran through Ryan’s mind as he returned to the driver’s seat and started the vehicle. He watched as the needle of the gas gauge raced to full. With a wide grin, he pointed to the indicator as Amy sat beside him. “Where’s the nearest onramp?”

  “Straight ahead,” she said. “I’m sorry I got mad at you. You couldn’t have known we would be leaving for Idaho in such a hurry.”

  Ryan knew he should have kept more in the tank. “I deserved it.”

  “Yeah,” she grinned. “But we’re okay now.”

  Within minutes, they were crawling up the onramp and merging into congested traffic on the freeway.

  Amy took a sip of coffee and then pulled her phone from a pocket. “It’s almost three in the afternoon and we’re still in Seattle.”

  Ryan gulped some of his coffee. “Traffic is the worst I’ve ever seen.”

  She attempted to phone her parents again. “Just like earlier, I dial but only get silence.”

  “Try another text, and here.” He pulled his phone from a pocket. “Send my parents one and tell them that we’re coming.”

  “Why do you think a text will get through?”

  “With a phone call you’re either connected on both ends or not. A text is smaller and asynchronous. It keeps trying to get through even if the phone on the other end is off. When it can get through it will.”

  Amy sent both messages. As she passed the phone back to Ryan, she said, “I want to turn the radio on. I need to know what’s happening.”

  He swallowed a deep draft of coffee and nodded.

  Amy pressed the button.

  “… together with our South Korean allies they have withdrawn from Seoul. Major combat is now concentrated along a line south of the city. We are still attempting to reach our correspondent, Sandra Larson. Meanwhile, Chinese forces have landed along the west coast of Taiwan. President Mayfield is scheduled to speak before a joint session of Congress tomorrow morning.

  “The DEFCON level in Asia is one. For the United States and the rest of the world, the level is two. All military leaves have been canceled and personnel have been ordered back to their units.”

  Amy lowered the volume. “Maybe I didn’t need to know all of that.”

  Ryan took another drink and his stomach grumbled. “Could you get me an energy bar from the bugout bag?”

  Amy twisted sideways and looked for them. “We should have bought food at the gas station.”

  “We have enough, but if we need to we can get some on the other side of the mountains.”

  She found a large plastic container with a dozen bars inside and passed one to Ryan. “What else have you got in here?”

  “Ah … in the way of food there are a couple bags of trail mix, a few juice packs, MREs and water bottles.”

  “Not a great selection.”

  Ryan bit into the stale bar. “You might want to eat or rest. We have a long drive ahead of us.”

  Amy slumped low in the seat. “I don’t think I can eat or sleep.”

  He squeezed her hand. “Try one or both.”

  Amy pulled the lever, reclining her seat as much as possible, and closed her eyes.

  Several minutes later, Ryan heard her soft rhythmic breathing. While she slept, he turned onto I-90 and headed east into the mountains as darkness descended upon them.

  Chapter 5

  Over the next hour, Ryan continued his eastward climb along the busy freeway toward the mountain pass. He reached for another jolt of coffee, but the cup felt light and cool. He reached for Amy’s “Do you mind if I have some from your cup?”

  Amy snored.

  “Oh … yeah … I hope you don’t mind.” He took a sip from her cup.

  With the hum of the engine and the radio turned low, Amy continued her fitful sleep beside him.

  Ryan took another drink from Amy’s cup. The brew had done its job, he felt wide awake, but his kidneys had also done their work. He needed to pee. For the next several miles he searched for an exit, but with national forest on either side of the highway, that seemed an unlikely find, so he looked for anywhere to pull to the side of the road.

  With desperation mounting, he spotted a wide shoulder area with trees beyond.

  Perfect.

  He pulled over and stopped.

  Amy snored loudly, but didn’t wake.

  Feeling insecure in the dark middle-of-nowhere, Ryan retrieved the pistol from the bag and slid it in his belt. He stepped from the Jeep and locked the doors. Certain that Amy, the Jeep, and supplies were secure, he jogged along a dusty trail into the night.

  Two minutes later, and much relieved, Ryan strolled back but paused to stare at the vista stretched out above him. He whispered the verse from Psalms, “He counts the stars and calls them by name.”

  As a child, during warm summer evenings, he had often climbed a hill near their home that provided an incredible view of the night sky. Sometimes he would just lie there and count meteors. Other times he would lug his telescope to the top and view distant planets and moons. He recalled a neighbor friend, Jeb, who sometimes joined him. He never said anything, but he sometimes felt sorry for Jeb. His father was a red-neck hick complete with wife-beater T-shirts and prison record. Jeb’s older brother died in a car accident. After that his mother disappeared. People still talked about that mystery. But Jeb was okay and had seemed interested in astronomy.

  It would be good to hike the hills around home again. He cast his gaze skyward. “When I consider your heavens, the work of your hand, the moon, and stars which—”

  “Ryan?” Amy’s panic-laced voice shouted from the darkness. “Where are you?”

  “Here!” He pulled the gun from his belt and hurried toward her voice. “What’s wrong?”

  Amy ran around a curve along the trail and stopped inches from him. “What happened? Where did you go?”

  “Too much coffee.” He slid the gun back into his belt.

  “Oh. When I couldn’t find you, I … don’t go off and leave me like that.”

  “Okay. I’m sorry.” He hugged her, pleased that she found comfort in his presence. “Let’s get back to the Jeep.”

  They both stepped in that direction, but then she stopped. “I think I’ve had too much coffee.” She looked back into the darkness. “You just went … out there?”

  “Yes,” he nodded.

  “I’ve never … how? Where?”

  “You really are a city girl.” He grinned. “Just walk along the trail and pick your spot. That’s what I did.” He waved toward the dark forest.

  “Really?” She stared at him with her mouth slightly agape. “Easy for you to say.”

  “I don’t know when or where we might find a public restroom.”

  She continued to stare at the darkness.

  “I could go with you. I won’t look.”

  “No, I’ll do it,” she said with resignation. Then, with careful steps, Amy edged forward using the light of her phone to push back the darkness.

  After several minutes he worried. “Amy? Are you okay?”

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sp; “Yes,” she said in a frustrated tone.

  Moments later she reappeared and together they walked toward the Jeep.

  When they emerged from the darkness of the trees into the changing light of the roadside, two men stood by the Jeep with a red Subaru sedan parked nearby.

  “What are you doing?” Ryan shouted.

  They stepped back, but one of them held the gas can from the rear of the jeep. A passing car shined a light on them. The man holding the gas can might have been forty and the other a mere teen. A woman stepped from the Subaru. “We’re nearly out of fuel,” she said. “We thought the Jeep was abandoned.”

  “It’s not,” Ryan pulled the gun from his belt.

  “Get back in the car, Mary.” The man turned to the boy beside him. “You too, Ethan.” With his gaze focused on Ryan, and with a calm voice, he continued. “You’re not going to kill anyone over a few gallons of gas.” He backed away slowly.

  Ryan knew he should do something, but he didn’t know what. Anger flared in him. He wanted the fuel, but knew that he wouldn’t … couldn’t commit murder for it.

  The man tossed the can onto the backseat and the family sped away.

  When Ryan and Amy were back on the road she said, “If we hadn’t returned, I think they would have taken the bugout bag and maybe siphoned the gas from the tank.”

  “Nowadays, fuel tanks have anti-siphon valves. Stealing gas that way is harder than they show in the movies.”

  For the next few minutes, he tried to focus on driving, but his mind always drifted back to that moment when he should have acted. The man had stolen their fuel and he had done nothing. Ryan could almost see his father’s disappointed face.

  “Do we have enough gas to get to your parent’s home?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Worst of all, he had failed Amy. How could he have handled it better? Different scenarios played in his mind. He hoped he would do better if something like that happened again. He should have at least demanded money for fuel—but he didn’t. He just stood there like some dumb statue, pointing, but not using, his pistol.

  The gas gauge crept downward as they continued higher into the mountains. In normal times this part of the freeway wouldn’t be congested but as Ryan drove on toward the summit, traffic remained heavy and slow. He passed several stations with signs saying “No Gas,” or that were completely dark. All had cars parked near the pumps.

  Eventually, Amy slid into fitful sleep.

  Chapter 6

  Near Ellensburg, Washington State

  Sunday

  Ryan yawned as he continued east on I-90 descending out of the Cascade Mountains. By the time he reached Ellensburg, the fuel gauge read nearly half empty. It would not be enough to reach home. The freeway took him past more gas stations with “No Gas” signs. One read, “Diesel Only.”

  After he passed through the city, traffic thinned and speeds crept up to near normal. Ryan wanted to drive on, but his eyes drooped and exhaustion rolled over him like waves breaking on the shore.

  Amy’s face glowed with the first rays of the morning sun. She stirred and rubbed her eyes and ran fingers through her hair. Then she clutched her empty coffee cup. “I drank more than I thought.” She poured more from the thermos and gulped it down. “Where are we?”

  “Just east of Ellensburg.”

  “You’re tired. Let me drive.”

  “I’m okay.” Ryan forced his eyes wide.

  “No, you’re not. I can see how tired you are.”

  “You don’t know where to go.”

  “We’re on I-90 and I’m guessing we stay on it until we reach Idaho.”

  He nodded or maybe his head just bounced a little, like one of those bobble-head dolls.

  “Don’t get us killed by being macho.” Amy frowned.

  Ryan pulled over and they switched seats.

  Like a baby in a car seat, Ryan fell asleep moments after the vehicle started.

  He awoke to the annoying sound of the sine wave attention signal blaring from the radio. It had always been a test before. This, he felt certain, would not be.

  “This is an emergency action notification,” the computer-generated voice announced. “During the emergency this station will remain on the air to provide news and information for this area. Do not use the telephones. These should be left open for emergency use.” The radio fell silent, followed by several beeps. Then a calm human voice emerged, “I’m Alan Rhoads, the White House communications director. President Mayfield is currently in an undisclosed safe location. However, he has ordered the activation of the Emergency Alert System to advise citizens that Joint Base Pearl Harbor – Hickam in Honolulu has been attacked with nuclear missiles. The extent of damage and loss of life have yet to be determined.”

  “Oh, those poor people,” Amy whispered.

  Reid! Logic told Ryan that his brother’s sub would have left port to hide in the depths of the sea, but he didn’t know for certain and that compounded dread upon dread.

  The voice from the radio continued. “Our forces in Korea have also come under nuclear attack. While no formal declaration exists, the United States is currently in a state of war. The president will send a formal declaration to Congress this morning.”

  “How many more will die?” Amy barely spoke the words aloud.

  “Only God knows.” Ryan sat up in the passenger seat.

  “Oh, I didn’t realize you were awake.”

  “The alert woke me.”

  “I hope your brother is okay.” Amy scanned the empty desert of eastern Washington as she drove. “I’m glad we’re out of Seattle and away from any targets.”

  Ryan retrieved the state map from the glovebox and examined it. “Actually, we’re just north of one.”

  Chapter 7

  Ryan stared to the south. “Yeah, it’s a huge place. They call it the Hanford Nuclear Reservation; it was part of the Manhattan Project, the first nuclear bomb. It may not be operating anymore.”

  Amy slowed the car and glanced past Ryan. “I don’t see anything.”

  “It’s too far away, but if they hit it with a nuclear missile, we’ll see it.” And feel it. He didn’t know if it would kill them, but when Amy sped up, he didn’t object.

  He rolled down the window a bit and closed his eyes to the breeze. The rumble of wind in his ears drowned out the flow of war news from the radio. Despite his efforts to shut himself off from the outside world, a deep gnawing fear grew within him. The day had begun with the usual confidence that all would be well. That had proven to be wrong, perhaps naïve, as the world began to crumble beneath him.

  Now even the most basic questions seemed unanswerable. Would he live to reach his parents’ home? Could he protect Amy and get her to safety? Would there be a New York City for her to go home to? Had his brother already died? Would any of them survive the war?

  Enough. Ryan rubbed his forehead, trying to dispel his morbid thoughts. He opened his eyes, rolled up the window and, for the next few minutes, calculated the distance home against the remaining gasoline.

  It wouldn’t be enough.

  He ran more scenarios through his mind, but, unless they found fuel, he and Amy would be walking tonight.

  Very little traffic flowed west toward Seattle. Most traveled east, as they did, away from the larger cities. Did everyone in the lanes beside them have the same fears?

  Probably.

  Did they share the same goal, flee the city and find refuge somewhere, anywhere?

  Probably.

  That should have made them allies, but in a world swirling into panic and war his fellow refugees were not allies. Many were probably low on fuel and one of those frightened families, desperate to get away from the city, had stolen fuel he needed.

  Ryan couldn’t bring himself to hate the man. They thought the Jeep had been abandoned. Still Ryan needed to be ready if something like that happened again.

  For the next hour, they continued east and, with each passing mile, traffic congest
ion eased. Some vehicles turned off at the occasional exits; others rolled to a stop along the freeway shoulder. The cars had thinned, but the number of people along the shoulder increased. Some held out their thumbs, but most trudged along. Many families wore backpacks. Others carried suitcases. Some biked along the shoulder.

  “Do you want to stop and eat?” Amy asked. “I’m hungry.”

  “Do you really want to stop again?” Ryan frowned. “I don’t want another encounter like last night.”

  “No, me either.” Amy pursed her lips. “But sometime today, I’ll need a bathroom.”

  Ryan reached into the bag and pulled out a roll of toilet paper. “When you need to, we can stop.”

  “You had that in there all this time? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I thought you knew.”

  “No, I did not,” she snarled.

  Near noon, his stomach grumbled loud enough for Amy to giggle. He pulled out one of the MREs. “Do you want me to pass you some food?”

  “What do you think that is?” Amy pointed with one hand.

  Ahead in the distance, an ominous plume of dark black smoke rose just south of the freeway.

  Ryan shook his head.

  The freeway took a gentle curve in that direction and brought the irritating fumes toward them.

  He rubbed his nose. “Rubber and other manmade materials, probably a car fire.”

  Moments later, a pickup truck came into view. Black smoke and fingers of flame billowed from the mangled engine. A badly crumpled, but not yet burning SUV sat less than a yard from the flames. The two vehicles seemed to have hit head-on. How that had happened on a freeway he didn’t know, but the two vehicles now blocked one entire lane and part of another. Drivers slowed to gawk as they merged to pass. No one stopped.

  Ryan pointed. “Pull over there, next to the SUV.”

  “Why?” Amy slowed, turned the vehicle, and parked away from the flames.

  “There may be fuel in the tank.” Ryan grabbed the thermos and an empty pint water bottle from the floor. Then he opened the passenger door, and hurried from the vehicle, pouring the last of the now cold coffee on the blacktop as he ran to the rear of the jeep. There he retrieved a small camo bag of tools. He had never opened the bag since the day his father gave it to him, but now he hoped it had what he needed.