Anguish Unfolds Page 7

  We drive at a snail’s pace, taking in the scene. A particularly gruff-looking firefighter stalks down the street, hanging white posters on telephone poles. Large black print instructs residents to seek shelter at designated local “safe zones.” That must be where the emergency personnel are directing people.

  I glance at Jim. If we go to a shelter, maybe I can find someone to help me. I can just explain that Jim forced me to come with him and I just want to go home. Even if I had to stay here for a little while, at least I wouldn’t be heading farther away from Quinn anymore.

  Temporary signs spring up along the side of the road that read: Bridge Closed Ahead. Worry lines etch Jim’s forehead. An older man wearing a reflective Fire Police jacket waves us down. We slow to a stop and Jim lowers his window.

  “You gotta turn back,” the man says. “This road leads to the bridge and it’s closed.”

  “We just want to cross over it and be on our way,” Jim explains. “Looks fine to me,” he adds under his breath.

  The man’s bushy white eyebrows shoot up. “The city says it isn’t structurally sound. You know, since the aftershocks hit.” He waves a hand in the air as if he’s not entirely convinced the bridge needs to be closed. “Some kind of engineers have to test it and make sure it’s safe. Until then, it’s closed. Now follow me, I’ll show you where you can park that thing and we’ll get you to the safe zone.”

  This time my eyebrows jump. We’re going to the safe zone? Relief courses through me. This road trip is over.

  “Alright, sir,” Jim complies. “I’ll just turn around at the end of the street and come back.” The man nods his head and turns his attention back to the crowd of people being directed down the street.

  We slowly roll along the road. Jim swerves wide to make the turn, hesitating for a moment. Shooting me a determined look, he mutters, “Hold on.”

  Without another thought, he pounds the gas pedal to the floor. In a sports car, that may have some impact, but in this giant box on wheels, the RV barely chugs to life. Still, my heart races when screaming voices outside command us to stop.

  “It’s closed! We aren’t allowed on it!” I screech, my words vying for attention over the struggling engine. We just got this thing working and he wants to push it to its limits?

  “We’re not going to their little “safe zone.” We’re getting to that base, where they can help Dan! And I’ll be damned if we’re taking the long way around because these yahoos think they own the bridge!” His eyes don’t leave the road. Nothing I say will stop him.

  Sirens blare behind us. He’s going to get us arrested. That might finally be my way out, I realize.

  We blast past the “Bridge Closed” sign and venture across the massive structure. The rearview mirror lights up, reflecting red and blue flashing lights. Emergency vehicles wait at the ready, hovering just before the invisible barrier between the road and the bridge.

  “They’re not coming!” Jim shouts, punching the dashboard with his fist. “Those chicken shits.” He shoots me a satisfied smile.

  “Maybe they know more about this bridge than we do!” I shout. It’s a long drop to that murky water below. Fear twists in my gut. I grasp the door handle so tightly my knuckles bulge. A ghost of the rushing cold water washes over me and my skin erupts with goosebumps.

  Slight vibrations rock the RV, replacing the smile on Jim’s face with concern. His eyes widen as he grips the steering wheel tighter. When the vibrations get stronger, his face pales to match his straining knuckles.

  We barrel toward the safety of land on the other side of the bridge. Just as we pass the midway point, a loud crack assaults the atmosphere. The concrete. The concrete beneath us is cracking. Maybe it was already cracked, and the weight of the RV was just enough to pry it open?

  “This damn thing won’t go any faster!” Jim panics. Sweat beads on his forehead, prompting me to say a silent prayer.

  Please don’t let Jim’s sweaty forehead be the last thing I see before I die. Memories flash through my mind: family picnics and reunions, meeting our dog at the animal shelter, cheering on Quinn at track meets. Tension spikes as we race to solid ground. With just a few yards to go, a metallic screeching threatens to burst my eardrums. I press my palms over them, which does nothing to muffle the horrid sound.

  Dan calls out, “What’s happening?”

  I glance toward the rear of the RV. Dan is clutching his head as if each sound drives a spear deeper into his skull.

  “It’s okay,” Jim yells back in a flat tone.

  Nothing is okay, my brain screams. Maybe he’s just trying to act calm for Dan’s benefit.

  “Just a…little…traffic…issue.” He glances my way as if to say, ‘keep quiet.’ “But we’re gonna get the hell outta here—one way or another.”

  Moments after we reach the other side, the bridge tumbles into the swirling water below. The world is literally falling apart around us. It doesn’t matter where we go or what we do. Nowhere is safe anymore.

  The RV blasts through the warning signs on the other side attempting to block access to the bridge. The force hurls construction barrels and orange-and-white-striped bars through the air. They land with clunks and clangs along the shoulder.

  Thankfully, there aren’t any emergency vehicles lining this side. Maybe the people here already evacuated? Either way, we’ve just created one more emergency situation to stack on top of the previous ones.

  Chapter 25

  We drive in silence for nearly an hour. Every now and then Jim throws out a comment, but I don’t reply. “We’re down to a quarter tank of gas now, I hope we make it there soon.” And eventually a “Check it out, Riley, we just passed the state line, we’re in Virginia.”

  I guess I should be happy that we made it this far, but I can’t help but focus on the scars we’ve picked up along the way. Pain flares in my cheek when I absentmindedly rest my face on my balled-up fist. And my wound is nothing compared to Dan’s bite-covered body.

  I glance back at Dan as we drive. His body twitches and I’m praying it’s just restless sleep. He may be drifting in and out of consciousness for all I know. At this point, I may have exceeded my lifetime’s allotment of worry. The only way I can survive this situation is to numb my mind.

  “Riley, why don’t you head back to the bathroom, wash up your face one more time,” he says softly. “It doesn’t look bad, but just in case there’s any dried blood over your scar, you know…might be good to check.”

  Without a word, I unbuckle myself and march to the bathroom. The mirror reflects a tired, worn soul. I almost forgot about the dried blood stains on my shirt. With no better idea, I take it off and turn it inside out. Pulling it back on, the stains are a little less pronounced. I make a mental note to start wearing more maroon.

  Although the seams show along the sides and sleeves, my hair easily covers the tag. Not great, but better.

  Finding a clean washcloth, I dab my scar, cleaning it as best I can. Remnants of dried blood vanish but an angry red line remains. Oh well, nothing I can do about that right now.

  When we reach Newport News, Jim insists that we start planning what we’ll tell people at the base. I have nothing to discuss. I shouldn’t even be here. But he has plenty of words for me.

  “So, Riley,” he starts, nervously glancing over trying to gauge my reaction. I stare straight ahead, my face an emotionless mask. He seems nervous, although I have no idea why. He’s had the upper hand ever since he snatched me from the campground.

  Why did he wait until the last minute to talk about this? I wonder if he thought, by now, I’d be okay with everything and I’d just go along with it. Maybe he’s right. What little fight I ever had in me has dissipated.

  “We’re gonna need a story to tell them at the base. You know, so they let us in and keep us together,” he says.

  A brief flash of humor subsides before my body can release an inappropriate giggle. Together—with you? Yeah, that’s about the last place I want to be.
My eyes remain focused on the road.

  We’re definitely almost there. Street signs direct us to our destination. A few miles later, a rectangular tan slab rises from a brick platform. Its black block letters welcome us to Langley Air Force Base. We made it, and I’m a hundred miles away from my sister. I may never see her again.

  Jim takes my silence as an invitation to continue speaking.

  “So, Riley, I’ll do all the talking for us,” he says. “You just nod and look like you agree with everything I say.” Whatever. I can’t be with Quinn, but at least I know she’s safe from Jim. That knowledge fills a tiny gap in my heart with solace.

  Jim slowly rolls the RV along the road. As we near the tall chain link fence, we find ourselves filing into a line of traffic attempting to enter the base. When we’re still about 20 yards away from the main gate, a camouflaged soldier approaches the driver’s side window.

  He motions for Jim to lower the window. The soldier’s bored eyes land on me briefly before focusing on Jim. “I’m Private First-Class Mitchell. What is your purpose here today?”

  Jim plasters an innocent smile on his face. “We were hoping you all could help us. It’s me and my wife here,” he says, motioning toward me. I almost miss his next words as I stifle a gag. “And my brother, he’s hurt.” He nods toward the back of the RV. “He sure could use some medical attention. Stat.” He chuckles with that last word. Since when did Jim start cracking jokes? Maybe he does that when he knows he’s not in charge.

  “Well, you’re in luck,” Mitchell says, looking between us. “This base is still open to civilians seeking refuge. And we do have medical facilities on site.”

  We park the RV and climb out, leaving Dan inside. We don’t dare lift him and brush against the bulging wounds on his skin. Within a few minutes, medics appear. When they see the condition he’s in, they agree to take him directly to the infirmary.

  They carefully extract Dan and whisk him away on a stretcher. My heart knows this is the best thing for him. Even if it’s not for me. He’s going to be okay now that we’re here.

  Mitchell guides us toward a second, smaller gate I hadn’t noticed before. It shoots off from the main entrance, although it’s not labeled. We approach an area with makeshift barriers set up to form lines, like an amusement park ride.

  The now-empty lines lead to a bank of metal detectors. Mitchell motions for us to proceed, so we wind our way through the queue.

  “I got keys in my pocket. They gonna make this thing go off?” Jim asks hesitantly.

  “No,” Mitchell says proudly. Patting the circular column of the closest metal detector, he explains, “These are high tech. They know to ignore nuisance alarm triggers like keys, coins, and belt buckles.” With that, he nods once, encouraging us to walk through.

  Jim motions to me. “Ladies first,” he says, smiling. When did he decide to start using manners?

  I start through the gray pillars but freeze when the connecting bar at the top emits a steady beeping and flashing red lights. Ugh. The knife. The stupid knife I shoved in my shoe. It found a semi-comfortable niche in the crook of my arch and I completely forgot about it.

  Mitchell cocks his head to the side, evaluating me. Nearby soldiers watch but don’t come closer. Jim narrows his eyes and takes a step back, as if subconsciously distancing himself from me.

  “Ma’am, please step over to the side,” Mitchell commands. “Are you carrying any metal on your person?”

  I almost laugh. Almost. Yep, I’ve got a knife, but it did me no good.

  Chapter 26

  Jim’s jaw drops in shock when I slowly slide the knife out of my shoe. Mitchell steps closer and I gladly hand the weapon over to him. I calmly explain how and why I had the knife, stressing that I didn’t actually use it.

  Mitchell asks me to place my hands against the wall and he performs a brief pat-down, asking me if I have any other weapons. Once Jim and I successfully pass through the metal detectors, another soldier approaches and escorts us to Intake Office 2.

  As we step into the drab trailer, a nameless face directs us to sit across from him at a desk. This whole base is becoming a blur. I half-listen as he asks questions about who we are, where we’re from, and our intentions on the base. Jim answers for both of us and the soldier types away on a keyboard, documenting all of Jim’s lies.

  My eyes rove around the room. Two simple metal desks sit in opposite corners of the space. A mess of folding chairs, just like the ones we sit in, are scattered before each desk. Random camouflaged soldiers enter and exit the office, paying us no attention.

  I watch as one of them approaches a tall beige cabinet standing at attention against the wall. He unlocks the door and carefully pulls it toward him. Metallic squeaking pierces the room. The solider across the desk from us loudly clears his throat, pulling our attention back to him.

  “Alright, that about wraps things up here,” the soldier says, rising from his chair. “Next stop is the medical center. All civilians get a rudimentary physical and a vaccination.” That catches my attention.

  “A vaccination for what?” I ask, meeting his eyes for the first time. He scratches his head nonchalantly.

  “Just a precaution, ma’am, to avoid spreading illness to the vulnerable populations.” Under his breath, he adds, “Lots more people living here these days, lots more germs. Last thing we need is an outbreak on base.”

  I didn’t think of it that way. I wonder how many people are here and how many more will come.

  Jim shoots me a cautionary gaze. His meaning is crystal clear: don’t argue, just do what they ask. The soldier directs us to the medical building and sends us on our way.

  As we follow signs throughout the field, Jim talks just loud enough for me to hear but low enough that others would never be able to make out his words. He grasps my hand as if we’re a happy couple that just found their salvation.

  “Riley, you probably know that Dan and I did some stuff back home. Stuff we had to do to survive.” He shoots a skeptical glance my way.

  Yeah right. Quinn and I were surviving just fine and we didn’t have to murder anyone to steal their food.

  “Anyway,” he continues, squeezing my hand a little harder. “The point is, Riley, I did what I had to do. Now, these people need to believe that we’re together.” His eyebrows rise expectantly.

  “I get it, okay?” I concede, crossing my arms.

  “Do you? Cuz I’m not so sure you do,” his voice momentarily rises but he extinguishes his anger just as quickly. “For this to work, we need to be what we say we are,” he says. “I want to see an Academy Award winning performance out of you,” he threatens, his eyes darkening.

  I wonder if that’s the last thing Mrs. Adams saw before he stabbed her to death.

  Chapter 27

  Our first stop is the hospital. A white paper sign taped to the entrance directs us inside. The white block letters instruct us to sit and wait to be called. I follow Jim to the nearest row of hard plastic chairs and lower myself into one.

  Drab gray walls frame a rectangle of about a dozen black chairs. Less than half are filled with bodies. I let my hands drop to my lap while my eyes explore the room. A little girl, probably around six or seven years old, stares at me. Her parents are talking to each other in another language, but her dark eyes remain fixed on me.

  When I flash a smile, her eyes drop to the floor for several seconds before she returns a shy glance. She clutches a blue stuffed unicorn with a few yellow and pink spots. We both turn when a creaking door opens and a camouflage-clad soldier steps out. Her black hair is slicked back into a tight bun. The stethoscope dangling from her neck is the only indication that she is part of the medical personnel.

  The woman strides toward the little girl’s parents and extends a hand. “Mr. and Mrs. Tran?” she asks tentatively. When they nod, she continues. “I’m Officer Harris. Follow me, please, and we’ll get you taken care of so you can get settled in your quarters.”

  As I watch th
e little girl trail behind her parents and into the room with Officer Harris, a warm hand clamps down over mine. “Riley,” Jim commands my attention. “Stop wringing your hands like that.” I squint in momentary confusion, but awareness returns and, sure enough, my hands have a mind of their own.

  I shake my head, as if brushing off his words. He doesn’t own me. “It’s just a nervous habit, Jim. I don’t even realize I’m doing it. It’s not a big deal.”

  Through gritted teeth he whispers, “It makes you look nervous. You shouldn’t be nervous, Riley. You know you’re safe here with your husband.” His eyes dare me to argue. Instead, I adopt a bored stance and slouch into the stiff chair.

  About ten minutes later, the small family emerges from their meeting. The little girl cradles her stuffed unicorn, twirling a purple lollipop with her other hand.

  “Mei, honey, wait right there,” the slender woman calls to the little girl. She and the man linger at the doorway, still talking to whoever is in there. A soft voice pulls my attention to the silky-haired girl standing before me.

  “You’re pretty,” the little girl, Mei, says. Brushing a lock of hair behind my ear, I flash her a genuine smile. Her eyes dart to my scar for just a moment.

  “Thank you. You know you’re very beautiful yourself,” I say.

  She smiles shyly, her eyes dropping to the floor. I poke the stuffed unicorn and ask, “And who is this?”

  Her shyness dissolves as she excitedly introduces me to Mr. Sparkles.

  Jim huffs in boredom but I ignore him.

  “Mr. Sparkles wants to ask you a question,” she says innocently. I pretend to tickle the unicorn’s belly and meet his sparkly purple eyes.

  “What is it, Mr. Sparkles?” I ask.

  Lifting the stuffed animal in front of her face, Mei attempts a deep voice that sounds more adorably ridiculous than masculine. “What happened to your cheek?”

  I’m so startled by the question that I’m momentarily dumbfounded. With a sharp intake of breath, I raise a hand to my cheek, tracing the scar. I almost forgot, for just a moment, that my cheek bears a huge gash. Now it’s going to be the first thing people notice when they look at my face.