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“Everything’s good, Bro.” Alex made him drink the Gatorade. Martin’s arm had swollen to twice its normal size. Alex opened the largest first aid kit and pulled out three instant cold packs. He activated each one by smashing it with his fist and arrayed them on Martin’s forearm. He ran back to the canoe and brought back a large, old-style sleeping bag. He unzipped it and tucked it around Martin.

Next was pain relief. He looked through the two first aid kits and found only aspirin, Advil, and Tylenol.
Damn!
He raced back to the canoe, brought back the third kit and opened it.
Bingo.
Vicodin. Apparently Rebecca’s dad, Steve, had some left over from a prescription, and he had wisely added it to the first aid kit. Thank you, Steve! The instructions called for one to two tablets every four hours, as needed. Should he up the dosage to three or four? No. A serious side effect could be worse than having Martin under-dosed. Alex gave him two pills, leaving eight more in the prescription bottle.

The next valuable finds were two waterproof books, a
Pocket Guide to Emergency First Aid
, and a
Pocket Guide to Outdoor Survival
. Alex got a fire started and speed-read the sections on shock, injuries, and navigation. Martin had displayed all the classic symptoms of shock. The guide explained only what to do until the ambulance arrived, but it might be days before he could get Martin to a hospital.

When the cooking fire was ready, Alex combined the freeze-dried chicken soup with two packets of chicken stew, and the boys shoveled bites into their mouths. Mentally, Martin had made a miraculous recovery. All hints of confusion were gone. Alex would have liked a night of rest, but getting medical care was the highest priority, so they decided to leave immediately.

Alex arranged a bed in the bottom of the canoe, and it looked pretty cozy. Everything stowed and tied in securely, they took off for their original campsite, where Alex loaded more supplies and changed into their own clothing. The GPS device was low on batteries but clearly showed a crumb-trail which would guide them back to their original debarkation site.

The only obstacle they could see was a two mile portage that they would hit in the middle of the second day. That was a bridge they’d cross when they got to it.

Everything went smoothly until the morning of day two. They’d made good progress on their first afternoon, aided by a tailwind. They found a good campsite and slept well. Martin said the pain was worse. No side effects so far. Alex upped the dosage to three Vicodin at a time.

The GPS ran out of batteries at ten o’clock, and the wind shifted so that they were traveling into it. It got strong enough that Alex couldn’t make headway, and they were being driven back. He couldn’t afford to stop paddling, since the wind could turn the canoe broadside, push them harder, and even capsize them. It was at this low point that Martin yelled out.

“Helicopter!”

“You see one?” replied Alex.

“No I hear it. Just barely. Flare gun.”

The flare gun was in the canoe somewhere.
Where was it?
He searched desperately, stopping occasionally to paddle into the wind.
There!
A bright orange gun that looked like a toy, with the large first aid kit. It had a pack of six flares attached to it, and he wasted no time in loading a cartridge, pointing it up, and pulling the trigger. Nothing happened.

“You have to cock it, Einstein.”

“Yeah, duh.” This time Alex pulled the hammer back, held up his arm, and tried again. A beautiful orange flare soared up into the sky and hung there. “Do you still hear the helicopter? I never heard it. Are you sure that’s what it was?”

“Absolutely. But I don’t hear it right now.” Martin cocked his head and shielded his ear from the wind.

Alex paddled lightly, just enough to keep the wind coming head on, and they both stared as if in a trance, straining their ears. “There! I hear it.” He reached down, grabbed the gun, and shot off a second flare.

The beat of the helicopter was unmistakable now. “I see it!” Alex said.

It was heading toward them. A beautiful sight, not only because they were being rescued, but because it confirmed that not everyone had been turned into mummies.

The helicopter arrived and hovered high enough over them to prevent the backwash from capsizing the canoe. The PA system was clear.

“Follow us!”

“Follow them? Can’t they just do a water rescue?” Alex had to yell over the sound of the rotors.

“No. They can see that I’m injured.” The helicopter headed behind them to a tiny island, not much more than a sandy outcropping with no trees, and landed. Alex turned the boat around, and with the strong tailwind, soon beached the canoe.

Martin wanted to walk, but the emergency medical technician insisted that he be loaded onto a stretcher. In under a minute, they were off, watching the canoe and the tiny island recede. The paramedic quickly started IVs and hung banana bags loaded with vitamins and electrolytes. The pilot turned his head. “Which one of you is Martin, and which is Alex?”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

June 17, 2018

Kansas City was dying. The city was dark. Three buildings on seventh street burned, and the fire department couldn’t do anything about it: no water pressure.

Drug Lord Louis Corby had profited greatly from the die off. Just before dawn, he and his chief assistant trudged up thirteen flights of stairs to the roof of the civil courts building. They passed two bodies in the stairwell on the fifth floor. Louis carried a bottle of expensive champagne. Despite the drugs that had kept them awake for seven days, their bodies were shutting down. Louis’s headache exceeded the capability of the Vicodin he’d been pounding. On the roof, he found a pair of lawn chairs, set them up, and looked out over the city.

Wish I had earplugs.
Manny was once again in his manic, talkative stage. “Went too far, Louis. Know what I mean? I mean, shit, a lot of people dying here, know what I’m saying? We’re on a mission. Yes, but I don’t know. I don’t know. We—”

Louis clamped his hand over Manny’s mouth. “You’ve been saying that for three days now, and I’m getting sick of it. Maybe you should’ve considered that before you started dealing.”

Pulling his boss’s hand down, Manny said, “Back then, just letting people make their own choices. You know? I mean, bad choices, right? We didn’t make the choices, though. No. Gave them the drugs, didn’t force them to use them. See my meaning?”

“I know what you’re saying, but it doesn’t make any sense. You know it doesn’t make sense.” Louis lit up a cigarette and sucked in a lungful of smoke and then chased it down with a swig of champagne before exhaling.

“Now we’re killing them. Blowing some up, shooting some. Different now.”

“Most of them would have died anyway.”

“Worth it?” Manny said. “Is it? I feel like shit. My body don’t like these drugs. Been dealing them for years, but now they’re in my body. My body. Don’t like it. Don’t like them.”

“Manny, look. We’re set for life. This is what God wanted. Do you realize how much money we’ve made in the last seven days? We’re set for life.”

“Till we fall asleep. That’s what I want to do. I want to fall asleep.”

“If we die, we die. If we live, we never work again.” said Louis.

Manny finished off the champagne and threw the heavy bottle off the roof. Manny sighed. “You know you’re crazy, right?”

Louis stared out at the city.

Manny continued. “How you feel?”

“Bad. And weird. ”

“Don’t know about you, Louis, I’m ready to fall asleep. Don’t care what happens. I’m wired, but I’m tired. Wired but tired. Wired tired. Any hallucinations?”

Louis looked at him and paused before replying. “I saw Jesus.”

“Hell, Louis. You been seeing Jesus for years. You seeing Jesus is like a window washer seeing windows. Like a jockey seeing horses. Know what they call a day when you see Jesus? Tuesday. Get it? Like it’s just another day of the—”

“This was a little different. What he was wearing.”

“What was he wearing?”

Louis was silent for a long time. Manny poked him. “What was he—”

“A tutu.”

“A tutu?” Manny stared at him. “What’s that, a tutu?”

“You know, like what ballerinas wear.”

“He was wearing a ballerina thing—”

“And water wings.”

“Mean like an angel?”

“No. Shit. Asshole. Like you wear in a swimming pool.”

“Yeah. I’d say that counts as a hallucination, Louis. Crap on a cracker. Jesus Christ in a fucking tutu with fucking water wings. What did he say?”

“Who, Jesus?”

“No, Julius Fucking Caesar. Yeah, shit, Jesus. That’s who we’re talking about, isn’t it? What did he —”

“You don’t want to know.”

Manny nodded. “Yeah, you know, you’re right, Louis. I don’t want to know. I don’t want to know what the Tutu Jesus said.”

“What should we do, Manny?”

“Take the money. Split.”

“But—”

“Why not? Take our cut, get in the Hummer, and drive the hell out of town. Drive somewhere clean, get some cabins, go to sleep.”

“Together?”

“No, not together. Jeez. Are you losing it here, Louis? You can have your own bed. Have your own cabin—”

“And if we don’t wake up?”

“We don’t. That’s life.” Manny shrugged.

“That’s death.”

“Yeah, whatever. It’s going to happen in a few days anyway, and …”

After a moment, Louis turned, waiting for the rest of the sentence that would never come. And … ding. Manic, talkative phase over.

They both watched the fire burning on seventh street. The sun came up, and Louis walked to the edge of the roof. There was no railing, no wall. Four military busses turned onto twelfth street. “Well, Manny,” he said without turning, “it looks like the national guard has arrived.”

He went back to Manny. His lieutenant had fallen asleep. Louis walked to him and knelt down. He cocked his ear. A sound like sizzling rice soup washed over him. The sound of steak in a frying pan. A fog surrounded the body and Louis could even see a tiny rainbow as the sun rose. It was a religious experience. The skin caved in against the bones as he watched.

Behind him, Louis heard an approaching helicopter. He turned and walked to the edge to watch. The aircraft was huge. The largest he’d ever seen. It came right toward the building and hovered only twenty feet from the ledge. In the open cargo bay, Louis saw Jesus. He wore his purple tutu and had a matching tube top. The water wings were gone. He motioned for Louis to jump then positioned his arms to catch him.

The helicopter morphed into a huge pterodactyl.
Wonderful. A purple dinosaur.
The creature flew to him, grabbed his clothing with the claws on its hind legs, and pulled him off the building.

* * *

June 24, 2018

Two weeks after the die-off, Charli wandered around the White House’s treaty room, waiting for the start of the meeting.
This room is way too cluttered for my tastes.
It was filled with too much stuff: a grandfather clock, an intricate rug, and an elaborate chandelier. One wall held an 1899 painting of the signing of a treaty no one had ever heard of. Charli was considering how she’d simplify the room when the president popped in.

“Sorry I’m late, guys.” Hallstrom was followed by Maddix Young and the twins. He had already recovered much of his Viagra-commercial vitality. He looked relaxed in his comfortable cardigan. “This will be a short, informal meeting. That’s why we’re in this room. The team is now at full strength, and I’d like you all to get to know one another.” The White House staff had arranged the couches and chairs around a central coffee table that looked more like a large ottoman. Hallstrom gestured to the twins. “I’d like you all to meet Alex and Martin Carter. I hope you will help bring these kids out of their shells, because they are extremely shy.”

“Not!” the twins said together.

“See what I mean?” Hallstrom tousled Martin’s hair. The mood was more somber since the die-off, but Charli knew Hallstrom. He’d always try to keep things light, no matter what. The twins had lost friends, and she’d heard they lost a love interest on the canoe trip, but their mom had survived the disaster and was on her way to DC. The dad had died when the twins were five.

The White House servers came around taking orders for coffee and tea. The twins were the only ones under thirty. Alex requested sippy cups for his brother and him. It was such a perfect deadpan delivery that it confused the server until Charli winked at her.
These guys will fit in fine.

After the coffee, tea, and pastries arrived, Charli tapped her glass and cleared her throat. The conversations died away.

“I’m just going to give a quick summary of where things stand right now.” She had her tablet on her lap, and her coffee cup in her hand. Her expensive, light-wool slacks were a little warm for June. “Most of the states are doing well. Redistribution of the workforce has gone well, due to Google’s work on USA.gov. Most people have not had to move far, and since housing is not an issue, families have been kept together.”