Interrupt (37 page)

He’d been ordered to rescue more people than could fit in the aircraft. His target list included biologists at DNAllied and UCLA; engineers in Santa Monica; a famous astronomer in Oxnard; computer scientists in San Jose; geneticists in Berkeley and Walnut Creek. They obviously hadn’t believed he would have much success, and yet Emily wondered. What if he’d found most of the VIPs? If some people had to be left behind, where did she rank? Could she have swayed him to keep her aboard?

Above the fast-moving storms, the sun was a mottled orange—and beneath the cloud cover, southern California was littered with burned-out cities, downed aircraft, wrecked trains, and jammed streets.

Maybe she was fortunate that none of the people on Drew’s list were in shelters near their work or homes. In six cases, Drew hadn’t even able to land. He’d circled above corporate buildings or government labs as Bugle and Patrick used binoculars to scan for anyone who matched the photos they’d been given. The only other option was to put the aircraft down and walk into the debris. With just five military personnel aboard the plane, which he couldn’t leave unguarded, Drew could have sent three men into the ruins, but if something happened, he might never see them again. Emily was glad when he kept everyone with the plane.

They were also hampered by a steady downpour. For two days, the rain had come in torrents. Once they’d stayed on the ground for six hours because Drew refused to fly in heavy turbulence. The storm
doused the fires, leaving rivulets of black sediment in the streets—but before the weather turned, San Jose had burned down to concrete and steel.

Hunting for the VIPs was like looking for needles in junkyards, except each junkyard was miles wide and the people they wanted actively avoided them, burrowing into alleyways and buildings to hide from the plane.

Worse, Drew had confided to her that America’s standoff with China had turned into a shooting war. Both nations were hamstrung by the pulse. Neither could move its forces against the other, but they were barely able to engage in diplomacy, either. Most of their satellites were down. Landlines, cell towers, and Internet hubs were fried at key points. Radio frequencies were inundated by the pulse. Meanwhile, the Navy maintained its strike group in the South China Sea, including its nuclear submarines.

What if one side launched by mistake? Emily thought the leaders of both countries would be idiotic to start anything, piling disaster upon disaster, yet they were human, and human beings could be selfish and mean and delusional. Someone might think now was the perfect opportunity for an attack.

Drew should have taken her to safety first. His mission was a waste of time. With every hour, it became more and more unlikely they’d find anyone on their list, but she didn’t know how to ask without sounding like a heartless bitch. Nor was there any way to argue with his superiors. Drew had been given his orders and sent on his own, and Bugle gleaned very few updates from his static-ridden satellite transmissions.

This morning, they’d caught a glimpse of another plane. Other teams had gone to find the crews at the Jet Propulsion Lab in Pasadena or the physicists at LLNL in Livermore. Drew’s team wasn’t totally alone. A skeletal remnant of America remained, and yet the six of them were a microcosm unto themselves. They lived inside the plane. At sunset, Drew landed. The men took turns resting while two stood guard.
What would they do if they were attacked? Fly away, she supposed. The Osprey had no guns.

Emily was amazed she’d been able to sleep. There were killers outside. Her bedroll was uncomfortable on the flight deck. She had no privacy. But her exhaustion was as constant as her fear and stress, and she trusted Drew to protect her.

Three times he’d filled the Osprey’s tanks at abandoned airports, working carefully to take what he needed without being electrocuted by the static charges built up in the fuel trucks or other aircraft he used to siphon fuel. Emily was useless. The best she could do was to serve their meals and tidy up afterward. Stupidly, she’d almost scorched herself on the magnesium mix included with their Meal, Ready-to-Eat rations until Bugle showed her how to heat the food.

Bugle was a clown. Despite everything, he tried to make her smile, pretending to grab all the chocolate from the MRE pouches or talking about where they’d put a couch and a TV inside the plane if she wanted to play house.

Emily thought Bugle was hitting on her. She watched Drew instead. Once upon a time, she’d loved to be silly. Now it was Drew’s serious, dedicated nature that appealed to her most.

After three days above the endless devastation, she felt closer to these elite fighters than she had any right to expect. They ate together, slept together, used the ridiculous port-a-toilet together—and meanwhile Julie’s corpse lay in back. Any one of them could be next.

I have to keep doing my best,
Emily thought, glancing at the filthy, beaten loafers they’d taken off Marcus. Bugle was tending to the man’s feet, outfitting him with new socks and an enormous pair of boots.

Especially with the oversized boots, Marcus looked harmless. He was in his forties and heavy in the stomach, and yet Emily was afraid for her men.

“I should go with you,” she said.

“No,” Drew said. “Stay inside.”

“You need all the hands you can get.” She was mystified by his careful tone. Was he distancing himself from her? She touched his arm. “Let me help.”

For a moment, he seemed to consider it.

“I can carry boxes or keep a lookout,” she said, but reminding him of the hazards outside increased his caution.

“You’re staying,” he said.

NORTHERN CALIFORNIA

M
arcus breathed slowly as he followed the soldiers from the plane into daylight. The wet, swirling wind smelled far better than inside, which reeked of dirty people, guns, and jet fuel.

The array was beautiful. Marcus glanced over the white dishes, but the allure he felt was a mute whisper compared to the pride he’d once cherished. In order to use the array, he would need to return to his prison in the electronics room, so much like the cramped, stinking plane.

That was what they wanted.

That was why they’d saved him.

Drew said, “Dr. Wolsinger? Do you need help, sir?”

“I’m all right.” Marcus was gruff. Had they seen him looking past the dishes to the scrub-and rock-covered mountainsides?

He realized Bugle and Drew were also watching the landscape, either watching for more people to save or anticipating an attack. Very little of their attention seemed to be on him, which was good, because he didn’t think he’d concealed his pain.

A big soldier with a rifle pushed through the exit from the lounge. “They were set up in the back rooms, sir,” he said to Drew. “There are some cots and duffel bags.”

“Excellent. Stay here with Lieutenant Buegeleisen.” Drew escorted Marcus up the ramp, leaving his men to guard the plane.

As they passed through the door, the air felt hushed. The wind continued to slide past the shattered windows, but it barely stirred the dust or garbage inside.

The familiar walls could have been from a dream. Marcus felt strange. This was more than déjà vu, the perception that he’d previously experienced this exact moment. The French also had a term called
presque vu,
“almost seen,” the feeling of being on the verge of a premonition or great insight. The uncanny sense of it hummed through his thoughts.

“Wolsinger?” Drew said. “Excuse me, Dr. Wolsinger.”

Marcus shook himself. “What?”

“I asked if you have any spare clothes. You’ll feel better if you’re clean.”

“Yes.” He clomped down the hall in his new boots. They were loose, and banged against the gauze pad on his ankle, but his body felt more attuned to the doorway to the office where he’d made love to Rebecca.

He went to it and looked inside.

Rebecca.

His relationship with her transcended any conventional norms. Outside, in the sun, their attachment to each other had been heightened by the competition for her within the tribe. At the same time, Marcus didn’t think he’d resented his tribesmen for challenging him for her. It was okay to share. They were family. They’d had no concept of existing without their group.

Standing in the hall, Marcus rubbed his forehead before Drew grabbed his wrist. “What are you doing?” Drew said.

“I—My head aches.”

“You need rest.” Drew pulled Marcus’s hand away from the M-string. “I promise you can sleep after we’re through here, but we need to finish what we came for. Where’s your stuff? This is an office.”

“Okay. I know.” Marcus turned and crossed the hall, entering another door.

The room where he’d bunked before the interrupts was also a pigpen. The cot was overturned and his bags had been dumped out, the clothes strewn on the floor.

Marcus knelt. He found a shirt. There were shoes.

His memories of each unique individual in his tribe were the basis of his recurring
presque vu.
He could feel them if he tried.

“Sir, you need to hurry,” Drew said. “Can I help you with something? What about your boots?”

“I’m okay.” Marcus formed each word ponderously. For an instant, he closed his eyes and was far away. But he returned to himself with new urgency.

He fumbled into a clean pair of pants, then the shoes. Then he stood up. “Let’s go,” he said.

As they walked to the control room, Marcus gathered every bit of courage he’d built inside himself. He was only able to enter the electronics room by keeping his eyes on the floor.

“You want these,” he said, pointing at a rack of IBM 5150 servers. Each was about the size of a desktop computer turned on its side. There were a dozen of them. “My laptop’s over there. I don’t know if anything is functional. The pulse came through this room more than once.”

Drew looked at the supplies, the blankets, and the generator. “You tried to hold out in here,” he said.

Marcus ignored the desolate feeling in his chest. “We’d better grab my notes, too,” he said, finding the notepad on the floor. Some of those pages were extremely personal, but he wanted the government to have his summaries, for all the good it did them.

“Thanks, Doc,” Drew said, relaxing for the first time. He reached
for the notepad, but Marcus thumbed through its pages and said, “Let me make sure nothing’s missing.”

Drew led him back outside. Marcus walked down the ramp, tasting the wind again.

“Lieutenant,” Drew said, “take Dr. Wolsinger inside the plane. Sergeant, I need help with some gear.”

“Yes, sir.”

The big sergeant went past Marcus. Bugle approached him and said, “Come with me, sir.”

Marcus pretended not to hear, watching Drew, who took the sergeant inside. Then he showed Bugle the notepad. “This is important,” he said before he dropped it.

Bugle bent to grab the pages. Marcus shoved him, then turned and ran as Bugle fell.

“Wolsinger! Stop!”

His shoes pounded on the damp earth, his blood thumping with exhilaration. Behind him, he heard the station door bang open and Drew’s disgusted voice. “Get him.”

They wouldn’t shoot, would they? Marcus reached the first dishes. He dodged into the metal forest. They were young, but he knew the array better than anyone. He hoped they would give up if they couldn’t find him immediately.

“Wolsinger!” Bugle shouted.

Another soldier called from Marcus’s left and he heard more voices behind him. He increased his speed. He barely felt his ankle. He didn’t notice his own heaving lungs. There was one thought in him, and one thought only.

Roell.

The superconsciousness he’d tapped beneath his waking mind felt like a puzzle whose pieces had stretched and melted. Few of its parts fit well, but those that touched each other were undeniable. He’d been with his son. They had been happy, which was more than he’d ever
expected, and he didn’t believe the soldiers would look for Roell. They might not come back at all. Even if they did, it might be days or weeks later, and by then Roell could have walked for miles.

“Here!” a man yelled.

Marcus saw him through the dishes, a soldier in camouflage, his head rounded by a combat helmet. Goggles hid his eyes. Marcus gasped. His sight blurred with the memory of another faceless demon. He could almost hear the
whup whup whup
of the plane, but the thundering sound was his own heart.