CHAPTER NINE
Clint held the steering wheel with his left hand, his right outstretched so he could watch the videos playing on his phone. His eyes darted, alternating between the road and the screen unpredictably, watching either or both as it suited him. He overcompensated twice, each time crossing the yellow stripe. The sound of tires on rumble strip forced Cat to speak up.
“Can you watch the damned road?”
He ignored her question, instead turning the screen toward her. “Have you seen this app?”
She watched as a woman lip synced to the president’s voice, speaking to an audience of cats. “I don’t think it’s funny. It’s grown people making fools of themselves,” she said. “Besides, doesn’t China own it? Aren’t they using it to spy on the world?”
He shrugged. He didn’t care what she thought and never would. Clint did whatever Clint wanted.
She felt the bruise on her face. It had swollen immediately, shutting her left eye. The ringing in her ear hadn’t stopped since he dragged her and Joshua from their home. Thinking of Sarah, lying in the tub, made her sick to the stomach. She’s still there, she realized, all alone and forever cold.
Cat pulled Josh closer. He was curled in a ball between them, head in her lap and still buckled. Though still unsure of his father’s arrival, Clint’s sudden appearance in their lives had been joyous for the boy. But when he awoke and saw his mother’s swollen eye, his excitement would drain immediately. Clint would never strike her in front of his son, but Josh was old enough to know Daddy’s arrival meant new bruises for Mommy.
But he’s never killed before, she pondered, but knew that wasn’t the truth. The combat infantry badge hanging from the rearview mirror was his single most prized procession—a prize from Afghanistan. Most men, Cathy knew, joined the military to make a difference, to make the world safer while earning money for college, but not Clint Fletcher. He had joined for darker reasons, his sadistic urges yearned for violence and the army gave him opportunity during the war. When he returned home early, she was surprised, and did not fully understand the reasons behind his discharge until after he turned his rage. Only then did she finally comprehend his early departure from service—even the army doesn’t like cold blooded sociopaths.
In a tired voice she asked, “How’d you find us this time?”
“I’ve got my ways, Kitty Cat,” he replied. “Besides,” he added, “that sister of yours can’t stay off social media as well as you.” Something on the screen caused him to laugh louder, again swerving onto the shoulder. Miraculously Josh continued to slumber. After a moment he added, “You’ve got to stop doing this. You know that every time you run away is worse on you when I bring you home.”
She didn’t respond. From experience she knew any answer or protest she gave would awaken the monster within. Instead she stared up at his beautiful face and long flowing hair. I was so easily fooled, she thought, by those good looks and charming smile. But it wasn’t just her. Back home in Bay City, he had convinced everybody of his perfection. They think I’m crazy, she mused, and he’ll always be their star quarterback.
He screamed into the night. “Holy shit!” The truck swerved off the road as he dropped the phone to grab the wheel. The rear end fishtailed wildly as he corrected the steering, coming to a screeching halt half on and half off the shoulder.
Joshua woke up suddenly, crying loudly with fright. Cat wrapped the boy in her arms, shushing and comforting him. “It’s okay, sweetie. Daddy saw something in the road, is all.”
“The hell I did,” Clint responded, feeling around on the floor. He finally found his phone and shoved it into her face. “Check this shit out!”
Cat sighed. “It’s just another TikTok. I told you to watch the road,” she added.
“Keep watching,” he said with his dangerous laugh. He had several, but the dangerous one meant he found enjoyment in something others would find repulsive. She heard him use it the first time after striking her, and she heard it again when he had drawn the gun on her and Sarah earlier in the night. Not wanting him to do the same to her as he did her sister, she watched.
A teenage girl danced in a grassy area greener than Cat had ever seen in Michigan. In the background, snowcapped mountains rose over tall pines and aspens. The hundreds of tourists milling about suggested the video may be in a national park. A banner of text appeared above the dancing girl and confirmed it was. The text read, held hostage by boring parents in Yellowstone. The text disappeared and another banner appeared, making our own fun TikTok style, it read.
“I don’t see why you ran us off the road,” Cat told Clint.
“Keep watching,” he said with a large grin on his face. “Show Josh, too!”
She turned the screen so that her son could see. They watched the girl dance until the song ended.
“So what?”
“Give me that,” he said. “It must have clicked to another one when I dropped it.” He slid his finger on the screen a few times, then grinned triumphantly as he turned the phone toward them.
The girl stood next to a boy, possibly her brother by their facial similarities. They could have even been twins Cat estimated, judging their closeness in age. “Yellowstone sucks,” the girl shouted into the camera, “come save us from boredom!”
The pair laughed at their joke and the boy opened his mouth to add something as well. Just as he did a fountain of water erupted behind them, raining down with mist and a torrential downpour of frothy water. No, Cat thought, not a fountain. With horror she realized a steaming geyser had erupted beneath their feet. What she had mistaken for mist was instead steam. She watched helplessly as their skin blistered and burned before her very eyes. The boy must have dropped the phone because, when it settled, the camera looked up at the pair amidst their terrifying shower.
Joshua screamed, mortified by what he had witnessed and Cat quickly shielded his eyes, rocking and singing softly while consoling him and lying. She assured him the children were fine and that it was only a movie.
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“Screw that!” Clint said between maniacal laughter, “that was real shit, son. Better get used to it, because death comes for us all.”
“Shut up, Clint!” She couldn’t hold back her anger any longer. “He’s only four years old! He doesn’t need to see that crap!”
“Oh please,” he responded, “My father showed me way worse when I was his age! I won’t raise a pussy of a son.”
“You’re right about that,” she snarled back at the monster in the front seat. “That’s why I’m going to take him far away again, just as soon as I can.”
Thankfully, the blow was with his left fist, so it only dazed her briefly when it glanced off her temple. Her thoughts once more turned to the object in her bag and she sat quiet the rest of the trip, plotting and planning the death of Clint Fletcher.
*****
The wheels of the Airbus 330 lifted off the runway and Dr. David Andalon breathed a sigh of relief. The anxiety of airports had always been worse than the actual flight, and this experience had been terrible. A large earthquake near San Francisco had delayed several arrivals and left departing passengers wondering if they would even get off the ground. The newscaster had reported that the quake logged a seven point four on the Richter scale.
To make matters worse, TSA had detained Sam, apparently confusing him with another Sam Nakala on the international watch list. A quick call to Jake had resolved the issue, but not without a long wait. The eventual arrival of official military orders explained that civilian contractor Sam Choi Nakala was not Sam Choe Nakala and that expedited their security check. David’s Korean was not as fluent as Brooke’s, but he easily made out most of the insults the boy hurled over his shoulder once they were through to the terminal.
Now that they were airborne, David watched the flight attendants closely. He always considered them the best indicator of whether he should panic in the air. This team worked with a smile, ensuring the passengers were calm and comfortable. But something was off. One of them, a woman in her late forties with few worry lines and auburn hair, nervously pulled at her jacket. The nametag on her breast read “Darlene.”
As soon as the crew turned off the seatbelt sign, he made a trip to the aft restroom. A small line had formed, and so he positioned himself near the flight attendant’s station. Darlene was busy readying a drink cart, but had her head held in close conversation with her male coworker. David could make out only a few words but clearly heard her say, “earthquake.”
Stepping forward, he asked. “Ma’am?”
“Hmm?” She looked up with tired eyes that betrayed her displeasure with his interruption.
“What about the earthquake? Are you talking about the one last night?”
“There was another,” she answered. “An 8.4 shook Palmdale, California, right after we lifted off.”
“How much damage?”
“It was pretty bad from what I heard. Now that we can access inflight internet you should be able to check for yourself.” She looked up, suddenly less irritated. “I’m sorry,” she said, “It’s been a long day.”
David nodded and muttered his agreement, “That’s the understatement of the century.” The door to the bathroom opened and he was next. After he finished his business, he hurried to his seat and brought out his phone.
Brooke watched him access inflight network, raising an eyebrow at the splurge. Usually he spurned the overpriced amenities. “What’re you doing?” she asked.
“There was another earthquake, this time further south near L.A.”
“That’s awful,” she said, with deep concern for the people involved. “Was it bad?”
“Very.”
He pulled up a news channel and together they watched as a helicopter surveyed the damage. Thankfully, Palmdale was more spread out and lacked the high rises of the bigger cities to its north and south. But, as the camera panned over the center of the city, he and Brooke gasped audibly. A giant crevice had opened up in the center of town, cleaving it in two. As the chopper continued to fly, they realized the magnitude of the event. The crack ran for miles, even reaching nearby Littlerock.
Seeing that his wife was visibly disturbed, he turned off his phone and put it away.
“I think we’ve had enough bad news for the day,” he told her.
“Thank you,” she agreed. After a few moments she laid her head on his shoulder and not long after they were both asleep.
The plane lurched in the air, dropping several hundred feet before leveling off. David felt his buckle bite into his belly as it kept him strapped in his seat. Those who had relaxed their belts flew into the ceiling of the cabin before plummeting onto seat tops and the floor. All around them oxygen masks released and dangled in front of stunned passengers. Brooke screamed as the plane fought to straighten its course.
David put his hand on hers and patted. It was a futile attempt, but one he hoped would calm her nerves. With her free hand she lifted the shade to reveal the night sky. Far out west the horizon glowed with red and yellow. David peered out, trying to reason in his mind what could create such a spectacle.
Brooke asked, “What is that?” She pointed to a flash off in the far distance.
“I’m not quite sure,” he replied honestly. He had never seen anything like it. “Maybe a meteorite?”
“That was more of an explosion,” she responded just as three more blasts lit up the horizon.
This time it was obvious to David. “They are explosions,” he said as he watched the sky above the clouds ripple and wave, “and that’s a shockwave!” He held his breath until the concussion hit the plane a second time, sending the airbus careening off to starboard. Twice more the plane was caught in the rippling air and two more times the pilots regained control.
“This is the captain speaking,” came an anxious voice over the speaker, “please do not panic. I have control over the aircraft, but we’re flying without instruments.”
David suddenly realized why those blasts were familiar. “No,” he said aloud, “it can’t be.”
Brooke demanded, “What?” He pulled his phone from his pocket and pressed the power button. The screen flickered once as it tried to turn on, then went black. “Why did it do that,” she asked, “is it out of charge?”
“No,” he replied, “I turned it off with eighty percent power. Those blasts weren’t natural.”
“What do you mean, David? I’m getting scared.”
He pointed out the window, “Those blasts were nuclear and what we felt weren’t simple shockwaves.” He held up the useless cellphone. “Those were electromagnetic pulses. The captain isn’t only flying blind, he’s also deaf and dumb. We have no communications and zero navigation.” For the next few minutes they stared out at the glow, waiting and fearing the blasts would be followed by more.
She broke the silence, “What’s that?”
Dave squinted to see what she meant and saw two objects racing upward through the clouds toward the plane. “Those are fighter jets,” he replied.
“Whose?”
“Ours, I think.” He peered out as they grew closer. He made out two F-22 fighter planes. They pulled alongside the cockpit and waved their wings. “Honey,” he said, “you aren’t going to believe this.”
“Believe what? I’m not believing any of this.”
“Read the name under the cockpit.”
The jet was close enough she could easily make out the words. With wide eyes she sat back against the seat, unblinking and disbelieving.
David read them again. General Jake Braston.