Half Past Midnight

The traffic, though slow, was lighter and much more orderly than I expected. I had feared that the road might be packed bumper to bumper with a panic-stricken mob, ready to ram anything that got in the way. Instead, I actually had a motorist slow down to let me into the flow of traffic. I waved gratefully, then pissed him off when I opened a gap to allow Debra into the lane ahead of me. It wasn’t likely that he’d been offering a package deal, but I couldn’t afford to become separated from the van.

After Debra maneuvered into the space, I gunned the little motorbike and whipped into a space in the next lane. Again I slowed, momentarily creating another break in traffic for Debra. In this manner, we quickly leapfrogged into the faster inside lane, moving along at a clipping twenty-five miles per hour, as opposed to ten miles an hour in the outer lane.

Once we’d finished jockeying for position, I took the time to examine the occupants of nearby vehicles. Sitting on the motorcycle gave me a good vantage point. Most of the people looked grim and determined. I was surprised at how few appeared panicked. I had always been told to expect the worst of people in the event of an emergency evacuation. My survivalist acquaintances had assured me that in the event of such an emergency, most of the public could be expected to… well, the phrase “freak out” kept popping up.

Well, there it was, “Crisis relocation,” as the government called it. Sure, everyone seemed frightened, and a very few looked seriously freaked out. But the wild-eyed, bullet-slinging maniac with the demented, insane laugh they had told me to watch out for didn’t seem to be present. It wasn’t for lack of opportunity, either. Nearly every other car I looked into had a weapon of some kind in evidence. From hunting rifles, to pistols or shotguns, it seemed everyone had a firearm within reach. Sure, this was Texas, but I’d never seen such a flagrant display of firepower before.

As this dawned on me, my skin began to crawl, and I abruptly lost all of those earlier feelings of being excessively armed. Instead, I felt more like the punch line of an old joke.

Just like me to bring a knife to a gunfight.

June 13 / 4:23 p.m.

After a long hour of stop-and-go traffic, we leapfrogged back to the outer lane. Our exit led to a narrow, two-lane country road that wound back through thick forest to the northeast. The traffic was sparse; in fact, it was nearly nonexistent. The road had many intersections and, one by one, all of the other vehicles eventually turned off, leaving us alone in the forest.

We had traveled for about ten minutes without seeing another car when Debra honked the horn and began flashing her headlights to get my attention. Fearing engine trouble, I immediately pulled over and removed my helmet. If we lost the van, we would lose most of our supplies, as well as our best means of transportation. I listened for any unusual clanking or clattering as Debra pulled up behind me but my fears evaporated when she yelled excitedly out her window.

“There’s a station back on the air!”

I dropped my helmet in the grass and ran toward her, as she continued, “They said that L. A., New York, and Washington have been bombed.”

Sticking my head in the open window, I saw Megan cranking the charger on the little radio. The volume increased as the nervous voice of the announcer pierced static-laden airwaves.

“… — trollably. Washington, D. C. has received an undetermined number of hits. There is no official comment on the amount of damage the capital has received, but we are assured that the President is safe, as well as most of his staff.

Citizens are urged not to panic, but we repeat, a state of emergency does exist throughout the United States, and citizens are advised that martial law is now in effect for the duration of this emergency.”

This was followed by that irritating tone associated with the Emergency Broadcast System. A few seconds later, the message started over.

“This is KKFM radio in Houston, Texas, operating in voluntary cooperation with the Emergency Broadcast System. This is not a test. We repeat, this is not a test. Citizens are advised that a national emergency has been declared. All persons living within the Houston metropolitan area are instructed to evacuate immediately. Military and law enforcement personnel are on hand to ensure an orderly evacuation. All National Guard and military reserve personnel are ordered to report for immediate active duty. Citizens are urged to cooperate fully.

At ten fourteen this morning, local time, several high-yield nuclear devices simultaneously detonated above the United States. These warheads released a high-voltage electromagnetic pulse that has caused massive electrical and communication failures across the western hemisphere. There are unconfirmed reports of major nuclear attacks on New York City, Los Angeles, and Washington, D.C.. Both New York and Los Angeles, as well as many of their surrounding suburbs, are reported to be burning uncontrollably.

Washington, D. C. has received an undetermined number of hits. There is no official comment on the amount of damage the capital has received, but we are assured that the President is safe, as well as most of his staff. Citizens are urged not to pan…”

Megan gently shut off the radio, and we all stared at one another until Zachary broke the silence.

“Are we gonna get blowed up?”

Debra turned to where he sat at Megan’s feet and smiled reassuringly.

“No, babe, we aren’t. We’re far enough away from the city to be safe if they drop a bomb on it.”

“What about the ray-shin poison?”

“Radiation. We’ll be safe after we get to Nanna’s house.” She turned to me and gestured back to the motorcycle. “But we’ll never get there if we don’t quit talking and start driving.”

Her feigned confidence evidently reassured him somewhat, but a nervousness remained in his face. As I leaned through the window to kiss Debra, I saw Megan reach beside her seat and check the rifle.

I remounted the motorcycle with a feeling of disquiet. Undeniably, the world was changing. But I couldn’t accept that it was changing into a place that forced my children to find comfort in weapons. I shuddered to think of the expression I had seen on my daughter’s face, the grim countenance of one who truly expected death.

It was unfair, and I knew that I only had myself to blame. I had cultivated her interest in the martial arts, had taught her that she need fear no one, that each opponent had a weakness. No matter how strong he was, or how big, he was always vulnerable in some way.

In effect, I had attempted to instill some of the old spirit of bushido. Now, how would she react? A bomb had no weakness to exploit. We evidently had an enemy, but who was it?

You couldn’t fight an enemy you couldn’t see. She must have felt trapped and betrayed. Sure, she could cope, but it was going to be a rough transition.

The road was soothing, almost hypnotic-an endless ribbon winding through the deep evergreens of the Texas Big Thicket. Only occasionally was the tranquility broken by the sudden appearance of another car from over a hill, or around a bend in the road. When this happened, I found myself quickly scanning the vehicle for any sign of a threat. Was the driver in control, or was he panicked? Were there any obvious signs of weaponry?

Sure, I was a bit paranoid. I had been all day, since I had realized what that fireball was, anyway. But I had been a Boy Scout as a kid and couldn’t seem to keep their motto from echoing through my brain. “Be prepared.”

I wondered if any of my old scoutmasters were prepared for this. I doubted it. Last time I had checked, they didn’t offer a merit badge in “Nuclear War Survival.”

At any rate, a little paranoia seemed to be in order for a trip that could mean the difference between living for several years or dying a miserably slow death from radiation poisoning-something that I understood could take from several hours to a several months.

Well, paranoia is one thing, I thought, but let’s not get morbid, too.