Richard Cox - House of the Rising Sun

He gestured to the point of light, which indeed seemed brighter than a few minutes ago. Just looking at it made Natalie uneasy.

“Anyway,” Colin continued, “I came out here and saw that light and figured it must have killed the power. Someone else said they saw a blue flash in the sky. And now the phones won’t work. Even the land lines don’t work. It’s like anything that needs juice is out of commission.”

“Colin, I should probably go get my kids. If the power’s out at the daycare, they’re probably worried sick.”

He nodded. “I don’t know if we should keep playing or cancel the tournament or what. Hell, I couldn’t cancel even if I wanted because the P.A. system is off. I’m sure people will eventually figure out something’s wrong and—”

The sound of a golf cart approaching made them both look up. It was Blake, the young guy from before.

“Seems silly to play golf when something like this is going on,” he said. “Any word?”

“Colin here told me the power inside the club house doesn’t work, phone lines don’t work, nothing does.”

“What do you mean nothing?”

She was about to elaborate when they were interrupted by a yelling voice on the other side of the clubhouse.

“My car won’t start!”

Natalie turned around, they all did, to find a kid of about twenty approaching the crowd. His golf cap was facing backward and he was out of breath.

“What?” someone else asked.

“I was trying to go home to check on my kid. The door wouldn’t open with the key fob thing, so I used my actual key to unlock the door. But the car wouldn’t start.”

“Did it try to turn over?” someone asked him.

“No. I pushed the button and nothing.”

Natalie’s head swam with fear. Here she was at a golf course, more than five miles from her children and even farther from home, and how was she supposed to get to them if her car wouldn’t start?

Well, wait. If the golf carts were still working, conceivably she could take one of those. They weren’t fast but they were better than walking. Only how to arrange it? Ask for permission or just take off? One way or another she would get her children and take them home where they could wait this out in safety.

And what about Seth? His office was more than ten miles from their house. If his car wouldn’t start, how would he ever make it home? What would she do in the meantime?

The crowd had dispersed, but Colin was still nearby, speaking to one of the other golfers. Natalie wanted to ask for permission, but what if he said no?

“Holy shit!” someone yelled. “Will you look at that!”

A man was pointing toward the sky. At first Natalie didn’t know what he meant. But then she saw it—an airplane flying too low. Way too low. It was huge and silver and about to disappear below the horizon of treetops.

A moment later she saw a brief flash of yellow and orange, followed by a deep booming sound, so deep she felt it in her bones. Black smoke roiled upward in a cloud. Natalie put her hand over her mouth to stop herself from crying out.

“Holy shit!” someone else said, and the crowd, or what was left of it, streamed around the club house to get a better look. “It’s them fuckin’ terrorists! Fuckin’ jihadis!”

Natalie saw her chance. She hurried to the drink cart and climbed in. It lurched forward as she mashed the pedal to the floor. She made a quick turn and angled toward the parking lot, not even bothering to stop at her car. There was nothing from it she wanted. The only thing she really needed was a head start.

“Natalie!” someone called. “Wait!”

She would have ignored the voice, but the cart was too slow to outrun anyone.

She turned around and saw Blake. The guy with the glasses.

“Where are you going?”

“I was trying to get my children and take them home. What do you expect me to do? Walk?”

“I don’t want you to walk,” Blake said, jogging toward her. “But I don’t think you should drive that golf cart—”

She brought the cart to a complete stop, resigned to defeat.

“All I wanted was to pick up my boys.”

“That’s great. Take the cart. I just don’t think you should drive it by yourself.”

“Really? I did it all morning.”

“What I’m saying is maybe you could use a passenger. If all the cars have stopped working, and everyone is stranded in the street, don’t you think someone might try to steal the cart?”

Natalie blinked tears out of her eyes. She hadn’t thought of that.

“So how about I make you a deal? I’ll ride along to pick up your kids and back to your house, you know, to protect you from would-be golf cart jackers.”

“And then?”

“And then you let me take the cart so I can get home. Assuming there’s any gas left.”

Natalie knew there was no reason to trust the guy. Blake could easily push her out of the cart as soon as they left the golf course. But it was also true she’d probably never make it to the daycare on her own. In a crazy situation like this, who knew what people would do?

“All right,” she said. “You’ve got a deal.”

Finally, they drove away from the club house, Natalie behind the wheel and Blake brandishing a couple of golf clubs from his bag. In a minute they were out of the parking lot and into the street. The cart seemed even slower on a normal road than it had on the golf course. How would she ever make it to her children in this? What would she do if they ran out of gas?

Natalie had never been so terrified in all her life. And here she was again, relying on a man.

The first images were yellowish and streaky and binary; on and off, on and off. He felt as though he were swimming up from a great depth, the world sharpening as he approached the surface. A giant spoked wheel rose before him like a dark sun, and the air smelled of sulfur. Was he dying? Already dead?

But eventually Seth realized the dark sun was a steering wheel, and rotten fumes of engine exhaust were the source of the terrible smell. He was still very much alive and about to be sick to his stomach.

Seth reached for the door and got it open just in time. A hot slug of vomit poured out of him and splashed onto the floor. Eventually he rolled out of the car, hands slipping in the mess, knees and elbows colliding like bowling pins. For a moment he just lay there, face pressed into the smooth concrete. His head felt dense, heavy with fatigue. His brain throbbed painfully, but the agony of failure might have been worse.

Not only was he still alive, but the screenwriter had called to intervene. By now Thomas had notified Natalie, and she was probably rushing home, ready to blurt humiliating words of encouragement, explaining why he had every reason to live even though he no longer wanted to.

Seth climbed to his feet and shut the door. He couldn’t remember the end of the phone call. Had Seth disconnected or had Thomas? And now he realized something even more ominous—the engine had stopped. There was no way he was out of gas, not after starting with a full tank, so did that mean someone had killed the ignition? And if so, why leave Seth in the car?

He couldn’t know if Thomas had alerted Natalie. If she had rushed home or called the police to generate a quicker response. But anyone who bothered to shut off the car would surely have removed him from the garage or at the very least opened the door to let in fresh air.

Maybe no one had come at all. Maybe he’d broken something when he disabled the catalytic converter. Maybe only seconds or minutes had passed since his phone call with Thomas.

If that was true, Natalie might still be on her way. And if Seth didn’t want to be around when his wife arrived, he required a faster way to get the job done.