Tim Washburn - Powerless

Carl is doing much better, and Emma and Noah are excited to see their grandma and grandpa. Ruth steps out on the porch and offers Zeke a hug of encouragement. He hands her Murphy’s reins and steps into the house.

Tears are drifting down Summer’s face, matching the ones falling from his own eyes.

“We can leave a note and I promise we’ll come back down here as soon as the power is back on,” he says.

She tiptoes up to kiss him. “A piece of Aubrey is here, Zeke. I would wake up every day wondering if she and my father had made it home. That’s not fair to you.”

“I don’t care about fair. If I thought Carl and Ruth could find their way to the truck I’d stay here in a heartbeat.”

“Just make sure they make it home, Zeke. They need to be safe.” She wraps her arms around him and he encircles his around her. “Come back if you can?”

Zeke nods and backhands the tears from his cheek. They stand like that for as long as possible. He leans down and the two share one last tender kiss. He removes the locket from around his neck and carefully withdraws the small picture of Amelia. He tucks the picture into his front pocket and slips the chain and locket over Summer’s head. With no further words, he breaks away and makes his way out to the porch. Still leaking tears, he shuffles across the gravel drive and slips his foot into the stirrup, pulling himself aboard Murphy. With foolish anger he wheels the horse around and walks him out to the road. He looks back to make sure everyone is following, and catches sight of Summer standing on the porch. His heart breaks a little more as he nudges Murphy down the road.

Zeke is sullen as they ride throughout the day. The sun is out, the sky is a brilliant blue, but he takes no notice. He’s confined to his misery. They stop for short breaks along the way, and he finds more of the little streams, this time with water, for the horses to drink from. In his self-imposed anger, he sets a fairly brisk pace and they make it to where the truck is parked as darkness begins replacing the light.

With Ruth’s help, Zeke gets the horses unsaddled and loaded into the trailer. The kids are in the backseat with their father and Ruth takes the seat in front. Zeke retrieves the keys from where he had hidden them and rams them in the ignition. Before he can turn the key to start the engine, Ruth reaches over and puts a hand on his arm.

“Go back to her, Zeke,” she says in a soft voice.

He sighs and leans back in the seat.

“We can get home from here, Zeke. You’ve done your part by rescuing us from Dallas. You’ve done enough.”

He turns to face his sister.

“Go rescue yourself, Zeke.”

He opens the truck door and walks to the back of the trailer. Ruth helps him separate Murphy from the other horses and also helps him resaddle him. Before he mounts up, Zeke gives his sister a long hug. Damn if they’re both not crying, him for the second time today.

“Tell Mom and Dad that I love them and I’ll see them soon. And tell the kids to take good care of Lexi,” he says as he pulls onto Murphy’s back. Zeke gives him a nudge with his heels and turns to wave bye to Ruth and Carl, Emma and Noah. They disappear into the darkness of night.

London Heathrow Airport

The relationship between Captain Steve Henderson and copilot Cheryl Wilson had soured after working so well to land their injured plane without serious injury to any of the passengers. The strain of being stranded in a foreign country so far from home finally took its toll. They had stayed together long enough to reach London, but parted shortly after. Now, in a cruel twist of fate, Captain Henderson and newly appointed captain Cheryl Wilson are scheduled to fly one of the first flights back to the United States.

After the power was restored, the pilots were forced to attend a monthlong immersion in flight simulation along with refresher courses in the classroom. Once completed, the flight crews spent some time flying the empty aircraft after each plane had undergone a very thorough inspection. The two had encountered each other during the training sessions, but never with enough time to rehash the old hurts. But today they’re going to be confined in the small cockpit for at least nine hours.

Captain Henderson arrives early and threads his way through the growing crowds, down the Jetway, and into the cockpit. Three years since he had last sat in the cockpit of a plane that was going to be carrying live human beings. His last flight was one he hopes to put out of his mind forever.

He turns when he feels someone step aboard and sees Cheryl Wilson removing her hat. She steps into the cockpit and takes the right-hand seat.

“Good morning, Captain,” she says in a chilly voice.

“Good morning to you, Captain.”

“How long until we push back?”

“We’ll start loading in the next ten minutes. We’re scheduled to spin the engines in thirty.”

“Good,” Captain Cheryl Wilson replies as she reaches for the preflight checklist in the side pocket of the chair.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Captain Henderson says.

“About what?”

“Never mind,” he says, already counting the hours down until they can once more separate.

The Oval Office

Due to the national crisis and after some constitutional wrangling, President Paul Harris is five and a half years into his four-year term. Without electricity any thoughts of having an election were snuffed out. The next presidential election is scheduled for next year, but President Harris has already announced he would not seek reelection. Three years of the worst struggle the world has ever known have taken their toll.

He strides into the Oval Office, where the bright rays of the sun again paint shadows on the handmade carpet. One of his first acts, after the power returned, was to have the heavy steel panels hauled out of the office and shipped off to a scrapyard. Chief of Staff Scott Alexander is following a short distance behind and arrives at the desk as the President takes his seat.

“Paul, are you sure you don’t want to run for another term? Hell, the campaign would be a cakewalk for you,” he says as he sits in the chair flanking the desk.

“Scott, how many times do I have to say no? I’m tired and I just want to go home with my wife, maybe do a little fishing, spend some time on the golf course. My time in the White House has felt like two decades. One and a half is enough for me.” He quickly changes the subject. “What do we have today?”

“FEMA Director Donald Carter should be here momentarily. The new Iranian ambassador has requested a meeting for this afternoon,” Scott replies while looking over the schedule book.

“Put him off for a day or two until I can get up to speed on what’s happening over there. General Safani still in charge?”

“Last time I heard, and that was yesterday. So far he has resisted all provocations to allow another supreme leader to take charge.”

“I guess that makes him our friend, doesn’t it.”

The intercom buzzes. “Mr. President, Director Carter is here.”

“Send him in, please.” The President stands from behind the desk and meets him halfway across the room. “Let’s sit over here, Don,” he says, waving to the sofas.

They each take a seat on opposite sides of the coffee table. “Coffee, if you want it,” he says, pointing at the table. “Scott, come on over here and join us.”

Scott ambles over and takes a seat at the far end of the sofa.

The President pours coffee for all three. “Okay, Don, where are we on restoration?”