Kyle Pratt: Through Many Fires

Caden drove on into the night.

In the early morning darkness, he passed a sign welcoming him to West Virginia and, only as he went by, realized it was lit. Electricity! He looked at his gas gauge. It danced on the “E”. Please God, an open gas station .

A mile ahead, sitting at nothing more than a wide spot in the road, was an all night gas station and market. Six of the eight pumps were busy even at this early hour. Caden pulled into an empty spot and was pleasantly surprised that his debit card worked. While the tank filled he retrieved the five-gallon can from his trunk. He smiled remembering all the times Dad had told him to always have jumper cables, basic tools and a gas can in the car. After filling them both with every drop of gas they could hold, he pulled up to the store to buy other supplies.

As he entered, the clerk looked at him with a wary eye then, apparently deciding he was okay, returned to watching the television.

Caden desperately wanted to join the clerk, but first he had to get provisions.

“…was detonated at ground level and was small by modern standards, estimated at less than 20 kilotons. These factors also limited the electromagnetic pulse to the immediate vicinity.”

Seeing cases of bottled water on the shelf, he picked up a couple of bottles. Water is more critical than food. The words from his army training hung in his mind. He grabbed a case.

“FEMA has set up a command center at Andrews Air Force Base. Other relief and medical centers are being established outside of the red zone.”

Sandwiches caught his eye. Three would do.

“No reliable estimate of casualties is available but all area hospitals have been inundated. The most severely injured are being moved to hospitals up and down the coast from Boston to Richmond and Atlanta.”

At the mention of Becky’s hometown, Caden glanced at the television.

“Now we turn to Steve in the weather center.”

He was surprised that they would give a weather report at such a time. Who would want to know about the temperature now? Within moments his eyes were fixed on the screen with intense interest. They were showing wind direction from the blast and fallout patterns. The breeze last night had been blowing off shore, taking the radiation out to sea, almost directly away from where he had been in Silver Springs and Bethesda. Caden felt a huge burden lift from him. He would live.

The weatherman was still on camera, but he just stood staring ahead. As Caden watched a look of horror spread across his face. The image shifted to a man sitting behind a desk, his face strangely tight.

“We are receiving reports that there has been an attack on Los Angeles. I repeat. We have unconfirmed reports of a nuclear blast, just moments ago, in the Los Angeles metropolitan area.”

Certain that food and gas would soon be in short supply, Caden reassessed his needs. It took three trips from the market to carry five cases of bottled water, three gas cans and a Styrofoam cooler full of food covered with ice to his car. He opened the back door and pushed the food and water in.

While he filled the gas cans he tried again to call Becky and his parents, then cursed his lack of success. Looking up in frustration, he saw the first hint of morning color in the sky. He glanced at his watch. Dawn was less than an hour away. He loaded the gas into the trunk as cars began arriving. A van parked at the last available pump. A woman, her hair disheveled as if she just awoke, jumped from the vehicle and ran into the market while a stubble-faced man filled the tank and retrieved cans from the car.

Pulling away from the pumps, Caden noticed a pay phone at the side of the store. It was worth a try.

His heart skipped when he heard the ring. When someone picked up the receiver he shouted. “Becky? Is that you?”

“Caden? Caden! I was afraid you might be…Where are you?”

He delighted in hearing her speak. In conversation with friends, she spoke slower than most, with a soft accent that betrayed her southern birth, but now that was all gone.

“Where are you,” she repeated. “I’ve been trying to call you—your apartment, even your office.”

Quickly, he told her how close he had been to the Washington attack and that he was coming. “I’d really like it if you left Atlanta.”

“I can’t. Not right now.”

“This is not the time to be in a city.”

“The technicians are setting up an auxiliary studio at the affiliate in Birmingham, but until they finish, well, these attacks are the biggest news story ever. The network wants everyone covering it.”

Caden used every persuasive weapon available to convince her to leave, logic, love and finally guilt. “Is your career more important than me, than your life?”

“What are the chances of more bombs? And even if there are more, New York or Chicago are more likely targets than Atlanta.”

Realizing that she would not leave he said, “I’ll try to call you tonight, but if there is another attack, will you leave?”

There was a pause. “We’ll talk when you get here.”

After he hung up, he tried calling his family but didn’t get through. He cursed. I should have asked Becky to call them.

The majority of traffic would use the freeways, so Caden avoided them, sticking to the secondary roads. Gradually, the morning sun painted the sky with pink and gold. He turned on the satellite radio and scanned the stations. Fewer than half were operating. There was some music, but all the news and talk channels spoke of nothing but the attacks.

“This just in, Secretary of Homeland Security, Michael Durant, has assumed the duties of the President.”

Durant! That egotistical….

“As we reported earlier, Secretary Durant was involved in a traffic accident yesterday on his way into Washington D.C. for the State of the Union Address. He was taken to a hospital in Baltimore where he is recovering.

He’s last in line of succession. All the others—they must be dead.

As if to confirm Caden’s realization the announcer went on, “More senior officials in the line of succession are assumed to have died in the attack on Washington.”

“President Michael Durant.” God help us. That political hack has exceeded his level of incompetence.

The sun peeked over a nearby hill as he entered a small town. When Caden stopped at a red light, a rotund, middle-aged man in a dark suit and tie, walked across the street in front of him. He watched as the man walked to an electronics shop, unlocked the door and entered. Caden pulled into the parking lot.

The bell on the door jingled as he entered the store. The big man stood behind the counter, his jacket straining against his bulk.

“You’re my first customer today.”

“I suspect you’ll be busy.”

The man nodded grimly and unbuttoned his jacket.

“I’m looking for a shortwave radio with weather and the AM band.”

He hung the jacket behind the counter. “I think I have exactly what you want right here,” he pulled one from the shelf. “Four shortwave bands, weather, AM and FM and you can charge it by winding this crank or,” he popped up the top, “with this solar panel.” He set the radio on the counter. “These features may come in handy.”

Caden agreed.

“Why are you interested in the weather band?”

“For information on wind direction and fallout and the NOAA frequencies carry emergency alert information.”

“Oh.” The man took another of the radios from the shelf and set it behind the counter. “Anything else you need?”

“Any MURS radios?”

“No, sorry, we don’t get much call for them.”