Kyle Pratt: Through Many Fires

Caden leaned hard against the broken tree. The trunk creaked as his body heaved in tears. Memories were all he would ever have. She was dead.

The sun crept higher in the sky. Caden hadn’t noticed until now the cars leaving the nearby parking lot. He knew he should check the wind direction and fallout pattern from the Atlanta blast but he couldn’t find the will to act. Repeatedly he cursed his slowness in coming to her, his unwillingness to order her out of the city, his inability to save her. He told himself a thousand things he should have done, a thousand things that might have saved her. Those opportunities were lost to him now.

Footfalls crunched the stubble of the field. Caden looked up enough to see well-polished boots. Slowly his eyes crept up the camouflage uniform.

“I am sorry to hear about your loss.” It was Lieutenant Turner.

Caden nodded.

Turner sat against the tree in the shade of the trunk. For several minutes, he said nothing.

“My wife and son were visiting family in Alexandria, Virginia.” He turned his head and looked at Caden. “Do you know where that is?”

“Yes, I lived in Bethesda.”

Turner sighed. “It’s been a rough couple of days.” He took a sip from his canteen. “You want a drink?”

Caden’s throat was parched. “Thank you.” Not knowing how much water the Lieutenant had, he took a single mouthful.

“I’m busy all day with my men, but there is always some part of me that is worried about my wife and son. Sometimes when I see a child or a woman, just for a moment, I wonder, ‘is that my family?’” He glanced back at the checkpoint. “When the supply truck came this morning, I hoped it brought mail.” He let out a deep breath. “I pray they’re safe.”

“You have hope.”

The Lieutenant nodded. “Yes, I do. I pray they are out there somewhere… safe. Perhaps they’re with my parents in Richmond.” He looked slowly from side to side as if searching for something. “Do you have anyone, a mother, father….”

The words stunned Caden. “Yes.” In his grief he had forgotten his parents, his brother and sister. How could he forget them?

“They need you now.”

Caden knew those words were true. His mother would be heartbroken with worry about him.

A commotion spread across the parking lot. Turner stood as one of his men trotted up to them.

“Lieutenant, the civilians say the fallout from the Atlanta blast is heading this way.”

Turner held out his hand to Caden.

He grasped it and with the Sergeant’s help, stood. “I’ve got satellite and shortwave radios in my car.”

The three walked briskly to the parking lot. Caden unlocked the door of his vehicle, clicked on the radio and set it to search. It didn’t take long to find a strong signal.

“…law. Winds are out of the south bringing the fallout over northern Georgia. FEMA is advising residents to shelter-in-place and non-residents or refugees to evacuate the area.”

Caden slumped in the seat. He had held a vague, irrational hope of heading south to see Atlanta and find Becky. He stared up at the sky. Clouds slid slowly north. Following behind those clouds was the slow death of fallout. South was no longer an option.

A soldier ran up holding a sheet of paper. A frown grew on Turner’s face as he read.

Caden sat in the car while Turner read. The tears for Becky were invisible now, the grief hid within. The pain he felt tore at him, but Turner had reminded him that he had family. It made him feel immature, even a bit ridiculous, but if tears came again; let them come with his arms around his mother.

Turner handed the paper back to the soldier. “Tell the men to saddle up. We’re leaving ASAP.”

“Where to?” Caden asked. “Richmond?” He knew that was unlikely, but he hoped his new friend might be heading home.

He shook his head. “Not even Virginia. The orders are to take my men to Fort Rucker in Alabama and help set up a refugee camp.” Though the Lieutenant was about his age, he looked at Caden with a fatherly concern. “Which way will you be going?”

“West. I’ve got family out that way.”

“Follow us to Rucker. It’ll be safer and maybe even faster.”

For the first couple of hours, Caden made good time as he followed the army convoy, but as the day wore on, more military vehicles joined the procession, civilian traffic increased and progress slowed. He was sure the line of army green trucks and jeeps stretched over a mile long.

The GMRS and CB radios on the seat beside him crackled with pleas for gas, assistance with repairs, news and rumors. Thousands biked or walked along the side of the road, rough looking individuals and entire families dragging suitcases and carrying more. He felt guilty riding alone in his car.

A young woman barely out of high school, by the look of her, carried a small baby along the road. As he passed, their eyes met. Should he offer her a ride? If he stopped, the convoy would move on. Would he be separated from them? Would he be overwhelmed by the desperate people along the road? A bend in the road hid her from sight.

He drove on wondering what kind of world the baby would inherit. Visions of cities burnt and desolate filled his mind, gray ash lying like a blanket of snow across a cold and lifeless land. A land poisoned by radioactive fallout. He remembered reading somewhere that cockroaches could withstand high levels of radiation. Because of the foolishness of man the cockroach shall inherit the Earth. He shuddered at the thought of a world full of cockroaches, but otherwise sterile.

An hour later, the young woman and her baby were out of sight and probably several miles behind him but there were many children and babies along the sides of the road. Would they live? How many had already died? Images of the friends he had lost in the last 48 hours flashed through his mind. The mental list of casualties always began and ended with memories of Becky.

He remembered the last time they went out to dinner. Becky liked French cuisine, but he was more of a meat and potatoes kind of guy, so that night they compromised on Italian. The restaurant had been a good choice, small and quiet, with excellent food cooked by an Italian family. They had planned to go back. Tears welled in his eyes. They would never go back.

Brakes squealed. Caden turned his head toward the sound of crumpling metal. One car careened off another, up the shoulder of the road, scattering pedestrians in all directions. Except for the two cars that collided no one stopped. Like a river disturbed by two stones, the westward flow quickly resumed. Caden resolved to focus on driving.

Tones came across one of his radios. A tense voice carried over the airwaves. “10-55, 10-33, west on highway 59, milepost 83.”

Caden tried to remember the 10 codes. He looked in the rearview mirror. Nothing was obviously amiss behind him. Returning his attention ahead he spotted a milepost that read ’81.’ The highway followed the contour of a hill, limiting his view ahead.

From behind, horns blasted. Metal crunched. In his mirror he saw pedestrians scurry like bees from a hive. Fear. That is what is causing this. People were frightened, fleeing wildfires and, he glanced at the gray sky, the unseen poison of radiation. The winds were still out of the south. Good for him, death for others.

Smoke flowed into the air from the far side of a nearby hill. Cresting the knoll Caden saw a burning pickup truck, smashed against a tree. He stared at the scene as the convoy continued down the slope. Pedestrians darted in close to the flames. Why would they do that? Then he noticed a crumpled small car that had been hidden by fire and smoke.