William Weber - Zero Day

Nate swallowed and found his mouth had gone dry. “You’ll be riding in evacuation buses organized by the town,” he told them. “They’re heading for Rockford.”

Amy’s coral-blue eyes flashed with surprise and then anger. “What do you mean ‘you?’ Aren’t you coming with us?”

“I’ll be right behind you,” Nate said. “Following the convoy.”

“And what about Evan?” Lauren asked, holding onto the straps of her bag as though it were a life preserver.

“After I drop you off at the bus, I’m going to swing by the plant and grab him.” Nate could already hear his wife’s protests before she spoke.

“Are you insane?” she shouted. “The whole town is filling with radiation.”

“That’s precisely why I’m dropping you off first. There’s no way I want any of you exposed more than you need to be.”

“Please don’t leave my dad behind,” Emmitt said, tears welling up.

Nate used both hands to pull his nephew’s hat on tight. “No one’ll be left behind, buddy. You have my word.”

Outside, Carl and Liz’s car honked again. Everyone hugged, before Lauren and the two boys headed out to meet them. Amy and Nate then filed into the garage where his truck sat waiting. While she got installed, he opened the sliding garage door manually. When he was done, he reached into his bag and pulled out the Geiger counter. Switching it on, he took a single step outside and waved the device around once again. The readings were well above normal.

Moments later, with the Dodge idling in the driveway and the house locked up tight, the convoy left for Byron Middle School.

Nate took the lead in the Dodge. The road ahead was marked by two parallel sets of tire tracks through the snow. Back and forth went the wipers as Amy fiddled with the vents to keep the windows from fogging up. He glanced down at the electronic gas gauge and saw he had sixty-five miles left in the tank. Of course, that was under ideal conditions, which these were certainly not. But with any luck, he would have more than enough fuel to get all of his family to safety.

An SUV before them slammed on its brakes for no apparent reason. Nate swerved, taking evasive action to avoid a collision.

“Whoa!” Amy cried, as she swayed in her seat, white-knuckling the drop-down grab handle.

“Looks like even the blind are out today,” he said, grimacing.

Carl and the others were less than twenty feet behind them, taking advantage of the path Nate was plowing with the forward momentum of the truck.

He was about to express his surprise at how few cars were on Byron’s streets when they turned onto the main thoroughfare. It was known as Highway 2 and among commoners as Blackhawk Drive and it wound through the core of the town like a long, slithering snake. Suddenly and out of nowhere, they were in bumper-to-bumper traffic.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Nate shouted in disbelief. He thought of the Geiger again, and dared not pull it out lest it told him what he already knew. They were eating far more radiation than they should. He and Amy each swallowed a potassium iodide tablet. As he did so, he couldn’t help thinking of Evan, over by the plant. There wasn’t time for this. The traffic was going in one direction, northeast toward Rockford. It appeared a number of folks were going to take their chances. What they didn’t know was that a pair of state troopers were going to escort the convoy of buses past this mess. Not everyone had a Carl and not every Carl had a shortwave, but Nate had both.

He spun the wheel and pulled out into the oncoming lane. Chunks of snow spun off his back tires.

“Babe, the hell are you doing?” Amy cried out, glaring at him as though he’d lost his mind.

With traffic flowing in a single direction, the real insanity, he had quickly realized, was waiting to be irradiated while sitting bumper to bumper. Nate drove out, passing the long line of cars. Carl was right behind him, along with a handful of others who had followed his lead.

“We don’t have time for that parking lot,” he told her and nudged the accelerator.

Whenever an oncoming car would approach, Nate would slow down, hug the line of cars on his right and let them pass. A few folks honked in protest as he went by, a heavy volume of snow splashing off his grill, but none of them knew the middle school was only his first stop in their evacuation plan.

“Up here at the light,” Amy reminded him.

Now came the tricky part. Cutting across traffic in order to make the turn he needed. A cop directing traffic ordered the oncoming vehicles to stop. As soon as Nate reached the intersection, he spun the wheel, swinging his back tires out in a wide arc before regaining control. The stunned expressions on the faces of folks waiting in line was priceless. The cop too had to jump out of the way.

Still more amazing were the number of people in tiny hatchbacks in the distance, struggling to move forward. The source of the traffic jam he had narrowly avoided had quickly become clear. Half the cars were stuck in the snow. The rest were doing what they could to maneuver around the trapped vehicles. He wondered in that split second what would become of those who were stranded. There had to be dozens of them, all struggling in vain to dislodge their cars, woefully unprepared for the wintery hell that had descended upon them.

The middle school was not far from here and Nate powered down side roads blanketed deep with snow and not vehicles.

Moments later they came to a checkpoint. A sheriff’s deputy patrol car was angled across the road. Nate pulled up and lowered his window.

“Only local traffic allowed,” the officer told them. He was dressed in a long black coat and a matching knit cap, the latter pulled down over his ears. His cheeks were flushed from the cold.

“We’re heading to the evacuation point,” Nate said. He could just make out the school and the line of buses in the distance.

“No problem, sir. There’s some nasty gridlock on Blackhawk Drive and we’re trying to ensure folks aren’t aiming to take shortcuts to avoid it.”

“I understand.” He pointed to the convoy idling by the school entrance. “We heard they’re heading to Rockford. Can you confirm that?”

The deputy nodded. “Yes, sir. Rockford. Victory Sports Complex, to be precise. An indoor soccer pitch they’ve converted into a makeshift shelter. On a clear day, it couldn’t be more than a twenty-minute drive, but I heard they’re expecting the journey to take a good three hours. So you folks better get a move on. Seems those boys are itching to go.”

Nate thanked him and pulled ahead. As they approached, more cars appeared. Many of them had taken the main avenues to get here, probably under the assumption the roads there would be less hazardous than the back streets. Nate sighed as their momentum slowed to a crawl. He wanted to honk, but didn’t see the point.

Another deputy was in the school parking lot, trying in vain to direct traffic. The problem was, the townsfolk who were showing up in droves needed a place to park their vehicles. The police escort promised to the bus convoy had done a lot to sell the idea to anyone lucky enough to learn about it. Given the chaos, the town had barely begun the time-consuming task of informing people it was even an option. Surely, hundreds remained barricaded in their homes, some oblivious to the radiation sickness that would soon overtake them. A smaller, but more headstrong number likely knew of the danger, but refused to leave their homes for a wide variety of reasons ranging from protection of property to a not unreasonable concern that the situation outside might be more dangerous. They would take their chances with whatever nuclear fallout was coming their way. Nate certainly understood the impulse. More than a few residents had refused to leave New Orleans during Katrina until it was far too late. And even then, a surprising number had opted to go down with the ship rather than risk weeks or months away from home, sleeping in shelters.