Age of Power 1: Legacy Page 4

  I liked him. He and Dad were friends. He moved here from Chicago because of Dad, and stayed even after Dad went back to Chicago. That was good, because by then, I was friends with Brand. And although Mom wasn’t his biggest fan, it didn’t stop her from letting me hang out with Brand. She had introduced Karla to James after all. So they were at least friendly with each other. When he saw me he waved and smiled.

  But his voice had a tentativeness to it when he said, “Hey there. We uh…we came back. Help me with the boxes, will you?”

  I didn’t ask what happened. Instead, I quickly grabbed a box and fell into step alongside him, heading to the side kitchen door off to the side of the driveway. Before we reached the steps to the door, Brand came out, jerked to a stop, and then smiled.

  He said, “Hey guess what. Traffic sucks when the world’s ending!”

  I stared at him. Was that it? They took off without a single good-bye, and just expected things to be the same after days of slowly growing terror? Brand and I looked at each other—unspoken words passing between us. The end of the world was coming and I wasn’t going to get an apology?

  End of the world. Did an apology even matter? They hadn’t made it to safety. No one would be safe. Was I angry? Yes, as childish as it sounded, I was. I really meant it about us being like brothers, and brothers didn’t pull stuff like this, not even at the end. But now, I guess it didn’t matter. Everything I knew and loved was ending. I shrugged, he shrugged, enough said. Body language, grow up with someone, you just know what’s being thought.

  Aloud, I said, “Yeah well, I know what it’s like, hit all the red lights, cross traffic is bad. You know… the usual.”

  James Houseman snorted and jabbed a thumb over his shoulder while holding the box on his other shoulder. He said, “Can you get the last box, son?”

  With a quick nod, Brand went for the box while I went with Mr. Houseman into the house. Inside, I could hear a radio in the living room, set to Riverlite’s local station. I ignored it as Mr. Houseman started putting cans of food into the refrigerator. I pulled out more cans to hand to him.

  He said, “So how’ve you been, Vaughn? I thought you and your mom had left a long while back. Why are you out walking the town, though?”

  And there it was. They just thought we had taken off too. Okay, again, I wasn’t going to argue. I shrugged and said, “Um, ghosts? I came over here because I wanted something to hold onto. Something belonging to Brand, I mean.”

  He stopped pulling cans out of the box and gave me a quizzical look. He said, “Really? And here I thought you were a nice boy. Ransacking houses now, huh?”

  I said, “Um, I wasn’t thinking anything like that.”

  He gave me a narrow green-eyed look that made me want to step back. He had one of those cold stares that I remembered getting whenever Brand and I got into trouble. Then he grinned, laughed, and began putting the cans on the shelves again.

  He said, “Just kidding, bud. And call me Jim.”

  I said, “Um, okay Jim.”

  Just then, Brand came in carrying a box filled with bread, lots of bread. He put it down on the counter. Thinking of what we had left in terms of food in our house, I knew the Housemans would be lighter by a few loaves once Mom and Dad dropped by.

  Brand said, “Hey, I just saw a cop car. I didn’t see who it was, but the town actually has cops even now?”

  I grinned at him and said, “Are you kidding? The town may be close to empty, but the Chief of Police stayed, along with some other volunteers. They even have some services running. Heck, one radio announcer still has the radio station outside town going! Obviously, you’ve noticed, though, since you have it on.”

  Just then, Karla came up from the basement carrying a load of folded clothes. She smiled and said, “Well, hello Vaughn. It’s good to see you…such as the things are, I mean. How’s Andrea?”

  I nodded to her and said, “She’s fine. My dad even came back. They’re at home if you want to call.”

  Jim blinked with surprise. He said, “Whoa! Mark’s here! That’s great to know! Maybe we could get a football game going before…”

  He stopped, and the lighthearted mood faltered. Like it or not, we were on our way to a final date in time. I had to admit that the coming Day could be a conversation killer, no matter what. But I was determined that the mood would not be ruined.

  Pushing past the tension filled moment, I said, “Hey that’s possible. They’re going to be getting people together for a big cookout at the high school. Everyone in the area is going to try to be there. If you want, you can call Dad and Mom and see about setting something up.”

  Karla forced a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. She said, “Oh that would be wonderful! She and I can get a bridge game going! Do the phones still work?”

  I said, “The cell towers are still going locally. So you can call her. I know she’d love to hear from you.”

  Karla gave me a smile and went into one of the bedrooms with the clothes. I just watched, thinking how odd it was that she was still doing normal everyday things such as clothes washing, drying, and folding. Mom’s comments about my attitude toward scientists came to mind, and I let the surreal feelings fade. Just then, however, Brand turned from the counter and saw the look on my face. He nodded with a shrug; he understood. We were real good at non-verbal communication.

  He said, “Dad, since the cops are still here, do you think it would be okay for us to go out?”

  Brand’s dad didn’t say anything for a moment. He stopped unloading boxes, and glanced at the two of us.

  He said, “Just remember what happens when everyone gets off the sinking ship, boys.”

  Brand blinked and said, “Huh?”

  Jim sighed, “Contrary to the popular saying, the rats get left behind. Be careful. Don’t go into a place if you hear anything, and if you do, call the cops. We may in be a dead town now, but if Sinclair is still here, I know he’s always been serious about keeping people safe.”

  From the main bedroom, we heard Karla talking. Her voice had a sound of false cheer to it. I could hear it while she talked to my mom about getting a bridge game going. Jim listened for a second or two, and then started putting bread into the refrigerator. He had to move cans around, to make room for the bread.

  With a wave of a hand to his dad, Brand grabbed my arm and led me outside. We went out to the curb near the back of the SUV. I asked, “Rats on sinking ships…don’t they usually get off the ship first?”

  Brand looked around as he said, “Not all the rats get off the boat, and they turn on each other. At least, that is what I think he meant. Look, we've both been there. People ran, but not everyone had the money or even the want to try to get to safety. The closer this thing gets to happening the more desperate some people will be. Dad’s was just telling us to not take any chances. Even when we don’t think we are in danger…we are. Here, if you want a good example, take a look at this.”

  Pulling me to the SUV, Brand pointed out a hole in the back that hadn’t been there before they’d left. Someone had shot at them. He said, “Serious problems out there, man. Someone tried to shoot the gas tank when we drove through some small town west of Saint Louis. It wasn’t a happy time. The places look empty, and everyone starts relaxing, but then…”

  He gestured to the bullet hole, saying, “You suddenly get stuff like this happening. It was silent, and then, boom!”

  Silence…that’s what was bothering me. I should’ve been hearing planes flying overhead. On the way here, there should’ve been sound of cars driving down the roads. Sounds were gone, and it brought home that things had gone wrong. The neighborhood had been silent on the way here, but I’d been thinking so deeply it didn’t click in my head.

  Gods, what had we come to? I reached out and felt the round, indented edge of the bullet hole. I don’t know why I was bothered. After what I'd seen on television and the Internet, nothing should surprise me. And I’d seen bullet holes in cars and trucks before. But had th
ey been vehicles with friends inside them? No.

  I turned back to him and asked, “You want to stay here? Or go to my place?”

  Brand thought about it for a moment before he shook his head. “Honestly, I want to walk around. I need to see the town. I needed it when we hit the border between Missouri and Louisiana, where there were just cars that had been left abandoned. It was like that for as far as we could see…blocked roads. And it was almost as bad when we headed back. So right now, I could use a bit of seeing a familiar place. Even if it is empty, at least I won’t feel like I’m being haunted by strange buildings and houses!”

  Brand’s voice had a tone of fear in it that I didn’t like. He needed to talk about this, though, so I prompted him. “So…”

  Brand said, “Just that, Vaughn. SUV’s, Trucks, pick-ups, sedans, hell, there were cars of every make, all just sitting there, as if they were in some huge ass parking lot. But the scary part was that there were no people. And we weren’t the only ones to see it. Others were behind us. They passed us by. Not driving, but walking, hoping to get to New Orleans for a boat lift farther south…”

  I opened my mouth to say something, and found nothing to say. That would have to have been thousands of people. All of them trying to escape to the same place, or somewhere like it. Where was the U.S. government in all this? Where was the National Guard? Then it hit me. The obvious answer was that they had gone back to their families. They’d given up.

  I said, “Come on, let’s walk.”

  Brand blinked, and said, “What’s wrong? You just tensed up.”

  Instead of answering, I started walking. He caught up and looked at me, but said nothing. I didn’t want to talk about what I was hearing, not yet. We walked down the streets, gazing at the littered yards and homes, taking in the empty homes. Whatever ungodly conditions Brand’s family had run into, it certainly wasn’t like that here.

  Driveways were empty except for the refuse left in the exodus. And when he wasn’t looking at me, I’d glance at Brand worriedly. I kept seeing a look that I’d never seen on his face before—resignation. But instead of talking to him about it, I would just distract him by pointing at some empty home.

  But while the town seemed virtually empty of people, it wasn’t literally so. We did see the police car Brand had seen earlier. I didn’t see who was driving, but it showed that we weren’t entirely alone. And every so often, Brand and I would turn a corner or pass a row of homes and see people. One, maybe two people were carrying on with their lives, talking—sometimes laughing—and waving to us as we walked by. We waved back, but after his father’s warning, we just passed them all by.

  At one point, after passing two guys talking on a porch, laughing and drinking whiskey from a bottle, Brand said, “I guess others thought the same thing as your mom did. They didn’t even bother trying to escape the inevitable…”

  Again, that resigned tone was in his voice. Brand was giving up! You had to know Brand Houseman to understand how wrong that was. Bright, short tempered, ready to fight armies if he had to. And beneath it, he was full of deep anger from things unresolved in his life. Now, he sounded defeated. I hadn’t reached that stage yet. I refused to let myself think that way. So instead of saying that I understood, because I didn’t, all I could do was shrug it off and continue walking to Main Street. From there, I could see from one end of the town to the other going East to West; at least until it hit the hills on the western side.

  Riverlite wasn’t a big town. It only held about fifteen thousand people. But it was a prosperous place, what with Ryan Tech, the major research firm, and a big technical college. Given the changing attitudes in politics these days, that was to the town’s advantage. When the public interest in such things brought in more people to do research, it brought the downtown back to life. After all, people wanted somewhere to spend the money those research jobs brought with them.

  But the stores weren’t open. Who was going to open a store when the world was ending? And, seeing all the doors locked and shut, I had the urge to scream. It had taken walking past those empty stores and roads to get me to realize that everything was ending.

  There would be no more Library Square, with the memorial wall dedicated to the First World War veterans. There would be no more building in the center of the square. It would disintegrate once Yama hit. No more Outlet Brands store to the west of it, no Italian restaurant south of it. And there would be no Main Street Drug Store across the street from them. The stores were now closed forever. The bank on the corner would never have deposits or withdrawals made, and the ATM would remain dark and empty.

  We were going to die.

  The hopelessness of it all overtook me. All at once, I wandered down the street in a daze. Brand didn’t notice. He was looking in stores through spaces between the wooden boards that their owners had put up after Yama’s first pass. Brand moved on ahead, and I let him. I stood in the middle of the four-lane road, seeing everything, and knowing that the buildings—all of it—would turn to ash. Every house, every business, the schools I’d gone to, the college, the swimming pool, even the land would be gone. I stood there and looked in all directions, imagining farms obliterated, the river turning to steam, and even the high hills that Riverlite had been built near would become tons of shredded earth, thanks to the coming blast wave.

  Suddenly I was brought back to reality when I heard Brand yell with fright. I looked around in time to see somebody dragging him into the dark Kerrington Hardware Store. Yelling his name, I ran across the parking lot and, without thinking, slammed open the front door, yelling Brand’s name. I stopped suddenly as I realized how stupid it was to do that. Brand was being held by a large man near the front counter, his mouth covered. The guy holding him wasn’t alone.

  We were in trouble. Looking around the dimly lit room, I counted five muscular men, all with hard expressions on their faces. They were all wearing leather jackets, blue jeans, and work boots. Thoughts of a street gage came to mind. The one in front pushed Brand down to the floor in front of a checkout counter and sneered at me.

  He said, “Man, did you two come out at the wrong time! Get him.”

  Reaching for the cell phone in my coat, I started backing away. Before I could dial, though, one of the men moved in fast and grabbed me from behind—yanking the phone out of my hand. I realized that I’d been focusing too much on the leader of the pack and had let my attacker get behind me. He tossed the phone and pushed me over to where Brand was, pushing me down to my knees. I nearly hit my head on the counter as I fell. Recovering, I looked up only to see a sledgehammer sticking out of the cash register. I swallowed down the fear that brought up. It could be in our heads soon enough.

  Brand struggled back to his feet for a moment, then he cried out with pain from a punch to his back. He was shoved down to the floor by the guy who gave the order to grab me. After he hit him, Brand’s attacker said, “Do what’s smart kid. Just let shit happen and you both might get out alive.”

  Gritting my teeth—to keep them from chattering—I managed to say, “What the fuck? Who in the hell are you bastards? Let us go! We didn’t do anything to you!”

  I looked him over. Bigger than the rest, I guessed he was their leader, if only because of that bulk. He yanked us to our feet and forced us back against the counter. He leaned in. I pulled away out of reflex, as his breath reeked of beer. He had deep-set blue eyes and his long red hair—wild and flowing down to his shoulders—made him look like a mad Viking from a bad fantasy movie.

  He said, “You boys came along at the right time. We were looking for a little tension relief. Guess you volunteered. Scream all you want. This little dot on the map is so empty we won’t be disturbed.”

  He reached past us, and with a casual pull, yanked out the big sledgehammer and brought it down between us. Red Hair said, “Come on, boys, let’s have some fun before that damn mountain hits!”

  I didn’t even think about what I did next; I kicked one of the men closing in on u
s. He bellowed when I hit his knee and he fell into Red Hair. I took the chance and scrambled toward the front, intent on breaking the front window to yell for help.

  Someone grabbed me and yanked me back. Struggling, I screamed with rage and raw fear. It didn’t do a bit of good. Shoving me down one of Red Hair's gang knocked me down to the floor next to Brand again. The lead slime ball laughed. Then, with the hammer in hand, he came toward me. “Boy, you are in for a world of pain. The prison psychiatrist told me I needed to work out my aggressions. Guess this is where that happens!”

  “Oh wonderful, cons…” I muttered. Great, we were in deeper trouble than I thought. I finally caught on that Red Hair was wearing an orange prison top.

  Red Hair chuckled. “No shit kid. Now…boys, let’s get some tension relief before taking care of some old business I have here.”

  Before I could react to that, Red Hair grabbed me, shoving me up against a counter. Three other men were doing the same to Brand. He yelled out. “No! Let us go, you bastards!”

  The escaped convicts laughed, all of them grabbing up tools to use as weapons. But before anything else could happen, the front window shattered into a million pieces as a brick flew through it to land on the tile floor with a bounce. Red hair yelled, “What in the hell?”

  I looked and saw Alex Shaw—still in that black trench coat of his—standing in front of the store, with one hand holding a brick while the other hand stayed hidden in the front pocket of his coat.

  I said, “Huh. Prayer answered. Cool.”

  Brand yelled, “Shaw! Get help! Run!” Alex didn't react. He stood there, glaring at the convicts. He was daring them to do something.

  Red Hair let me go with a shove and said, “Oh great! Now we have the kid cavalry coming to rescue his friends! Hot damn boys, this little hometown of mine left three little punks to hurt!”

  Alex said nothing. He kept his eyes on the leader of the pack. I noticed that he had an expression of sadness on his face. It seemed as if he were judging Red Hair in some bizarre way.