Chapter 4
FOUR
DANIEL
December, six months earlier
“ Dad! ”
Sam breaks into a run, a huge smile splitting his face, as he catches sight of Daniel sitting in the SUV he stole from some teenaged boys twenty minutes before. For a second, Daniel can hardly believe this is real, that he’s actually made it here, to his son. It took him three weeks to get from rural Ontario to this part of upstate New York, between Utica and Syracuse—he’s been threatened, shot at, has both starved and nearly frozen to death. He feels like a jumble of broken parts, rusted and useless. His lips tremble as he tries for a smile.
“ Sam …”
Sam jogs to the passenger side and throws open the door. He’s got a backpack over his shoulder and he’s carrying a duffel bag in one hand. Daniel could be picking him up for an impromptu father–son weekend in the city—catch a football game, steaks for dinner—save for the unsmiling Marine holding an assault rifle and standing next to the car.
“I knew you’d come,” Sam says, and he sounds jubilant. Daniel can’t make sense of it. He’s glad, so glad, to see his son, but who can be happy in this brave new world of desolation and destruction? How can Sam be smiling? Daniel realizes he is not; he’s just sitting there, gaping.
Abruptly, he lurches over and embraces his son as tears crowd his eyes. “Sam,” he says again, like a blessing, hugging him tightly. “ Sam .”
“Sir, you need to move on now.” The Marine waves his rifle meaningfully.
Daniel nods his understanding. When he arrived here, he thought the Marine might shoot him just because he could. But then he explained about Sam, and the soldier’s weathered face softened with understanding as he gave a brusque nod. He sent someone to get Sam, warning Daniel that they would not be accepting anyone back into the guarded community if they left. Daniel glanced at the tree-filled campus, the limestone buildings, the low stone walls, and nodded his understanding. They would not be coming back.
Now he reverses the car as Sam throws his bags in the back and puts on his seatbelt. Daniel can’t believe how normal this feels. Nothing has been normal for over a month, since he first saw the nuclear attacks on the TV—no more than an orange blaze, clouds of billowing smoke. Three days later, he’d left to find Sam. He can still picture Alex’s face, the hardness in it, as she’d told him to go. Of course, he would have gone anyway, but the unyielding look in her eyes, the hint of blame or even threat in her voice, well…that had stung.
Maybe he had deserved it, after everything that had happened. Everything that he had done. Losing his job and then, far worse, lying about it for so many months. Taking out a second mortgage without telling her. Losing their home. Yes, there was great deal Alex had blamed him for, and he didn’t blame her for blaming him, but by God he was going to bring their son back safely, no matter what it cost him, and already he had a gut-deep feeling it might cost him everything.
“So what have you guys been doing?” Sam asks, and again the words sound incongruous, even wrong, as if Daniel has picked him up for Thanksgiving break and they’re heading home. They might hit a little traffic, grab a Starbucks, shoot the breeze. Daniel imagines his reply: Nothing much, your mom’s baking up a storm, Mattie and Ruby are excited to see you, I got tickets to the game…
He shakes his head slowly. “I couldn’t really say. I left Mom and the girls three days after the attacks, to get you.”
Sam’s eyes widen as he sits back in his seat. “Whoa…it took you that long to get here?” He sounds so surprised that Daniel lets out a hollow laugh.
“Yes, it did,” he replies briefly. He doesn’t want to go into it—the illegal, midnight trip across the St.Lawrence River, being shot at by the Canadian Border Control, spending a week in bed, delirious with fever, cared for by strangers who thankfully were kind. And then after…two weeks riding on a child’s bicycle, foraging for what food he could, avoiding the roving gangs and militias, and then, just moments ago, being hijacked by a bunch of teenaged boys. They’d wrecked his bike just for the hell of it and in response, he’d shot one of them. In the shoulder , he tells himself, but he’s not entirely sure how bad it was. He left them on the side of the road with no vehicle, ten miles from anywhere. That alone could have been enough to kill them all, never mind the gun.
The worst part is, Daniel thinks, he doesn’t even care.
“Tell me about you,” he tells Sam. “Clarkson looks like it was a pretty safe place to be?”
“Yeah, they closed everything off right after the attacks. Some rich alumnus sent in the Marines. A few kids left, to go back to their parents. My roommate, Tim, went, and some other guys on my hall…but the rest of us just stayed. It was okay.” He shrugged, rolled his eyes, as if to invite some kind of commiseration that Daniel already knew he would struggle to give. “It was all pretty strict, you know? Rationed food, you only had certain time in the sports hall or gym, two minutes in the shower, all that kind of stuff…”
You poor baby , Daniel thinks with a sudden, savage bitterness, and then he bites his tongue hard, hating that he is thinking this way about Sam, his son. Of course he’s glad Sam had an easy time of it, relatively speaking. He’s grateful . And yet something sharp has lodged in his soul, a splinter of resentment he doesn’t fully understand and really doesn’t want to feel, but it’s there, already tearing him apart.
“I’m glad you were safe,” he says, and knows, despite the tangle of his own emotions, that he means it utterly.
“It’s just…wild, isn’t it?” Sam remarks as he looks out the window. They’re driving toward Utica, down a straight road with barren fields on either side, interspersed with a few trees, leafless and stark. Right now, it’s hard to believe there has been a nuclear holocaust; there’s no sign of it in this bleak and wintry landscape, but Daniel knows they’ll come across something soon enough. An abandoned house. A shot-up store. A gang. “This is the first time I’ve been off campus,” Sam continues, studying the empty fields as if looking for clues. “They wouldn’t let us out. And we never got any news. It was like they thought we couldn’t handle it.” He turns back to Daniel, his expression matter-of-fact. “How many cities were hit?”
There’s something close to an eagerness in his son’s voice that makes Daniel bite his tongue again, just as hard. He does his best to keep his voice measured as he answers, “Nine, to start. And then more after. Retaliations, as well. But I haven’t heard anything definitively.” Has anyone , he wonders.
“What about the radio? Is anyone transmitting?” Sam speaks knowledgeably, but Daniel suspects he’s relying on video games for his understanding of this brave new world—the one about a zombie apocalypse, maybe, that they forbade him playing when Ruby was in the room; Daniel vaguely recalls a scene on the screen of an NPC transmitting with a radio.
As for the radio now…? “I don’t actually know,” he admits in surprise. He hasn’t even thought about the radio; he’s been on a bike for the last two weeks, and before that, when he’d been driving from the cottage to the border, he’d had no reception. A few days ago outside Utica he’d met Tom, a kind man, who had a ham radio and had given him news about how military reserves had been called up, then had refused to serve and dispersed. Not a good sign, Daniel had reflected at the time, of things to come.
“You could try it,” he suggests to Sam now, and his son gives him the wry and slightly patronizing look teenagers have perfected for their parents, as if Daniel is so outdated and dumb for not thinking of this, but it’s still kind of cute and amusing. Parents.
Sam leans over to turn on the car radio, and a burst of static issues from the speaker like gunfire, making Daniel jump a little.
“Easy there, Dad,” Sam chuckles, clearly amused by his over-the-top response. “You know, you’re looking kind of rough,” he adds, his amusement now laced with sympathy. “When did you last shower?”
Shower? Daniel turns to give him a look of complete incredulity. “Were there showers at college?” he asks, recalling Sam had just said something about showers limited to two minutes, but he hadn’t really taken it in. Showers. It feels like an alien concept. “After the bombings?” he clarifies.
“Yeah, I mean they were limited ,” Sam replies. “But Clarkson has this whole eco thing going on. They had these rainwater harvesting showers that were totally off grid. I mean, they were cold , and you got, like, ten seconds in them, but yeah.” It’s more than Daniel has had in a month .
Sam twiddles the dial of the radio. More static. “I was wondering if the radio circuitry was destroyed by an EMP,” he continues conversationally. “An electromagnetic pulse,” he explains kindly, and Daniel forces a smile.
“I know what an EMP is.”
“But they were saying that didn’t happen,” Sam goes on, as the static continues on various volumes. “And cars are still working too, even though an EMP is supposed to take them out. At least, the modern ones.”
“How did you learn that?” Daniel asks mildly. “Playing Atom RPG , or The Last of Us ?”
Sam glances at him, momentarily confused, and then a flash of something like hurt crosses his face before he turns back to the radio. “Actually, those video games are pretty realistic,” he says in a voice that to Daniel sounds deliberately mild but still needled with hurt. “A lot of research goes into making them.”
“I know.” Daniel feels he should apologize, but he can’t quite make himself, even though he didn’t mean to sound so cutting. “You’re probably more prepared for this kind of thing than I am,” he tells his son, an olive branch offered. “I’m getting all my information from disaster movies.”
“Yeah, those aren’t very realistic,” Sam replies sagely, as if video games are so much better. He straightens. “So, what did you see here on the way down? I really don’t know anything. Tell me what’s been happening.”
“They really didn’t keep you informed at Clarkson?” Now he is the one keeping his voice deliberately mild.
“No, they didn’t like to tell us anything, at least not after the first blasts.” For a second Sam’s seemingly unconcerned manner drops, and he looks serious, even sad. “Too many deaths, and you know, some kids were, like, really freaking out. They were worried about their families and stuff and just generally…‘this is bad for my mental health’ took on a whole new level, you know? They just couldn’t cope. There were some suicides, even, but not anyone I know.” He falls silent.
“I’m sorry.” The wellbeing crises of just months ago that had dominated student services of most schools now seem lamentably laughable.
Sam shakes his head, all traces of vitality gone; he looks, Daniel thinks, like the little boy he still, in many ways, is. “New York, Boston, DC…it’s so weird, to imagine,” he says. “Like, is the Statue of Liberty just gone ? I keep thinking about that, for some reason. And, like, I don’t know, the Met. The Lincoln Memorial. The White House…” He trails off, his expression distant. “Do you…do you think people back home were affected? I mean…”
Daniel knows what he means. Are they dead ? “I don’t know that they were affected by the bombs themselves,” he replies carefully, “but everyone has been affected now, Sam. No water, no electricity, no internet, no government…” He trails off, too tired to go on.
“No government? For real?” Again Sam’s voice lilts a little with something like interest, making Daniel grit his teeth.
“As far as I can tell. There are roving gangs, homegrown militias, that sort of thing. I saw some redneck guys with AR-10s and a lot of camo gear holed up in a Walmart.” He lets out a huff of laughter even though nothing about it is funny. Maybe Sam has the right attitude, he thinks. Maybe the only way to survive is to view this new world as a video game. Unfortunately, in this version, you only have one life. There’s no reboot to reality.
“Someone told me the army tried to take control early on,” he continues, “but there just wasn’t the will. We’ve got out of the habit of sacrificing ourselves for a greater good no one seems to believe in anymore.” He thinks of the years, decades, of disaffection with government, with religion, with any kind of authority. This is where they have all ended up, and he’s not sure how they’re going to get out of it.
Then he recalls Tom and his family who he met outside Utica, their quiet faith and kindness, and he wonders if he might be able to stop by and see them again. Show them he managed to find his son, after all. The thought of such a reunion almost makes him smile.
“Wow,” Sam breathes, sounding awed. “The whole military just… bailed ?”
“Well, I don’t know exactly,” Daniel backtracks as he accepts the near limitless extent of his ignorance. “Probably some died attempting to contain the blast zones, or help people affected. And others could be mobilizing somewhere else, away from the radiation. All my news has been very much local.” And very, very limited. “But,” he adds, by the way of agreement, “it’s all been pretty crazy and intense.” He keeps his voice mild, hating that, now that he has finally found Sam, he is struggling with some weird kind of resentment. What is wrong with him? Sam is nineteen years old, has been isolated on a college campus for the last three and a half weeks. He can’t possibly grasp the enormity of what has happened, or what it means, and Daniel is glad of that. Of course he is.
A sudden change in the static from the radio has them both jumping this time, and then they still as a voice comes on, in the middle of a speech: “…in affected areas, windows and doors should remain closed and individuals should only go outside if it is absolutely necessary. Electricity and running water will be re-established as soon as possible in all areas outside of a ten-mile radius of the blast zones. The government is also working on restoring infrastructure for telephone and internet services across the country. Martial law remains in effect, with no one to be outside after sevenp.m. at night, but fresh water, food supplies, and medical aid are available between ninea.m. and fivep.m. in the following locations: US army base at Fort Drum, US air force base in West Leyden, Elihu Root Army Reserve Center in Utica…” The list goes on, a monotone drone, of places in central and upstate New York.
At the end of the list, the announcement starts again: “This is an announcement regarding the recent nuclear detonations across the United States of America. This announcement serves all areas in central and upstate New York…” Daniel realizes it’s a recording played on a loop.
“That’s good,” Sam says as he turns down the volume on the recording. “There’s some organization happening, at least, right? It’s not as bad as you thought.”
“I guess,” Daniel replies. He wants to be heartened by what they just heard, but he feels numb. “We can stop by the one in Utica,” he tells Sam. “Get some supplies.” A flicker of hope licks through him, a forgotten feeling. Maybe the journey back will be easier than getting to Sam was. Four weeks on, the government is finally getting its act together, offering services and aid. They can stock up on food and fresh water, maybe even gas. Maybe they can drive all the way back to the bridge, at least, before they have to find a way across. Maybe, he thinks, the bridge will even be open; he hopes Sam thought to bring his passport. His mind races with possibility, with the tantalizing prospect of things being normal, even easy, or at least easier.
Another voice, a woman’s, ragged and pleading, suddenly comes on the radio, staticky and panicked. “Can someone please help? My daughter has been shot and I’m scared she’s going to die. I’m at 1401 Taylor Avenue in Utica…please, anyone…if you have medical supplies, any training, anything, please…” The woman’s voice chokes.
“1401 Taylor Avenue,” Sam repeats, lurching upright. “Dad, we have to go.”
To his shame, Daniel hesitates. They’re at least ten miles away from Utica .
“Dad,” Sam says again, insistent now, as well as shocked. “We have to go. We have to help, if we can. Someone’s been shot .”
“We can…swing by, I guess,” Daniel says, wishing he wasn’t so reluctant, but he is desperate to get back to Alex, to Ruby and Mattie. He wants his son, his whole family, safe, and driving into the center of Utica, which he strongly suspects is crawling with homegrown militias and wild-eyed gangs, to help a stranger who has been shot is not on his agenda. But neither is the look of shocked disappointment in his son’s eyes.
“Okay,” he says, relenting. “We can try to find it. We don’t have GPS, and I don’t know Utica.”
Almost as if the woman on the radio heard him she restarts, her voice sounding stronger. “Please, if someone can help my daughter…I’m on Taylor Avenue, near the intersection with Square Street, across from the St.Agnes Cemetery. Someone, please…”
“We can find that,” Sam says with far more confidence than Daniel feels.
“Sam…” he begins, but he doesn’t know how to explain all he is afraid of, has already experienced—the barricaded roads, the roving militias and gangs, the violence everywhere, like a ripcord has been pulled on humanity’s savagery, and there’s no stuffing it back in.
And, he discovers ten seconds later, he doesn’t have to explain, because they experience it themselves. The windshield shatters without warning, sending a shower of cubes of safety glass over them. Daniel careens off the road, the SUV lurching wildly from side to side as he realizes they—whoever they is—must have shot out the windows. Thank God neither of them was hit. Sam is holding on to the door handle, pale, wild-eyed, his mouth gaping in shock.
The car screeches to a stop, but before Daniel can even draw a breath his door is wrenched open, and he feels the cold kiss of a rifle muzzle against his temple.
“Get out of the car,” a voice growls.