Chapter 23
“I’ve just established an office of repopulation. Greg Zimmerman is in charge. Reach out to him for help finding women to procreate with.” - Excerpt from a message from New America President Soren Whitman to all military officers
Six Years Ago
Pax
Nothing has ever been impossible for me. I refuse to let this be the first time.
My parents’ money has always opened doors. I’ve never had to wonder if I could get tickets to a concert or a table at a hot new restaurant. It’s not our style to flash our wealth for attention, but I’d drop my parents’ names to anyone and pay anything to get Hannah back to me.
She wanted a weekend at a beach house for her bachelorette party. I insisted on a long weekend in London, where she’s always wanted to visit. She was so excited to tell her sister and close friends that the entire cost had been covered and they were going to her dream destination.
Now she’s in danger because of that stupid fucking idea of mine.
In a matter of twenty-four hours, an airborne virus has crippled the entire world. According to the news, it’s highly communicable and it’s killing people quickly. Air travel has been suspended worldwide. Social media is expecting the Rapture.
From the living room of the downtown Boston loft I share with Hannah, I’ve been working every lead I have trying to get her and her bridal party on a flight home. My parents have been trying too, from their place in Aspen.
I was awake all night trying to figure something out. My dad says he can’t even fly on his own plane because the airports have all been locked down by the US military. We have to find a private one and pay our pilots enough that they’ll risk making the trip.
This is what fear is. It’s the first time I’ve experienced the clawing, desperate terror of helplessness. I tried to eat last night, but I threw up everything immediately. Now I’m just running on coffee and adrenaline.
An incoming text dings on my phone and I lunge at it.
Hannah: I’m trying to be strong for the others, but I’m so scared. Libs has asthma, and if she gets this virus, I think she’ll die. I know you’re trying your best to get us out of here. I miss you and love you so much.
From the news reports I’m reading, everyone who gets it seems to be dying. It’s even taking out the doctors, nurses, and paramedics treating patients.
Hannah’s being the strong one for her sister and friends, so I need to be the strong one for her.
Pax: I love you babe and I’ll do whatever it takes to get you guys back. I paid you up for the next two weeks at the hotel, so just stay locked in your room where you’re safe.
Hannah: Thank you. Text me as soon as you hear anything that might help, even if it’s not a sure thing.
Pax: I will. If I can’t get you back here, I’ll come to you. I’ll take a boat and steal a car if I have to.
Hannah: I’m so ready to have your babies.
I smile at the phone.
Pax: Someday we’ll tell them about this, when it’s just a memory.
A fucking nightmare of a memory. I’m texting my dad to see if he has any new leads when I get a text from a college buddy I had asked for help.
Chris: I would if I could, but I can’t even buy enough gas for my plane to make it across two states to get my brother and his family because the gas stations are all out of gas. Good luck.
He tried to get me to take that pilot course with him our sophomore year. I’ve been beating myself up over the possibility that I could be on the way to get Hannah myself right now if I’d done it.
I type out a quick response and am writing a text to my dad when I get one from him.
Dad: I’m sending a car for you. ETA 90 mins. Be ready.
My hands tremble as I type a message out.
Pax: Am I going to an airport? Did you get clearance or is there an orange jumpsuit in my future? I’m going either way.
Dad: It’s all taken care of. Don’t worry.
The laugh that bursts out of me is more like a sob. My dad came through.
When Hannah accepted my marriage proposal, my parents told her in their congratulatory FaceTime call with us that they were thrilled to be getting a daughter.
I’ve never been so grateful for my small but close-knit family.
I don’t know if we’ll be able to help the rest of her family, but at least we can get her and her bridal party home.
I have to pack. Standing up from my seat, I write a text to Hannah while I’m walking toward our bedroom.
Pax: Leaving in 90 minutes for an airport. Don’t know which one. Might be a small private one. Stay where you are, I’m coming to get you.
I get a backpack down from a shelf in our closet, my gaze catching on the clear plastic bin Hannah keeps her swimsuits stored in.
One of them is the red one she wore on our trip to Fiji in January.
We stayed in a little hut on the water for a full week, starting every day with a walk on the beach.
The mental image of her smiling at me in that swimsuit, a wide-brimmed straw hat on her head, is as clear as a photograph.
After unzipping the pack and putting it on the bed, I check my phone.
Hannah: Oh thank god. Things are getting really scary here. We can see people pulling other people from their cars on the street and hurting them. We’re so afraid of getting the virus that we aren’t ordering food anymore.
Pax: If you don’t hear from me, it might be because I’m in the air or I can’t charge my phone. I will be there, Han. I swear it.
Hannah: I know you will. I’m crying so hard. I love you.
Pax: I love you too. Stay safe.
I connect my phone to its charger and exhale heavily. This situation is still bad, but as long as Hannah and I are together, we can get through it.
Rolling everything so it fits tightly in the bag, I pack a change of clothes for myself and for Hannah. We don’t have any face masks, but I cut up several T-shirts to make rudimentary face coverings for all of us.
What else? I don’t know if I’ll have to clear airport security or not, but I’m so concerned about being able to find supplies that I add eight bottles of water to the bag. I grab a jar of peanut butter and a few first aid supplies after that. Every phone charger and power bank we have.
I need more food. If Hannah and her five bridesmaids don’t have anything to eat, they’ll be ravenous by the time I get to London. I pack cereal bars, crackers, and beef jerky.
My pack is full and I still have more than an hour to burn. I turn the news on the big screen in our living room, and I’m floored by what I see.
The president has declared martial law. Hospitals around the US are overwhelmed, the bodies of dead patients lining their hallways.
Scientists think the virus originated in the States because the effects are worse here, but it’s already gotten to lots of other countries, too. Europe and Asia are scrambling.
Money. I’m going to need money.
I have a small safe hidden in our pantry, where I keep around ten thousand dollars in cash in case of an emergency. This qualifies.
There’s no room in my backpack, so I put as much cash as I can fit into two small waist packs. I fill my pants pockets with more bills.
Finally, I get a text that the car has arrived. I run down the three flights of stairs, finding a man in a dark suit waiting at the door to the building.
“Pax Thatcher?” he asks.
Who is this guy? He’s not one of my dad’s people.
“Yeah.”
His stern expression relaxes slightly. “I’ll need to see your ID.”
“Who are you?”
“I’m Roger Carone. Your father, Aldous, sent me to get you.”
I step out of the building’s front door and see Terry, one of my dad’s longtime drivers, waving at me from the driver’s seat of a black SUV.
“Terry knows who I am,” I say, going to the vehicle.
I get in the front passenger seat and Roger gets in the back seat.
“You okay?” Terry asks me as he pulls away from the curb.
“Not really.”
“I understand.”
“Is your family okay?” I ask him, remembering he has a wife and a young daughter.
“Jen and Angeline are safe. Thanks for asking.”
I take a deep breath, thinking of Hannah in that hotel room, people being assaulted in the street right outside.
“What airport are we going to?” I ask.
Roger answers. “We’re under strict instructions not to disclose that until we arrive.”
I furrow my brow, looking at Terry. “Why wouldn’t you be able to tell me that?”
Terry shrugs, giving me an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, kid. Boss’s orders.”
I take out my phone and text my dad.
Pax: Why won’t these guys tell me where we’re going?
Maybe we aren’t going to an airport at all. The plane could be taking off from an empty field or something.
Boston’s streets are eerily quiet and empty. There are cars and pedestrians, but nowhere near the usual amount. According to the news, most people are sheltering in place because they’re so worried about getting the virus.
Hannah must be concerned for her students. She adores every one of them. I hear endless stories about the funny things they say and do. Even though we want kids, I’m glad we don’t have any yet. I can’t even imagine having a young kid to protect during a time like this.
The suburbs start to thin out as we pass Worcester. Terry is making small talk about sports to pass the time, but a knot of fear is still aching in my stomach.
On our right side, the Connecticut River is unbothered by the chaos. My father still hasn’t responded, and I’m starting to wonder just how far away we’re going.
What if, by the time we finally get there, we can’t take off?
The landscape changes, Terry speculating about the next baseball season. It’s hilly, forests and old farms providing the only scenery.
“I’m not trying to be a dick,” I say to Terry after nearly two hours. “But I need some answers.”
“We’re close,” Roger says.
I text my father again, agitated. We’re approaching Brattleboro, which means we’re in Vermont. Terry’s following a satellite map on the vehicle’s navigation system, and he turns onto a dirt road.
“I’m a Thatcher, too,” I say, looking at Roger over my shoulder. “I—”