There were only two zones of exclusion resulting from nuclear accidents in the world — one in the Ukraine around the Chernobyl plant, the other in Japan around the Fukushima plant. Is that what Silver Lake will become? The third exclusion zone? Will that be our identity from now on?
“Some of them won’t have any place to go,” she said with a sigh.
“Well, they sure as hell can’t stay here,” Conover replied sharply.
“No, of course not.”
“And neither can you, for that matter. Once the evacuation begins, you have to go to the—”
“I’m absolutely not leaving here until everyone is out, General,” Sarah said in her firmest tone, looking him directly in the eyes. “Even after the evacuation begins, I’ll still be needed here. People will be calling with questions. There will still be matters to be coordinated, questions to be answered, and decisions to be made.”
“And you’ll be able to perform all those duties without any trouble from a remote location,” Conover’s voice was as calm as an autumn pond. “We have a truck waiting outside for you right now. Calls can be forwarded from here and your computer can remain connected to this network.”
“I am not going to be the rat deserting the sinking ship. That’s not the message I want to send to the good people of this town. They need to know that I’m here and on the job. They need that comfort.”
Conover’s jaw tightened and several veins in his neck came into view.
“You should be aware that I have the authority to forcibly remove you.”
“And you should be aware that anyone who tries that is going to get a kick in the balls.”
Their staring match seemed to stretch on forever. No one moved, spoke, or seemed to breathe. There was only the sound of the rain against the windows and the hum of the computers.
Conover’s unexpected grin was loaded with crooked teeth. “Well, you’ve got quite a set of balls yourself, I have to say.”
“Not bad for a surrogate, huh?” she said.
He met her gaze squarely and evenly, his smile never slackening. “No, not bad. I gotta admire that kind of loyalty. Shit, without loyalty, where would the military be? Okay, you can stay — but only until it becomes medically risky.” Conover turned to his aide. “Bill, how much longer will the air in here be safe to breathe?”
“About seventy minutes, sir.”
The general nodded and looked back. “Got that? Just over an hour. That means in one hour—” he pointed at her “—you go. I don’t care if we have to tranquilize you with a blow dart. You’re not going to do anyone any good if you’re lying on a stretcher gasping for breath. All right?”
“All right.”
She turned to Magnus and Harris.
“You two should go now.”
Magnus looked fairly terrified, but Harris appeared surprisingly composed, as if she’d been through a few dozen radiation emergencies in her long life.
“If we’ve got another hour,” Harris said, “then we’ll stay another hour.” Magnus nodded in agreement despite her trembling.
The general shrugged and threw up his hands. “Who am I to countermand the women’s liberation movement?”
“Thank you, General,” Harris said diplomatically, and the two secretaries withdrew quietly.
Conover scanned the map one more time, then checked his watch, a stainless-steel chronograph large enough to be sold for scrap.
“Madame Mayor, we’ve only got about another two hours of sunlight left, so it’s time to get this thing moving. Is there anything else you’d like to add before we begin?”
She shook her head. Two hours of sunlight left… She remembered that morning’s sunrise. In the bedroom that she shared with the man she loved, the sun gave the blinds a cordial glow that seemed to come straight down from heaven. She awoke just in time to witness this phenomenon at its climax, and instead of throwing the sheets back and springing up like she usually did, she lay there to absorb the beauty of it. That seems so long ago now, she thought. Ages.
“No, I don’t have anything else to add,” she said. “Thank you, General, for letting me contribute to your plans.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” he said ceremoniously, then strode swiftly out of the room with his aide trailing behind. Sarah heard him begin issuing orders over his walkie-talkie even before he reached the staircase.
Remembering her moment of sunlit meditation led Sarah to the realization that she hadn’t heard from Emilio in a while. This was understandable under the circumstances, but still — he never allowed too much time to pass without making contact. No matter the duties at hand, he always found a way.
Picking up her cellphone, she checked her messages. Six new texts had arrived since her meeting with the general had begun, but none were from her husband.
“Odd,” she said softly to herself. She was just about to take the initiative and text him first when the phone started vibrating. It was Harlan Phillips; probably calling to see how things went with General Charming, she thought.
Sarah made a mental note to text Emilio as soon they were finished.
23
“Dad… can you help me?”
Mark’s voice was weak, like that of someone infirm or geriatric. “Mark, where are you?”
“Dad, I’m sick. I’m… I’m really…” The boy’s voice broke off with a terrible, gagging sound. It took Pete two beats of horrified analysis to realize his son had vomited.
“Wow, there’s so much blood,” Mark said wearily.
“Oh, God. Where are you?”
“I can’t… I just don’t know if… who I went with to…”
“Mark, just tell me where you are.” Tears rolled down Pete’s face, his natural instinct to suppress his grief disconnecting. “Please, Mark, where—”
“I’m sorry, Dad. I’m sorry about this morning. We… we…”
“I’m sorry, too, Mark. I love you so much.” Pete was out of the apartment and pounding down the stairs. “But forget about what happened this morning. We’ll fix it, I swear. Just tell me where you are. I’m going to come get you.”
“I’m, uh… I don’t know where…”
“Okay, okay… look around you. Can you do that? Can you look around?”
“I’m… we went walking.”
“You and Sharon?”
“Yeah.”
Mark gagged again; this time Pete could hear the ejecta slapping on some hard surface. A sidewalk? Is he on a sidewalk, in plain view? Are some sonsofbitches watching from their windows but not helping him? If so, I’m going to find out who they are later and pound them flat. I swear to holy heaven I will.
All Pete could hear through the phone was the hiss of the rain, and for an unbearable moment of undiluted terror he thought the boy had lost consciousness. Then came the moans, low and rhythmic.
“Mark!” he yelled, trying to spur a response from his son as he pulled the slicker over himself and snatched up the paint mask.
“Dad, help me. Please, help me.”
“Where are you?”
“Prince Field,” Mark said finally, and in that instant his father detected a glimmer of cognizance. Good, son, keep it up. “We went for… for a walk in the rain,” Mark went on. “Sharon likes it… She likes the rain.”
Pete froze with his hand around the doorknob. Wait… he’s been out in the rain this whole time?! No, please, God, no… He looked at his watch and ran the calculation quickly. Over four hours?