McDonald said, “I’ve been instructed to drop them at Checkpoint 3. There’s an ambulance waiting to take them directly to County General.” Before Sarah had a chance to respond, he added, “If, of course, that’s all right with you.”
She smiled humorlessly. “That’s fine.”
“Well, thank God for that,” he replied with a chuckle. “Afterward, we’re going straight to the decontamination site.”
Sarah knew the decontamination process was a necessity, even though she was sure she’d been exposed for no more than thirty minutes. She didn’t know enough about radiation poisoning to make even a wild guess as to how much damage her system might have sustained.
Remembering one of the bullet points in the email she’d sent to the town’s residents earlier in the day, she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at its simplicity: You can eliminate much of the radiation simply by removing your clothes, then washing yourself thoroughly in the shower using soap and shampoo. Did this decree apply to clothes that had been soaked by radioactive rainfall? She had no idea, but the thought of those wretched little particles pumping out noxious waves along the microscopic hills and gullies of her skin gave her a major case of the heebie-jeebies.
“And, just so you’re aware, the general has given me a direct order to see that you’re delivered without further detour. The weather’s not slacking off and I’m about to be officially grounded. The storm is supposed to begin losing steam just after oh-one-hundred hours, but until then it’s going to hold steady and possibly even kick up a little more.”
“Okay,” Sarah said.
They flew on in silence, transversing the soccer fields and the residential section known as Atlantis. Sarah saw that many of the homes in the latter were submerged up to their rooftops. She couldn’t even begin to comprehend what it would cost the insurance companies to bring the neighborhood back to life yet again. Then a small voice in her head said, No one will be coming back this time. This time it’s for good. A tear rolled down her cheek, and she turned away before wiping it so McDonald wouldn’t notice.
“We’re going to be landing in a minute,” he said moments later, gesturing to a cluster of military vehicles and bright lights atop a fast-approaching ridge. “Please step out and let others remove the passengers so the EMTs can get to work on them. Then get back in and we’ll go. Shouldn’t take more than a minute or two. Okay?”
“Sure.”
EMTs… Emilio. Will he be there?
As if reading her mind, her cellphone’s text alert jingled. The ringtone indicated it was someone who wasn’t on her contacts list. The number she found on the screen looked familiar, and a few seconds of memory grazing produced the name of Sissy Morton, a longtime friend of both hers and Emilo’s. Sissy had moved down to one of the Carolinas — Sarah could never remember which — after getting married two years ago.
She probably heard something on the news, Sarah figured, and wants to see if I’m okay. Sissy had always been that type, checking up on her friends whenever she got wind of a crisis. It was one of the qualities Sarah liked most about her.
She tapped the screen to open the message and found the following—
FROM: Sissy Morton-Danville
TO: Sarah Redmond
Dear Sarah — I’ve been wanting to call to see how you’re making out up there, but I’ve been holding off because I’m sure you’ve got your hands full. However, I received the following text message from Emilio just now and I don’t know why or what it means. I’m sure it was a mistake, so I’m forwarding it to you.
You’re in my prayers!
— Sis
Fwd:
FROM: Emilio Rodriguez
TO: Sissy Morton-Danville
gr;p nr o, sr thw dvgop;
Sarah stared at the nonsensical string of letters, trying to figure out what they meant, then tried calling Emilio again. When she got no answer, she called his boss.
“Tim? It’s me. Have you heard from Emilio yet?”
“I haven’t. Have you?”
“No.”
“I’ve tried him a bunch of times, both on his phone and on the unit’s radio. Frankly, I’m getting very wor—”
Sarah killed the call and turned to McDonald.
“Sorry, we have to go back.”
His head snapped around, his face still just a mouth moving beneath a reflective mask. “What?!”
“There’s another missing person.”
“Absolutely not.”
“It’s my husband, pal! He’s an EMT and even his station has lost contact with him! No one’s heard from him in hours!”
“He might be at the checkpoint.”
Sarah shook her head. “I just spoke with his boss, who says he’s missing.”
She could see the site in more detail now. The canvas walls of the temporary shelter were flapping madly in the wind, and half a dozen figures in yellow suits huddled together in front of one of the military trucks, illuminated by its headlights. Nearby was an ambulance with its lights swirling, and alongside that was a plain sedan; probably some sort of unmarked government vehicle.
“Ma’am, I’m sorry, but I cannot disobey the general’s last order!”
She knew he was right, and a part of her doubted she could push this guy any further. But what was the option?
“I can’t just do nothing!”
“Do you have any idea where he is? Any clue at all?”
“No,” she admitted.
“Then the best I can do is inform them when we land. I’d radio them, but we’ll be on the ground in just a few minutes. It’ll then be up to them to send out search and rescue teams.”
Furious and frustrated, Sarah gave up the argument.
So what now?
When the helicopter set down a few moments later, she opened the door and stepped out. The EMTs rushed forward, all but shoving her aside. Once everyone’s attention was on the three patients, she broke for the unmarked sedan.
She managed to get the door open and jump into the driver’s seat before the yelling started behind her.
29
The military transport rumbled north along the gravel road, putting distance between itself and the nuke plant as quickly as possible. The transport in question was an ancient school bus that had been repainted and repurposed. One yellow-suited soldier was at the wheel, another stood nearby, keeping watch over his charges. Other than the geriatric rattles of the vehicle, there was very little noise. A few passengers spoke in hushed tones on their cellphones; others appeared to be texting or on the Internet. Some were sobbing, the sound barely audible since everyone was wearing oxygen masks. Duct tape had been used to seal the windows and, once everybody was onboard, the doors, both front and back.
Marla Hollis sat alone about midway along, next to a window. The person originally seated next to her had moved soon after the bus pulled away from the plant, indicating without a word that she was persona non grata. He wasn’t the only one; resentment was plain on the faces of the people around her. The fact that she had experienced such hostility many times before, and knew how to go about her business without appearing affected by it, did not improve the situation.