Page 40 of The Midnight Hour
Wordlessly she points to a table at the far end of the hall, where I see Michael Duart is eating, his expression composed and alert even from this distance.
“What…” I begin again and she hisses between her teeth,
“Look who’s sitting right next to him.”
I move my gaze and my eyes widen in surprise at the sight of the so very self-assured man talking Michael Duart’s ear off.
William Stratton, looking very cozy with our esteemed leader for someone who had to have arrived just yesterday. My gaze moves farther down the table, but another man is sitting next to him, and I realize I don’t see Nicole or Ben Stratton anywhere. It seems like the North Bay Survival and Resettlement Center holds more than a few surprise visitors.
SIXTEEN
DANIEL
Six months earlier
Between Utica and Springfield
The truck breaks down about sixty miles southeast of Utica, just outside Schenectady. It was rattling for a while, but both Daniel and Sam determinedly ignored the sound. They’d spent three days at Tom’s farmhouse, resting and recuperating as well as gathering supplies, making plans, although the truth was, at the end of the three days, Daniel didn’t have much of a plan besides go to the nursing home between Springfield and Worcester, get Alex’s mother, Jenny, and then somehow get back to the cottage.
At least they had food in the back of the truck—a box of preserves, some cans of tuna, a bag of potatoes, and some dried beef. Daniel had not managed to find any guns at the farmhouse, but they took a couple of butcher knives with them, along with some rope, matches, flashlights, and a change of clothes each. All in all, he feels they did pretty well out of it, although the knowledge of what must have happened to Tom and his family is like a heavy, dragging weight inside him. Hecan’t let himself think about it too much, or he won’t be able to keep moving.
They take Route90 east, and find, to Daniel’s relief and surprise, that it is a clear shot, as good as abandoned. The unrest seems to be in the cities, not on empty stretches of road with nothing to steal or destroy. Sam keeps the radio on and occasionally they get a burst of static, a babble of voices; they learn that the president of the United States is “alive and well” at an undisclosed location, and he is going to address the country “any day now.” The military have disbanded and then regrouped, and they’re now focused on strengthening “areas where there isn’t the danger of radiation poisoning or fallout.” Eventually they will start with decontamination, rebuilding, but it’s all hearsay and hope now; too much infrastructure has been destroyed and too much radiation remains for a clear or immediate way forward.
It’s apparent that more bombs have dropped over the last few weeks—some in other countries, as well. Daniel and Sam hear about Paris, London, Berlin. Tokyo and Moscow. In America, Richmond, Asheville, Augusta have all been hit, and, closer to where they are, Philadelphia, Pittsburgh, Hartford. Jenny’s nursing home is only forty miles from Hartford. Daniel does not tell Sam this.
According to one tense broadcast, people are still being advised to remain indoors and keep all windows and doors closed—not much of a help if you don’t have any food. There’s no more mention of army bases acting as assistance centers. The tone is more hold your breath and hope for the best.
At this, Sam looks anxious. “Do you think we’ve been exposed to radiation already?” he asks. “Are we…contaminated?”
Daniel manages a shrug. “I think we’d know it if we were, at least severely.”
“But I mean long term,” Sam persists. “Can’t there be other effects? Like cancer and tumors and stuff?”
“There can, I think,” he allows, “but the fallout from radiation dissipates fairly rapidly, especially if you’re farther away from it. I don’t think we’ve been within a hundred miles of a bomb.” Yet. The truth is, he doesn’t actually know. He knows that wind, rain, the size of the bombs, and how far from the ground when they exploded can all affect the level of radiation in the atmosphere. Or so he recalls from various disaster movies, but is any of that even accurate? Probably not.
“We’ll stay inside as much as we can,” he tells Sam, and that’s when the truck gives its last rattle and gasp, and they roll gently to a stop on the side of the road, under a blank winter’s sky, empty, frozen fields stretching all around them, a bleak yet beautiful landscape of nothing.
“That’s not good,” Sam says quietly. Daniel leans his head back against the seat and closes his eyes. “Dad?”
“Let me think.” Except he can’t think. His mind feels fuzzy and blurred; is it exhaustion, malnutrition, or something worse? He feels as if everything in him is moving with painful, aching slowness, and he has to keep reminding himself of basic facts—they are in a truck. They are going to get Jenny. There might be radiation everywhere…or not.
Outside all is still and silent. Daniel forces himself to focus. He opens his eyes. “I’ll get us another car,” he decides. “And I’ll drive it back here.”
“Where…”
“You stay here with our stuff,” Daniel continues. “Keep the windows rolled up and the car locked. Stay out of sight if you can.”
Sam looks scared, and like he’s trying not to be. “MaybeIshould get us a car,” he ventures. Daniel can’t tell if he is trying to be brave or if this is what he would really prefer. It can be harder, he thinks, to stay behind and wait, to have to be bothpowerless and ignorant, but he thinks about the warning of radiation, and he wants his son behind closed doors and windows, as safe as possible…if anything can be considered safe in this world.
“No, I’ll go,” he says, and he takes off his seatbelt.
After giving Sam stern instructions to stay in the truck unless there’s an absolute emergency, Daniel sets off down the side of the highway, toward Schenectady. It is a cold day, with the metallic bite of snow in the air, although it hasn’t snowed in several days; there’s a hardened, crystallized crust on the ground, and no more. Next to the highway is a slate-gray ribbon of river, chunks of ice bobbing in its frigid depths—the Mohawk, Daniel thinks, but he’s not sure.
Has he ever been to Schenectady before? He must have driven through it, but he can’t remember. It’s like half a dozen other small cities in this part of the world—some beautiful old architecture, a little rusted and run-down. Except, of course, it isn’t like that anymore, because everything isn’t just run-down, it’s ruined.
Where, in this destroyed and desolate landscape, is he going to get a car? A car with a set of keys, because he does not know how to hotwire a car and he is feeling far too fuzzy-headed to figure it out. He tries to picture it—the screws he’d have to undo, the wires connected to the ignition and battery he’d need to identify and twist together, the motor wire he’d have to cut off and touch to them to turn the engine over. He knows that much, from watching a YouTube video once out of idle curiosity, but he doesn’t think he can actuallydoit all.
So he needs to find a car in someone’s driveway, he decides. Someone who is dead.
