As The World Burns (18 page)

"I love you too," Samantha said.

"I'll be back soon," Paul promised, though Samantha didn't see how it was possible.

"Okay," she said with a faint and nervous laugh. "Don't be long."

Samantha smiled amidst her fractured state. If anything, she hoped it would inspire confidence in Paul. She slowly stepped out of the car and held onto the door.

"Bye," Paul said. "Now hurry and run to the cavern before it's too late."

Samantha closed the door, and placed her palm over the window, leaving a hand print. As they walked away, Paul jammed the Malibu into reverse and turned it around. The police cars were right on him, closing in like sharks.

"Okay, you bastards. Come and get me," Paul said. He glanced over to see Samantha and Julie hop the railing and run down the hill. He hoped and prayed for their safety. His plan was risky, and he very well may have put them at a greater risk, but he didn't see any other way.

He could feel the roar of the police cavalry the closer they got. It was as though the mere sight of the Malibu excited their pursuit. Paul put the car in drive and floored it. The Malibu skid ahead, from zero to sixty, in no time, past the line of police cars and down the mountain road. A long cloud of smoke trailed from behind, leaving the authorities confused as they reached the look-out spot, only to find their suspect fleeing the opposite direction. The line of ten police cars quickly tried to turn around, but nearly crashed into each other like dominoes. Paul had gained some needed ground. As soon as his unexpected escape became known, the two helicopters changed course and followed him overhead. The police cars turned around after much calamity and drove back down the road after Paul.

Though he maintained his speed, Paul steered carefully around each turn as to not fly off the railing. He was close to the Rocky National Park exit, and soon the Denver city limits.

On the right side of the road, a black SUV sat parked in a small concave. The Malibu zoomed past, startling the passengers. At the wheel was Tyson, the bunker security guard, and in the passenger seat sat none other than Senator Bryant. He clutched a hand-held radio in one hand and a pair of binoculars in the other.  

"The fuck was that?" Bryant asked his driver.

"That was no police car, looked like a Chevy Malibu," Tyson responded.

Bryant turned the knob on his hand-held radio up to listen in on the police chatter.

"Suspect is fleeing. I repeat suspect is fleeing. Driving a blue 1994 Chevy Malibu headed towards the National Park exit." 

"That was him?" Bryant shouted. "Fuck, Tyson. Put the pedal to the metal and let's chase this scumbag."

"We shouldn't be here, Mr. Bryant. I told you it would be too dangerous. We should get you back in the bunker with the others before it's too late."

"Nonsense, although I appreciate your concern. This is my problem and I'm going to fix it. Follow the prick."

Tyson hesitated. His hand hovered on the shifting lever on the steering wheel.

"Move!" Bryant shouted.

Tyson reluctantly put the SUV in drive and raced after Paul. The police still had some ground to cover to catch up. The inside of the SUV shook violently as Tyson took sharp turns as to gain on the fleeing car. Above them the helicopters raced along, keeping watch of the chase. Bryant clicked the side of the handheld radio and spoke into it.

"I've got the vehicle in sight, he's not getting anywhere. Just get your team ready to apprehend him," Bryant said.

He opened the glove compartment and pulled out a Desert Eagle pistol.

"What are you going to do with that?" Tyson asked.

They were only a few car lengths behind their suspect. Bryant locked and loaded.

"I'm going to get what they stole from me. They could be armed too. Who knows, they might even try to fire at us, you know? Maybe they fired at us before the police even arrived."

Tyson could see what Bryant was getting at.

"Got it," he said.

Paul looked into his rear-view mirror while trying to watch the unpredictable road. He noticed an unfamiliar SUV gaining on him. He neared the bottom of the mountain and would soon steer for the highway exit. One last curve aside a deep chasm and he would be home free. There was, however, no getting rid of the helicopters overhead. Even if he made it to Arthur in Denver, the likelihood of making it back to Samantha grew slimmer by the minute. The fuel gauge shook just above the empty mark.

Bryant raised the binoculars to his eyes. He saw only one silhouette at the wheel. Perhaps Samantha and the girl were crouched down and hiding. He watched and watched and saw no indication of anyone else in the car. The binoculars lowered as he grabbed his hand-held.

"I see only one person in the vehicle, where are the other two?" he demanded.

"We've since only identified one white male at the wheel. No other passengers have been identified."

Bryant threw the radio to the floor.

"Son-of-a-bitch!" he shouted.

Tyson remained silent, trying his best to keep up with Paul. Bryant pressed a button on his door to roll down the window as mountain furiously air rushed in. 

"What are you doing, Sir?" Tyson asked.

Bryant held the Desert Eagle outside the window, steadying it.

"I'm going to take his tires out. Or maybe I'll just aim it at his head."

"Senator, Sir, We should really let the police handle this. He may have the laptop, even worse he may have given it to the woman."

The mention of Samantha fueled Bryant into a moment of inner rage. He fired a shot at the rear tire of the Malibu, just missing it. The sudden blast of the gun startled Tyson and caused him to swerve.

"Stay on the road!" Bryant shouted.

Tyson fumbled with the steering wheel and got it back on track. The police had caught up and were directly behind the SUV with their lights flashing and sirens blaring.

"Maybe we should get out of their way," Tyson suggested.

Bryant ignored him and raised the pistol out of the window again. This time, he had a clear shot to the back of Paul's head. He squeezed one eye shut and held his aim.

A sign ahead warned of sharp curves, and with that, Paul thought of a plan, though it was risky. He accelerated to his fastest speed yet reaching upwards of sixty miles per hour. As predicted, the SUV accelerated to stay on Paul's tail. At the last possible second, Paul slowed and jerked the steering wheel to the right, nearly coasting off the road.

Tyson was unprepared for the Malibu's sudden movement, and tried to do his best to slow down and stay on the road. Bryant missed his opportunity and was thrown back into his seat. Before he could even react, the SUV skidded to the left, unable to maintain its grounding through the tight curve. Tyson could see it coming, but couldn't believe it. The SUV smashed into the guard rail and went over the side of the mountain into the chasm below. Their screams lasted only seconds before the vehicle burst into a fiery ball at the bottom of jagged rocks and stone.

The police cavalry slowed to a halt at the sharp curve right after the break in the guard rail. The helicopters also switched position and flew overhead the explosion.

"The Senator's vehicle has descended; I repeat the Senator's vehicle has descended. Need emergency rescue teams deployed immediately," one of the officers said into their radio.

For a moment they weren't sure what to do, and had momentarily forgot about Paul.

"Suspect is still at large, headed towards the highway. Air support is advised to stay with suspect."

One the helicopters moved away from the explosion site and flew towards the highway just as Paul was merging on. He saw no vehicles in his mirror. Perhaps his car trick had shaken them off. He might make it to the city after all. Just as his confidence started build, he heard the nauseating sound of the helicopter pursuing him from above. He hadn't escaped them after all. It was going to be one long high-speed chase all the way to the city as his fuel gauge bottomed out, closer to the empty line.

Chapter Twelve

After Day One, Sacha had been on the road with the "Brotherhood of Men" for weeks. They had managed to evade the authorities so far in that they were always on the move. On the outside, Sacha played the nervous, meek, and submissive role, never saying much, but always listening and observing. He wanted to know of their plans. He wanted to know where they were going with the bomb and when they were planning to detonate it. Ammon and his "brothers" talked enthusiastically of their success and the amazing unprecedented capacity of the bomb they had acquired. The journey seemed to lead south.

Sacha later concluded that they were definitely headed south. Sacha rode in the van with Hasan, Omar, Ammon, Rashad, and the quiet driver named Razar who always smoked. Another van followed with some of the guerrilla militants who had gunned down the American conspirators in the blink of the eye. Two men, whom Sacha hadn't been introduced to yet, drove the tractor trailer that housed the bomb. With such a large entourage, it was surprising that they hadn't drawn attention to themselves yet. But they were careful not draw attention to themselves, and they were always on the move.

They would stop along the way for additional food and supplies--and considering the size of their vehicles--fuel was always an issue. Many of the states they went through--from Ohio to Kentucky; Tennessee to Mississippi--were in the throes of massive power outages and grid failures. They avoided urbanized areas and stuck to the main highway, often hitting major congestion where people were evacuating neighboring states along the East Coast that had been hit.

"Do you see it?" Ammon called out while staring out the front of the van into the massive ocean of cars on the highway. "It's beautiful. The very breakdown of western society that we'd been hoping for. If only they knew that, in the end, there is no escape."

Ammon frequently spoke in cryptic language, so much that Sacha couldn't figure out what was useful information and what wasn't. The only one who truly engaged in conversation with him was Ammon. He once told Sacha that he would see to it that Sacha was converted to their religion before the day of reckoning. It was a day that Sacha was confident he was going to prevent. One rainy night they stopped alongside a hidden dirt road in a Louisiana forest to get some rest. Ammon took Sacha to the back of the semi-trailer, opened the secure doors and showed him the bomb. At first all Sacha could see was the massive circular bottom. It was shaped as a giant missile, forty-feet long, resting horizontally in the back of the trailer. It looked like a rocket ship, something deemed for space travel. It was an intricate wonder of design, intimidating in its sheer mass. Ammon turned on his flashlight and beckoned Sacha ahead. They climbed into the back of the truck and walked along the side of the bomb as Ammon boasted of its sheer scope and power.

"This bomb can take out up to five American states alone. If you think what you saw earlier this month was big, you're in for quite a surprise. Once detonated we will cause an avalanche throughout this country like none seen in all of human history. America will sink. America will be destroyed. The Brotherhood of Men will take credit for everything and will go down in martyrdom as those who destroyed the evil of the world. Those who wiped it out forever."

Their footsteps echoed within the seemingly endless trailer. Sacha tried to take everything in. Ammon was giving him details on the plan. Grandiose details, for sure, but details nonetheless. Perhaps he could probe him further and get more information. One issue stuck out in his mind, however, and that was the Ammon's use of the term "martyrdom." He was genuinely curious about this and forewent his covert operation to prompt Ammon.

"So you see us as martyrs? Does this mean--does this mean you don't plan to survive this mission?"

Ammon smiled, placed an arm around Sacha, and pulled him closer.

"The range of the control module is twenty feet. None of us will be far enough away from the bomb to survive its detonation."

Ammon noticed the pale look of concern across Sacha's face.

"Relax, brother, death is nothing to fear. Once we convert you, you shall join us in paradise."

Knowing that this was indeed a suicide mission, Sacha became surprisingly direct.

"Where are you going to detonate the bomb and when?" he asked.

Sacha got a hearty laugh in return. Ammon stopped and rubbed his eyes.

"Ah, Sacha, my inquisitive friend, no one knows the answers to those questions but Rashad. This is his operation and we can't risk it being compromised by anyone, no matter how earnest they may seem."

"But you must have some general idea," Sacha probed.

His arm left Sacha as he gently rubbed the surface of the massive bomb resting inches within their faces.

"This is what I know. The Americans who employed us were traitors to their own country."

Ammon broke into laughter once again, then regained himself.

"But it wasn't just Americans. A worldwide network of powerful men had sought a way to change the world so that they could control it completely. So who do they come looking for? They went to us. They call
us
terrorists, as they bomb our countries and kill our people. We do not seek terror, we seek change throughout the Middle East and within the rest of the world. They made us a lucrative offer to transport and detonate a series of nuclear bombs throughout the country. If we did these acts, they promised to see our goals of regional domination in the Middle East a reality. This bomb was given to us under the pretenses that it would be recovered in time and peace declared after the start of a global order that would render America as just another country among a one world government. It was a ridiculous plan, one that our leader, Rashad, saw opportunity in. We would take the bomb for ourselves and take their plan one step further. We would launch an assault upon America so great that it could never recover. And never will."

Sacha was speechless. He knew Ammon to be homicidal, but what Ammon had told him was beyond the scope of what he believed him to be capable of. Even at his most fanatical, Ammon showed glimpses of reason, so Sacha gave it his best shot.

"Is there any way you might reconsider this plan?" he asked.

Ammon's face dropped in near contempt for the question.

"That is an incredibly stupid question, Sacha. And I would advise you to avoid such language around the rest of the Brotherhood. They're much more suspicious of you than I. You see, I like you, but some of the others...well, they have their reasons. Just be careful what you ask, the others aren't as forgiving."   

Sacha tried again.

"So you don't know where we're going?" he asked.

They reached the end of the bombs forty-foot length. Ammon turned, not saying a word, and walked back out the trailer doors as Sacha followed. Once they were outside the trailer, he spoke.

"I'm not sure. All I know is that Texas is a viable option. Now let's go back in the van and get some rest."

Sacha agreed and they headed towards the van as rain drops drizzled onto their heads. Before Sacha could open the van door Ammon stopped him and stared directly in the eyes.

"I can trust you, correct?" Ammon asked.

"Yes, you can trust me, Ammon, Sacha said.  

Paul had only a few miles to go before he reached Denver's city limits. He was burning fuel quickly; driving upwards of 90 to 100 miles per hour while trying to stay ahead of the police. They were approaching in the distance. The helicopter followed his every movement from above. Though hopeful and determined, the possibility of evading the authorities began to seem like a futile exercise. Paul's only hope was that a barrage of police cars weren't awaiting him ahead with tire strips, barricades, and tanks for that matter. Towering skyscrapers were in sight, but the police showed no signs of slowing down. Paul pressed the gas pedal down as far as it would go. The pedal shook against the floorboard as the engine smoked. The radiator light flashed along with the fuel light. His car was rapidly approaching the end, and he still had several miles to go.

Inside the city, complete bedlam had broken out, in and around the convention center. The unnerved crowds had pushed far past the mandated barricades and off-limit areas, forcing the police and military to move back further. There were simply too many people to contend with. They numbered in the thousands, and once the convention center got too full, the people demanded free rein throughout the city. News reports of the missing megabomb had propelled the city into greater panic and fear, teetering on chaos. Soon men and women, young and old, managed to spread throughout the city looking for places to hide or a way to flee. One group of unruly men managed to overtake a large public bus, and commandeer it away from the convention center.

Frustrated youths donned bandanas and smashed nearby stores windows with bricks. The police and military broke into pockets of resistance as to control the random looting, but there was little control left. Hundreds of others were just scared. Scared of the overwhelming crowds, scared of the growing animosity in the streets, and scared that a bomb was soon going to wipe them all out. Several helicopters deployed overhead, dropping riot police onto the scene. As they slid down the ropes, hitting the pavement, they raised their riot guns in the air and fired several canisters of tear gas into the crowd. Their riot control methods were effective in drawing the crowd back towards the convention center, but also created a frenzied panic that sent several people to the ground in a stampede. 

Paul was close. He just had to remember the location of Arthur's studio. The police were quickly and aggressively gaining. It was only a matter of time before they swept him off the road and into a jail cell, if he was so lucky. The Malibu was on its last lap. The steering wheel shook as Paul's hands perspired within his tightened grip. Smoke billowed from the front and the back of the car as the dashboard lights randomly flickered from one warning light to the next like blinking Christmas lights. Paul was pretty sure that the Malibu wouldn't make its way back into the mountains at the end of the day.

He swerved past a deserted checkpoint and remained focused on getting into the city against all the odds. A single helicopter followed his every move from above. In the broad daylight he had nowhere to hide and even if he made it, the police weren't going anywhere. They would follow him to the end.

Once Samantha and Julie made it to the bottom of the hill, beyond the overlook, they came upon another steep hill that led to the cavern. No one was around, to be sure, but how safe were they in the wilderness, alone, and armed with only Paul's pistol? Samantha could hear helicopters overhead, but they were far away. Smoke rose in the distance, following the explosion that startled both her and Julie.

"Where are we going?" Julie asked, trying to catch her breath.

"Up there," Samantha pointed. "We're going to lay low until Paul gets back. He's going to meet us in that cavern."

"All the way up there?" Julie scoffed. "Couldn't you guys have come up with an easier meet-up spot?"

"It's what we decided on," Samantha said, close to tears.

"But what about bears or cougars or something?"

Samantha trekked on while fighting back her heavy sadness and fear for Paul. They should have stuck together. Why would he leave them? What difference did some stupid laptop make? They should have ditched the Malibu and ran into the cavern together. Her thoughts subsided when she realized that there was more to everything than her own personal happiness. If this Arthur character could help them, maybe they could stop the bomb in time. She wasn't sure. Julie noticed her mother's frazzled state and locked an arm around her like an escort.

"We'll be okay, Mom," Julie said.

"I know we will," Samantha said as Julie pulled her along.

With every step upward, they fought the push of gravity and the thinning air. They were hungry, tired, and thirsty. They both tried to ignore their stomach’s growling and make their way up the hill before it was too late. The prospect of granola bars in Paul's backpack gave Samantha something to look forward to. They hadn't encountered any animals yet and she hoped that once they made it to the cavern, their track record would remain the same. They climbed the hill in their exhaustion; breaths heavy and labored, hoping to reach the top. What awaited them was uncertainty. An uncertain outcome and an uncertain future, though Samantha held onto hope like a precious family heirloom in the most dire of circumstances.

After a grueling hike, the cavern awaited them. It was a small opening into the crevice of a vast mountain that they had no hope of climbing. Not in their condition.

"We made it," Samantha said.

"Now what?" Julie asked.

"We make sure it's safe then we rest. I've got bottles of water and snacks."

"Why didn't you say so? I've been dying of thirst," Julie said.

"We didn't have any time. We had to make it here before we did anything," Samantha replied.

"Who are we running from? Why are we in trouble? Why did they say you guys were terrorists?"

Julie's line of questioning was the precise reason why Samantha didn't want to stop and eat, though she felt like she could have at least made sure Julie was hydrated. There was simply no explaining the weight of the situation to a child. Samantha may have underestimated Julie's comprehension, but the story was sordid and unnerving. Why put it on her daughter at once?