Deadline
Page 127
Becks was right about one thing: The roads were deserted. I didn’t see anyone else as we roared across Nevada. Even the usual police patrols were missing, which struck me as more disturbing than anything else, and every checkpoint had been set to run its blood tests on unmanned automatic. I expected the cars to come back when the rain tapered off, but they didn’t. Driving along an empty, sunlit road was even more disturbing than driving alone through the darkness. At least when the storm was hanging overhead, I could blame it for the sudden desertion of America.
The radio remained mostly static, with a few stations playing preprogrammed playlists, and I couldn’t restart the wireless when I was the only one awake. I kept trying the phone, but the lines were all tied up. It didn’t change when we crossed the border into California, although Mahir woke up around that time, moving up to the middle seat before he asked, blearily, “Where are we?”
“California, and we’re about to need to stop for gas. Becks got donuts. They’re crap, but they’re edible. In the bag behind me.”
“Cheers.” Mahir fished out a box of donuts covered in something that claimed to be powdered sugar. I didn’t want to take any bets on what the covering really was. I also didn’t want to put it in my mouth. Mahir didn’t have any such qualms. A few minutes passed in relative silence before he asked, through a mouthful of donut, “’ow much ’ther?”
“Don’t talk with your mouth full, dude. That’s disgusting. We’ve got about another five hours to go. There’s a truck stop ahead. I’ll fill up while you get the wireless working, cool?”
He swallowed, and nodded. “Absolutely.”
“Good.”
I didn’t want to admit it, but I’d been afraid to stop the van with both the others asleep. Something about the world outside the van was just too eerie, and somehow, deep down, I knew that if I stepped into that emptiness alone, I’d never come back.
The truck stop didn’t help with that impression. The diner was closed, metal shutters drawn over the windows and locked into place. There were no vehicles in sight. I kept one hand on my gun during the fueling process, and I didn’t mess around with wiping down the windows or checking the grill. Something about this whole thing was making my nerves scream, and you can’t be a working Irwin for more than a few months without learning to trust the little voice in the back of your head that tells you to get the f**k out of a bad situation.
This is not good, said George.
“You got that right,” I muttered, and got back into the van. yMahir, what’s the story with the wireless?”
“No luck. All the local networks are either locked down tight or off-line. I think we’re running blind until we get home.”
“Because we really needed this day to get worse.” I jammed the key into the ignition. The van started easily—thank God, car troubles were the one thing we hadn’t been forced to deal with—and we got back out on the road.
We reached the base of Maggie’s driveway an hour before sunset. Becks was driving, and I was in the passenger seat, while Mahir sat in the back with his laptop plugged into the car charger, tapping relentlessly away. He’d been writing for about four hours, recording everything we’d seen or heard in true Newsie fashion. It was a comforting sound. George used to do the same thing, back when she still had fingers.
The first two gates opened like they were supposed to, recognizing our credentials and letting us drive on through. “Looks like we’re home free,” said Becks. “Just a little farther and—holy shit!” She hit the brakes, hard. I slammed forward, my seat belt keeping me from hitting myself on the dashboard. There was a crash from the back as Mahir—who wasn’t wearing a seat belt—went sprawling.
“Jesus, Becks, what the f**k?” I demanded.
She didn’t answer me. She just raised one trembling finger and pointed to the driveway ahead of us. I turned to look where she was pointing, and stared.
Normally, the third gate on Maggie’s driveway is the first one that requires authorized visitors to interact with the security system. The normal system wasn’t in operation today. Instead, the gate stood open, and three men in full outbreak gear stood to block the road, assault rifles at the ready. Their faces were concealed by the biohazard masks they wore, filtering their air and blocking them from all fluid or particle attacks. That, more than anything else, told me this wasn’t a drill. Those masks are hell to wear. Nobody would do that without good reason.
One of the men beckoned for us to come closer. Becks crept forward until the same man waved for us to stop. He walked over to the van and tapped the muzzle of his rifle against the glass of my window. “Please lower the window, sir,” he said, in case his message hadn’t been clear enough.
Swallowing hard, I did as I was told. “Uh, hey,” I said. “You’re one of Maggie’s security ninjas, aren’t you? I was starting to think you were a myth.”
“Credentials.”
“Right.” I dug out my wallet and handed him my license card.
“All three of you.”
“Got it. Becks? Mahir? A little help here?”
“Here,” said Becks, shoving her card into my hand. Mahir followed suit.
I passed both cards to the security ninja. “So does this have anything to do with the total disappearance of the population of the American Midwest? Because we’re a little creeped out right now, and I’d really li to get to the bathroom.” I was babbling to cover my sudden conviction that something, somehow, had happened to Maggie and Alaric. We were driving into a murder investigation. We had to be. It was the only thing that made sense.
The radio remained mostly static, with a few stations playing preprogrammed playlists, and I couldn’t restart the wireless when I was the only one awake. I kept trying the phone, but the lines were all tied up. It didn’t change when we crossed the border into California, although Mahir woke up around that time, moving up to the middle seat before he asked, blearily, “Where are we?”
“California, and we’re about to need to stop for gas. Becks got donuts. They’re crap, but they’re edible. In the bag behind me.”
“Cheers.” Mahir fished out a box of donuts covered in something that claimed to be powdered sugar. I didn’t want to take any bets on what the covering really was. I also didn’t want to put it in my mouth. Mahir didn’t have any such qualms. A few minutes passed in relative silence before he asked, through a mouthful of donut, “’ow much ’ther?”
“Don’t talk with your mouth full, dude. That’s disgusting. We’ve got about another five hours to go. There’s a truck stop ahead. I’ll fill up while you get the wireless working, cool?”
He swallowed, and nodded. “Absolutely.”
“Good.”
I didn’t want to admit it, but I’d been afraid to stop the van with both the others asleep. Something about the world outside the van was just too eerie, and somehow, deep down, I knew that if I stepped into that emptiness alone, I’d never come back.
The truck stop didn’t help with that impression. The diner was closed, metal shutters drawn over the windows and locked into place. There were no vehicles in sight. I kept one hand on my gun during the fueling process, and I didn’t mess around with wiping down the windows or checking the grill. Something about this whole thing was making my nerves scream, and you can’t be a working Irwin for more than a few months without learning to trust the little voice in the back of your head that tells you to get the f**k out of a bad situation.
This is not good, said George.
“You got that right,” I muttered, and got back into the van. yMahir, what’s the story with the wireless?”
“No luck. All the local networks are either locked down tight or off-line. I think we’re running blind until we get home.”
“Because we really needed this day to get worse.” I jammed the key into the ignition. The van started easily—thank God, car troubles were the one thing we hadn’t been forced to deal with—and we got back out on the road.
We reached the base of Maggie’s driveway an hour before sunset. Becks was driving, and I was in the passenger seat, while Mahir sat in the back with his laptop plugged into the car charger, tapping relentlessly away. He’d been writing for about four hours, recording everything we’d seen or heard in true Newsie fashion. It was a comforting sound. George used to do the same thing, back when she still had fingers.
The first two gates opened like they were supposed to, recognizing our credentials and letting us drive on through. “Looks like we’re home free,” said Becks. “Just a little farther and—holy shit!” She hit the brakes, hard. I slammed forward, my seat belt keeping me from hitting myself on the dashboard. There was a crash from the back as Mahir—who wasn’t wearing a seat belt—went sprawling.
“Jesus, Becks, what the f**k?” I demanded.
She didn’t answer me. She just raised one trembling finger and pointed to the driveway ahead of us. I turned to look where she was pointing, and stared.
Normally, the third gate on Maggie’s driveway is the first one that requires authorized visitors to interact with the security system. The normal system wasn’t in operation today. Instead, the gate stood open, and three men in full outbreak gear stood to block the road, assault rifles at the ready. Their faces were concealed by the biohazard masks they wore, filtering their air and blocking them from all fluid or particle attacks. That, more than anything else, told me this wasn’t a drill. Those masks are hell to wear. Nobody would do that without good reason.
One of the men beckoned for us to come closer. Becks crept forward until the same man waved for us to stop. He walked over to the van and tapped the muzzle of his rifle against the glass of my window. “Please lower the window, sir,” he said, in case his message hadn’t been clear enough.
Swallowing hard, I did as I was told. “Uh, hey,” I said. “You’re one of Maggie’s security ninjas, aren’t you? I was starting to think you were a myth.”
“Credentials.”
“Right.” I dug out my wallet and handed him my license card.
“All three of you.”
“Got it. Becks? Mahir? A little help here?”
“Here,” said Becks, shoving her card into my hand. Mahir followed suit.
I passed both cards to the security ninja. “So does this have anything to do with the total disappearance of the population of the American Midwest? Because we’re a little creeped out right now, and I’d really li to get to the bathroom.” I was babbling to cover my sudden conviction that something, somehow, had happened to Maggie and Alaric. We were driving into a murder investigation. We had to be. It was the only thing that made sense.
