Burn District 1 Page 13
“It didn’t make any sense to me; small gas stations and houses in the middle of acreage burned with the surrounding area intact.”
“Arson,” Mike simply stated. “Not uncommon with anarchy.”
Where Chris was going to sleep was a problem. Carin already back in her bed, Laura thought Kelly and Steve might need to be inconvenienced since she was responsible for him being there in the first place. As if getting her vibes, Steve came out to see what was going on.
“You’re back!” he yelled to Elise, grabbing her in a bear hug. “You two miss the comforts of home?” When they repeated the warning of the police officer, Steve in his irreverent fashion, refuted it.
“That’s bull shit! Prove it,” he blasted.
“We’ll have to increase our vigilance against outsiders,” Mike quantified. “I’ve said all along we need to close ranks, discourage visitors. How can we fortify our camp? I wonder about building a berm across the road frontage.”
“That’s a great idea but we’re all exhausted,” Laura said as Elise yawned. “Can we talk about this in the morning?”
“Okay, business meeting after breakfast,” Steve replied.
“Dad, can Chris stay with you? Carin and Elise need their beds back.” He agreed without hesitation.
“He can have one of the bunks,” Steve said. Unloading bags and food out of the trunk, Laura was using every ounce of energy she had just to remain upright. Mike put his arm around Elise as they walked back to the trailer, only turning to Chris once smiling at him. Sighing relief, Laura believed a disaster had been narrowly averted.
Chapter 15
In high school, Miranda Garrison was everyone’s sweetheart. Student Council president, Prom Queen, Most Likely to Succeed; she had all the engraved plaques, honorary statutes and award placards. During her junior year at Yale, she heard her father say something that would instigate a change of major and of her life plan. Standing before a huge crowd with her mother’s arm through hers and Lexie and Danny standing in front of them, Victor Garrison was at the podium on Election Day, addressing his constituents, thanking them, reassuring promises repeated. The family stood off to the side, beaming with pride, but stifling yawns; it was old hat. Forever in politics, Victor Garrison and his father were familiar figures in their district, family men who were counted on to give a straight answer and follow an honest course while they were in office.
After his speech, after the family shook a million hands and were finally released, herded into the back of a limousine, Victor Garrison would slip up in front of his daughter and say the words that would alter her life.
“Where are the wet wipes?” he asked, digging through the side pockets and compartments of the limo. His assistant, a brut of a man sitting up in front with the driver handed foil packets of disinfectant back to waiting hands.
Lexie was a little girl back then, maybe eleven. “Why are you doing that, Daddy?” she asked.
“Just getting the riff raff off my hands,” he said, scowling. Miranda sat across from him, the words searing through her brain. He was calling the multitudes who were responsible for getting him in office riff raff. With disdain. She didn’t address it, never telling him that he was directly responsible for what she did next, changing her major from art history to political science with an emphasis on American Politics; he thought she was doing it in admiration of him. What she discovered was that she could read what many politicians said they were going to do, and they’d actually do the opposite. It made no difference what their political affiliation was, either. Conservative or liberal, or any shade in between, a politician was a politician. That afternoon in the limo with her family, she made a decision that she would continue to love him as her father, but that she would fight what he stood for. During her senior year, she began the Podcast that later would keep her listeners informed as the horrors unfolded, beginning with the innocence of a hurricane which was quickly utilized to scare a nation, paralyzing the citizens as they focused on a lie.
Miranda tried to imagine what the next step would be. At the time, people were lining up at drug stores for a vaccine against a non-existent virus while Clarke developed a plan to annihilate a nation. Insiders; those who witnessed the Clarke/Eastman plan of takeover, fed Miranda and her staff tidbits of information, the best informant Ben Adamiac’s wife, Beverly.
The way it came about; a researcher who worked on Miranda’s podcast found a piece about Winston Clarke in The New Day magazine, detailing a plan to hire those who collect public assistance by making an enormous contribution to a non-partisan employment initiative. The plan to employ former welfare recipients was so out of character for The Winston Clarke Humanitarian Fellowship, it exposed a chink in their conservative armor. Something had to be brewing. The next move was to contact those on Clarke’s staff. Emails went unanswered. They visited the offices next, with no results. Then Miranda found home addresses and started going door to door but as expected, no one would talk to her. That is until Beverly Adamiac found out Miranda had been to her house.
Ben was at work when it happened. Alex, a muscle bound genius who wrote most of the narrative for Miranda’s blog but looked so scary they decided he should drive her too, watched from the car as she walked to the Adamiac’s front door. She held on to a paper with the names and addresses of all of Winston Clarke’s henchmen, Ben Adamiac the very last on the list. Lightly tapping the door, the sound of a small yappy dog running preceded the turning of a lock, leaving a chain in place.
“Can I help you?” A girl answered, appearing to be preteen or younger.
Miranda handed her a business card with the words Find the Truth, Miranda Garrison Podcast on the front, her email address and office phone number on the other side. She introduced herself and then asked to speak to Ben Adamiac. The girl ignored her.
“My mom can’t come to the door right now, but I’ll tell her you were here,” she said, closing the door after she reached for the card. Miranda didn’t push. It was probably a rehearsed dialogue, useful if a stranger showed up, surprised they allowed the children to answer in the first place.
Walking back to the car, she shrugged her shoulders to the inquiring look Alex gave her. He pushed the door open for her. “What happened?”
“Mom’s not home,” she said. “Let’s go back to the office.”
“You know, we could always go right for Winston Clarke,” Alex said. But Miranda shook her head.
“I don’t know about that,” she said, cautious. “I just want to know what he’s up to for the broadcasts.”
When they returned to the office, Ed had a message from Beverly Adamiac. “She asked that you call her before four,” he said. She took the paper from him and went back to her cubicle. Beverly Adamiac 555-3092. Please don’t leave a message. So began their relationship. Beverly risked her life so Miranda could warn the public. Deciding to tell her everything she discovered, all of Ben’s pillow talk recorded and sent directly to Miranda’s voice mail.
Sitting at her desk Miranda looked out of the window, at the urban scene before her, the unsuspecting public scurrying about their business while less fortunate souls scratched their heads in confusion. It was happening so fast, from day to day more lies. A text came through from Beverly to call her right away. She didn’t want to make the call from her cell phone, or from the office. The only place she knew of which still had pay phones were the airport and the public library in Fairfax. Gathering her papers, she shoved her laptop in a case and grabbed a full backpack. On her way out, she called for Ed.
“I’m going to find a pay phone,” she said. “Then I think I’ll head home.”
“Let me get a jacket and I’ll be right with you,” he said.
“I can walk,” she answered, going for the door. Adamant, he stepped in front of her.
“No, I don’t think so,” he said quietly. “There’s a lot of murmuring on the street about you right now. Better be safe than sorry.” Miranda knew she was going to make enemies by report
ing the truth that opposed what the government was telling people. It had risks she was sure, but risky enough for concern?
“Murmuring about what?” He nodded toward the door.
“I’ll tell you outside,” he answered, worried about bugs in the office. It was one thing to broadcast a string of facts as they were discovered, quite another to speak of private concerns.
Getting into the van, Miranda anxiously waited to hear what he was going to say.
“Now I’m curious,” she said. “Hurry up.”
“The story is, there’s a bounty out on you,” he said bluntly. Shocked, Miranda chuckled.
“Ha! Well let them try,” she said. “That doesn’t scare me at all.”
“Let’s just not get careless,” Ed replied. “No using the subway or walking alone. Got that?”
“Okay, whatever I have to do,” she answered. “But just get me to a phone. This woman wants to talk and I want to hear what she has to say.” They drove threw the darkening streets, crystals forming on the pavement as the temperature dropped.
“I wonder if they’ll escalate the burns during the winter.” Miranda said.
Ed frowned. “Why would they?”
“People will be more vulnerable in the cold weather,” she said. “If the goal is to eradicate the population, doing it in the winter seems like a more efficient way to do it.”
“It’s an awful thought, but plausible. And more sickening.”
Pulling up to the library, Ed pulled her coat when she started to open the door. “I’m going in with you,” he said. “Let me get out first.” She waited for him to come around.
“I guess I am sealing my own fate, taking this as far as we have,” she said and he nodded. They walked into the library, an attractive young couple who could be there to study for exams.
“The phones are in the basement,” the librarian said. Ed followed Miranda down the stairs, two phones in the wall, side by side. A large lighted room just ahead was partially full of people with head sets on, looking at the library computers, reminders that not everyone had technology at their finger tips. How long would its availability last?
Ed took her computer bag as Miranda got the paper out of her pocket, keying in Beverly Adamiac’s number. She answered at the first ring.
“I’m so glad you called me back,” she said urgently.
“Why?” Miranda asked.
“You know my husband isn’t just Clarke’s PR man,” she said. “He’s in the intimate circle. I’ve been with the other wives and they are clueless. Phil Arndt? Look him up. Clarke murdered him in front of the other men. Ben, Clarke’s secretary Terry Kirkland, his body guard Ralph. There may have been others.”
“When was this?” Miranda asked.
“Last week. It’s gotten so bad that Ben wants to run. He’s afraid they’ll kill him if he tries to back away and now Clarke’s expecting him to do more. Our daughter goes back to college in a few days. We’re taking her, planning what to do. We have family in Canada.”
“What do you want me to do?” Miranda asked.
“I’m not finished. Last night, Ben came home frantic. They want you dead.” Miranda had a hot flash, but it didn’t scare her because of what Ed had told her.
“Do they want him to do it?” she asked, curious. Ben Adamiac seemed like a player, not a murderer.
“No, but Clarke told him to arrange it, made suggestions. They have scary characters to do the actual work, men who are paid huge sums of money.” Miranda thought for a second and decided she’d heard enough for now.
“Beverly, I appreciate the information so much. But we shouldn’t stay on the phone. Let’s make plans to meet somewhere. No more phone calls, nothing that can be traced.”
After they promised to meet, Miranda ended the call.
“I think I just lined up my murder,” she whispered as they left the library together. Ed was shocked.
“You think her husband put her up to having you call back?”
“I do,” she answered. “If only life were that easy, that the wife of a monster like Ben Adamiac would become our source.”
“What should we do?” Ed asked, flabbergasted.
“I guess I’ll meet her wearing a bullet proof vest,” she said.
***
It was a sad and horrible coincidence, the way it happened. The following night, Ed, Alex and Miranda got out after parking the car at the corner of Jasper Street, a part of the city where privileged young people came to eat and drink, crowds spilling out of trendy bars onto the pavement even in the cold weather.
“I never liked this atmosphere, even when I was young,” Ed said. The laughter resonated through the air, no thought of genocide among this group.
“You’re still young,” Alex countered. “I wasn’t in with the in-crowd. My friend’s hung out at Burger King.”
“I see her up ahead, the blond in the white coat.” Miranda’s heart rate doubled as Beverly Adamiac stepped out of the crowd. Suddenly feeling very conspicuous, Miranda slowed down.
“I’m thinking this is not a good idea, there are too many innocent people,” she said. “Let’s wait for her away from the crowd.”
“Let’s just go back in the van,” Ed said, watching the woman walking toward them. He grabbed Miranda’s arm to lead her away, Alex turned to follow, blocking Miranda’s body from the revelers.
“Wait!” Beverly called softly, but loud enough for those around her to look up at her as she moved toward Miranda. Then one gun shot rang out and a second. The crowd, along with Beverly Adamiac quickly dispersed, screaming voices telling loved ones to run. Alex looked over his shoulder, pushing Ed and Miranda toward the van as her blond head disappeared with the running masses.
“Someone’s down,” he hissed. “Get inside.” Looking back to the bar, the body on the ground, a young woman Miranda’s age. He tugged at Miranda’s bag. “Give me some identification!”
“What for?” she asked, dazed.
“Hand it over, quick,” he said. “Something without a picture.” Miranda riffled through her backpack and from her wallet got out an insurance card and library card.
“Everything else has my photo.” Waiting for the sound of sirens, Alex returned and knelt down beside the body, looking up to see if anyone was watching him. The area where a crowd of drinking young people stood a minute ago was now empty. He unsnapped the little shoulder strap purse, took her wallet out and slipped it in his pocket. He put Miranda’s cards in its place. The woman’s friends had abandoned her in death, but he was sure they’d return to fill in the gory details when the police finally showed up, if they ever did.
He got back into the van. “Well, you’re dead,” he said. “I hope it works.”
“What do I do now?”
“You’re officially in hiding. Until the truth is discovered, you won’t be showing your face. I want to stick her wallet in a mail box far from here.”
“Do you care about anything in your apartment?” Ed asked. Stunned, Miranda shook her head.
“Not really. My books, but there’s nothing there I can’t replace, if the world doesn’t end,” she answered. “I just thought of my parents.”
“Let’s tie up loose ends at the office, tell everyone to leave,” Alex said. “Then we’ll pick your parents up at home and they can run with us. What do you think Ed?”
“Sounds like a plan,” he replied pulling out onto the street. “I still can’t believe this. I mean I knew it was going to get worse, but not this fast.” They agreed with him, nodding their heads, shaken. Everything they’d warned their listeners of was happening.
“That poor woman. I wonder if the bullet was meant for me.”
“It’s no longer an issue because you’re already dead,” Ed replied. “Now we don’t need to worry about anyone killing you again. The drive through the empty streets solidified their position that life was changing faster than they thought it would, and for the first time, Miranda felt hopeless.
Chapter 16
He’d had another nightmare; but this one included the boys. Usually his dreams were nonsensical, frightening visuals that included childhood monsters and memories of being torn away from his parents, or holding his wife while she lay dying, only to discover she was really alive but living with another man, or terrifying scenes from his tours of duty in the Marines, watching young men die while he stood by helplessly. Dreams in which living loved ones had a starring role were non-existent up until last night. Cold and clammy, he thought hot tea would help him feel better. He certainly would never tell anyone about the dream; a terrifying scenario in which a crazed army general stalked his family, kidnapping his grandsons and forcing them to commit atrocities seen only in the most horrific war theaters.
Forcing himself to analyze the dream, the worry and concern of day to day life at the camp was taking a toll on his wellbeing. The physical work was exhilarating and realizing the fantasy of having most of his family together in one place, and working for their benefit wasn’t the problem. Worrying about their safety though, that was the big one.
Occasionally his dreams were beneficial; one in which his daughter’s father-in-law dug a hole big enough to hold a storage locker so they could hide if the enemy reached Tulip proved to be a huge hit with the others, and Randy began digging immediately. They were looking for a storage container or two, and then Steve wondered about the feasibility of burying a fully contained trailer underground. They’d have everything they had now, sewer, well, electricity, but with six feet of dirt on top. A tunnel leading out to the ravine, which ran across the back of his property, could provide a means of escape in addition to a source of air. Everyone was excited about it because it meant safety from bombs. Listening to his eight year old grandson converse about bombs was heartbreaking, but when Steve mentioned it to Laura, she laughed him off, pointing out that Ned was no longer frightened, living the nightmare was making it tolerable even for a little boy.