2020: Emergency Exit Page 12
His four trailing men arrived a little before noon. But instead of heading east, Eddie and his men broke off west towards Newcastle, Wyoming.
Outside Newcastle, minutes before 1 p.m., Eddie swerved his jeep to the side of the road. Something had been bothering him since they’d left Deadwood, and he finally figured out what it was. For those fires to have been raging as they were around noon and to still have so much fuel to burn, they would have had to been set to burn in stages and to have only recently been lit, or to just have been bombed by the drones. The drones wouldn’t have bombed a town troops would be passing through in a few hours. None of these military companies presumably had ever set a staged fire, nor would they have known how or wanted to. They wouldn’t have been intent on salvaging anything. They would have simply fueled and torched it all. Seeing no one else there, the officers had made incorrect assumptions and moved on. They didn’t care who had done it. It was done.
Eddie, on the other hand, had been so eager for an excuse to break off from those troops he’d only been thinking about his own cover. The Americans couldn’t have known what Eddie was up to, but they could have anticipated the other troops moving on. That fire was controlled, built, and staged to direct the other companies the fastest possible way out of town. The faster they cleared out, the faster the Americans could follow them out.
The arsonists had been hiding in plain sight. “Damn it!” Eddie screamed, pounding the dashboard. Not again.
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When that truck drove past the cemetery, we knew it was too late to run. The sun was coming up, and the drones would start flying soon. We couldn’t get out of town fast enough, and we couldn’t stay here in the open. In Wes’s opinion, there was only one thing we could do. Burn the city, our way, before the soldiers came and did it. Blake had plenty of experience staging fires. It sounded like a plan.
We pulled the trucks through the huge front doors of the Gold Rush Casino directly into the main lobby. We searched the manager’s office and found the combination for the vault. Given its enormous size, we were able to pull the trucks directly into the vault as well. (This was the perfect opportunity for a “better safe than sorry” line, but I held my tongue.) We unloaded the millions in bills now worth more as toilet paper, and set it up to burn once we saw the first troops. Danny, Cameron, and Wes headed out around the town to start fires in the main buildings lining the major streets. They started them on the top floors so the fire would burn down slower, and we parked and torched cars on as many side streets as possible to direct passing troops on through. We waited to set the casino fire until Cameron came racing into town from the north, informing us a ton of troops were coming from Spearfish. We set the money and furniture in the lobby on fire, and crammed into the vault together. We hid as the casino burnt down around us, causing a chain reaction fire down both sides of the street. These fires, as intended, burnt much more quickly. As the troops came through town, it was pretty obvious there was nothing left to find here, so they kept moving. The drones had passed overhead a few times as well, but the fires gave them no reason to bomb the town and largely blotted out our thermal existence. It was a brilliant plan in concept, and as we headed south out of town shortly after noon, we knew it would be equally brilliant in reality, if no one were looking for us behind them.
The risk in this plan, of course, was the chance we’d be wrong, that someone would figure it out and we’d get caught in the middle of a ton of enemy troops. Given that they could likely communicate with the drones and with each other via radio, we knew that would mean the end for us.
We followed the troops all the way down to Hill City, and then Tara guided us through the back roads to her farm in the canyon behind Horse Thief Lake, two and a half miles from Mount Rushmore. We had never intended to go all the way there, but none of us would have settled for anything less at this point. Tara and Emily wouldn’t be safe traveling on their own. They’d never make it. Besides, I was still hoping she’d change her mind and stay with us. Of course, I wasn’t going to say that aloud.
If her husband wasn’t there though, we all asserted that we couldn’t just leave her. She had to come with us then. Strangely that seemed to make her even more uncomfortable. I couldn’t understand why she wouldn’t want to stay with us at that point, and clearly Danny couldn’t either. Tara said, “That wasn’t it” but that didn’t answer the question for me. So what was it then? Why not stay with us?
Outside of Hayley, Cameron, and Kate, Danny didn’t trust people much, and there was something about Tara I knew had gained his attention, something he wasn’t quite comfortable with. But he’d never say a word until he was certain, in any case, so for right now he just watched.
TWENTY-SEVEN: (Ryan) “Death is Taxing”
Danny was named after his grandfather. Obviously. Their full names are the same, although my Daniel James has gone by Danny since birth. As our firstborn, he was our pride and joy.
He’d tell you he was our guinea pig, as first children tend to be. Parents learn how and how not to parent through their first child. We’re all amateurs then, especially us guys. Okay, especially me. For instance, I’ve learned Halloween candy should not be stored in a child’s bedroom, or in the backseat with an unsupervised child on a long car ride. Mountain Dew, as much as it might work to calm down Sophie, never calmed a five year old. Slingshots in the house near the big-screen TV are a terrible idea. Even the Nerf ones. Grandparents are always eager to dole out advice, buy awful clothes, give disapproving looks when you allow something they never would have, and, as soon as you’re gone, question whether you have any idea what you’re doing. No, we don’t. But as a parent, ultimately, your children are yours, and for better or worse, they are stuck with you.
Danny was an easy baby. While he never seemed to sleep, he also never seemed to cry. He was the spitting image of Sophie, and the two of them had a bond he and I never were able to replicate. But Sophie would have told you he idolized me, and I could do no wrong by him until, of course, I did. Eight years after Hayley was born, when Danny was ten, we had another child, a boy named Logan. Logan died in his sleep of a form of SIDS days before his second birthday. It was our greatest loss as parents, and neither of us handled it well. Sophie went into a shell and since I wasn’t home when it happened I blamed her for not saving Logan. How could she have let this happen? Like it was in any way her choice. I insisted she had to have done something wrong. Daily fights and blame games gradually became weekly ones as I withdrew more and more from the home, from the kids, and from Sophie. In a screaming fight a year after he died, she broke down completely. She admitted the night he died she’d had a few glasses of wine and fell asleep on the couch downstairs with the monitor upstairs in our bedroom. He could have cried, and she’d have never heard him. She blamed herself for his death. “Does that make you feel better?” she’d screamed.
I should have been the bigger man then. I should have recognized her cry for help. I should have gone to her. I should have shared the world of hurt on her shoulders. Instead, I screamed back at her. Instead, I slammed the door and left her on the floor pleading for forgiveness. Instead, I ran away.
I didn’t see the little boy sitting on the stairs in tears, listening to every word.
I abandoned both of them—all of them. My form of grieving was to bury myself in my architecture business and to avoid contact with my entire family—even my kids. They didn’t understand. I stayed away for weeks at a time, sleeping in my downtown Rochester office. Danny was twelve at the time of his baby brother’s death, but we never saw how much of a loss it was for him, too. At least I know I didn’t. Sophie and I were bitter with each other for years. I criticized her for every failure. She would fight back because she was tired of carrying all the blame herself. She saw a counselor for several years. She needed someone who would actually listen to her. Someone who would help her parent her other two kids while her husband was off nursing his own guilt.
Finally, s
everal months before her death, we began to mend the fences, began to become friends again. I’d begun seeing a counselor myself, and one day he asked me to be quiet, sit, and listen—something I didn’t think counselors ever were supposed to do. He talked. He told me what he thought she must have been feeling, what she must have been going through. It was a wake-up call. Four years after Logan’s death I apologized to Sophie for the first time. Sophie being Sophie, she accepted it with no questions. She was always a much better person than me. If we were honest, we didn’t have to look that far inside to know how much we loved each other, but my years of foolishness, of bitter selfishness, had created a gap between us I should have bridged long before I did. I can’t go back, but I wish I’d known how much of an impact our emotional separation had on the kids, especially Danny. Last year I told him I had at one point filled out the paperwork for a divorce. I admitted it to him wanting to come completely clean.
It turned out he’d already known. Sophie had found the papers. She never even told me that. Danny saw her reading them, and when she put them away he took them out and read them himself. He asked Sophie if I was leaving them, and she told him I wasn’t, that I wouldn’t—I was just upset with her and we’d work it out. Some friends at school, whose parents were also divorced, told him parents always said that when they’re in denial. His dad was leaving him, they were sure of it. For a boy who had always idolized his father, that was the worst possible forecast. Even though I’d been largely absent the past few years, Danny had stubbornly held out hope I’d come back. At fifteen he finally gave up on that hope. At fifteen my only son developed an intense hatred for his dad.
When Sophie died a year later, he blamed me. But then, I did too. I should have gone to get the groceries instead of her, but the Bulls game was on. I made the wrong choice. I could accept his hatred. I could accept his refusal to give me a break. He didn’t want to come live with me at the cabin after Sophie died, and I knew he didn’t. I didn’t even ask him.
He joined the military as soon as he could to get away from me. I was fortunate his going away was what eventually brought him back to me. When he did return, we spoke at length and I leveled with him. I didn’t need or want an apology from him. Not for his years of bitterness and anger towards me, or for any of the many hurtful things he’d said to me. I deserved them. But I did hope he’d be able to accept my apology at some point. I hoped he’d realize I was sincere.
I’m not saying Danny forgave me then, but I do feel like he gave me another chance. One of the things he told me that night was that he never let Hayley in on what was going on, why I was always gone. She never knew. Sophie always defended my absence and Danny did as well. They stood up together for me, the coward. That alone spelled out the burden I’d been for him and legitimized so many of his reasons to hate me.
He’d come around even more this past year, and we at least created the foundation for a father/son bond again. We worked a lot of problems out. Having Hayley back living with me made a big difference too. I began to see a little light again.
As he stood in the rain and watched me say goodbye to Sophie a few days ago, Danny knew my pain. He knew my regret. But as much as I’ve wanted to pull him closer to me, I’ve made a conscious effort to let him be the one who comes to me. I’ve backed off, and I’ve given him space. I’m more thrilled than ever we have what we do today, and I don’t want to mess that up.
Now, as we gathered at the farm near Mount Rushmore, I watched him watch Tara. I knew that look on his face, as I’d seen it directed at me many times. He didn’t trust her. Whether that had anything to do with me, or not, I wasn’t sure. I wanted to ask, but didn’t. I didn’t have a problem with her. Clearly. But even if I had given her a free pass, Danny was reserving judgment.
TWENTY-EIGHT: “Coin Toss”
Outside Newcastle, Wyoming, Captain Eddie had a decision to make. Should he turn around and go back to Deadwood, certain he’d find what he expected regarding the fires? Or should he zip straight across on Highway 16, Mount Rushmore Road, towards Custer and hope to cut them off? He knew, even if they had been in Deadwood, they still had to go south to get to Colorado. Running back there now would only cost him time, and the Americans would probably be hidden elsewhere by then. They still had to come west towards him at some point. From his maps he could see, no matter what, the Americans would eventually have to pass by one of two ways to continue on their mapped-out route, and he could easily guard both of them. He opted to forget Deadwood and head towards Custer.
The dilemma was the presence of the other two Qi Jia companies. He and his men had avoided scrutiny and questions thus far because their story made sense. But those other two companies knew Eddie’s men were supposed to be heading east now. Eddie had probably erred in making that so definitive. Now, if those other companies ran into him again in Custer, they would question his motives and report his moves. Central Command hadn’t contacted him yet, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t. He was sure they had their ways. He couldn’t afford to run into either of those other companies. Somehow, he had to stay out of their way—physically and on the radar screen—as he and his men passed through Custer. That could get tricky. A single passing drone would pick them up with ease. Like the Americans, Eddie was going to have to hide. Getting caught in the process would be impossible to explain. His actions would be viewed as treason, and in Qi Jia’s code of conduct handbook Eddie had already read what treason would get him: A date with the firing squad.
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We didn’t know if Captain Eddie and his men were even following us anymore. Hiding out in the casino safe for protection didn’t afford us much of a surveillance opportunity. We knew troops had passed through to the south and to the west, out of Deadwood, based on the hundreds of tracks through the ash and dust. Our own tracks were at least camouflaged, mixed in with the others, and, tucking in behind the larger force moving south, we hoped we’d left Eddie behind for good. It was foolish to be wary of a single troop, when every soldier in the country had a target on Americans, on anyone who didn’t match their uniform dress code.
That’s what was so troubling about being pursued by Eddie and his men. It didn’t make sense that every other military company seemed to have a large zone to monitor or designated route to follow. They didn’t seem nearly as target specific as Eddie. Surely the invading army hadn’t assigned a company of men to chase down individual American families. So how and why had Captain Eddie and his men followed us all the way from Grand Forks? Could it legitimately be about that Markus guy we’d killed? Would they be doing this all for that one guy? Wouldn’t it have made more sense to pass the chase on to someone else, or at least call for help? Were they not in contact with a headquarters? Wasn’t anyone watching their movements?
At first we assumed they had to be communicating with some higher authority, checking in periodically. But then it became clear they couldn’t be. If some base somewhere knew one troop was tracking a group of Americans on a specific route, surely they’d send men from another direction to intercept them, and yet that had not happened. There couldn’t be any communication between a central command and Eddie’s troop. We had passed through several heavily occupied areas already, and not once had we seen any indication of anyone trying to cut us off or help Eddie. Interesting. Maybe this invasion wasn’t as coordinated as it seemed.
My questions had gained reasonable traction in Danny’s head as well. He listened as I shared my thoughts, without interrupting, even nodding occasionally. If Eddie wasn’t following us anymore, perhaps it was because of the other troops we’d seen. Maybe we’d gone beyond their designated search area. Maybe they didn’t have permission to go any further. On the other hand, if they were still following us, maybe no one knew they were. Maybe someone else would have a problem with that. It was something to keep in mind.
Tara’s farm turned out to be a pretty good place to hide out for the day. We parked the trucks in the sub-ground level of one o
f her barns, covering them with cold bales of hay, and we hung out on the barn’s main floor. Her husband wasn’t home, which didn’t seem to surprise Tara, but clearly seemed to disappoint Emily. Hayley continued to hang out with her and preoccupy her, but Emily hadn’t been able to sleep yet without nightmares, and we knew this had to be a particularly difficult situation for her to accept or understand.
Cameron and Blake took the camera and climbed the hill behind Tara’s farm to get a better glimpse of the immediate area. Tara told them they’d have a great profile view of Mount Rushmore from the top. Cameron told her he’d take a picture. No one heard them come back into the barn a short while later, until Cameron spoke, “You guys are not going to believe this!”
TWENY-NINE: “Mount NoMore”
We expected him to say something about seeing Captain Eddie, but the look on his face was more sadness than worry, and the camera he held up clearly contained whatever he was about to show us. The first few pictures said it all. Mount Rushmore wasn’t there anymore. No Washington. No Jefferson. No Roosevelt. No Lincoln. Their chiseled faces had apparently been used for drone target practice. Fourteen years of work, eighty-seven years of existence, gone in a day.