Exiled: The Beginning

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Table of Contents

Exiled: The Beginning

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 1

Brooke watched the ceiling fan blades circle above her. Beads of sweat rolled down her forehead. A small drop hung from her eyelash. She squinted, the salty sweat stinging her eyes. When she peeled herself off the sheets, a damp imprint formed an outline of her body.

Her feet rubbed against the hot wooden floorboards covered in a thin, grainy layer of sand. Footprints from the night before were still etched in the granules. Waging war against the invading dirt was a losing battle, one that she had stopped fighting so rigorously as of late.

Brooke tugged at her shirt in attempt to separate the cotton fabric from her skin. The slowly circling fan in her room did little more than push the already hot air around. She made her way to the bathroom, fanning herself along the way and trying to loosen the strands of hair glued to her forehead.

The digital display of the water gauge, which broke down the level of water usage by day along with their total weekly allowance, beeped on the bathroom wall next to the mirror. It was a constant reminder of their dry world. Brooke tapped the screen, shaking her head.

“That can’t be right,” she said.

Rations for her family of three gave them usage of five hundred gallons of water per week. According to the gauge, more than a quarter of that was gone. And it was only Monday. Brooke checked the usage log. The time limit had been overridden three times.

“Jonathan!”

Brooke almost broke her son's door in half with the force of her entrance. The reflection of the mirror John was using captured the scowl on his mother's face. He was shirtless, a towel draped around his waist, fresh from his morning shower.

“Mom, I’m changing!”

“Do you know how much water you used this morning?”

Water dripped from his elbows and rolled down his legs. The droplets splashed onto the floor. The mixture of sand and moisture formed bits of mud around John's feet.

“You used over one hundred gallons of water. One hundred, John.”

John turned to check his reflection in the mirror. He carefully ran the comb through his blond curls, slicking his hair back.

“It’s my first day of high school, Mom. I can’t show up dirty.”

“And how do you expect us to make it through the rest of the week?”

“I’ll make it up over the next few days.”

“By not eating or drinking?”

“Mom, you’re being dramatic.”

Brooke snatched the comb out of her son’s hand.

“Hey!” John said.

“You’re on filter duty this morning,” Brooke said.

“Mom, I’m already clean! That’s not fair!”

“Maybe you’ll think of that next time you need to wash your hair.”

John stomped after Brooke as she exited his room. John's slamming of the door behind her rattled the entire house and blew a rush of sand against her calves.

The living room shared the same fine layer of sand that plagued the rest of the house. The only item that Brooke refused to allow any particle of dirt or dust to touch was a triangular case enclosing an American flag.

It rested atop a cherry-finished oak table, the sturdiest surface in the entire house. A picture of Brooke's late husband Jason rested alongside the flag.

Brooke used the bottom of her shirt to clear the table, case, and picture frame of any particles. She kissed the fingertips of her left hand then placed them on her husband's face, revealing the wedding ring she still wore.

Emily was still sleeping when Brooke opened her daughter's door. The sheets were stripped from the bed, and Emily rolled around, sensing her mother's presence.

“Time to get up, Em,” Brooke said.

Brooke patted Emily's stomach as her daughter stretched, wiggling her fingers and toes, yawning.

“Do I have to go to school today?” Emily asked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

“Yes.”

“But I don’t want to go.”

“What are you talking about? You’re going to have a blast! You’ll get to see all your friends, learn cool stuff, and you know they always turn the sprinklers on at the end of the first day for all the students to play in.”

“Yeah, but everyone is going to make fun of my tooth.”

“No, they won’t. And besides, it’s not that bad. Let me see.”

Emily smiled, flicking her tongue through the open space where her left front tooth was supposed to be.

“Seeeeeeeeee?” Emily asked.

“Oh, man. You could fit a train through that thing,” Brooke said, putting her pinky in the gap. “You know what you could do is shoot water out of it like a fountain.”

“Cool!”

“And guess what?”

“What?”

“You don’t have to take a shower this morning!”

“Really?” Emily asked, smiling from ear to ear.

“Absolutely.”

“Thanks, Mom!”

Emily bounced off the bed. Her tiny feet thumped across the floor as she ran to the kitchen. Brooke wasn't sure how much longer her daughter's disdain of showers would last, but she was going to milk it for as long as possible.

The refrigerator hummed loudly. A cool blast of air greeted Brooke's face as she mulled over the breakfast options. She grabbed the jug of milk and set it on the counter.

Brooke walked over to the thermostat. She wiped the layer of dust from the screen with her thumb. It was only seven o'clock, and it was already one hundred and four degrees outside.

“I wonder what the high will be?” she asked herself.

Emily swung her feet back and forth as she sat on the stool. She tilted her head side to side and drummed her hands on the countertop. Brooke poured the cereal and milk into her daughter's bowl.

“Thanks, Mom,” Emily said.

John walked into the kitchen and grabbed his own bowl out of the cabinet. He didn't acknowledge anyone's presence. He poured himself some cereal and sat at the table by himself instead of at the counter with his sister and mother.

Brooke looked him over. Despite how mad she was with him, she had to admit he did look very handsome. He had been lucky enough to receive his father’s genes.

“Did you clean out the filters yet?” Brooke asked.

John dropped the spoon, and it clanged against the edge of the bowl. His mouth was full of cereal when he spoke.

“Mom, you’re serious? I already got dressed,” John said.

“Then you better put on the jumpsuit. Out you go,” Brooke answered.

John slammed his hands against the table. He pushed his chair back, and the legs squeaked across the kitchen tile. He mumbled under his breath on his way outside.

“What was that, young man?” Brooke asked.

Her answer was the slam of the back door.

“Teenagers,” Emily said.

***

After breakfast, Brooke hurried Emily to her room to get dressed then walked out back to gather her gear for work. She passed John on her way to the shed.

The jumpsuit covered every inch of his body. John scraped the circular sweeper against the vents on the side of the house. They needed to be cleaned daily to prevent the air in their home from becoming completely unbreathable. It was the most hated job in the house. Brooke usually did it herself but was never afraid to use it for punishment.

Brooke couldn't see John's face when he looked at her because of the mask, but she imagined there was some irritated gaze staring back at her.

The work shed was on its last legs. The roof sagged, and Brooke swore the whole structure tilted farther to the left every day. But there wasn't any room in the budget for a new storage facility, so she made do with what she had. And besides, it wasn't the outside that mattered. It was the inside, which the shed didn't lack in at all.

Brooke opened the lock on the shed's door and pulled the door open. It was small, only around fifty square feet, but it was the perfect size to store her equipment. She checked her phone for the job orders that had come in for today.

There were two solar panel repairs in downtown San Diego, four repair orders just north of the city, and six at La Jolla, which ran right along the cliffs at the beach.

Repairs were the only thing Brooke seemed to do these days. It had been a year since she'd done a new installation. The economy was almost as dry as the desert they lived in.

Before she lugged her repair kit out to the cruiser, Brooke pulled one of the tables from the back wall. Hidden underneath was a small hatch.

Brooke pulled the door open and descended the staircase into the basement. There was a flashlight on a tiny shelf at the bottom, which she used to scan the contents around her.

The basement was even smaller than the shed above it, and Brooke had to keep her body hunched over to avoid knocking her head against the ceiling. Her late husband, Jason, had kept emergency supplies down here in case something ever happened.

The flashlight shone on twenty one-gallon jugs of water, a first aid kit, a case of MREs, and four backpacks stocked with flashlights, batteries, sleeping bags, emergency blankets, fire starters, iodine tablets, sunscreen, lip balm, and aloe.

When Jason had been home, he would come down here every Monday morning and check the inventory. It was a tradition Brooke had continued after he was gone.

After inventory was complete, Brooke relocked the shed. John peeled off the cleaning suit as Brooke passed him on her way to drop her tools off in the cruiser.

“C'mon, we don't want to be late,” Brooke said.

Sitting in Brooke's front yard was her Toyota Cruiser 70 series. Most of the paint had worn off, and it had more dents than a kicked soup can, but what it lacked in curb appeal it made up for with performance.

The cruiser's 5.7-liter V8 engine put out 381 horsepower and 401 pound feet of torque. Its belly was lined with reinforced skid plates, and the combination of 4WD with the front and rear live axle allowed her to handle any desert terrain with ease.

Whenever she had to visit any of the solar fields out in the desert, she would always get stuck using one of the company trucks, so she invested in her own. She never regretted it.

***

John insisted on being dropped off a block away from the school. He climbed out of the cruiser, and Brooke watched him shake the dust from his hair on his way to school. 

A pang of guilt hit Brooke as she watched her son saunter down the sidewalk. She remembered how nervous she had been on her first day and recalled using quite a bit of shower time that morning herself.

But things were different now. Her family didn’t have the same wasteful luxuries as she’d had when she was growing up.

The elementary school was busy with kids walking to class and stepping out of buses and parents waiting to drop their children off in the car lane. Emily gave Brooke a hug then scooted across the seats and climbed down from the cab.

“Have fun, baby! And remember to only do the fountain trick outside,” Brooke said through the cruiser's open window. 

Emily waved and gave Brooke a missing-front-tooth smile.

Brooke pulled out of the school lot and headed for the water ration facility. She was hoping she could receive an approval for increasing her water usage. There were plenty of weeks when she stayed under the limit.

Traffic was heavy, even for a Monday morning. Brooke turned on the radio to help pass the time. Every station was broadcasting commercials, so she flicked it to one of the AM news channels.

“California residents are bound to be upset when they check their water bills this week. The price of a gallon of water quadrupled since yesterday, and water rations have been cut in half.”

Brooke reached for the volume and turned it up.

“One of our station reporters attempted to reach out to the southwest regional water management division but was unable to obtain any comment on the matter.”

“Jesus Christ,” Brooke said.

“The past decade has seen a dramatic decrease in the water levels of the Colorado River, which supplies many of the forty million residents in the southwest United States, as well as Mexico, which government officials continue to set economic sanctions against in hopes of preventing any military conflict.”

***

The cars were bumper to bumper, forming a circle around the resource station. The guard post was empty, and Brooke could see a large crowd gathering around closed doors.

Brooke could hear faint shouts and chants. People were screaming, waving their hands, and pounding the doors and barred windows to obtain the life-sustaining water inside.

The cruiser's engine idled. Brooke weighed her options. She could risk stepping outside and fighting the angry hordes or head home. But if she left, there wasn't likely to be another resource station that wasn't in similar condition. She was already here, so she might as well take advantage of it.

The chants and shouts grew louder. Her shoes crunched the gravel. Brooke stayed on the perimeter of the crowd. She didn't want to get trampled if things turned south. 

An employee of the water station climbed up to the roof. He held a bullhorn and attempted to calm the rioting mob below.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please, form an orderly line, and we will distribute one pint of water per household,” the employee said.

“One pint?” a member of the crowd yelled.

“That’s not enough to keep my family hydrated for a day!”

“We need water now!”

“How do you expect us to live off that?”

Sweat and dust were caked thick on people's faces. The heat from the clear California sky beat down on all of them. The same conditions that had made this place such a beautiful destination for so long now made it a sandpit of hell.

The mob advanced on the building. Hands grabbed at anything they could pull or tear from the structure. The front door started to buckle. The crowd pushed again, straining to break inside.

Then a gunshot echoed through the air, and the crowd panicked. People sprinted in different directions, running over each other in the process. The employee on the roof swayed, clutching his stomach. A red stain leaked onto his shirt. He collapsed and fell from the roof.

The remaining members of the crowd swarmed the employee’s body. They stole his keys and flooded the station. Once the doors were open, Brooke hesitated.

Before she could make her decision, sirens blared in the distance. The police would be here any minute, and anyone still at the crime scene would be detained.

Brooke sprinted for her cruiser just as the police cars arrived at the entrance of the resource station.

Chapter 2

Brooke wove in and out of traffic. More police vehicles flew past her, joining their peers to contain the situation behind her.

Her heart rate quickened. Her muscles twitched. She drew in deep, steady breaths to try and control the adrenaline pumping through her body.

After a few minutes, her hands stopped shaking, and she turned the radio back on. She wanted to know how the rest of the area was faring.

“San Diego News has just confirmed reports from the southwest regional water management division that the basin for the Colorado River has run dry. In fact, our station has learned that the river has been dry for weeks, and the water that was being used during that time was from our region’s emergency reserve. Government officials chose not to warn the citizens due to fear of panic. Well, Congress, it appears your plan failed.”

Brooke lowered the volume. She couldn’t believe this was happening. She had known things were bad, but experts had been predicting their water supply would last for another two decades.

Her mind raced. If all this was true, then the major priority was to leave. The riot at the resource station would be the tip of the iceberg. There were now forty million very angry, very desperate people to contend with.

Brooke turned onto the highway and headed for Emily's school, which was closest at the moment. After that, she'd grab John and run home to collect their gear.

The elementary school was twice as packed as when Brooke had dropped Emily off that morning. A line of parents jutted from the doors of the administrative building. Brooke parked in the back of the lot. She jogged to the building, looking for anyone she recognized. The principal was outside, trying to calm everyone's worries.

“Our superintendent is in talks with members of Congress and the manager of our regional water supply. They have assured us that they are working on a solution and will have it prepared for this afternoon. There is no need to pull your children out, as we have full tanks of water here,” the principal said.

One of the fathers from the crowd stepped forward. His face was a bright red from a combination of his anger and the sun beating down on him.

“I don’t care what the superintendent is saying. You don’t have the right to keep me from taking my child,” he said.

“The well-being of your children is our number-one priority. I can assure you of that. If anyone would like to pull your child from class, you will have to fill out a form stating the reason for your child’s absence. Ms. Thomas, our clerk, will be distributing those forms at the front,” the principal said.

A collective groan left the mouths of everyone in line. It would take Brooke an hour to get her daughter out, and she knew that time was a precious commodity.

Brooke snuck around the side of the building. She remembered which room her daughter was in from the open house she attended before the start of the new school year.

She passed students shuffling through the hallways, smiling and laughing with one another. A few of the teachers gave her looks, but Brooke ignored them.

Emily’s class was in a portable in the very back. Brooke jogged up the ramp and peeked through the door’s window. She spotted Emily at her desk. Her daughter's hair covered most of her face as she hunched over and scribbled on a piece of paper.

The whole classroom shifted when Brooke pulled the door open. Ms. Fletcher wrote on the chalkboard and stopped when she heard the voices behind her whispering. She looked at Brooke inquisitively.

“Hi, Mom!” Emily said.

Brooke slung Emily's backpack over her shoulder and grabbed her hand.

“C’mon, honey, we have to go,” Brooke said.

“Um, excuse me, Mrs. Fontanne? We’re in the middle of a lesson right now,” Ms. Fletcher said.

Emily waved goodbye to her classmates, and they reciprocated. Ms. Fletcher stepped in between Brooke and the door. 

“Mrs. Fontanne, have you checked with the administration building to have Emily pulled from class?” Ms. Fletcher asked.

“You need to call these kids' parents and have them picked up immediately,” Brooke said.

“Mrs. Fontanne, we had a meeting moments ago regarding the crisis you’re probably worried about. Our leaders have assured us that a solution will be rolled out by this afternoon.”

“Do you know what’s happening out there?”

“Mrs. Fontanne, I cannot let you take your daughter without following the correct procedures.”

Ms. Fletcher grabbed Brooke’s arm. Brooke pushed Ms. Fletcher back, moving her away from the door. Ms. Fletcher’s head thumped against the cabinet behind her. She released Brooke’s arm, her eyes open wide.

“I’m taking my daughter,” Brooke said.

Brooke flung the door open and disappeared down the ramp. Emily’s stride was a quarter of what her mother’s was, and she was having trouble keeping up. Brooke scooped her up, and they sprinted past the administrative building into the parking lot.

“Stop her! Someone stop that woman!” Ms. Fletcher said.

Ms. Fletcher ran past the front office right behind them, nearly tripping in her heels.

The parents in line turned their heads, looking for what the commotion was about. The father from earlier spotted Brooke just as she was getting to her cruiser.

“Why does she get her kid and we don’t?” he said.

“Mrs. Fontanne! Stop!” the principal said.

Brooke lifted Emily into the passenger side and shut the door. She dug the keys out of her pocket, fumbling to separate the cruiser's key outside the driver's door.

The old metal door of the cruiser clanged shut after Brooke piled inside. She locked the door and pulled her seat belt over her shoulder.

“Lock your door, baby,” Brooke said.

Emily pushed the lock down just as the principal ran up to the cruiser and pounded on the window.

“Mrs. Fontanne, open this door right now,” he said.

Brooke cranked the engine to life and shoved the shifter into drive. The principal jumped out of the way, and she sped through the parking lot. She glanced into the rearview mirror. The orderly line of parents now resembled the mob of looters she had seen at the resource station.

“You have your seat belt on?” Brooke asked.

“Yes. Mom, why did you pull me out? It was show and tell today, and I brought Dad’s dog tags.”

Emily held out her palm. The two thin pieces of metal attached to a long, beaded chain barely fit in her tiny hand.

Brooke reached out and ran her hands over the indentations of her late husband’s name. She closed Emily’s hand and engulfed her daughter's fist with her own.

“I’m sorry, baby, but we have to go on a trip. We’re going to visit Aunt Amy and Uncle Daniel,” Brooke said.

“Wow! Really? When are we going?”

“Today.”

Brooke pushed the cruiser's speedometer to eighty. She pulled out her phone and hit “sis” in her address book. Within two rings, there was an answer.

“Are you guys okay?” Amy asked.

“Hey, we’re fine. I just pulled Emily from school, and I’m on my way to pick up John,” Brooke said.

“I’m glad you two are safe. I just saw the news. Is it as bad as they say?”

“It’s not great, but it’s going to get worse, and fast.”

“What are you going to do after you pick up John?”

“We’re going to head home and grab a few things, then grab the first flight to North Carolina.”

“I’ll have the beds ready for you.”

“Thanks, Sis. Have you heard anything from Daniel?”

“I’ve tried calling him, but he hasn’t got back to me. I don’t know what they’re planning on doing.”

“If you hear anything let me know, okay?”

“I will. I love you. Be safe.”

“Love you, too. I’ll call you when I have the flight details.”

She hung up the phone, scrolled up to “John”, and pressed “call.” She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel as the phone rang.

“C’mon, John, pick up,” Brooke said.

Emily tugged on her mom’s shirt. When Brooke looked over, she saw her daughter with tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Mom, I’m scared,” Emily said.

“Shh, it’s okay, baby. We’re going to be fine. Here.”

Brooke took the dog tags out of her daughter’s hand and hung them around her neck.

“Just wear this, and Dad will make sure you’re safe,” Brooke said.

Brooke rubbed her thumb across Emily’s cheek, smooshing her skin and wiping the tear that lingered on her face. Emily sniffled and played with the chain around her neck.

John’s phone went to voicemail, and Brooke hit the number again. She was getting closer to the high school. If the situation there was anything like Emily’s school, then it was going to be a cluster. There were more than three thousand students at John’s high school.

Finally, after six rings on the second call, an exasperated, whispered voice picked up the phone.

“What?” John asked.

“Johnny, I need you to get your stuff and meet me by Ninth Street in front of your school.”

“Mom, I’m in the middle of class. I can’t just leave.”

“Johnny, something very ba—”

Brooke cut herself off. Emily was worried enough without having her mother lose her cool.

“Have you seen the news?” Brooke asked.

“Yeah, but our teachers said it’ll get taken care of.”

Brooke's knuckles whitened as she gripped the phone tighter. She gritted her teeth, trying to keep her voice calm but stern.

“Jonathan, grab your backpack and meet me on Ninth Street in five minutes. If you’re not outside when I get there, I’m marching into that classroom and pulling you out by your ear,” Brooke said.

“Fine!”

The call clicked dead, and Brooke dropped the phone into the cup holder. Her eyes floated down to her fuel gauge. The orange line hovered just below three quarters of a tank. It was more than enough to get home and then head to the airport.

When Brooke pulled onto Ninth Street, she saw John with his backpack hanging from one strap. His head was bent toward his phone, and he was typing furiously. Whatever status update he was making about his current situation was no doubt unflattering to his mother.

Brooke stopped the cruiser right in front of him, and he jumped inside. She peeled off, and the three of them headed home.

***

The cruiser's tires screeched into the driveway. Brooke hurried into the house, pulling Emily with her.

“Okay, Em, I need you to pack as many clothes in your suitcase as you can,” Brooke said.

“Got it.”

Brooke turned around and went into John’s room. He was lying on his bed, shaking his phone in frustration.

“This stupid thing never works!” John said.

“John, stop playing with that and start packing.”

“Why?”

“We’re going to North Carolina to stay with your Aunt Amy for a while.”

“What about school? What about my friends? What about my life?”

“Making sure that life of yours continues is why we're going,” Brooke said, heading upstairs to her bedroom.

Brooke was piling clothes into her own suitcase when her phone buzzed in her pocket. It was a text from her sister.

“President is on the news.”

Brooke ran downstairs and turned on the television. She changed the channel to the local news just as the president walked on screen.

“My fellow Americans. Our nation has reached a tipping point in our natural resources. As many of you have heard, the story broke that the Colorado Basin, which is responsible for supplying water to over forty million people, has run dry. Now, I know there have been attempts from rioters and looters to break into the resource stations in that area, but I must stress that you should not panic. I am sending in resources to help stabilize the area to ensure we maintain order. To assist with that task, I am officially declaring the following states under martial law: California, Colorado, Arizona, New Mexico, Nevada, and Utah. To the citizens of those states, hear me when I say your country is with you. God bless you, and God bless the United States of America.”

Brooke tried to pay attention to what the president was saying, but her eyes caught the rolling ticker at the bottom of the screen. Her heart sank as she mouthed the words “All planes grounded by executive order.”

Chapter 3

Congressman Jones leaned backward in his dark leather chair. He pressed the tips of his fingers against each other, listening to the committee around him.

“The president already made a statement that we’re sending help. This is a ludicrous idea,” Congressman Smith said.

Jones had listened to the room go back and forth for hours. The Colorado Basin had been dry for almost a month, and every proposal submitted with a solution to the problem had to pass through this committee, of which Congressman Jones happened to be chairman. Every other solution had been denied except his.

“Congressmen, your concerns have been noted, but the fact is the rest of the country will be in a similar condition if we don’t do something now. Texas is barely holding together, and the Midwest is barely producing enough food to feed the country. Drastic times call for drastic measures,” Jones said.

“The president said—”

“I’m well aware of what the president said, and so are his advisers.”

The others were silent. Jones rested his elbows on the table, folding his long, slender fingers together. He flashed his pearly white, veneer smile. The plastic surgery hid most of the lines and creases in his face except when he smiled. That was when his age showed, revealing the crinkling corners of his eyes and mouth.

The Southwest had been a drain on the country for years now. It was sucking what few resources the country had left. Jones wanted to cut their losses.

“Once we have all of our strategic points set up, we’ll be making the official announcement. Until then, air traffic is grounded, and martial law will keep the local populations from going anywhere. All we have to do now is keep our fortitude,” Jones said.

“You’re sick,” Smith said.

“I know this is a difficult decision, but when we leave this room, we can’t have any doubts. It’s important for us to move forward as a unit. That’s why we have our representatives from the Southwest with us now.”

Those that were considered key politicians from California, Colorado, Arizona, Nevada, Utah, and New Mexico were present. All of them had their heads down, ashamed to look anyone in the eye.

“This meeting is adjourned,” Jones said.

Jones smacked the gavel, and the congressmen in the room ran out like cockroaches running from the heel of a boot. Only Congressman Smith lingered behind. He waited until the room had emptied before he spoke.

“You’re not going to get away with this,” Smith said.

Jones rose from his chair, buttoning the jacket of his suit. He adjusted the American flag pin on his lapel and walked around the end of the table where Smith stood.

“Everyone’s on board, Smith. This is for the good of the nation, to ensure the rest of us survive, including you and your family,” Jones said.

“I’ll keep fighting this,” Smith said.

Jones put his arm on Smith's shoulder. The smile faded from his face. The pressure of his thin fingers pierced Smith's suit like needles on a pincushion.

“Then I will run you over and toss your corpse to the side of the road on my way to your family's house,” Jones said.

Jones readjusted his tie then plastered on his winning politician’s smile and headed out into the corridors of the capitol.

***

Smith's staff could barely keep up with him as he hurried down the capitol steps. Both of them were on their cell phones, their thumbs moving rapidly across the screens.

“I want to start back channeling immediately. I don't know how Jones managed to sway the others to support this bill, but he's not the only one with a voice in Congress,” Smith said.

His personal assistant, Jake, adjusted his glasses, keeping stride with Smith. Jake stood a good six inches taller than Smith. His large frame made him stand out like a sore thumb and made him quite a sight to see in his suit, which, despite his size, always looked too big for him. 

Jake had been with the congressman for more than three years now. He had played a pivotal role in his reelection two years ago, and since then he hadn't left Smith's side.

“We can set up meetings as early as this afternoon. I know a key state in the vote will be North Carolina,” Jake said.

“I'll start drafting a statement to make sure the public knows where you stand,” said Beth, Smith's chief of staff, press secretary, and legal adviser. Smith used to have someone in each position, but none of them performed to the level that Beth could.

“We'll have to watch the timing of that. Jones has done a good job keeping this quiet, and I don't want to cause unneeded panic if we're able to squash this thing before it starts,” Smith said.

Not a single strand of hair moved as Beth’s trademark blond bun slightly bounced to the rhythmic click of her high heels against the Capitol steps. The way she pulled her hair back tight displayed the sharpness of her cheekbones and chin more prominently. She had served with the congressman since his first election. She was the only other person in the world Smith trusted as much as his wife.

“You think he'll try and swing the sympathy vote for this?” Beth asked.

“People are scared, Beth. He'll use that fear to his advantage.”

“Ballsy,” Beth answered.

Jake opened the congressman's car door, and Smith stepped inside. The leather seats squeaked as he sat down.

“I have the meeting set up for two o’clock this afternoon,” Jake said.

“That doesn't give us a lot of time before the vote,” Smith replied.

“I know, but you'll be the last voice they hear right before, so make it resonate.”

Jake shut the door, and the driver pulled away. Smith looked over to see Beth smiling as she worked the screen of her tablet.

“Is it just me, or is he turning into you more every day?” Smith asked.

“Somebody has to take care of you when I'm not around,” Beth said.

“You're not going to divorce me, are you?”

“Only on the day you don't get reelected.”

Smith knew it wasn't a joke. Beth didn't have a reputation for staying with anyone who wasn't worth a damn. The fact that Beth recognized he was still useful made him appreciate her more.

“This is a dangerous move, David,” Beth said.

“It's a necessary move.”

“As your chief of staff, it's my job to inform you when your mouth is writing checks your ass can't cash, and this is one of them. You won't be able to get the votes you need to overturn this thing, and by resisting it, you're going to put a target on your back the size of Texas.”

Buildings, people, and cars all passed by them as their driver maneuvered the streets of DC. They drove past one of the trees allowed in the city by the water restrictions. The trees were few and far between, and the ones that remained barely carried any vegetation.

Trees weren't the only sparse commodity in the city. The grass of the National Mall was gone. It had been paved over with concrete four years ago, another sign of changing times and dwindling natural resources.

He'd been fighting for better water rights for years. There were methods by which the nation could have all the fresh water it needed, but they were blocked by certain individuals afraid to lose what money and power they held.

“I remember the first term I was elected. Remember that? When we arrived here, everything seemed so pristine, so grandiose. I thought DC was the most beautiful city I'd ever seen,” Smith said.

“That was over twenty years ago.”

“We can bring it back, Beth. I know we can.”

Smith felt Beth's hand grab his, and she squeezed. He turned from the window to look at her. She was shaking her head. A shadow of a smile was trying to break through.

“Well, it can't be harder than '03,” Beth said.

The driver rolled down the partition.

“We're here, Congressman,” he said.

Smith reciprocated Beth's squeeze.

“Let's get ready,” Smith said.

***

Congressman Daniel Hunter stood behind his desk, bent over, examining the proposal for Jones's bill. He had to read it a few times just to numb the shock of what Jones was proposing.

It wasn't just bold. It was psychotic. But he knew Jones had enough sway to pull it off. Daniel's stomach went sour. His state would be a player in the decision on the bill. If he opposed it, then it could affect his state's water distribution rights. If he voted for it, then he would be condemning everything he stood for and the entire legislative process he valued.

Meghan poked her head into his office. The quiet of his room was broken by the clatter and bustling of his staff in the anteroom.

“You received an invite for a two o’clock meeting,” Meghan said.

“With whom?” he asked.

“Congressman Smith.”

Daniel nodded, and Meghan closed the door, leaving him alone. He sank low into his seat and loosened his tie. He knew what Smith wanted.

He twirled his wedding ring around his finger, glancing at the picture of his family on his desk. It had been taken during their vacation last year in Florida. Most families couldn't take trips like that anymore. It was too expensive. However, his position in Congress allowed him special favors—favors that were largely granted by Congressman Jones. If he stood against him now, it wouldn't be just his career that suffered but his family's future.

But could Daniel forsake forty million people to do it? Could he betray his oath, his values, and his fellow citizens for the sake of his career?

Daniel's arms jolted when his chest started to buzz, breaking his chain of worry. He reached inside his jacket to grab his phone. The screen read “Amy.”

“Hey, honey,” Daniel said.

“Hey, how is everything going?”

“Fine. Have you spoken to your sister?”

“I just got off the phone with her. Did you hear about the flights getting grounded?”

Daniel rubbed his forehead. He felt himself retreating inward. His voice was muffled when he spoke next.

“I did,” he said.

He hoped she didn't ask him any more. He hated lying to his wife. There was a pause on the other end of the line. He waited, afraid of the question to come.

“Daniel, what's going on?”

The sour pit in his stomach returned. His face flushed red, and he broke out in a cold sweat.

“I have to get ready for a meeting,” Daniel said.

“Honey, talk to me,” Amy said.

Daniel let out a sigh. He buried his face in his hands, shaking his head.

“I can't tell you exactly what's happening, but it's really bad. You need to tell your sister to get out of the Southwest as fast as possible,” Daniel said.

“Daniel, what are they going to do?”

“Just tell her to get out.”

“Can you stop it?”

Jones's bill sat on top of his desk. The twenty pages in front of him were some of the most vile legislation he'd ever read. It would put a scar on the face of the country that would rival the Civil War.

The meeting with Smith was in an hour. Daniel knew Smith fairly well. The two of them had served on the military appropriations committee during his first term. Smith was a good man, and smart. He might have something for them to use, something that the rest of them hadn't thought of yet. Maybe there was a chance.

“I'll try,” Daniel said.

Chapter 4

Brooke paced the kitchen floor. Her hair was matted to her forehead. The phone felt like it was melting to her ear.

Emily was slouched in one of the kitchen chairs, her head resting on her arm, still clutching the suitcase on the floor next to her with one hand.

“There has to be something, anything that's available,” Brooke said.

“No, ma'am, I'm sorry. The FAA has grounded all commercial and private planes. No one is allowed to take off until the ban is lifted,” the operator said.

“Where are you located?” Brooke asked.

“My office is located in Oregon, ma'am.”

“Well, transfer me to someone in the San Diego area. I need to speak with someone that's actually here and has a brain in their head!”

After a few moments of silence, the operator spoke very calmly.

“Ma'am, I understand your frustration. If you'd like, I can transfer you to my supervisor to help you with your concerns, but I must reiterate that no one can book you a flight right now.”

Brooke hung up the phone and tossed it onto the kitchen counter. It skidded to the sink, where it teetered on the edge. She pressed her palms hard into the counter's edge.

“Mommy, I'm thirsty,” Emily said.

“I know, baby. You can have some water in a little bit, I promise.”

If she didn't do something soon, she wouldn't be able to make good on that promise. Brooke had mentally planned out the water rations from what she had in storage the moment she heard about the river.

All three of them needed at least a gallon of water a day in normal conditions. With the heat they lived in, it would be more.

Brooke had the twenty gallons in the shed. When she made it home she tried filling up the tubs, but the government had beaten her to the punch, cutting off the water flow to the house. She managed to squeeze a few extra gallons of what remained in the pipes, but as far as she was concerned there wouldn’t be any more water coming through the faucets in the house again.

She wanted them to drink a glass every three hours. There was still another hour until the next round.

John came out of his room and went to the fridge. He stood there sifting through what was inside, then shut the door.

“Where's the water?” he asked.

“I stored everything we had in our spare portable tanks,” Brooke answered.

The glasses on top of the fridge rattled when John shut the door.

“Mom, you're freaking out over nothing. The president just told us help is on the way. You need to relax.”

“Go to your room.”

“But I didn't do anything.”

“Now, Jonathan!”

“You're crazy.”

Brooke joined Emily at the table.

“I don't think you're crazy, Mom,” Emily said.

Brooke ran her fingers through her daughter’s hair. She gathered it together and tied it in a ponytail.

“There, now your neck won't be as hot,” Brooke said.

Emily let out a relieved sigh and giggled. She pulled her father's dog tags off and handed them to her mother.

“Here, you need them more than I do right now,” Emily said.

“Thanks, baby.”

Emily scooted off her chair and walked to her room. Brooke could hear her daughter pull out some of her toys from the closet and start talking aloud, coming up with adventures for her dolls to go on.

Brooke rolled Jason's dog tags between her fingers. She listened to the rhythmic sound of the two pieces of metal rubbing against each other. They were hot, just like everything else in the house.

If her husband were still alive, there would be no doubt the marines would find a way to fly him wherever he needed to go for a mission. The military was never grounded during an emergency. They were the only ones still flying.

That's it.

Brooke remembered hearing a while back that one of Jason's old team members was stationed at the naval base in San Diego.

Brooke leaped the stairs two at a time, sprinting for her room. She tore open a box from the closet that stored some of Jason's personal items. She found his old phone and plugged it in.

The screen was cracked, but she prayed it still worked. When the home screen finally came up, she hit contacts. She scrolled through the numbers until she came across the name that said “Scratch.”

She hit “call,” praying he still had the same number.

***

Waves lapped against the sides of the ships in San Diego Bay. The sun beat down on the hard metal deck of the USS Ronald Reagan.

First Lieutenant Eric Stephenson was propped under what little shade an F-15 wing offered. His hat was tilted down, and his aviators shielded his eyes from the sun's glare.

He felt someone kick his shoe, but he didn't move. When the kick happened again, he remained motionless except for his lips.

“You kick me one more time, and I swear I will launch every missile from this jet straight up your ass,” Eric said.

“I don't think you'd want to fill out the paperwork, son.”

Eric tilted his cap up and saw Captain Howard with his hands on his hips, jaw jutting forward, and a scowl that would cause an Eagle Scout to crap his pants.

Eric shot up from the ground. He smacked his head against the belly of the plane, and his hat fell. He moved his hand hastily to salute, which knocked his sunglasses crooked.

“Captain, my apologies, sir. I meant the firing of my missiles in your ass with the utmost respect. Sir.”

“At ease, Lieutenant. Walk with me.”

The two walked along the deck of the ship. Their boots stepped in unison, a habit from military marches that neither man had outgrown.

“Water, water everywhere, nor any drop to drink,” Howard said.

“Yeah, it's hot,” Eric replied.

“I heard you had a reputation of being a smart-ass.”

“It's one I'm proud to live up to, sir.”

“You're about to be pulled into a briefing for a mission in regard to the president's statement to the American people earlier today. It's not a meeting I will be a part of, as I was relieved of my command twenty minutes ago.”

“Sir, I'm sorry to hear that.”

“I know you don't give a shit about what happens to me, Lieutenant, but I do know that you give a shit about your country. Remember that.”

“I will, sir,” Eric said.

Howard looked out into the massive blue ocean rolling and tossing waves against the iron ship that kept them afloat.

“It's going to be a dog fight until the end,” Howard said.

Eric hadn't interacted with the captain much, but heard he had a reputation for being a hard-ass, and when those words left the captain's mouth, it sent chills up the back of his spine.

Eric's pocket buzzed.

“Excuse me, Captain,” Eric said.

The number popping up on his phone wasn't one he recognized.

“Hello?” Eric said.

“Scratch? I mean, Eric?”

“I haven't been called that in a long time.”

“This is Brooke Fontanne. You were stationed with my husband in Iraq back in '04.”

“Fontanne... Fontanne. Wait, Jason Fontanne?”

“Yes! That's him.”

“I haven't heard from him in a long time. What's that bastard been up to?”

When Eric heard the pause after his comment, he realized that whatever answer came next was about to make him feel like a huge asshole.

“He was killed in action last year,” Brooke said.

“Brooke, I'm... I'm sorry to hear that.”

It was all he could come up with—a heartfelt “sorry” that she was no doubt tired of hearing. That was one thing the military was really good at: beating a dead horse.

“Thank you,” Brooke said.

“What can I help you with?”

“The last time Jason spoke about you, he said you were training to become a Navy pilot.”

“That's right.”

“Did you make it?”

Eric looked to his left at the massive F-15 jet and adjusted his flight pin.

“You could say that,” Eric answered.

“I was hoping for a favor.”

“Lay it on me.”

“I'm trying to get myself and two children out of San Diego and over to North Carolina to stay with my sister.”

“I'm not really that kind of pilot, Brooke.”

“It's getting bad here, Eric. I'll take anything.”

“Look, I have a briefing I need to run to, but once I'm done, I'll see what I can do, but I can't make any promises, okay?”

“Thank you, Eric.”

“You're welcome.”

He stuffed the phone in his pocket and headed inside the ship. So far it'd made for an interesting day. Whatever this debriefing was about that had the captain forced out was sure to add to the excitement.

***

For a moment, Brooke let herself believe that things were going to be all right. She didn't like having her future in the hands of someone else, let alone someone she barely knew, but if it got her family out of here, then so be it.

Shouts and screams from downstairs caused Brooke to shift gears. Her feet thudded against the wooden steps as she hurried down.

“Hey, knock it off, you two,” Brooke said.

The yelling didn't stop. Brooke let out an exasperated breath and trudged back down the steps.

“Take it back!” Emily said.

“You shouldn't have taken them!” John said.

“It's not true!”

“You know it's true! Don't pretend like it isn't!”

“What is going on, you two?” Brooke asked.

“John said that I never cared about Dad,” Emily said.

Emily’s eyes started tearing up, and the hardened resolve she had showed just moments earlier started to wash away.

“John, why would you say something like that?” Brooke asked.

“Because it's true! She said that she took Dad's dog tags to school today. She doesn't deserve to have them. She never cared when he was gone. She never worried what could happen to him. The only time she ever did anything was when he came home,” John said.

He was pointing at his sister, his own eyes becoming red. His voice cracked, and his lip quivered.

“I missed him every day! I still miss him!” John said.

Brooke pulled her son close, and John's shoulders shook as sobs left his body. She held him tight and rocked him back and forth.

“I know you miss him, honey. We all do,” Brooke said.

Emily wedged herself between the two of them and buried her face in Brooke's hip.

“We're okay. We're going to be okay,” Brooke said.

Chapter 5

Brooke kept Jason’s phone close. She paced the kitchen tile, staring at its home screen, waiting and hoping that Eric would call. The kids were in the living room watching television after making amends with each other.

She had forgotten how hard Jason's passing was on John. He’d never really gone through the grieving process to handle what had happened. He just closed himself off. She knew part of it was hormones, but regardless, it was a lot to handle for a fourteen-year-old.

The phone buzzed in her hand. “Scratch” appeared on the screen, and Brooke brought it to her ear hastily.

“Eric?” Brooke asked.

“Broo---, yo- --ed to ---t ou-,” Eric said.

“What? Eric, I can barely hear you.”

“The---- go--- t- -ut every--- -ff.”

“Hello? Eric?”

The phone beeped in her ear, and the call dropped. She hit recent calls and pressed his name, but it wouldn't ring.

Brooke checked the reception bars on her phone. Empty.

“Shit,” she said.

Brooke rushed outside, her feet sliding in the sand and gravel in the front yard, holding her phone up, searching for any signal she could find.

“Come on. Don't do this to me now,” Brooke said.

She roamed the yard for ten minutes but found no signal. She collapsed to her knees. Eric’s voice had sounded rushed, loud, nervous. Whatever news he was trying to tell her was bad, but she didn’t have any idea how severe it was.

***

Brooke sat on her front porch, lips chapped, phone in hand, making her hundredth attempt to get a hold of either Eric or her sister. And just like the previous ninety-nine tries, it failed.

She dusted the sand off the screen and shoved the phone in her pocket. She tilted her head back on the chair and rubbed her temples.

The sand lingering on her face and the backs of her hands sifted to the ground. She brushed her lips together, feeling the rough skin forming. She picked up the glass of water next to her and drank slowly, savoring the liquid washing over her tongue, bringing a brief moment of relief from the heat before it rushed down the back of her throat.

She wasn't going to hear from Eric or her sister. Even if they tried calling back, there wasn't any signal for them to reach her. There wasn't going to be any more information coming her way. She had to make a decision.

“Hey, Mom!” John said, yelling from inside the house.

“Yeah?” Brooke asked.

“Something's wrong with the television. It's blank on every channel.”

Brooke looked back down at her phone, her brow furrowed. The announcement of martial law, her cell phone not working, the cable down—all of it was leading to something.

“Hey, John, do me a favor and check the Internet for me,” Brooke said.

“It's not working either,” John said, shouting from the living room.

All communications were shut down, a militant state declared, and the government was covering up the information about the Colorado River being dry for weeks. She steadied herself on the arm of the chair, making sure she wouldn’t fall. She felt light-headed. She closed her eyes, realizing what was happening.

***

Brooke tossed her survival pack in the back of the Land Cruiser. Both John and Emily had similar bags prepared, already loaded inside.

“You guys ready?” Brooke asked.

Emily trotted out the front door and climbed into the back seat.

“I'm ready,” Emily said.

“Where's John?” Brooke asked.

“I don't know,” Emily said, flipping the pages of a book she had brought with her.

Brooke headed back inside. She wanted to get out of here before dark. With martial law now in effect, there would most likely be a curfew, along with roadblocks. She was hoping to miss both.

“John?” Brooke yelled.

“Coming,” John answered.

John came around the corner of the living room holding the American flag that had been given to them when his father died, along with a family picture.

“I didn't want to forget Dad,” John said.

Brooke's eyes started to water. She walked over to him and wrapped him in a hug. When she let him go, she wiped her eyes and grabbed the picture of her husband out of John's hand.

“Good job, honey,” Brooke said.

“How much water are we bringing?” John asked, trying to change the subject.

“All of it.”

Brooke and John emptied the storage space under the shed. The back of the cruiser sagged a little bit from the extra weight, but they managed to get everything packed. The drive to North Carolina would take four to five days, depending on how much she pushed it and any setbacks they ran into.

She knew the extra weight would use more fuel, but if they ran into trouble, the supplies could be the difference between life and death. And in addition to being able to survive, the potable water and supplies they had packed were now the most valuable currency in the Southwest, which could buy her way out of a sticky situation down the road.

“Everyone have their sunglasses?” Brooke asked.

“Yes,” Emily and John answered.

Brooke hopped into the driver’s seat and cranked the engine to life. She clicked her seat belt on and backed out of the driveway.

Even though she didn’t think there would be any roadblocks set up until that evening, she decided to take the back roads to the interstate just to play it safe. No reason to call attention to herself with a car loaded down with supplies.

The fuel gauge hovered between three quarters and half a tank. Brooke kicked herself for not filling up earlier. Her NASCAR speed from that morning had drained more fuel than she would have liked.

There was a gas station just before the interstate that she could hit along the way—if it hadn't already been ransacked by looters like the water station.

Emily poked her head through the space between her and John's seats.

“Mom, when will we get to come back?” Emily asked.

The truth was, Brooke didn't think they'd ever come back. John must've felt it too, since he had grabbed his father's flag. But her daughter couldn't sense the finality of it. This was just a trip to go and visit family, a trip that had always warranted a return home.

“After staying with Aunt Amy and discovering all the fun things you can do when we get there, you might not even want to come back,” Brooke said.

“Fun stuff? Like what?” Emily asked.

“Stuff like... well... there's...” Brooke answered.

“They actually have lakes where you can swim in North Carolina,” John said.

“Really?” Emily asked.

“Yeah, and they have more than just water to drink. They have sodas, and juices. It's pretty awesome,” John said.

Emily giggled and bounced up and down on the seat. Brooke looked over to her son and mouthed “thank you.” Even through all of the teenage angst, he still had the heart of his father.

Traffic was light. She pulled the phone out of her pocket and set it down in the cup holder. Once she made it out of the city, she might be able to pick up a signal somewhere else.

***

The fuel gauge fell to a quarter of a tank just about four miles before they hit the interstate. They were making good time, but when Brooke pulled the cruiser onto Seventy-Seventh Street, which would take her right to the interstate, her foot found the brake and slowly pressed down.

The kids looked up from playing games on their phones, and the three of them saw the line of cars gridlocked on the interstate ahead, most of which were being turned back. Brooke rolled her window down, flagging a truck returning from the roadblock.

“What's going on up there?” Brooke asked.

The gentleman behind the wheel of the rusty truck had a greasy face and wore a baseball cap tilted low over his forehead. He kept one hand on the wheel as he leaned out his window.

“Police blocked it off. They're not letting anyone out of the city. They just told us to go home and that help would be coming soon,” he said.

“Thanks.”

Brooke rolled up her window, and the truck continued on its way.

“Should we just go home?” John asked. “Maybe help really is coming.”

Brooke knew that was a lie. All of it was just talk filled with empty promises to give the government time to do whatever it was planning on doing.

“Hand me the map out of the glove box, John,” Brooke said.

She unfolded the map onto the dash. If I-8 was blocked, then it was safe to assume that all other major highways were going to be blocked as well. That meant there were only two other ways out. The first was to fly, which wasn't an available alternative, and the other was to chance the desert.

Brooke ran her finger along the Mojave Desert. There were some old solar cell fields just before the desert began. Her company kept a relay station there for any repairs that needed to be done. Before it had been shut down, she knew it had had a fuel station and other emergency supplies in case anything ever happened when someone was working out there.

If the authorities were blocking traffic, then they were also going to be watching the gas stations. Brooke would bet her last gallon of water that they weren’t going to let anyone fuel up without special permission.

She checked her fuel gauge one more time. The cruiser would get about thirteen MPG on desert terrain. There were probably five to six gallons left, giving her between sixty-five and seventy-eight miles to make the eighty-mile trek to the station.

It was risky. There was no guarantee they'd make it, and even if they did, someone else might have already picked over the supplies at the station. The place had been abandoned for months.

But she knew her cruiser could handle terrain that most other vehicles couldn't, and she knew the police wouldn't waste resources stationing officers in the middle of the desert.

Brooke put the cruiser in reverse and turned around. She switched to four-wheel drive and rolled onto the desert sand.

Chapter 6

The congressmen and congresswomen moved awkwardly, trying to maneuver through the tiny office. The fine cloth of expensive suits brushed against one another, the air heavy and thick from the number of bodies in the room. Daniel hid in the back corner, his hands fumbling over one another, watching the grimaces on the faces of his fellow politicians. He'd never seen people so eager to hear the words of one man and simultaneously wishing they had never been summoned to listen.

Whenever a pair of eyes found Daniel, he would watch the person who spotted him whisper in the ear of their neighbor, who would then look his way. His attempts to remain secluded failed with every head turned in his direction.

Everyone knew about his professional connection with Jones and the position of his state. Once Smith had said his piece, everyone would be looking to hear what he would say. And right now, he didn't have an answer. 

The room parted as Smith's office doors creaked open and he walked inside. He patted shoulders and shook hands along the path to his desk, where he used a chair to assist in his climb to stand above the crowd.

“Congressmen, Congresswomen, thank you for coming on such short notice,” Smith said.

The room went silent. Smith seemed to look at each of them individually and as a group all at once. The tension from Smith's audience was uncomfortable and anxious. Daniel knew that if Smith didn't say something worthwhile, the room would empty faster than a gallon of water in New Mexico.

“You all know why I've called you here. Jones's bill cannot pass,” Smith said.

“And how do you propose we stop it?” Congressman Edwards said. “Jones has the ear of the president and the Senate.”

“He's also the chairman of the resources committee, which controls funds to all states in regard to water, food, and fuel,” another voice added.

The apprehension spread like a virus. Mumbles and grunts followed each lamentation. Smith extended his arms out across the crowd, trying to regain control.

“Everyone, please. All of us are well aware of Congressman Jones's affiliations. He may have the ear of the president and pull in the Senate, but he does not control the voice of Congress. The people do,” Smith said.

Smith paused, letting his words resonate within the bodies surrounding him. Daniel inched forward absentmindedly. His arms unfolded, and he could feel the rest of the room shift forward with him.

“Every single man and woman in this room took an oath. All of us were sworn to support and defend the Constitution of these United States. The moment that bill passes is the moment that we fail not just the people we represent but the entire country,” Smith continued.

Every single man and woman in this room also wanted to achieve their reelection next term. All of them had played the game, including Daniel. They were all borrowing time, greasing wheels and shaking hands with one hand while they hid a knife behind their backs with the other one. The ends justified the means.

“The bill won’t disappear unless we have something that can replace it,” Edwards said.

“I know,” Smith said. “And that's why I propose we resubmit bill H.R. 285016.”

Daniel closed his eyes, listening to coughs and snorts. He had been foolish to think Smith would have something that could really work. Smith had just thrown up a Hail Mary pass, and Daniel knew he would come up short.

“It didn't work three years ago, so why would you think it would work now?” Edwards said. “Jones dragged that bill through the mud. Even if we were able to pass it, the American people would lynch us for doing it.”

“The legislation is solid. And if the American people do not understand the difference between a bill of life and a bill of death, then we have far greater problems than Jones. The allegations against the bill were false, everyone knows that. Jones used fear to block it the first time; we can’t let him use that again.”

Smith looked to Daniel, and Daniel's eyes immediately found the tops of his shoes. He could feel Smith's gaze drilling into him. He cursed himself for showing up. The brief moment of courage that had propelled him to attend the meeting dissipated into the room.

“What does our representative from North Carolina have to say on the issue?” Edwards said.

Daniel could hear the shift of shoes sliding on carpet and bodies thumping into each other as everyone turned to him. When he looked up, the eyes staring back at him were a mixture of pain, helplessness, and fear. He hated the clinging neediness of their glare, wishing for someone to save them from having to decide on their own.

Daniel cleared his throat and adjusted his tie, which felt like it was strangling him. He could feel the heat from inside his suit boil his skin. His next words would impact millions of people, including the three he loved the most. 

“It's obviously a very delicate issue. I think that we all want to drive toward a solution that's best not just for the individual but for the entire country,” Daniel said.

The faces looking at Daniel slowly turned away. They all knew what his noncommittal political response meant. If he wasn't voting for Smith's bill, he was voting for Jones's bill.

Daniel's eyes caught Smith's for only a moment, but it was enough to have the sour pit in his stomach return. Smith didn't wear a look of anger or fear but one of disappointment. The one man who could help him sway opinion had failed to deliver.

While the rest of the room focused their attention back to Smith, Daniel fidgeted in the corner, a war raging inside him, one side compelling him to speak up and the other begging him to stay quiet. The voice pushing him forward, encouraging him to stand tall, was that of his wife. He could hear her voice, drowning out the fear and apprehension washing over him.

“I vote no,” Daniel said.

The words came out as a whisper, unable to break the barrier of conversations booming in the room.

“I vote no,” Daniel repeated.

This time the words came out firm, loud. Daniel tilted his head up, looking immediately to Smith, who had the upward curve of a smile on his face.

“You're really going to vote against it?” Edwards asked, his eyebrow raised skeptically.

“I am. Congressman Smith is right. Jones's bill will destroy this country. We can't let that happen,” Daniel said. “We need to vote it down.”

Daniel's spine straightened. He could feel himself stretching above his peers. The mood of the room shifted. The representatives whispered among themselves, deciding whether it was safe to speak up.

“Congressman Hunter is with us. Who else?” Smith asked.

The room remained silent. Maybe Daniel was wrong. Even with both him and Smith leading the charge, it still might not be enough to remove Jones' talons from the rest of them.

“Hell. I'll vote no,” Edwards said.

The first drop of hope hit the pavement. Then, with every other congressman and congresswoman who said she or he would stand with Smith, the downpour began to wash over the rest of them.

A few of the congressmen slithered out, afraid of letting any evidence that they had been in the room with such people linger on their persons.

The lines were now set. There were those that opposed Jones's bill and those that supported it. Daniel just hoped that everyone's resolve would remain until the actual vote was upon them.

Smith stepped down from his desk and began shaking the hands of everyone who had stayed. Daniel received similar handshakes and eager smiles from colleagues thanking him for being the first to stand up.

Afterward, once the room had emptied, leaving only Daniel and Smith, Smith wrapped him in a hug. Smith was only twelve years older than Daniel, but Daniel could sense the fatherly touch in Smith’s embrace.

“Thank you, Congressman,” Smith said.

“You think we'll have enough votes to stop it?” Daniel asked.

“Hard to say. It's going to be close. If some of the people who left without answering come to our side of the aisle, then we might have a chance.”

“Right.”

With the room cleared of thanks and nods of admiration, the brief moment of courage that had propelled Daniel forward began to fade. They had a lot of work ahead of them and a very short time to accomplish it.

***

Daniel and Smith combined their staffs to rework Bill H.R. 285016. The vote for Jones’ bill was in less than two hours.

Beth was hounding the staff, driving them forward like the handler of a dog sled, pushing the interns past their own capabilities.

The plan was to have Smith speak before the vote to propose his bill. If H.R. 285016 could pass, then they knew Jones's bill would get downvoted. This bill would be the light in the darkness for everyone to rally behind.

“Do you still have the research from the chemicals?” Daniel asked.

“Yes, it should be in our files somewhere. Why?” Smith asked.

“What's the biggest reason the bill didn't pass last time?”

“Jones introduced some very questionable evidence that the purification process caused cancer and health concerns. I had dozens of scientists debunk it, but it was no use. Once everyone heard the ‘c’ word, it was over.”

“People didn't understand the science. It was too wordy. We need to take that research and break it down, make it easier to understand. Then we print those few pages out and give them to the representatives. I think it'll help the confidence level when everyone votes.”

“It's smart,” Beth said. “We could give those FBI lab techs a call and have them work something up. They did a good job explaining it to you.”

“Make it happen,” Smith said.

Beth smacked one of the staff members on the shoulder, barking at him to dial a number. Smith pulled Daniel aside and out of the conference room. He closed his office doors, giving the two of them time to talk in quiet.

“Can I get you anything to drink, Daniel?” Smith asked.

“No, thank you. I'm fine.”

Smith gestured to the chairs circling a small oval table. Daniel leaned back, letting the soft cushions ease the tension of his neck and back.

“I can't thank you enough for what you did today,” Smith said.

“You made a very compelling speech,” Daniel said.

“I've been known to have a few well-placed words come together every now and then, but even I knew that it was a long shot. It would have taken more than just me to change your mind. So what was it?”

“I reversed it. I thought that if it were my family in the Southwest, how would I want my congressman to vote? I would be furious if Jones's bill passed.”

“Well, that decision just started the process of saving the lives of millions of people.”

“Truth is, I was just thinking of three.”

“Your family will be okay, Daniel. I know the ties you have with Jones. I'll make sure nothing happens to them.”

“Thank you.”

Daniel wasn't sure if Smith would be able to make good on that promise, but it was one he let himself believe. Doubt was a commodity he couldn't afford right now.

***

“We have a problem,” Beth said.

Both Daniel and Smith were on their way out the door when Beth stopped them.

“What is it?” Smith asked.

“We have the bill ready, but I went to check the patent office for the purification process just to make sure we had everything covered in the new bill.”

“And?” Daniel asked.

“It's gone.”

“What?” Smith asked.

“There isn't even a record of it being on file. No documents, no financial trail, nothing. It's like it was never there.”

“That's impossible,” Daniel said.

“Not if Jones knew someone in the patent office,” Smith replied.

“If Jones had something to do with the disappearance of the patent, then this bill will be a bluff that he'll call in front of everyone in Congress. We'll lose this fight before it begins,” Daniel said.

“What about the inventor? Do we still have his information?” Smith asked.

“The number's disconnected, and he's no longer at the address we have listed,” Beth answered.

“Track him down. Text me on my cell when you find him,” Smith said.

Chapter 7

The Land Cruiser's engine whined, straining to climb the thick sand hill. Brooke shifted gears, giving it some gas.

“C'mon, baby,” Brooke whispered.

The SUV peeked over the top of the hill, and as it rolled downhill, Brooke downshifted.

Brooke checked the compass on the dash, making sure they were still on course. Her eyes moved from the compass to the fuel gauge. The short orange line teetered on the large “E.” They were averaging forty miles per hour and had been traveling for roughly an hour and a half. They were close. All she needed was to push it just a little farther.

Sand splashed across the windshield from a burst of wind. The grains scraped the glass and paint of the vehicle. The sun beating down, even in the protection of the cruiser, was incredibly intense. Brooke kept the A/C on low to avoid overheating the engine. The temperature outside read one hundred and ten.

In the distance, she could see the shimmer of the old solar cells.

“We're almost there,” Brooke said.

The engine coughed, causing all of them to jerk forward from the sudden stop in acceleration. The cruiser continued to struggle, inching forward in brief bursts of speed before slowing to a crawl.

“No,” Brooke whispered.

The fuel gauge hit its final resting place at the bottom of the massive “E.” Brooke pressed her foot down on the gas defiantly, trying to will the cruiser forward. But the steering wheel stiffened as the car gave its last push. They rolled a few more feet in the sand, but the cruiser didn't have anything left to give.

“What happened?” Emily asked.

“We're out of gas,” Brooke said.

“Are we close?” John asked.

Brooke pointed straight ahead to the shimmering in the distance she had seen moments ago.

“You see that?” Brooke asked. “That's where the solar station is.”

It was easily a four- to five-mile hike. Not something she thought her daughter could make, especially in this heat. And she couldn't leave Emily here alone. John would have to stay with her.

“I'll hike there and bring the fuel back,” Brooke said.

“You're going there alone?” John asked.

“You and your sister will stay here with the car and supplies. I shouldn't be more than a couple of hours.”

Brooke opened her door and stomped through the sand to the back of the cruiser to grab her pack. She dumped out only what she needed for the trip there and back. A few pieces of food, some water, and simple first aid supplies. It was dangerous not taking at least twenty-four hours of supplies with her, but she knew the fuel would be heavy on the way back, and she didn't want to add to the burden. She zipped up the main compartment of her pack, and John edged around the corner of the car.

“Mom, it's a long walk,” John said.

“You need to stay here and look after your sister.”

Brooke pulled the 9mm Ruger LCR double action revolver out of her waistband and handed it to her son. He held it awkwardly. She walked around behind him and adjusted his grip.

“Thumbs over thumbs. Don't place your finger on the trigger until you're ready to shoot. And when you do shoot, you want to squeeze the trigger, don't pull it,” Brooke said. “I don't think you'll run into any troublemakers out here, but I want you to have it just in case. If I'm not back by sundown, then something's wrong. I want you to wait here until tomorrow morning, then take your sister to the relay station, but come at it from the north.”

“Mom,” John said.

“It'll be a little bit of a longer walk, but you'll be in a better position to scout any trouble. There used to be a satellite phone there. Try and find it and call Aunt Amy. Let her know where you are.”

“Mom.”

“She'll try and get somebody to come and get you. I know she will. You'll have enough water and food to last you the week.”

“Let me go with you. I can help.”

“Your help is needed right here. Our lives depend on what's in this car. Without it, we're in serious trouble.”

Brooke kissed him on the forehead, receiving a mixture of sweat and sand on her lips. She wrapped Emily in a hug and told the two of them to watch out for each other. Brooke swathed her head in a shemagh, protecting her face from the sun and sand. The cloth combined with her sunglasses covered her entire head. She adjusted the straps on her back, making sure they were snug to reduce chafing, and began the long, hot trudge to the station.

***

Despite the sun lowering behind her, it was still brutally hot. Brooke's skin felt like it was melting under her clothes. But even with the heat, she was making good time. The long days working on solar cells had allowed her body to adjust to the high temperatures. Even though it was unpleasant, it was still bearable. She was mindful to not use more than half her water on the way there.

Brooke walked through the fields of solar panels, most of which were peeling and corroded from neglect. The engineering feat that surrounded her had once powered cities, towns, and suburbs when the water from the Colorado Basin flowed freely down from the Rockies before the shortages. Everything seemed to have snowballed over the past six years.

When Congress started restricting the water supply, it impacted businesses, which hurt the economy, which drove people out of the area, which meant fewer buildings to power, which meant fewer solar cells to maintain and install.

Brooke's engineering firm had been laying people off every year for the past three years. She had managed to stay on board only because she was the best engineer in her division. She could do the work of four individuals in half the time.

She loved her job. The idea of being able to harness the power of the sun above them for their own personal uses gave her purpose. The solar cells she helped design and make came from the power of her mind and were put into use by the efficiency of her hands. She could feel her heart ache as she walked through the graveyard around her.

The main building was just up ahead. She crouched low, hiding behind one of the cells, and scanned the perimeter. She looked for any signs that someone was already there, but it looked vacant.

The door was locked, which she expected, but she knew there was a tool shed around back with a very flimsy door.

Brooke's heel pounded into the door, sending vibration into both her body and the rest of the shed. On the third try, it finally cracked open. Shovels, rakes, wrenches, and hammers all rattled at the abruptness of her entrance. She found a crowbar in the belly of an old wheelbarrow and made her way back to the main building.

Brooke jammed the thin, wedge-shaped end of the crowbar between the door and the frame. Her muscles strained, pulling the stiff piece of iron backward. The wood splintered and cracked from the pressure Brooke applied. Finally, the door burst open, sending broken pieces of wood hurtling through the air.

A burst of heat greeted her upon entrance. Months of inactivity had turned the building into a hotbox. Brooke's boot prints cut a trail through the sand and dust covering the concrete floor.

The first room she walked through was the main office. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she recognized the familiar shapes of desks lining the walls. All of the computers had been taken, but the furniture remained.

Brooke continued to the back of the station, her hands outstretched, feeling her way through the darkness. The storage room was in the very back and housed the circuit box. While the solar cells outside were in bad shape, they should still be able to produce enough power to get the station back up and running.

Her fingers fumbled over the hot metal of the circuit box until they found the handle. She pulled it open and flicked the breakers on.

The lights came on, and the vents puffed dust as air burst through them for the first time in months. She snatched the fuel key, which still hung next to the supervisor's station, and made her way out to the fuel tank, grabbing an empty gas can along the way.

The fuel tank rested on the side of the station. She pulled the nozzle from the hatch and stuck the key into the lock, which granted her access to the diesel inside the long, rusted cylinder that would provide her with the fuel to get out of this hell hole.

Brooke closed her eyes, took a breath, and squeezed the trigger on the pump. The fuel tank gurgled, and after a few seconds, she could hear the splash of diesel fuel filling the can. She let out a sigh, relieved the tank still had some left.

Just before the diesel reached the rim, Brooke removed her finger from the pump's trigger. She screwed the cap on and headed back inside, leaving the filled can outside.

Brooke searched for the satellite phone, pulling open the drawers of filing cabinets, rifling through what had been left behind. She turned the place upside down, but she couldn't find it. The company must have collected it along with the computers when it shut the station down.

The gas can was right where Brooke had left it as she rewrapped her shemagh, struggling to tie it in the gusty desert wind. She picked up the filled gas can and started the long walk back to the cruiser, smiling underneath the scarf at the fact that things were starting to go their way.

***

All of the doors to the cruiser were open. It was Emily and John's attempt to let the heat escape and give any breeze that might come their way a chance to cool them. The breezes did come, but they were blasts of oven heat instead of the cool, refreshing gusts the siblings were hoping for.

Emily lay completely flat on her back across the rear seats. Her hands were neatly folded over her stomach as she stared at the roof of the cruiser.

John sat with the front passenger seat reclined while his feet rested on the dash. He had to remove them after a few minutes, though, as the windshield acted like a magnifying glass for the sun, heating his feet to the point of melting.  

John's watched beeped, signaling for them to drink. It went off every fifteen minutes to ensure they didn't become dehydrated. He brought the bottle to his lips and counted to ten, then extended it to Emily in the back seat, where it lingered in the air.

“Em, you have to drink,” John said.

“I'm not thirsty,” Emily said.

“That's because you're staying hydrated. When you start to feel thirsty, it means that your body is already dehydrated. Mom wants us to drink, so take it.”

Emily propped herself up on her elbows and grabbed the bottle. She slurped for ten seconds and handed the container back to John. She flopped her head down, and it bounced against the cushioned seats, her hair falling over her face in the process.

“Let's play a game,” Emily said, brushing the hair out of her eyes.

John kept his eyes closed, barely moving his mouth when he spoke, hoping to exemplify his false excitement about not wanting to play.

“What do you want to play?” John asked.

“How about 'I spy'?”

“Okay.”

“You go first.”

“I spy something brown.”

“No, you have to start with 'I spy with my little eye.'”

“Fine. I spy with my little eye something brown.”

Emily got up, scanning around, then frowning once she realized what it was.

“Sand?” she asked.

“Yup. Your turn,” John said, still keeping his eyes closed.

Emily looked around, attempting to locate something more colorful. What she couldn't see was the bark scorpion that had crawled its way into the back seat through the open doors.

The scorpion's pincers clicked together, and the stinger curled up and around its back. The eight legs scurried across the cloth seats.

“I spyyyyyy with myyy little eyyyyyye,” Emily said.

The cuffs of Emily's jeans were pulled up, exposing the flesh between where the jeans’ protection ended and her sock began. The scorpion crawled up the sole of her shoe and onto her ankle.

Emily felt the tickle of the scorpion's legs, and when she brought her hand down to scratch it, the scorpion jammed its venomous stinger into the puffy flesh between her thumb and index finger.

Chapter 8

The gas can in Brooke's right hand hovered inches from the ground, pulling her down. She moved the can to her left hand, giving her right arm some rest. The thirty-five-pound, five-gallon drum felt like it weighed one hundred pounds the closer she moved to the cruiser.

After another fifteen minutes of walking, she felt the handle slip from her fingers. The can hit the sand and Brooke soon followed, collapsing to her knees. She pulled her backpack off and dug through the main compartment. She pulled out her water bottle.

The remaining liquid sloshed around at the bottom of the container. She pulled the cap off and tilted the bottle back, draining the rest of her supply.

Brooke gasped after drinking the liquid and her hand holding the bottle dropped to the sand. She looked behind her. The relay station was firmly in the distance. She had followed her own tracks back, and she knew the cruiser had to be close. She put the cap back on the container and shoved it into her pack.

Brooke pushed herself off the sand, picked up the gas can, and continued her march to the cruiser. A hot blast of wind caused her to wobble, almost knocking her over. She steadied herself, bracing for another gust that was sure to come.

But instead of another hot gust of wind, something else made its way through the desert air. Brooke could hear something in the distance. She stopped walking, trying to listen for it again. The sound was faint, but she could hear the distinct sound of a child screaming. Her child.

The rush of adrenaline gave her a burst of energy, driving her forward. She could see the reflection of the sun hitting the cruiser's window.

“John!” Brooke said.

“Hurry!” John replied.

Five yards from the car, Brooke dropped the gas can and ran to the rear passenger-side door, where John was standing, mopping Emily's forehead with a damp rag.

“What happened?” Brooke asked.

“She said something stung her,” John replied.

“An ant, scorpion, spider? What was it?”

“She didn't say. After she was bit, she started to feel light-headed, and her speech became slurred. She collapsed on the back seat, and that's when I started yelling.”

Brooke cupped Emily's face in her hands. Her daughter wheezed, struggling for breath.

“Em, can you hear me? Em?” Brooke asked.

Emily didn't respond. Her eyes rolled aimlessly, never focusing on one thing.

Brooke sprinted back for the gas can. She carried it back over her head in both hands so she could run faster. She ripped the gas cap off and dumped the diesel into the cruiser's tank.

“What are we going to do?” John asked.

“There's a first aid kit at the relay station. Inside, there should be a scorpion antidote that we can give her,” Brooke said.

“But what if it wasn't a scorpion that stung her?”

“We'll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

The last few drops of gas emptied into the cruiser, and Brooke tossed the empty can into the back with the rest of her gear.

John climbed into the back seat with his sister, holding her steady while the cruiser bounced along the desert dunes and brush, kicking up sand behind them.

It took them only ten minutes to get to the station by car. Brooke wove in and out of the solar cells, narrowly missing a few that could have wiped them out. She slammed on the brakes, and the cruiser slid forward a few feet through the sand, stopping them right in front of the station's entrance. Brooke ran around to the back and picked Emily up in her arms.

The lights were still on, which was a good sign that the solar cells were retaining energy. Brooke pointed to one of the desks in the main room.

“John, clear off that table,” Brooke said.

In one sweeping motion, John knocked all of the random items off the desk, and they clanged to the floor. Brooke gently set Emily down and ran for the first aid kit she had seen in the back.

“Keep an eye on her,” Brooke said.

Brooke flipped the latches open on the first aid kit and sifted through the contents. She pushed aside bandages, creams, and pills until she pulled out the tube of liquid holding the scorpion antivenom. She poured it into a syringe, sprinting back to Emily.

“Roll up her sleeve,” Brooke said.

John slid Emily’s sleeve all the way up to her shoulder, and Brooke pierced her daughter's skin with the end of the needle. She pressed down on the syringe, and the medicine entered her daughter's bloodstream.

“Is it working?” John asked.

“It'll take some time,” Brooke answered.

Emily's breathing continued to be labored. Brooke placed the back of her hand on her daughter's forehead.

“She's burning up,” Brooke said. “John, go grab some water out of the cruiser.”

John disappeared in a flash, and Brooke bent down and kissed her daughter's head, stroking her hair. She hoped and prayed that it was a scorpion that had stung Emily. If it was something else, she wasn't sure the antidote would work.

Brooke picked up her daughter's hand, holding it gently between both of her own. John returned, holding a one-gallon water jug in each hand.

“There's a compress in the first aid kit in the back. Fill it with water and bring it over to me,” Brooke said.

John nodded. She knew that her son felt guilty about what had happened. As much as he argued with his sister, he still loved her. Brooke knew that keeping him busy was the best way to keep his mind from wandering down paths of distress and blame.

“Here you go,” John said, extending the compress to her.

Brooke felt it; it wasn't nearly cold enough to do any good. The water was already hot from the sun beating down on it all afternoon.

“We need to cool it down. There was a break room somewhere in here with a fridge. I don't know if they took it with them when they left. See if you can find it,” Brooke said.

“Okay,” John replied.

The temperature in the building felt like it was going down. The AC was definitely kicking in, which was helpful for her daughter's current condition.

Emily's muscles spasmed. Her head rocked back and forth on the table. The venom was wreaking havoc on her daughter’s nervous system. It was doing its best to shut her major vital systems down until Emily's heart was too weak to keep beating.

“Stay with me,” Brooke said.

***

The refrigerator hummed loudly, and John tossed the compress inside. He went back to his mother, who was still bent over Emily.

“Found it,” John said.

“Good. Why don't you go and grab our gear out of the cruiser?” Brooke asked.

“Even the water?”

“Just bring in one more gallon. If we have to get out of here in a hurry, I don't want us to have to worry about loading everything back up.”

John's shoes sank in the sand as he trudged to the cruiser and opened the rear hatch. Sand fell from the hatch door like a waterfall, dumping the hot granules over the tops of his shoes.

He placed the gear down inside the station and walked back over to his mom.

“Now what?” John asked.

“We wait and see,” Brooke said, not looking at him.

“How long will it take?”

“I don't know.”

“Can I do anything else?”

John's voice was soft and an octave higher than usual. The pit of his stomach churned, feeling like it was going to turn inside out. He clutched his belly and stared back down at the sand still lingering on his shoes.

“I'm sorry,” John said.

“John, this wasn't your fault.”

“I should have been paying more attention.”

“John.”

“I could have warned her if I'd seen it.”

“John.”

He felt his mother's warm, rough hands cup his face and pull his head up.

“I need you to listen to me. This. Is not your fault. Okay?”

John nodded.

“This was a freak accident. Nothing more.”

“Okay.”

“Now, I need you to watch your sister. Wait a little bit longer before you take the compress out and then keep it on Emily’s forehead. If she wakes up, come and get me”

“Where are you going?”

“To try and make a call.”

***

The nozzle from the fuel pump clicked to a stop, signaling the cruiser's tank was full. The gas couldn't have been more than a few months old, but she could have been wrong. If the gas was bad, then it would do more harm than good, but it was all she had at the moment.

The cruiser's engine seemed to run smoothly enough as she drove the vehicle back to the entrance of the station. She peeked inside, checking on Emily before heading around to the rear of the building.

Since she couldn't find the satellite phone, she would have to find another way to get ahold of her sister. While she didn't mind making the trek across the rest of the desert without any communications, it would ease her worry if she knew what the hell was going on out there.

Brooke's mind kept going back to the phone call from Eric. She had heard the distress in his voice. She wished she knew what he was saying. She wished she could get in touch with her sister. She wished her daughter wasn't fighting for her life. But the world didn't grant wishes. It only granted action, and right now, she had to find her own answers.

Next to the tool shed was an old radio post her company had installed when it was building the place. She knew that the equipment hadn't been used in years, and she had no idea if it would work or if the equipment would even still be there.

Brooke still had the crowbar from earlier, but she didn't need it. The door to the radio post wasn't even locked.

“Dammit,” Brooke said.

The place had been cleaned out. She doubted the company had come to collect the outdated radios, so it must have been scavenged by whoever had roamed over here in the past few months.

The cabinets creaked as Brooke went through them, trying to find anything useful. After taking inventory, she did manage to find an old handheld radio, which didn't turn on, a circuit board tool kit, and a few empty containers she could use for carrying extra fuel. Whoever had robbed the place must not have had any knowledge of what was valuable. The circuit board tool kit was well into the thousand-dollar price range.

It was not exactly what she was looking for, but the radio might be fixable once she cracked it open and had a look. It wouldn't get much range, but she might be able to listen in on any police broadcasts that were nearby.

***

The radio was in pieces and Brooke was hunched over on the floor trying to figure out which of the components had gone bad. Emily was sound asleep next to her under the cushion of a sleeping bag, but her arms and legs still twitched, still fighting the scorpion venom coursing through her tiny frame.

John hadn't left Emily’s side the entire time she was recovering. In fact, Brooke hadn't even seen him take his eyes off Emily since she had charged him with watching her.

A smile crept onto her face. Her favorite moments of her children were when they were together. It made her feel whole, full. It had been her husband's favorite sight, too. When they were younger, Jason would just sit in the kitchen, looking out into the living room, watching them play. She knew he reveled in those moments. It gave him something to hold onto while he was away.

Brooke hadn’t fully understood that until right then. That force that drove someone forward was different for everyone, but the moment her children had been born was the moment they became her driving force. She had done and would do whatever was necessary to keep the both of them alive. That was the constant in her life.

God help anything or anyone that tried to hurt them.

Chapter 9

Jones sat outside the Oval Office, waiting to speak with the president. He smiled politely at the staff, and they returned more hesitant grins. He'd been waiting for this moment for a very long time. It was a delicate network he had created, but one that he had complete control over. He knew people disliked him, but he didn't care.

When he had been a young boy, he was always very sick, so he spent most of his time by himself in his room, reading books. His favorites had been those of the political figures of the past. He admired the way they could sway people with their words.

Throughout high school, he had developed his talents for speech on the debate team. He channeled all of the pain from the jokes people made at his expense into the ordered forum in which people were forced to listen to him.

Now, years later, he had the ear of the most powerful man in the world. He was the one who helped the president gain favor with both the House and the Senate. He pulled the strings in this administration, and he delighted in the knowledge that he could end it all with the snap of his fingers.

People feared him, but that was the way he liked it. He had no need for friendships or likeability, at least not within the walls of government. The only face of gratitude he was forced to keep was for the public.

That was the one moment he detested more than all the rest. If it were up to him, he would take the people out of the decision-making process. This bill would be the first step toward that. The public didn't care about the matters in Congress. They were all too worried about making sure their own tiny wants and desires were satisfied. Soon their worlds wouldn't matter anyway.

“Congressman Jones, the president will see you now,” the office aide said.

“Thank you.”

*** 

The president flipped through the congressman's bill. He made it to the last page and looked to his advisers.

“Do you really think this is the best course of action?” the president said.

Joining Jones with the president were his chiefs of staff and the vice president.

“It's radical, Mr. President, but this will save the rest of the country,” one of the generals said.

“The army has already been mobilized to the new border, and we've begun removing what resources we had on the west coast,” another general echoed.

“Congressman Jones has already spoken to the local police commissioners and sheriffs. He's secured their cooperation with agreements for their extraction and a new position in the Northeast,” Vice President Johnson said.

“Is this true, Raymond?” the president asked.

“Yes, Mr. President. The process started weeks ago,” Jones answered.

“That's not exactly legal, Congressman,” the president said.

“What's best for the country is always legal, sir,” Jones replied.

The president gave a weary nod. He rose from the chair, and the rest of the room followed suit. He walked to the window.

“You’re confident the bill will pass in both the House and Senate?” the president asked.

“It will,” Jones answered.

“And Colorado will remain with us.”

“Yes, Mr. President.”

“The martial law sanctions in Colorado were just for show, Mr. President,” one of the joint chiefs said. “NORAD will still be within our borders.

The president turned around and leaned forward on the desk. He pointed his index finger into the pages of the bill resting on top of it.

“If this fails, we won't just have a water crisis on our hands, we'll have another civil war to worry about. Make sure that doesn't happen,” the president said.

“I won't let you down, sir.”

***

When Jones made it back to his office, his chief of staff followed him to his chambers and closed the door behind them.

“We may have a problem,” Ken said.

“What is it now?” Jones asked. “The vote is in less than thirty minutes.”

Ken only had thin wisps of hair left on his head. Jones didn't know why he kept them. They made him look far beyond his age, which was already old.

“Smith met with a large number of congressmen earlier this afternoon, trying to sway their decision,” Ken said.

“With whom?”

“I heard he was able to get Congressman Hunter from North Carolina on board,” Ken answered.

The muscle in Jones's jaw flexed. He clenched his teeth and closed his eyes, trying to control his breathing.

“I want a list of every person he met with. I don't care what you have to do to get it,” Jones said, picking up the phone on his desk. “Cindy, bring me the files on Congressman Hunter.”

***

Daniel flipped through the pages of the bill with Smith. Both of their staff members were anxiously waiting for them to say anything.

Smith tossed the pages onto the conference room table, and they slid across the glossy surface. Daniel closed the last page and rested the bill in his lap.

“Good work,” Smith said.

The entire staff exhaled simultaneously, and Daniel started clapping, with Smith and everyone else joining in. Jake checked his phone and tapped Smith on the shoulder.

“It's time,” Jake said.

Daniel and Smith rose from their seats, and the two of them walked down the hallway together. Smith clutched the bill in his hand and patted Daniel on the shoulder.

“You ready?” Smith asked.

The sour pit in Daniel's stomach was turning into a hurricane. He could feel beads of sweat forming in his armpits. His left hand shook, but he rubbed the wedding band on his finger to disguise it.

“I hope so,” Daniel answered.

The capitol was buzzing. All four hundred thirty-five representatives were present. There was an uneasy foreboding in the air. Everyone knew the true meaning of Jones's bill, but each seemed to be afraid to acknowledge it.

Congressmen and congresswomen formed small groups, talking about anything except the vote. Slack-jawed looks, harsh snorts, and nervous laughter filled the hall.

Daniel and Smith separated once they made it inside, both finding their seats. Once they entered, all eyes were on them. A quiet wave of everyone mouthing their names rippled through the room. The hair on Daniel's neck stood up when he felt the needle-sharp grip of Jones's fingers on his shoulder.

“Hello, Congressman Hunter,” Jones said.

Daniel tried to turn and stand, but he felt the force of Jones's hand keeping him down. All he could do was turn around to look up at the well-preserved face scowling at him.

“Congressman Jones, how are you?” Daniel asked.

“I'm well. Looking forward to the vote and how it turns out,” Jones replied.

Daniel searched for the resolve that he had found earlier in the day at Smith's office, but it was harder to find in his present company.

“I heard you had a meeting earlier today with Congressman Smith. How did that go?” Jones asked.

“You know Smith, all big words and fancy speeches,” Daniel said.

“Of course. And what were these big speeches about?”

The dryness of Daniel's throat became unbearable. He reached for the glass of water on his desk, gulping it down, some overflowing out of the corner of his mouth. He brushed his coat sleeve over his lips, wiping away the lingering droplets.

“I don't think it's a secret that Smith opposes your bill, Congressman,” Daniel said.

“No, I suppose it's not,” Jones said, smiling and patting Daniel on the back.

Then Jones bent down, whispering into his ear, loud enough for only Daniel to hear.

“But there are some secrets that others don't know. Secrets from our past. Secrets from the places we've been. Secrets from walks in the shadows. Secrets like yours, Congressman,” Jones said.

Daniel couldn't move his arms or legs. He was paralyzed. He wasn't sure if Jones was bluffing, but Jones didn't have the reputation of being a gambler. Gambling hinted at a chance of losing.

Jones pulled back from Daniel, laughing loud enough for the groups around them to hear, then started patting him on the back wholeheartedly as if the two had shared a joke.

“Well, Daniel, it's always a pleasure, and I appreciate your support,” Jones said.

The congressmen around Daniel started whispering. Daniel knew exactly what Jones was doing: making a last-ditch effort to try and break what resolve he had left. The only thing he wasn't sure of was if Jones had been successful.

Daniel shook it off. There was no way Jones could know about his past. That was buried. He'd taken the necessary steps to make sure no one found out. Jones was just grasping at straws.

***

The house Beth pulled up to, which straddled the Maryland state line, was dilapidated. The paint curled off the walls, leaving behind black strips of wood and concrete. Rocks and sand filled a yard surrounded by a sagging fence with broken and slanted boards. Pieces of jagged glass from the broken windows lined the porch. Beth peered inside, looking for any inhabitants.

The furniture, floors, and ornaments were covered in dirt. Trash littered the living room, and the only light that was shining into the house was the fading sunlight behind her.

There was no way anyone still lived here, but this was the address Beth had been able to find for Edwin Carlson, the original inventor of the process turning anything from salt water to toxic water into fresh, drinkable liquid. If he wasn't here, then Beth had no idea where to look. The road ended here.

The front door rattled when she pounded on it. Dust disturbed by the shaking fell to the porch floorboards and onto the tops of Beth's polished black heels. 

“Dr. Carlson?” Beth asked.

She knocked on the door again, even harder than before.

“Dr. Carlson, my name is Beth Fryar. I'm with Congressman Smith's staff,” she said.

A gunshot sounded, and Beth instinctively ducked, covering her head. After a moment she looked up, checking her surroundings and patting herself down, making sure she wasn't hit.

Then another gunshot blast echoed through the air. It was coming from behind the house.

Beth's heels thumped on the wooden steps as she made her way from the porch to the side of the house. She unlocked the gate latch that separated the front yard from the back. Another gunshot sounded, this one louder, as she made it to the rear of the house.

The backyard opened up into a large field of dirt and mostly dead grass. Toward the middle of the field, she could see a man standing with a rifle, aiming at some objects lined up on a table ten yards in front of him.

“Dr. Carlson?” Beth asked, yelling and waving her arms.

The figure in the field lowered the rifle and turned toward her. She could see him waving his fists and shouting something, but she couldn't tell what it was. He came rushing toward her, but something was wrong. The rifle was aimed in her direction. The next gunshot rang out and hit the backside of the house.

“Holy shit!” Beth said, almost tripping over herself as she ran as fast as she could in her heels to her car.

The man's screaming was becoming louder. Another gunshot went off, and the dirt to her left exploded into the air from the bullet that struck it.

“Jesus Christ!” Beth yelled.

Beth reached into her purse and ripped her keys out. She fumbled them in her hand while making it to the driver’s-side door of her car. The man shooting at her was running through the front yard now, still aiming his rifle at her.

Before she could stick the key into the door lock, the barrel of the man's rifle was in her face. Beth held her hands up, the keys still dangling from her fingers.

“What the hell are you doing on my property?”

Beth could smell the booze on him. His face was bearded, and he had long, matted strands of gray hair. His clothes were stained and torn.

“My name is Beth Fryar. I'm a member of Congressman Smith's staff,” Beth said.

The end of the rifle's barrel made contact with Beth's blouse, flattening her against the car door.

“The same congressman that tried to help Dr. Edwin Carlson pass his filtration process in Washington,” Beth added.

The man's shoulders went slack, and the rifle lowered a bit, but it was still aimed at Beth's stomach. Beth straightened herself, flattened out her suit jacket, and tilted her head up. She knocked the rifle's barrel away from her, and it fell to the man's side.

“Are you Dr. Carlson?” Beth asked.

The man wobbled on his feet, and he used the rifle as a cane to help steady himself.

“Once upon a time,” Dr. Carlson said.

Past the dirty clothes, wild hair, and dark circles under his eyes Beth could see the dim spark of intelligence.

“Well, I'm here to speak with you about restarting your research. Congressman Smith will be reintroducing the bill to allow your filtration process to be used around the country,” Beth said.

Dr. Carlson wheezed in a gasping laugh. Beth could smell his rancid breath, and she backed up as he continued the hacking chuckle until he was bent over with tears running down his face.

“Once the bill is passed, we'll need to start producing the water as quickly as possible. The country's in a dire state, Doctor,” Beth said.

Dr. Carlson wiped the tears from his eyes, holding his stomach, still struggling to keep his balance.

“Lady, the country isn't in a dire state. It's dead,” Dr. Carlson said.

Dr. Carlson turned around, dragging the rifle through the dirt of his front yard, barely able to keep his head from hitting the ground.

“I don't think you understand what's going on here,” Beth said.

“As long as Congressman Jones is still in office, which I know he is, your congressman's bill will never see the light of day,” Dr. Carlson said.

Beth yanked the rifle from the doctor's limp grip, pinned him against the front wall of the house, and aimed the gun at him.

“Listen, I don't know how long you've been drinking yourself to death, but I need you to march inside that house, put on a pot of coffee, and sober up. This plan only works if you're able to recreate the filtration process, and you can't do that stinking drunk,” Beth said.

“And what if I don't? Are you going to shoot me?” Dr. Carlson asked.

Beth slammed the lever of the rifle down, loading a bullet into the chamber, then placed her finger on the trigger.

“Then I’ll go home and sleep like a baby,” Beth said.

Dr. Carlson's smile faded from his face. He squinted at her, trying to focus on the situation at hand.

“You know, I think I do remember you,” Dr. Carlson said. “You were just as mean back then, too.”

***

Jones's gavel smacked the podium, calling everyone to order. After the Pledge of Allegiance, the session began. Smith checked his phone. Beth hadn’t texted him. He had no idea whether or not Dr. Carlson was alive. He’d be going into this vote without that knowledge.

“Today's session is for the vote on Bill H.R. 395150, exiling California, Arizona, Nevada, Utah, and New Mexico from the Union. We are all aware of the situation with the Colorado Basin and what that means to the natural resources of the country. If the people from those states migrate to the rest of the country, the population influx will decimate what precious resources we have left. Now, I think we all understand the gravity of this decision, but we also understand what will happen if we don't choose to act now,” Jones said.

Jones's eyes fell right on Daniel, who shifted in his seat. Finally, Jones looked away, and Daniel felt himself exhaling, unaware he hadn’t been breathing.

“I have personally spoken to our representatives from these states, and they have all agreed that while this action is dramatic, it is vital to the preservation of the rest of the country,” Jones said.

A group of congressmen from the Southwest rose in unison.

“Congressman Jones is right. We understand the need for sacrifice in times of crisis. The survival of our nation is at stake, and it's a sacrifice we're willing to make.”

“And will you be joining your constituents in their exile, Congressmen?” Smith asked.

The room's attention shifted over to Smith, who adjusted the buttons on his suit as he stood up. Whispers broke out, and Jones silenced them with three smacks of his gavel.

“Congressman Smith, if you have anything you would like to say on the matter, the floor is yours,” Jones said.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Congressman Jones's bill suggests that there is no other course of action. He proposes that there is no other hope than that of sentencing millions of Americans to their deaths,” Smith said.

“And you would have those that chose to live where they are by their own free will choke the rest of our nation until there's nothing left,” Jones said, pointing his finger at Smith. “There is no other way.”

“There is. That's why I'm introducing a revised version of Bill H.R. 285016,” Smith said.

The Congress hall doors opened, and both Daniel and Smith's staffs came in, holding transcripts of the proposed bill. Copies were passed down each row. Conversations broke out, and the room went into a quiet uproar. Jones rapped the gavel on the podium.

“Order. I call order in this house. Congressman Smith, we went through this process three years ago. This bill was voted down by Congress due to the toxic nature of Dr. Carlson's formula. Those facts haven't changed,” Jones said.

“We haven't changed the facts you presented from the last vote, Congressman Jones, but we have introduced new evidence refuting the information that you provided,” Smith said.

“All of the information I provided was from certified experts in the fields of chemistry and biology. Now, if you're telling me that your staff recently obtained their doctorates in those chosen studies, then I will have to bite my tongue, but since they haven't, you have no grounds to argue.”

“The evidence we introduced is your involvement with the Strydent Chemical Company—a company which was a major benefactor in your reelection over the past two terms.”

Daniel watched the congressmen around him thumb through the pages. Jones kept smacking the gavel, losing his cool. They might be able to pull this off.

“Need I remind the congressmen of the public's distrust of Dr. Carlson's purification process. The expert analysis provided by a committee, which I was not a part of, denounced the process's effectiveness and raised concerns about the potential hazard of increases in cancer and other health ailments. In fact the patent office revoked Dr. Carlson’s designs after the evidence was presented,” Jones said.

The murmur through Congress started to sway back in Jones's favor. Daniel could hear the men and women around him second-guessing themselves.

“Jones is right. My district will fry me if I vote for this bill.”

“Is it really worth the risk?”

“I'm not just thinking of my child's heath, I'm thinking of the families with children that elected me to represent them.”

Congressman Edwards rose from his seat. He raised his fist to the air, grabbing the attention of the room. “I say we vote!”

The rest of the hall mumbled. Some were in agreement, others were not. Jones struck the gavel hard, again silencing the rising temper of the room.

“We shall vote on Congressman Smith's proposed bill then move on to mine,” Jones said.

The Speaker of the House started roll call, and the voting began. The electronic counters in the Capitol building had long since been removed. The funds to maintain much of the buildings computer systems had been diverted to keeping the water flowing.  Daniel pulled a piece of paper out, tallying each vote into a yes and no column. After sixty votes, it was dead even. His name would be called soon. His mind went back to what Jones had mentioned before the session began.

He couldn't know.

“Congressman Gene Hart,” the speaker called out.

“I vote nay.”

I made sure it was buried. The plan was too well thought out. None of it could have been traced back to me.

“Congressman Keith Hemen,” the speaker said.

“I vote nay.”

Daniel rubbed his palms together so hard it felt like the skin would rub off. He adjusted his collar, trying to let some of the heat building under his suit escape into the air.

“Congressman Jay Holmon,” the speaker said.

“I vote nay.”

What if Smith's bill didn't pass? What if the science behind Dr. Carlson's process was incorrect? What if it really was dangerous? Forget what Jones would do to him; if Carlson was wrong, the people from his state would crucify him.

He felt an elbow nudge his side. He looked over to the congressman that shoved him, and the man pointed to the Speaker of the House.

“Congressmen Hunter, how do you vote?” the Speaker asked.

Daniel felt light headed. The lights in the room seemed too bright. The muscles under his suit spasmed, trembling at the indecision his mind was dealing with. He closed his eyes and listened, searching for that faint voice of courage.

“I vote,” Daniel said then paused. “Yea.”

He watched Jones's face morph into something more dangerous than hate. It had the calm, cool, collected precision of focus. Regardless of the outcome of this vote, he was a marked man.

***

Smith charged out of the capitol building, his face flushed red with anger. Jake followed him down the steps and around to where he knew he was heading: Jones's office.

“How the hell did he get those swing votes?” Smith said.

“I don't know, sir,” Jake said.

Jake skidded forward from Smith's abrupt stop. Smith pushed his finger into Jake's chest, wrinkling the checkered tie he was wearing.

“I want to know how it happened, and I want to know now,” Smith said.

“Yes, sir,” Jake said, burying himself in his phone, searching for answers for which he had no idea where to start looking.

When Smith made it to Jones's office, Cindy stood up to try and stop him from entering, but Smith shoved the doors open and saw Jones sitting leisurely at his desk, smiling.

“Hello, David,” Jones said.

“What did you do, Raymond?”

“I think it was more of what you did than what I did.”

“Did you threaten them? Hmm? Was that it?”

Smith had both fists knuckling into the wood of Jones's desk. He could feel the bones in his hands crunching and scraping from the pressure he applied to them.

“Well, whatever you did, you better hope you have more in the tank, because I will fight this bill and push back its Senate date until next year. This bill will not go into law until I stop breathing,” Smith said, pounding the desk before he turned to leave.

“The bill will be signed into law before the day is done,” Jones said.

Smith had his hand on the doorknob when he froze.

“What?” Smith asked.

“The Senate is voting on the bill as we speak.”

“That's impossible.”

“An extraordinary session enacted by the president, which is well within his authority.”

Smith felt his legs go heavy, like they were pulling him down, trying to drown him under the sea and bury him in the sand in the depths of the ocean.

“Troops are already being called back from the Southwest, and patrols have been deployed along the United States’ new western border,” Jones said, smiling.

Smith's tongue and lips felt numb. He tried to find his voice, but only hoarse whispers would leave him.

“You're a monster,” Smith said.

Jones threw his head back, his mouth wide open as his laughter erupted into the room. He clutched his belly and tilted his chair back.

“No, David. I'm necessary,” Jones said.

Chapter 10

Emily stirred, mumbling something, pushing herself off the sleeping bag. John helped her sit up, and Brooke dropped the circuit tools she was using.

“Em, how are you feeling?” Brooke asked.

“Thirsty,” Emily answered.

John poured a cup of water from one of the jugs and handed it to her. Emily grabbed it with both hands and drank greedily.

Emily lowered the cup and rested it in her lap. Brooke brushed Emily's hair back, feeling her forehead. She was still warm, but nowhere near the level of before.

“What happened?” Emily asked.

“You were stung by a scorpion. Do you remember that?” Brooke asked.

“Kind of. I remember something burning my hand, and then I started getting dizzy. After that, I don't know what happened.”

Brooke kissed Emily's cheek, and John rubbed her back.

“You had us worried,” Brooke said.

“Sorry,” Emily replied.

“I'm glad you're okay,” John said.

“Where are we?” Emily asked, looking at their decrepit surroundings.

“We're at the solar station,” Brooke said.

“Cool,” Emily said.

Emily tried standing but lost her balance. John caught her before she fell and rested her back on the sleeping bag.

“You should still take it easy,” Brooke said. “We'll stay here for the night. I think we could all use the rest.”

***

After twenty minutes of being awake, Emily passed out. John wasn't far behind. It had been a long day for both of them.

Outside, the sun was sinking below the horizon. The desert sky filled with pinks, blues, purples, and oranges. The remaining glow filtered through the windows as Brooke sat on the ground, still hunched over the radio circuits, trying to repair them.

The battery connectors were corroded, and there were a few circuit tracks that had come undone, but after a couple hours, she had it repaired.

Brooke plugged the battery back in and turned the power knob on. The speaker of the radio blew static, waking both her kids.

“Mom!” both of them yelled.

“Sorry,” Brooke said.

She flicked through the channels, searching for any signals within range. It was a long shot but better than anything they had right now. Another blast of static came through, and then the robotic recording of the emergency broadcast system came whispering into her ears. Brooke turned the volume up to get a better listen.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the president of the United States,” a voice announced.

Emily and John both got up from their sleeping bags and walked over and crouched down with their mom on the floor. Then, in the silence of waiting for the president to speak, all of their phones started pinging. Brooke took out her cell, and text messages started to roll in, almost all of them from her sister. She had her index finger on the phone's screen when the president finally spoke.

“My fellow Americans. I speak to you all this evening with a heavy heart. Early today I informed the nation about the continuing water crisis in the Southwest. Reports confirmed that the Colorado Basin, which provides fresh water to most of California, Arizona, New Mexico, Nevada, Utah, and Colorado had finally run dry. All of my attention today has been directed on coming up with solutions that benefit not just the Southwest but the entire country.”

Brooke went back to checking her messages, the president's voice still lingering in her ear. She opened the first couple of unread texts:

“I'm trying to call you. Call me back, please!”

“Where are you? Are you on the road?”

“Brooke, it's important. Please, call me.”

“Upon hearing the news of what was happening in the Southwest, I deployed forces to major cities, establishing martial law to ensure that civility and order were maintained during this trying time. Now, we're all aware that the Southwest isn't the only portion of the country suffering from water shortages. The natural resources of our nation are dwindling drastically. It is because of this that Congress proposed a new but radical bill to ensure our great nation continues to survive.”

Brooke's thumb stopped scrolling through her sister's messages. She set the phone down. The back of its case ground against the dirty concrete floor. She bent over with her knees and palms resting flat on the floor. The radio was placed on the ground, and the three of them were circled around it.

“The states of California, Nevada, Utah, Arizona, and New Mexico are henceforth no longer a part of the United States of America. The new western border of the United States will run along the current borders of Texas, Colorado, and Wyoming and run up into Idaho and Oregon. All authorities have been notified of this bill, which was passed in both the House and the Senate, and I signed it into law just moments ago.”

Brooke felt light-headed. She wobbled on all fours. Of everything that she imagined, this was something she hadn’t seen coming.

“Patrols have already begun along the border, and any man, woman, or child from these former states that tries to cross our border will be considered an illegal immigrant and deported back to their region. Furthermore, any citizens within our new borders that try and traffic any man, woman, or child from these now banned territories will be punished to the full extent of the law.”

Brooke picked her phone up. There were at least sixty messages, but she scrolled up to the newest one she'd received. 

“They're exiling the Southwest. Get out as fast as you can. Stay safe. I love you.”

Even if Brooke made it through the desert, past the new border patrol, and somehow navigated her way through the rest of the states undetected and made it to North Carolina unscathed, she would be sent back on the first available flight. She responded to Amy's last text, unsure of how long communications would be back up and running.

“We're okay. On our way to North Carolina now. I'll call you as soon as I can.”

How could they do this? How could Congress pass something like that? But she knew exactly how. There were deals made to ensure the few that were in power remained safe and secure. She was sure that there were plenty of top officials the president had failed to mention who would be above the law, beyond the repercussions of the decisions made.

“This was not an easy decision to arrive at, but sometimes the hardest decisions are the ones we must make. To all the former citizens remaining in the Southwest, remember that you hold your destiny in your own hands. I know that you will find the courage and ingenuity to live on without citizenship in the United States. Form your own legislation and laws, but above all, keep each other safe. God bless us, and God bless the new United States of America.”

The radio squawked static and then was silent. Emily didn't understand, John looked afraid, and Brooke wore a face of anger.

Her country had just sentenced them to death. Now it wasn't just a race against running out of water, it was a race against every other person in the region. The moment the president signed that new bill into law was the moment this region became lawless. There were no rules, no courts, and no consequences.

Brooke and her family were stuck in the middle of the desert, surrounded on all sides by people looking for food, water, and transportation. Looking for whatever was left to survive. Looking for exactly what she and her family had. The world had just changed with the stroke of a pen, but she knew there would be people out there like her who could do some good.

Brooke checked the phone, but the one bar that her phone had displayed during the broadcast had disappeared. The authorities must have opened up the communication channels just for the announcement.

“Mom, what are we going to do?” John asked.

She looked back over to her children. Emily held onto John's arm, her eyes wide with terror.

“Are we still going to see Aunt Amy?” Emily asked.

This couldn't stand. People would fight it, and she would be one of them.

“Yes,” Brooke said. “We start tomorrow.”

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With the city firmly behind her, and her family safe from its dangers, Brooke has to focus on her ultimate goal: Get to North Carolina. But with the president’s exiling of the southwest she is no longer welcome in the United States. Brooke’s perilous journey continues and more political turmoil is revealed in the next installment of the “Exiled” series: “Exiled: No Borders”.

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Find Out Why Readers Cant Put Down The Next Book in the Series

(Preview of book 2)

Congressman Jones stood in the back corner of the Oval Office, watching the television crew set up the camera for the president's address. His curled smile had seemed permanently glued to his face ever since his legislation made it through earlier in the day.

Jones had conceived Bill HR 395150 more than four years ago, but it had been too radical to introduce then, so he waited. Patiently. The crisis with the Colorado River running dry was the perfect platform to launch it. Everything was starting to line up.

The bill represented the first step toward his ultimate goal. The puppets around him had no idea of its underlying purpose. All it represented to them was a way to save their own skins.

Standing there in the Oval Office, the most powerful room in the world, he felt invincible. Nothing could stop him now. Not armies or nations or politicians. No one.

The lights flashed on as the president entered, surrounded by his advisers, on the opposite side of the room from where Jones stood. He made his way around, shaking hands, thanking some key Capitol Hill constituents, until finally he was face to face with Jones.

“Congressman Jones,” the president said, extending his hand.

“Sir.”

“I think we all owe you a debt of gratitude for saving this country. Your timely action and political reach have ensured our nation will survive.”

“It was an honor to provide our people with resolution in this time of crisis, sir.”

The president leaned in to Jones’s ear. He kept his voice low. “What about our little problem of the soldiers that stayed behind? I heard there was some conflict?”

“We ran into a few issues, but I’m working on cleaning that up.”

The president leaned back and patted Jones on the shoulder wholeheartedly, like he’d just heard a good joke.

“Why don't you join me during the address? Tammy, you think we can find a spot up there for the Congressman?”

“Of course, Mr. President,” Tammy said.

The heat under the lamps was intense. The sweat beading on Jones’s forehead caused him to wipe it repeatedly, which reminded him of the sweltering, humid summers in Alabama. The sun would scorch him every day during his chores on the farm. He detested the heat, along with the town.

But that small rural community where he had grown up no longer existed. A sign of the times and dwindling resources, and also his sway with the resource committee to pull the town's funding.

Tammy switched a few of the men and women around the president to ensure a well-balanced picture. There was a perfect blend of conservatives and liberals—Republicans and Democrats—behind the president.

Jones knew why. His bill changed the structure of the country. It was a radical move. One that required the American people to know that the different sectors of government stood united behind the new piece of legislation.

Of course, it had to be faces the people could recognize and trust. There was Jones, a twelve-term congressman from the heart of the nation's south, who had worked his way to the top; Congresswoman Ford from Ohio, who had dedicated her life to the continued advancement of women’s rights; Attorney General Marcus Cobb, who was a vocal advocate of the American people's civil rights (as long as it didn't interfere with his delicate network of politicians and big business); Vice President Johnson, who made sure to attend church every Sunday; and Senator Harris, who was the self-made billionaire turned public servant.

The perfectly orchestrated crowd was set to ease the nation's worries. Jones knew the dangers ahead, but people cowered at the sight of their own shadows these days. And those cowering figures gave him confidence.

People could talk about their values and beliefs until they were blue in the face, but the fact was that when push came to shove, people would save themselves over others—the powerful “public servant” crowd around him not excluded. The allure of lavish lifestyles and power had them all intoxicated. Jones only needed to push a little further.

“Mr. President, we're live in ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five,” the camera man said then extended his fingers in the air to continue the countdown silently.

Once the cameraman's finger hit one, he pointed to the president, and Jones watched the small red dot on the camera flick on, signaling they were live on air.

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The floorboards creaked when Mike stumbled from the bed to the bathroom. He tripped over one of Anne’s heels and cursed under his breath, kicking the shoe out of his path. He turned around to make sure he hadn’t woken her up. She was still drooling on her pillow.

              Mike crammed himself into the tiny bathroom. His legs smashed up against the side of the tub when he closed the door. He splashed water on his face letting the cold shock him awake. Droplets of water speckled his reflection in the small mirror above the sink. He cracked his knuckles, wincing with each pop.

              He showered, shaved, threw his boots on, kissed Anne on her forehead, and did the same with his daughter, Kalen, and son, Freddy, then was out the door.

              Dirt and bits of rust and metal flew up from the cloth seats of his truck’s cab when Mike sat down. He pulled the handle of the glove box open. He shoved a small bag out of the way and pulled out a badge. He pinned “Yard’s Steel Mill” to his chest. Scraps of metal and steel rods rolled and clanked in the truck bed as he reversed out of the driveway.

              The blue digital lights of the dashboard clock glowed 6:11a.m. The view of the Pittsburgh skyline from the interstate was still outlined in grey without the morning sun. Mike’s fingers twisted the radio tuner, searching for a station. Static and scramble came through until he finally landed on an AM radio station.

              “Good morning, Pittsburgh. It’s a beautiful Wednesday morning here at 560 WFRB. Traffic right now is clear on highway 62. The first day of summer should be a hot one as temperatures are expected to get into the mid eighties this afternoon, so taking the kiddies to the pool to cool off might be in order now that school is officially over.”

              Mike pulled into the parking space of an empty lot outside a small, fading brown one-story building. He walked through the empty parking lot up to the automatic sliding glass doors. A smiling receptionist gave him a wave when he entered.

              “Hey, Mike.”

              “Hey, Nicole,” he said. “Is my dad ready to go?

              “Should be. He was finishing getting ready when I walked past him this morning. I’ll give him a buzz.”

              “Thanks.”

              A few elderly folks with walkers emerged from the hallway into the waiting room where Mike sat. Their liver spotted hands gripped the steel-grey handles of their walkers. The green tennis balls at the bottom slid across the carpet propelled by their slowly shuffling feet.

              Ulysses walked down the hallway weaving in and out of the shrunken, hunched over, elderly obstacles and walked right past Mike without looking at him. The automatic sliding glass doors chimed open when Ulysses passed through them and headed for Mike’s truck.

              Mike’s eyes went from the exit back to Nicole, whose lower lip was protruding, still watching Ulysses walking to the truck.

              “Pirates lose last night?” Mike asked.

              “Yeah,” Nicole replied.

              The sun was rising in the east, coming up over the skyscrapers in the foreground. Beams of orange light hit Mike’s and Ulysses’ faces through the windshield of the truck. Blinkers and taillights flashed in front of them in the thickening traffic. Mike flipped on his left blinker to merge. A horn blared and sent Mike swerving back into his own lane and sending Ulysses’ shoulder slamming against the door.

              “Jesus Christ,” Ulysses said adjusting his seat belt.

              “You all right, Dad?”

              “I could have driven myself.”

              “The doctor said you wouldn’t be able to drive after the tests.”

              “Tests. Pills. Needles. Activity time. You know I helped construct half the buildings in this city?”

              “Dad, I told you to just come and stay with us. We have the spare bedroom.”

              Ulysses waved him off. He twisted a thick gold band around his wrinkled fingers.

              “I won’t be anybody’s burden.”

              The clock dashboard flashed 6:55a.m. When Mike pulled into the hospital’s drop off lane.

              “The doctor said the tests should only take a few hours. I’ll come and grab you on my lunch hour and take you back to the retireme-” Mike started, but Ulysses spun his head around. Mike knew he hated that word.

              “Back to your place, okay?” Mike finished.

              “Yeah, okay,” Ulysses said.

              “Hey, and don’t give the staff any trouble if they have to bring you out in a wheelchair this time.”

              “If I can walk out on my own steam I’m going to do it. I don’t need a goddamn wheelchair.”

              Ulysses flung the passenger door open, climbed out, and slammed the heavy metal truck door behind him.

***

              The steel mill was already filled with the sounds of cranes, trucks, and the shouts of supervisors giving orders. Mike joined the line of men waiting to clock in. A solid row of hardhats and baseball caps were ahead of him.

              Paul White, an elderly man almost his father’s age, squinted down at a computer screen. His large hands fumbled with the icons on the touch screen.

              Don, a twenty-something man in a greasy jumpsuit, shifted from side to side. His eyes drilled into the back of the old man’s head.

              “You just hit clock-in, grandpa,” Don shouted.

              Paul stayed focused on the screen. His finger hovered over dozens of tiny icons. He jumped a bit when Mike grabbed his shoulder.

              “It’s usually easy to find my name, but I’ve never seen this screen before,” Paul said.

              “It’s all right, Paul,” Mike said.

              Mike pressed a few different icons and pulled up Paul’s name. He hit ‘clock-in’ and a large green check mark appeared.

              “Thanks, Mike,” Paul said.

              Paul hobbled off into the yard and Mike walked back to his spot in line.

              “I’m surprised you were able to figure it out, Mike. I figured once they got rid of that old punch card reader half the plant would retire,” Don said.

              “Let me know if you need help getting your welder running, Don. I wouldn’t want you to burn your hand again.”

              Mike grinned walking back into place listening to the rest of the line chuckling behind him.

***

              White, yellow, and orange sparks flew into the air from Mike’s torch. Two pieces of metal he was working on fused together. He turned the torch off and flipped his welder’s mask up. He tore off his gloves and wiped the dripping sweat from his eyes, smearing dirt and soot onto his cheeks.

              The lunch whistle blew. The continuous motion of loading steel girders, pouring lava-hot metals, and welding ceased.

              The cafeteria’s tables were crowded with men, shoulder to shoulder. They dug into the lunch pails packed with sandwiches and leftovers. Their heads, hair flattened from their hard-hats, bobbed up and down over their food as they ate. Mouths full and laughing.

              Mike bit into his BLT, the crunching of bacon and crisp lettuce filling his ears, when suddenly the lights shut off and the cafeteria went dark. The humming of lights and machinery went silent. The men groaned collectively.

              Mike pulled out a small flashlight on his keychain and pressed the power button. Nothing. He could hear the clicking of the button, but no light came on, no matter how many times he hit it.

              Once Mike’s eyes adjusted to the darkness he joined the rest of the workers exiting the cafeteria. He looked up into the corners of the walls where the emergency lights were installed. Why didn’t the emergency power go on?

              The yard was eerily quiet. Steel beams being moved from the yard to trucks teetered in mid air from cranes. The hum of the furnaces was silent. Workers opened truck hoods checking the engines that stopped. A gathering crowd formed around Glenn, the foreman. He had his hands up trying to calm the men around him.

              “Hey, everybody, listen up. Power’s down for the entire block. By the looks of it, we’re probably going to be closed for the rest of the day, so everybody goes home,” Glenn said.

              “Is this gonna be paid leave?” Don asked.

              “Are you working?”

              “No.”

              “Then no.”

              The workers started heading for their cars. Mike walked among them watching everyone shake and tap their mobile devices. Don cursed, shoving the phone into his pocket.

              “Goddamn thing never stays charged.”

              Mike pulled out his own phone. The screen was completely black. He held the power button down, but the phone wouldn’t turn on. He knew it had a full charge this morning when he left for work.

              One of Mike’s co-workers smacked into his shoulder, rushing past him. He looked up from his phone and saw some men in the front of the group rushing toward the parking lot. Soon the rest of the group started running and Mike was caught up in the current of people herding forward. Mike pushed his way to the front of the pack next to Don.

              All of the cars along the highway were completely still. Wrecks dotted the road for miles. People were outside their vehicles checking the engines. Some were walking toward the city while others sat on the side of the road expecting someone to come and get them.

              “What the hell?” Don asked.

              Mike thought of the back-up generators that hadn’t turned on, the machines in the yard that had shut off, and the dead cell phones. All of it added up to one thing.

              EMP burst.

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