Everything I Die For Page 6

  Carrying out an act of reverse police brutality against a few wheel gun-toting tax enforcers could be performed with little to no reservation on my end. Previous run-ins over the years with overzealous, authority-abusing LEOs have left a disdainfully bad taste in my mouth for the profession. Though in contrast, having to mimic those tasks and act hostilely toward an assemblage of random goodhearted paramedics, emergency medical technicians and rescue workers wouldn’t be without opposition. It takes a rare variety to function in those occupations. Natalia and I and others like us tend to generate the brands of disasters that they devotedly respond to on countless occasions daily, doing so with little to no complaint. It’s a thankless job, though I presume a rewarding one. Otherwise, why in the hell would anyone want to do it?

  As luck would have it, we’d managed to flee the scene before such an ill-fated event could come to pass. Elisabeth, a mainstream, ostensibly self-conscious woman who’d introduced herself as a trauma nurse and a paramedic, had offered a ride farther west to Winchester, close to where we had originally intended to go. Initially, we hadn’t planned on accepting her offer, but considering we were twenty miles from the closest town and opposed to waiting around to see what would become of ourselves, we’d thought it best to go along. Doing so as passengers in the rear of an ambulance, no less.

  Minutes into our trip, the driver answered an emergency call on his radio, and our plans of being dropped off in town had been altered. Elisabeth had tried negotiating, but it wasn’t in the cards. Brad, the driver, had informed her the furthest he could take us was Elisabeth’s house, which happened to be along the way. And that was where we were headed now.

  Natalia and I were sitting beside one another on a bench seat across from Elisabeth, who had perched herself on a small fold-down chair with torn cushions behind the driver. The week’s events had left me awfully tired, but nowhere near as much as our new friend looked. She was slumped over now with her elbows resting on her knees and her head resting in her hands. And the only things serving to disturb her intermittent catnaps had been a few sharp turns and the occasional bumps in the road.

  After feeling the squad take a right-hand turn, Brad shut off the sirens and I leaned forward to regard the windshield. We were pulling through an area densely populated with homes, and I figured he’d done so out of courtesy. I suppose Elisabeth had grown accustomed to the siren’s wail in recent days, because the absence of it served to rouse her.

  She yawned and shook her head while taking strange glances at the interior of the ambulance, like she was having trouble distinguishing her surroundings. Soon, her eyes fixated on a stopping point. “Kathrine? You have blood on your hand.”

  I looked over in time to see Natalia’s eyes droop. Indeed, the bandages she had freshly replaced this morning were seeping blood. It was now rolling from her jacket’s sleeve onto her hand, and from there onto the bench seat between us.

  Natalia offered a look of surprise, but didn’t go far, choosing to forgo theatrics. “Oh, shit—I’m sorry…I’m making a mess of your seat.”

  Elisabeth unbuckled her seatbelt and moved in. “Don’t worry about that. It’s not the first time this unit has seen blood.” She went to reach for Natalia’s arm, only to stop inches away. “I’m sorry, I’m a little puzzled. When I inquired earlier about your injuries, all your responses were negative.”

  “Yes, that’s right, since I didn’t sustain injuries in the accident,” Natalia, or rather Kathrine, said. “This happened a few days ago. It’s been fine, though it appears the crash might’ve exacerbated it.” She elevated her arm, placing her thumb and forefinger around her sleeve’s cuff to stop the blood from dripping out.

  “That’s fine, no problem.” Elisabeth ogled her in earnest. “You will of course let me have a look, won’t you? The blood flow looks steady, and putting a stop to bleeding is sort of my job.”

  Natalia glanced at me before responding, but I didn’t want to answer for her.

  Elisabeth came across to me as the observant type, able to sniff out character elements and flaws, especially those pesky abnormal ones. The last thing I wanted was for her to think I was some controlling freak of a husband with abusive tendencies who insisted on answering for his wife or one who required her to request permission before speaking. The less flashing red strobes going off in the outskirts of suburbia, the better.

  I gave Natalia the go by winking my right eye, the one Elisabeth could not see.

  My wife grinned awkwardly. “Certainly. I can’t think of a better place to have my cuts looked at.”

  “Very good point, honey,” I added. “Like Elisabeth said, she’s a trauma nurse and a paramedic. I take that to mean you’re in good hands.”

  I couldn’t believe I just called Natalia honey. I’d utilized necessary jargon and terms of endearment when appropriate or as required for the purpose of making our identities appear seamless in the past, but honey? Come on, Quinn, keep it together. It was profoundly important for Joel and Kathrine to blend in, but they didn’t have to become Ward and June fucking Cleaver.

  Elisabeth helped Natalia remove her jacket to expose the long sleeves of her Prada cashmere crewneck sweater, a portion of which was now stained red. “Shame…such a nice top. It looks ruined. Would you prefer we take it off? Or can I cut through the sleeve?” she asked, holding up a pair of EMT shears.

  Natalia grimaced, her lower lip protruding a little more than usual. She wasn’t happy with the condition of her sweater. If memory serves, she’d purchased it in Milan last summer, and at present, I didn’t see us making it back anytime soon for a replacement. Her considerations seemed to parrot mine, though she did send along a reluctant nod.

  Elisabeth used the shears to slice the sleeve, exposing the dressings and bandages covering the majority of Natalia’s arm. “Oh my, what happened to you?” She examined it closer. “You said cuts. It looks to me like you almost lost your arm.”

  “I’m sorry,” Natalia purred. “Perhaps cuts wasn’t the proper expression. I should’ve said lacerations.”

  Elisabeth’s eyes boggled. “Those are some awfully deep lacerations. Your wounds are seeping. I need to address the bleeding first and clean them thoroughly. I can redress it then, if you like.”

  Natalia sent along her endorsement.

  Elisabeth then began removing the dressing. “Whoever dressed your arm did a really impressive job. It almost pains me to cut them off.”

  Natalia exhaled a chuckle through her nose, knowing she’d been the one who’d done so.

  Elisabeth’s darting eyes and spasmodic mannerisms were slightly annoying, but she was nothing short of what she’d alleged herself to be. I’ve seen some skilled medical hands before, but hers worked like they were on autopilot. They knew exactly what they were doing despite her visually evident near-crushing levels of fatigue. She made quick work of cleaning and redressing Natalia’s arm, applying wound closures and butterfly tape in spots. She advised on areas where additional suturing was appropriate, then offered to perform the suturing herself once we arrived at her home, which I presumed we weren’t far from.

  We were rolling with the punches, but it felt as though Natalia and I had somehow found ourselves shipwrecked and denuded on some deserted landmass, galaxies away from our comfort zone. We’d departed the city, endured a fortuitous collision, and the wife was being cared for. Those items gave me pause, but not enough to supersede the constant reminder of all that had been left behind in our wake.

  Once we arrive at casa de Elisabeth, we would need to find some means of slipping away, swiftly and silently, preferably without incident. A private residence in small-town USA was no place for us, and a meaningless, unpremeditated bloodbath in a locality as diminutive as the one to which we were headed would only serve to bring on more attention. Newfound conscience, recently discovered scruples or not, I wasn’t above handling things fittingly. I was just truly hoping I wouldn’t have to.

  Eight

  Adam could hear the s
creeching and cawing from Claire and Lander’s room above that of every other noise in his house. At times, it even snuffed out his thoughts. The sisters had been arguing for the better part of an hour, and though Adam didn’t know for certain what it was about, he could only assume it had to be over a toy.

  Though they looked a lot alike and shared a catalog of commonalities and similar interests, Claire and Lander weren’t doppelgangers or twins, identical, fraternal, or otherwise. Claire was the oldest and had long ago made her mark as the trendsetter. Occasionally, a particular cartoon, game, toy, or other preteen fad would pique her interest. Then, somewhere along the line, Lander’s interests would parrot those of her sister’s. As such, anything bought for or gift given to either of the girls had to be provided for the other sister as well. Sometimes the duplicate item would end up being misplaced, leaving only one to be argued and fought over.

  Adam’s thoughts at present were absorbed by current events, specifically those of the past few days. Ever since the active-shooter incident in which his son, Chris, had haplessly found himself involved, terror-related attacks had been popping up all over the continental United States. There had been almost two dozen airliner crashes in sporadic locations across the country. New York’s Mount Sinai Hospital was in ruins after an explosive device of unknown origin had gone off beside the building’s emergency entrance. A suicide bomber had detonated himself inside an elementary school in Cleveland, Ohio, the day before, and now Adam was closely monitoring an unravelling catastrophe at the Hoover Dam.

  Adam hadn’t gotten much sleep last night or the night before. He’d worked from home the previous day, but hadn’t been as productive as he would’ve liked. Instead of tasking himself with work projects while seated before his computer, he’d scoured the internet for information on the attacks, unable to concentrate on much of anything else.

  Adam opened a desk drawer and dug around inside, searching for a set of headphones he thought he’d left there. Unable to find them, he tried the drawer below, then the one above, and then dug through all three drawers on the opposite side, finally coming across an old set of earbuds. He couldn’t recall where they’d come from; they were white and were joined by a cord barely long enough to reach the jack on his computer tower. If the girls were to continue with their racket, he was going to need to either drown them out, find a way to get them to shut up, or relocate elsewhere.

  As Adam leaned clumsily forward while fighting to place the buds in his ears and plug them in to his computer, his daughter Violet, her hair in uncommon disarray, grumbled into his office.

  “Dad—you have got to do something about Claire and Lander,” she said, her agitation plainly visible. “They’ve been at each other’s throats all damn morning, and that romper-room infighting crap of theirs is driving me batshit.”

  Adam conceded his fight with the earbuds, finding the cord to be several inches too short. His attention soon returned to his computer monitor, sidestepping his daughter entirely. “Okay. Sorry, I’m a little…busy right now, Vi.”

  “Yeah, I’ve heard. You’ve told me. In fact, that’s the same defense you’ve been exploiting since yesterday.” She shuffled closer to his desk. “Care to advise a time when you won’t be a little busy? Because if it’s going to be a while, I’ll soon be obligated to handle matters myself.”

  “That’s fine, go ahead and do whatever you think is best.”

  Violet slanted her head. “Are you sure? You do realize by saying so, it gives me an ocean of latitude.”

  “Yeah. Just do…whatever.”

  Violet deliberated while thumbing her chin. “Okay. I know they like baths…and they haven’t had one since Mom left. They both probably smell like a pair of Chris’s gym socks. Maybe I’ll run one for them…a nice, warm, bubbly one…and then drown them in it.”

  Adam responded after only half-listening, “Cool, Vi. That sounds good. Go ahead and do that. Let me know if you need any help.”

  Violet squinted and sneered. She hesitated, then said, “No, I think I can handle that…cold-blooded deed deprived of assistance.” She assumed a contemplative stance. “Then again, maybe I won’t. Drowning them would no doubt result in lots of kicking and screaming…and that would accumulate too much attention. Maybe I’ll run the bath like normal and get them situated, then bring the toaster in with me…and set it on the bathroom counter near the tub…so we can make some toast. Because they like toast. Then, on my way out to check my email, I might accidentally nudge it into the tub…and sauté both of them to death. How’s that plan? Does that sound good to you?”

  Adam glanced over and nodded a tinge. “Yeah…sure, Vi.”

  “Nice.” She watched her father a moment as her eyes narrowed into slits in intervals. “Dad?”

  Adam didn’t respond immediately, his attention remaining adhered to his screen. “Yeah?”

  “The house is burning.”

  “Okay,” Adam said.

  “Chris was smoking pot again, rolled himself a real fat goddy. Biggest blunt I’ve ever seen.”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “He must’ve scored some white rhino or some wicked righteous kush,” Violet mused. “He nodded off mid-toke. The dopestick lit the carpet on fire.”

  Adam didn’t say anything.

  “And now Chris is on fire, too.”

  “Great.”

  “I’d try saving him, but he’s already burned to a crisp. Probably a lost cause, right? Yeah, thought so. We’d better save the house so Mom won’t be pissed, but I forgot how to use the fire extinguisher. Think you could show me how?”

  “I will in a minute, Vi. But for now, I don’t know, just handle it. Do whatever you need to do.”

  Violet sighed, disgusted with his obliviousness. She folded her arms, then unfolded them before reaching impulsively forward and yanking the power cords to Adam’s computer monitors from the wall socket.

  Adam jerked his head upward when the screens went blank. “Violet? What the hell? What’s gotten into you? Are you nuts?”

  “What’s gotten into me?” she reacted. “Am I nuts? Really? You haven’t heard a single damn word I’ve said for the past two minutes.”

  “Sure I have.”

  “Bullshit—I just told you I was going to murder Claire and Lander right before I informed you the house—and my brother were on fire. Christ…what has you so hypnotized right now?”

  “I’m sorry.” Adam sighed and wiped his forehead, sending her a resigned look. “I’m sorry, Vi. It’s just these…attacks.” He ducked under his desk, attempting to reinsert the power cords. “They’re just…they’re…”

  “Multiplying? Proliferating? Getting worse?” Violet lent a hand, doing so much slower than Adam would’ve liked. “I assume they’re not getting better.”

  “Yeah. Something like that.”

  After plugging in the second monitor, she pranced over to join him. One of the monitors displayed a media newscast beside an ongoing, scrolling chat room. “Holy crap. Is that the Hoover Dam?”

  Adam took a sip of his coffee, then rubbed the bridge of his nose. “It was.”

  Violet edged closer to her father, her elbows falling to his desk. “It’s…gone. Like totally gone. When did this happen?”

  “About twenty minutes ago.”

  The teen marveled at the devastation, her brows elevating. “I guess this rules out the bomb threat,” she jested. “I thought Nat Geo said that thing was indestructible.”

  “Evidently not.”

  “Dad, that dam thing held back like a gazillion gallons of water. How many cities got wiped out?”

  “More like ten trillion gallons, but I don’t think that number matters much anymore.” Adam spent a moment explaining what he knew, which wasn’t much. “It’s mostly desert downstream, campgrounds, parks and such. The Colorado River runs through a gorge for miles before it encounters any notable population centers. News helicopters overhead, though, are reporting that the Davis Dam failed. They’re saying the water le
vel in Lake Mohave rose about fifty feet in under five minutes and turned it into gravel. No one knows for certain yet, or maybe they do and they’re just not reporting it, but it’s expected that Bullhead City, Arizona, population forty-thousand, is completely underwater now. The same is expected for Laughlin, Nevada, population just under ten thousand. Nothing’s been made official, though. As if that’s relevant.”

  Violet’s young eyes grew wide. “Wow.”

  “If the Parker Dam fails in the same fashion, like they’re predicting, Needles and Blythe, California, are next, along with a few prospering Native American reservations. Lake Havasu City is also downstream. Fifty-five thousand people live there.”

  “Hoover, Davis and Parker,” Violet articulated. “I’m not sure why I even know this…but aren’t those all hydroelectric dams?”

  Adam nodded. “That’s right, Vi. They are…or were.”

  “Find a way to destroy the big one and the resultant augural tsunami takes out those downstream. Um, how much electricity goes away when that happens?”

  Adam sent his eldest daughter an inquisitive look. “Good question.” He typed some search terms into his browser’s address bar and tapped the enter key, then studied the results.

  “Five thousand megawatts,” said Violet. “Admittedly, electricity really isn’t my forte. That’s a lot of power, isn’t it?”

  “Says here it’s about one-half of one percent of the grid. But it’s an important one-half of one percent, it affects Las Vegas and portions of Los Angeles, about eight million people.”

  Violet backed away from the desk and folded her arms. “This was premeditated. You can’t tell me it wasn’t planned out a long time ago before it was executed. Probably by some twisted terrorist mastermind.”

  Adam hesitated, then nodded. “I’ve been drawing the same conclusion, Vi. In fact, I’m beginning to believe all the attacks we’ve been seeing are related somehow. I just haven’t uncovered a common denominator.”