As The World Burns (4 page)

Maybe there were other places, other cities, just like Denver. Paul felt hope, real genuine hope, despite the reported obliteration of the East Coast, and the unknown whereabouts of his friends and family. Despite all of this, Paul realized that he was, at heart, an optimist. How could one not be in such times? Denver was a place for refuge, a place to reunite with the love of his life. It was a chance at a new beginning, so Paul thought.

Two hours later, they approached the first line of traffic in over a hundred miles. Denver was in sight. Julie had dozed off again despite her promise to herself that she wouldn't sleep until they found her mother. When she awoke it felt like ten hours had passed.

"Where are we?" she muttered instantly.

"Julie, my dear child, we are in Denver now," Paul replied.

She looked ahead as traffic came to a halt.

"Other cars? Is this possible?"

"It certainly looks so. I'm not surprised. If they're directing everyone to Denver, I imagined there would be traffic," Paul replied. 

The Malibu slowed, rolled, and stopped as they approached four lanes of gridlock highway traffic. It was early morning, by Paul's estimate, and soon they would be at the convention center. He had no illusions about immediately finding Samantha; he figured it would take some time and that there would be hordes of people to contend with. After getting her, they could then go to a safer place. "Maybe New Haven?" he thought. Thinking of the bloodshed there, Paul then pushed the idea far from his mind. Being away from New Haven had given him a clear perspective. That was no place to bring his family, especially if other places offered food, aid, and assistance.

Large military trucks filled with civilian passengers in the back zoomed past the line of the traffic from the side of the road.

"How come they get to cut in front of us?" Julie asked.

"Because they're transporting people and helping people," Paul answered.

"Still doesn't make sense," Julie said.

They moved a foot every five minutes. Paul rolled down the windows and was met with a brisk air that sent chills down his spine. Into the city, he could see the surrounding tracks of the light rail system in full force.  The distance the trains covered had grown vastly over the years, as it branched out into areas outside of Denver. Now it looked as though the train had become a valuable asset in the transportation of stranded residents.

The sheer scope and size of the city of Denver loomed overhead. They saw skyscrapers as big as any Julie remembered seeing in Philadelphia when she was a child. It was a big city, but still had plenty of mountains and rural surroundings around it. Paul looked hastily for signs of power, but he found none beyond the spotlights that waved in the air. The tall buildings had no lights, nor did the city streets. They were still miles away from the main exit into town, but it was clear that Denver was no more fortuitous than the other places they had come across in Colorado.  

He searched the radio for updates. He came across the emergency broadcast channel just as the announcer was giving instructions.

"There are checkpoints all throughout the city as to be in compliance with national terror alerts. The state of Colorado has not been struck with any type of nuclear device or weapon, but all residents and evacuees are to stay alert and vigilant at all times. Officials ask for full compliance in all matters as resources shrink and more people take refuge in the city. It has been weeks since the United States was attacked with seven nuclear weapons taking out major cities along the East Coast."

"Seven?" Paul asked. "Did he say seven? I thought it was twelve."

The man's voice continued.

"Reports have been scattered and no real estimate and accurate of the damage is yet known because of dismantled power grids throughout the country. What is left and who is still alive remains largely unknown. States are hereby advised to take matters into their own hands and use all the power at their disposal to enforce law and order. Citizens are encouraged to disregard talk of the so called "megabomb" that is allegedly supposed to engulf the entire U.S. Such rumors have caused massive pandemonium and will not be tolerated by officials. All residents, evacuees, and refugees are encouraged to travel to Denver immediately where they will be given food, aid, and assistance. There are checkpoints all over the city..."

"Don't know if we're going to make that curfew," Paul said sarcastically.

"It's nothing to worry about, look," Julie said, pointing to the sky. In the low horizon, the molten orange hue of the sun was rising.

"I haven't seen the sun that bright in ages," she exclaimed.

Perhaps with sunlight overhead, a lack of power wouldn't be such an inconvenience. Despite their rosy outlook, traffic was moving at a snail's pace. Paul was getting anxious to the point of irritation. A police check point in full operation sat a mile ahead. There was no way around it.

"Can't they just let us in the fucking city?" Paul asked under his breath.

"What?" Julie asked back.

"Nothing," Paul answered.

They eventually reached the checkpoint as a wary and exhausted police officer asked them for identification. Paul handed the officer his driver's license along with Julie's student ID.

"Purpose of your travels?" the officer asked.

"Just following the broadcast instructions over the radio," Paul said.

The officer shined his flashlight into the vehicle, temporarily blinding Paul and Julie. He examined them closely, then handed back their identification.

"You're a long ways away from home Mr. Thompson," he said. "How's it holding up in Pennsylvania?"

Paul couldn't believe what he was being asked. Did the man not know?

"Not well," he answered. "That's why we're here."

The police officer nodded his head and patted the side of the Malibu for them to proceed. Paul attempted to probe the officer further.

"I'm looking for my wife. She was at an expo in the convention center when the attacks first occurred. Can you help me?" he asked.

The officer gave him a cocked look that said
why are you bothering me with this?

"All I suggest is that you go to the convention center and see if they have her name registered. If so, it shouldn't be too hard to find her." 

The officer waved them on not wanting to prolong the conversation.

Paul drove forward as traffic began to pan out. All types of vehicles: station wagons, trucks, sports cars, vans, motorcycles, and SUVs, cluttered the road in every direction. A majority of them had out-of-state plates. Evidently, Paul and Julie weren't the only ones. The Malibu crawled among the fleeing droves looking for sanctuary. Manned checkpoints were astonishing in their ubiquitous nature. It was hard to tell where to move and how to get to the convention center. Once in the city, it looked less like a sanctuary and more like a carefully designed powder keg, destined to explode. Those on foot were fortunate. To be in a car was to be stuck with no end in sight. Paul considered abandoning the car and walking, but when he suggested it, Julie's scowl told him otherwise.

Military and Red Cross trucks pushed their way through. Helicopters flew overhead, the never-ending whirl of chopper blades grated Paul's nerves, though he was encouraged to see active military, police, and emergency teams in motion. Stationary spot lights rotated, their beams shot endlessly into the morning sky. The multiple sounds of horns, sirens, car engines, and nearby shuttle trains formed a cacophony that made Paul nauseous. He recalled memories of Beech Creek and the massive traffic gridlock both him and Julie had succumbed to before running out of gas. He hoped they wouldn't face a similar scenario in Denver.

"There's nowhere to go," Julie said. "How are we going to find the convention center?"

Their Malibu inched forward every couple of minutes in the heavy downtown congestion. Paul had no better answers to give Julie than the police officer had offered them at the checkpoint.

"Just keep your eyes open. It's a big place, and I'm sure we can't miss it."

On a normal day, finding the convention center would be a matter of following signs or using GPS. Without GPS and no real sense of direction such navigation proved difficult.

"Take a look at the map, maybe we can find a street to turn off of."

Julie sighed and opened the glove compartment. As she fished out the map, Paul heeded her to wait. Up ahead, police were directing cars to merge into a single lane as traffic cones blocked all other paths.

A makeshift sign ahead read:
To Convention Center

It felt to be another amazing stroke of luck. Paul looked at Julie, satisfied and proud.

"We did it," he said. "All we have to do now is follow the traffic."

Julie shot back a suspicious look then pointed ahead further.

"That's not the convention center. It's just a big parking lot." she said.

Paul squinted ahead to where the traffic line ended. Police directed drivers not towards the convention center, but to a massive fenced-in lot. Once past the gate, drivers were motioned to park in an orderly fashion. As they exited their vehicles, families formed single file lines at the behest of several civilian-clothed state bureaucrats holding clip boards. There were scores of Red Cross stations set up throughout the lot.

Even with the militaristic feel, Paul shook off Julie's suspicions.

"Obviously they're not going to direct us to the front door of the convention center. They have to set up some type of outside parking."  

Julie remained apprehensive and doubtful of their current path.

"There's no way out once you go in. Don't you see that?" Julie said.

Paul raised a hand, disregarding her.
"Look, Julie, there's nowhere else for me to go."

"What if she's not at the convention center?" Julie asked.

"What are you taking about? You know the convention center is our best shot.

"Fine," she replied with her arms crossed. "Don't blame me if we can't get our car back."

They reached the traffic cones and the opportunity to go a different route had diminished.

"What hotel was she staying at?" Julie asked.

"Hotel? Um. I don't remember," Paul said, steering ahead.

"I'm sure she told you."

Paul thought to himself long and hard as they merged into the single lane with the other vehicles.

"She's was staying at the Marriott," Paul said.

They entered the fenced-in lot and were directed to park in an orderly fashion next to the vehicle that was in front of them. The lot was filling fast. At some point it was obvious that there wasn't going to be enough room for everyone.

"Try to remember where we parked," Paul said taking off his seat belt.

Unresponsive, Julie observed the other tired and confused-looking drivers who exited their cars and wandered to the lines they were told to form.

"Who are those people?" she asked.

Paul looked around.

"What people?" he asked.

"The ones with the clipboards ordering people around an' stuff."

"I don't know. FEMA? Either way, they can probably help us find your mother."

Just then, one of the clip board men knocked on Paul's window.

"Please exit your car, sir," he said in a matter-of-fact tone.  

Paul nodded and looked at Julie.

"Let's go," he said.
Paul stepped out and proceeded to stretch as Julie soon followed.

"Should we take our things?" she asked Paul.

The sleek bureaucrat decided to cut-in.

"Please take all your belongings and line up with the others. We'll escort you to the convention center momentarily."

"You see that, Julie? They can make the decisions for us?" Paul said, half sarcastically.

Paul and Julie took their place in a single-file line of nearly twenty other drivers. A different clip-board man, more disheveled than the previous one, approached them.

"Good morning, my name is Marshall Hunt, I'm with Colorado emergency management, and I'll just need to get your personal information before we leave."

A woman with messed up hair and heavy bags under eyes raised her hand.

"Yes ma'am," the clip-board man said.

"Any news from Nevada?" she asked.

The clip-board man hesitated.

"Information is very limited right now. We know of several confirmed attacks around the country. Most of them were along the East Coast."

"What about Florida, I've got family in Florida," an upset man shouted out.

"Massachusetts?" another man asked.

"Where's the news? Why don't we know anything?" an older woman, wearing a tattered shawl asked. The questions piled on top of each other as the group turned into an orchestra of indecipherable clamor.  

"Ladies and gentlemen, please," the clip-board man pleaded. "I need to log your information and then escort you to the convention center at once."

"But--" a man interrupted.