Elijah's Chariot (The Forgotten Children Book 1) (6 page)

A
blaring siren cut through Sean’s dream and echoed loudly inside his head,
making his ears ring as he sat straight up in bed. It sounded like it was right
outside the room, about to come bursting through the door. But, as the sound
faded, he realized it had to be an ambulance or police car outside, flying down
the busy street with its lights flashing. He fell back down on his pillow and
looked over at the clock – just after six. He still had some time, they didn’t
have to be at the airport until eleven and the car wasn’t coming until a little
after nine. A few more minutes of sleep…

Within
a couple of minutes, Sean rolled over and sat up. He couldn’t go back to sleep.
His father lay peacefully in the other bed, not making a sound. Sean stepped
out of bed and onto the carpet, making his way quietly over to the window and
parted the drape. His fingers touched the glass as he stared out at the
deserted, gray street below. There was still frost on the grass in the field a
ways down from the metro station. The usual blare of music and din of kiosk
owners hawking their wares were absent – the only sound was a dull hum,
probably from some appliance or nearby factory. He unlatched the lock on the
sliding glass door and stepped out onto the balcony. 

It
was cold – and starkly refreshing. He quickly walked over to the railing and
grasped it. The light, gray metal almost burned his hands it was so cold – he
gasped and could see his breath float away in a little cloud. He tightened his
grip, whitening his tense knuckles and held on until the pain subsided. 

Sean
was alone. He couldn’t see another living person anywhere around him, not on
any of the other balconies or out on the street or even driving in cars. A
sharp sense of loneliness struck him, but it was quickly washed away by his
excitement for the day that was approaching. Just as he could imagine the slow
arrival of pedestrians on the street below and cars heading in every direction
and the noise of the metro station pouring across the city, he could see
himself and his father boarding the plane, flying over a thousand miles to the
middle of mostly uncharted territory, then arriving at the site of a completely
new and foreign object, something completely different and undiscovered. This
would be a day that he would remember forever. 

Another
siren started somewhere down the street, beyond his vision. Sean listened to it
get louder as a police car raced down the middle of the empty road, its lights
flashing. The car sped past the hotel, continuing for some unknown destination.
As the blare of the siren was fading, Sean realized that he was still tightly
holding onto the railing and was starting to lose feeling in his fingers and
toes. He let go and stepped back into the room, walking quickly over to the
large bed, just to warm up for a couple minutes. He wrapped the blankets around
his white feet and burrowed his head into the large, square pillow, falling
quickly asleep. 

- -

Sean
switched off the stream of hot, steaming water and began toweling off. He
quickly got dressed and stepped out into the room where his father was busily
packing a few last minute items. Sean switched on the T.V., turning the channel
to some kind of Russian news program and started gathering up his things. 

“Did
you put some of your stuff in my suitcase? It’s like it got smaller or
something since we left Pasadena,” Kevin said as he zipped up his luggage.
After getting no response from his son, he quickly glanced over his shoulder
and saw him sitting at the edge of the bed watching the Russian news. 

“You
catching all that?” he joked. Sean didn’t respond. Kevin walked over to the end
of the bed and sat down beside his son. 

A
somber looking newscaster in a dark suit was leaning forward on his desk,
papers in hand, speaking rapidly at the camera as images flashed on a video
screen behind him. Russian paramedics were carrying people out of an apartment
building on stretchers and loading them into the backs of ambulances. Other men
in various uniforms holding guns and police batons were gathered nearby,
chatting with some people in a small crowd lined up outside the building. No
one on the stretchers was moving. 

“What
happened? Was there a fire?” Kevin asked. 

Sean
just shook his head.

“Don’t
we get CNN or something? Maybe they’ve got the BBC?” Kevin said.

Sean
switched the station, running through several Russian channels – most had some
news report with similar images of people being pulled out of apartment
buildings. Several had what appeared to be family members surrounding them,
crying and screaming hysterically. They stared at the images, searching for
some clue in the faces of the distraught onlookers as to what was going on. 

Finally,
Sean found the BBC World station. He turned up the volume again, just as a
voice spoke over the image of some helicopters flying over a large forest,
“…expected to begin securing the site today and starting a preliminary
investigation.”

The
picture switched to a smartly dressed, pale man sitting at a desk in front of a
busy newsroom. 

“And
now, back to our earlier report on the unexplained deaths. For those of you
just tuning in, reports began flooding in just a few hours ago of strange
deaths all over the Russian Federation, Eastern Europe and in many parts of
China.”

More
images of people being dragged out of apartment buildings and houses on
stretchers flashed across the screen. Sean and Kevin watched even more bereaved
families attempting to hold on to loved ones as a few paramedics attempted
resuscitation before finally giving up. 

The
newscaster’s voice continued as the picture switched from location to location
– Prague, Bucharest, Tbilisi, Beijing, Shanghai, Kiev, Moscow. “Officials are
saying that it’s almost impossible to estimate the number of deaths at this
point, but some are speculating that they could total in the tens of thousands,
possibly up to one million.”

The
newscaster was back on the screen again, dark circles under his eyes evidencing
the early hour in London. Someone handed him another sheet of paper and he
glanced down at it quickly before looking back at the camera. 

“We’ve
just received confirmation of similar deaths occurring in Tokyo. Police and
ambulance dispatchers everywhere have been assaulted with a barrage of calls
and many are already overwhelmed with the task load. All emergency personnel
have been called in to help attend to the victims and their families. As of
yet, no symptoms or other cause of death have been discovered. All reports
indicate that victims died in their sleep. We will continue with updates
throughout the hour.”

The
screen switched to an energy drink commercial and Kevin sunk down to the bed
beside Sean. The boy turned to look at his father. Kevin sat staring at the
television screen, his mouth open in shock. “What’s going on, Dad?” 

From
out on the street, they heard another siren sound as a couple of ambulances
raced by.

Morning
rays from the window shone through the glass lamp sending geometric wisps of
green light onto the bedroom walls. The sun always rose through her window in
the mornings, but Elizabeth had become used to it very quickly and she rarely
woke up before her mother came in to tell her to get ready for school. Except
for today. She didn’t remember when she had started staring at the slender-necked
green lamp, but she thought that it must have been quite a while ago. The white
walls were definitely lighter than they had been the last time she’d looked.
The shapes of green light occasionally danced as the wind blew her white
curtains.

Her
mother had bought her the old-fashioned oil lamp the day before at an antiques
shop near the ice cream parlor. The lamp’s neck was narrow at the bottom and
the top, but swelled out in the middle. A wick rose up from a round base made
of the same glass where the oil was held. There had been many prettier things
in the shop, but this one had caught Elizabeth’s eye right away – she liked how
the light split after passing through the lamp. Its dark green color and gentle
curves, for some reason, made Elizabeth a little sad for the small object. It
was completely unlike the other ornate objects in the store and didn’t seem
like it belonged there, but, rather, somewhere else where it could have its own
space. She had placed it on the table beside her bed. 

The
door swung open softly and Elizabeth heard her mother’s step on the carpet. She
lay there motionless, trying not to breathe, wondering if her mother knew she
was awake. Wind continued to blow the soft, transparent curtains sending the
small shards of green light racing across the bedroom walls and ceiling.
Elizabeth heard her mother step closer to the bed and she knew that in a
second, she would feel a gentle hand on her shoulder and hear her mother’s
voice. That’s how it always was – she would wake to a gentle pressure and calm
voice, never as jarring as when her dad or Sean sometimes had to wake her up.
She often wondered how long her mother had been standing there, gently prodding
her, bidding her to return from sleep, but not entirely wishing to do so. 

Elizabeth
waited for the familiar hand on her shoulder, but it didn’t come. But, she
hadn’t heard her mother walk out of the room either. Within a few moments, too
curious to wait any longer, Elizabeth rolled over and opened her eyes, trying
to make them look bleary so that her mother would think she was just waking
up. 

She
was just standing there, next to Elizabeth’s bed, looking out the window,
seemingly lost deep in thought. Her mother looked tired. Elizabeth had heard
the phone in her parents’ bedroom ring earlier that morning when it was still
dark – she must have been talking for a long time.

“Was
that Dad on the phone?” she asked quietly, still lying still in her bed.

Her
mother turned at her voice and nodded, but didn’t say anything. Elizabeth rolled
on to her back and stretched. “Are they done with all the research stuff yet?
When are they coming home?”

Elizabeth’s
mother sat down on the bed. 

“Oh,
not quite yet. Some things… some unexpected things came up, so they might be
there for a while still. Maybe longer than they’d planned,” said her mother
quietly. She stared into space for a few moments, lost in thought, and began
chewing the inside of her cheek. Suddenly noticing the silence and Elizabeth’s
questioning stare, she turned back to her daughter and smiled.

“I
think your father’s getting a cold or flu or something – he said he had a
terrible headache. He just needs some rest. You know how he likes to stay up
late reading. Sean’s doing okay though. He’s tired too – they’ve had some
pretty late nights already. So much activity…”

Elizabeth
watched her mother’s gaze drift away again as the phone conversation turned
over again and again in her mind. Elizabeth wondered how her brother really
was. He always acted so tough at home, even when he was sick or got hurt. She
knew that he’d really been a little nervous when their father had told him that
he would get to go to Russia. Of course he’d been excited, but she knew he was
a little scared about the whole trip. But, Elizabeth knew he’d be okay – somehow,
Sean always was. She hoped the meteorite research didn’t take too long – she
thought it was all pretty silly anyway that all those people would want to
travel to the middle of nowhere just to look at a big rock. Elizabeth just
wanted both of them to come back home so that her mother would stop worrying so
much and everything could get back to normal. 

“Why
don’t you stay home from school today and help me around the house? I’ve got to
get those plants into the garden. We could take a free day – just you and me.
Sound good?”

Elizabeth
stared at her mother, unsure of how to respond. She must really be missing her
father to allow Elizabeth to take a day off from school. But, the twelve-year
old knew when to not ask questions. Maybe, she thought to herself, it would be
okay if Dad and Sean take a little longer in Russia – this could be fun. 

Sean
carefully balanced the tray in his left hand as he fumbled with the key in his
right. It hadn’t bothered him nearly as much as it had his father that the
hotel still used metal keys rather than the otherwise ubiquitous magnetic
cards. He just chalked it up as another charming and inexplicable quality of
Russia, a country that always seemed poised at the edge of the modern age while
still being held back by some elusive and primal force. 

Like
the city’s transportation, he thought. He had seen some very nice cars in
Moscow – BMW’s, Mercedes – especially around the embassy and sometimes parked
in front of the hotel. But, most of the cars on the streets looked like they
were at least twenty years old and of such an outdated model and make that Sean
wasn’t sure that he would be able to recognize them even if he had had any
knowledge of Russian automobiles. Most of them looked like they had been on
their last leg several thousand miles ago and were only still running because
of their owners’ sheer stubbornness – tires were cracked and balding, pipes and
other parts occasionally dragged underneath and clouds of black smoke shot out
of the exhaust pipes every time they accelerated. All of them were covered in a
thick layer of grime.  

Despite
the number of wheeled death traps lumbering down the city streets, there were
still scores of pedestrians and public transportation riders. Sean had watched
crowds line up and literally fight each other for space on buses and trolley
cars. The city had seemed completely dead just a few shorts hours ago. Now, the
stream of humanity pouring in and out of the VDNKh metro station across the
street never seemed to stop. Like the cars, most of the buses and trolleys
appeared to have been built decades ago, with the only update being an
additional coat of thick, dull red, yellow or off-white paint each few years
since. 

The
room door swung open and Sean walked in, hunched over as he held the tray of
food against his chest. He locked the door behind him and then set the tray on
the table over by the window. His dad was talking loudly into the telephone,
covering his other ear with his hand. His face was lined with worry – sweat
beaded his forehead. 

“Garrett?
Garrett? Okay, I can’t hear you again – hello? Are you – yes, yes, okay, we’ll
try, but I’m not sure how – hello? Hello – Garrett?” he yelled into the phone. 

Finally,
he pulled the receiver away from his ear and stared at it for a second as if
waiting for it to begin speaking again, his face completely blank. Suddenly, he
slammed it down into its cradle, several times until the entire phone fell off
the night stand. He reached down to grab the cord when Sean yelled, “Dad!”

Kevin
jerked his head up, seeming to notice his son for the first time. His face was
red and contorted in a grimace of rage, his eyes jerking wildly from Sean to
the phone to the television and back. Sean stared back at his father, watching
him slowly straighten up and wipe the spittle from his lips with the back of
his hand. 

“Did
you get cut off again?” Sean asked as he walked over to the phone lying on the
floor. 

Kevin
nodded and looked dazedly around the room. Sean set the phone back on the
nightstand and pushed his father into a sitting position on the bed, hands on
his shoulders.

“What
did he say – what did he say to do?”

Kevin
swallowed, trying to slow his breathing and pounding heartbeat. “Leonard’s, uh,
Administrator Hoffman’s dead along with about half the embassy staff. He’s
there…” Kevin paused, a wave of nausea surging into his head and throat. He
strengthened his grip on Sean’s arms and continued, “Garrett’s at the Embassy
now. He’s trying to make some calls.”

Both
father and son glanced over at the television. Images continued to flash across
the screen – crowds of families mourning their dead, masses storming airports
and bus terminals with all their belongings packed in a few bulging suitcases,
mobs running down the streets as they broke windows and pulled out televisions
and stereos and set fire to buildings. There was blind panic everywhere.

They
had been trying to reach anyone by phone all morning: first home, then the
Embassy, but it was almost impossible with the amount of traffic that was
pumping through the lines. Sean had finally wandered downstairs in search of
something for them to eat when his frustration level began to rise almost as
high as his father’s. There had only been a few of the hotel staff downstairs –
one of the cooks let him in the kitchen to make a couple of sandwiches. 

Sean
looked now into his dad’s eyes as they almost glazed over staring at the
screen. It wasn’t the jammed phone lines that made Sean frustrated – it was his
father’s reaction to them. Rather than meeting the difficulty with his usual
candid analysis and detached cynicism, his father had become angrier and more
irrational each minute. Through the anger in his face and voice, Sean saw fear
in his eyes – fear that was gripping him tighter and tighter. He remembered
seeing his father that way once before when Elizabeth had been running through
the kitchen and tripped on a chair, gouging the back of her head on the corner
of the open dishwasher. He’d completely panicked, stammering and yelling, trying
to hold her and pacing back and forth at the same time. His mother had been
kept just as busy trying to calm her husband as she was in treating her
daughter’s injury. Sean didn’t understand how his father could be so good at
astrophysics and managing a whole team of scientists and at the same time be
unable to cope with some blood and a screaming girl. 

Now,
Sean was trying to do exactly what he’d seen his mother do – gripping him by
the shoulders and speaking calmly into his face. At the same time, Sean
struggled to keep his own fear out of his voice and features, knowing that any
hint of weakness would only send his father further into greater hysteria. 

“Dad,
Dad – what did Garrett say to do? Does he want us to go to the Embassy?”

Kevin
turned back to look at Sean, a look of sharp pain etched into his face. “He
said to, but how are we going to get there? I don’t think we can even get a
car! I don’t know about the metro, we can’t read the signs…” his voice trailed
off as he stared down at the floor.  

Sean
shook his father’s shoulders again, forcing him to look up into his face. “Did
you get through to the airport? Do they have any flights going back to
America?”

Kevin
looked sadly at his son and shook his head. Then, with a long, slow breath, he
said, “I don’t think we’re going to be able to get a flight today, we’re going
to have to wait until things calm down a little. Maybe the government will
freeze all flights or something – I don’t know, I don’t know.”

“Did
you talk to Mom?” Sean asked carefully, keeping his words low so that the
tightness in his throat wouldn’t be audible. 

“No,
I couldn’t get through,” Kevin replied weakly. 

They
both looked back at the T.V., its grisly images of widespread death and grief
reflected in their faces. The activity out on the street could be plainly heard
through the window – cars, buses, loud music from one of the CD kiosks in front
of the metro station. From the sound of things, it was a completely ordinary
day on the streets of Moscow. The silent images flashing in front of them
created a sense of looking down on another world, somewhere completely removed
from their present location, another time and place that had been abandoned by
all reason and hope. For a moment, none of it seemed real – just some kind of illusion.
The pictures on the screen looked as if they were just from the latest
iteration in the Hollywood disaster movie genre. The ambulances and police cars
would all be returned to some props warehouse at the end of the day. The scores
of people lying on stretchers and in the streets were merely actors that at any
second would return to their plush trailers to sip imported, bottled water.
And, in any minute, the whole thing would end and the audience would stand up
and go home.   

But,
it had to be real. The phone lines were jammed, weren’t they, Sean thought. And
there had been almost no one downstairs. No, this was all real. Somehow
everything on the screen was happening just as they were showing it. People
everywhere were waking up to find their mother or their sister or their husband
dead, never to wake again. Sean slid his hands up his father’s shoulders and
around his neck, pulling him close to his chest in a tight hug. 

- -

Sean
woke to the feeling of being turned over as his father pulled the bedspread
down from underneath him. He pulled himself up to a halfway sitting position
and looked around the room. The alarm clock on the nightstand said ten o’clock.
They’d been in the hotel room all day waiting for word from anywhere or anyone.
No one seemed to know what was going on. 

“When
did I go to sleep?” Sean asked.

“Oh,
probably a couple hours ago. I just got off the phone with your mom. They’re
doing okay. She’s… she’s been trying not to watch the news, but it just seems
like it’s everywhere…”

“Do
they know what’s causing people to die? Have more died today? Any in the U.S.?”
Sean asked quickly as he sat up. 

Kevin
nodded somberly. “No one knows for sure, but they say it could be several
hundred thousand, maybe a million or so – just in the U.S. There’s bound to be
even more around the rest of the world. No one even has time to count – there
are just too many. They just can’t get a handle on it… sounds like everything’s
pretty chaotic.”

Sean
watched his father. He seemed to be doing better than he had earlier that day,
but that could be just because he was more tired now and didn’t have the energy
to get worked up into a panic. The teenage boy wondered what they were going to
do – if there was anything they could do. At least, he thought, I’m here with
my dad. He’ll figure this out, I know he will.

“Mrs.
Donaldson next door…” Kevin continued. “She came over and chatted with your
mother for a few minutes. Her son in Denver died last night. His wife called –
she didn’t hear anything during the night, he just didn’t wake up this morning…
but, Elizabeth’s okay, she’s doing fine, they’re both fine, just a little
scared.”

Sean
slid his feet to the floor. “What are we going to do tomorrow? Are we going to
the Embassy?”

“I
haven’t been able to reach Garrett or anyone else there all day. Phone just
rings. I was talking to Bob Quidley earlier. His hotel’s a little closer to the
Embassy than we are and he heard from some other reporters that a bunch of
Russians were trying to break into the compound. The marines had to seal the
place off – they’re not letting anyone in or out until the mob dissipates. He
heard too that the government has shut down the airports and most of the train
system. The metro’s still running, but it only goes to the edge of the city. He
said most of the mob outside the Embassy was probably just trying to get a
flight out or something. They always think the Americans have all the answers.”

Sean
quickly changed into his pajamas and Kevin helped him crawl back into bed and
pulled the blankets up over his shoulders. “I’m going to keep in contact with
Bob – he’s going to call in the morning and let us know if he’s heard anything
more. We’ll probably just lie low tomorrow and ride this out. I bet they’ll
have the airports back up and running by next week. As long as we stay inside,
we’ll be fine.”

He
patted Sean’s head as the boy’s eyes continued to droop lower and lower until
finally settling down for sleep. The streets outside were quiet again. It was
as if the whole world had gone home to dig in deeper, seeking refuge from the
rising storm of fear.