Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 110757 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 554(@200wpm)___ 443(@250wpm)___ 369(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110757 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 554(@200wpm)___ 443(@250wpm)___ 369(@300wpm)
The suburbs start to thin out as we pass Worcester. Terry is making small talk about sports to pass the time, but a knot of fear is still aching in my stomach.
On our right side, the Connecticut River is unbothered by the chaos. My father still hasn’t responded, and I’m starting to wonder just how far away we’re going.
What if, by the time we finally get there, we can’t take off?
The landscape changes, Terry speculating about the next baseball season. It’s hilly, forests and old farms providing the only scenery.
“I’m not trying to be a dick,” I say to Terry after nearly two hours. “But I need some answers.”
“We’re close,” Roger says.
I text my father again, agitated. We’re approaching Brattleboro, which means we’re in Vermont. Terry’s following a satellite map on the vehicle’s navigation system, and he turns onto a dirt road.
“I’m a Thatcher, too,” I say, looking at Roger over my shoulder. “I—”
“Yeah, it’s us,” he says into his cell phone. “Okay, thanks.”
The road ends in front of a massive dark rock formation, and I squint when I see movement in it.
Huge double doors that blend perfectly with the rock are opening, light visible through the crack as the doors slowly retreat into the rock.
I breathe easier because this must be a military base. My dad has government and military connections, so it makes sense. I’m actually relieved it won’t just be me, a pilot, and a small private plane.
“Why the secrecy?” I grumble. “You could’ve just said it’s a military base.”
The space is much bigger than it looked from the outside. Terry drives through the doors and the paved road begins a gradual descent. Bright spotlights placed high in the rock above illuminate our path.
I feel the vibration of the doors rumbling closed behind us. We drive deeper underground and enter a gaping open space the size of a military airplane hangar. It’s brightly lit, endless rows of shelves stocked with wood crates. There are a handful of brand-new-looking army-green vehicles, including a tank, lined up along one wall.
A few people are working on things in the space, and I breathe a deep sigh of relief when I see my mom and dad standing together, watching us approach. Dad has his arm around Mom’s waist.
Terry puts the SUV in park and I rush out. My mother smiles at me, tears streaking her cheeks.
“Oh, thank God,” she says, throwing herself at me in a hug.
“Great work, Terry,” my dad says. “You too, Roger. I won’t forget this.”
A woman and a young girl race up to Terry and he gets down on a knee, embracing the girl. They must be his wife and daughter, though I have no idea why they’re here.
“I have to go.” I pull away from Mom and meet her gaze. “Shit’s falling apart and Hannah needs me.”
Tears well in her eyes and she looks away. I furrow my brow, confused.
“I thought you guys were in Aspen.”
My dad puts a hand on my shoulder. When I look at him, alarm races through me. Dad is always levelheaded, but his expression right now is tormented.
“Don’t tell me the plane fell through,” I say, feeling sick. “I have to go.”
“You can’t, Pax,” he says softly.
“I have to, Dad. She has no other way out of there. Everything’s shut down. You said it was all taken care of.”
He sighs heavily, and the lines on his face I’ve always associated with wisdom just make him look like an exhausted mortal, not the giant I’ve always relied on.
“I tried. I promise you I tried everything in my power.” His voice breaks and tears flood his eyes. “We can’t get to her, son. I’m so sorry.”
The world around me blurs for a few seconds. I look at the space around me with fresh eyes.
“We have a lot to talk about,” my dad says.
I look at my mom. She’s quietly crying.
“Let me out,” I tell my dad. “I want out right now.”
Everyone around us has cleared out. A drill whirs in the distance. I go over to the SUV and get my backpack out, putting it on.
“Open the doors,” I say.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t do that,” my father responds.
Helplessness and betrayal propel me toward him. “I’m not leaving her! This is my choice, and I’m leaving.”
“This virus isn’t going away,” he says, his tone level. “A lot of people are going to die, and then there’ll be a waiting period.”
“What the fuck are you talking about? What waiting period?”
He tugs at the tie knotted at his throat, loosening it. “This is the shelter I had built in case of something like this. We’re going to be down here for several months, maybe longer.”
I shake my head, wishing I could go back to my apartment. I thought that was my nightmare, but I was wrong. This is.