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stared at Orin. The older boy’s face
was an angry mask; tears leaked from the corner of his right eye. Blood oozed
down his temple. Ben turned to Lina; the little girl just stared straight ahead,
sucking her thumb, her eyes vacant husks.
    Orin punched the accelerator and they tore
through the park, tires shredding sod, before hopping another curb and squealing
onto the entrance ramp to the Mathews Bridge. A smattering of other vehicles had
also escaped the sports complex; they were desperately attempting to make it
onto the bridge, but most of the traffic came in the form of pedestrians. Orin
weaved across two lanes before passing the last of the runners; he put the
pedal down as far as it would go and the needle on the speedometer crept upward:
55—60—65.
    Ben looked out the back window in time
to see a station wagon plummeting over the edge. A heavy-duty truck had nosed
it cleanly off the bridge and through the guardrail, and it was at least 150
feet to the water.
    The truck was gaining on them.
    They screamed across the St. Johns
River, barreling through sparse traffic on the Arlington Expressway. A column
of police cars—lights blazing—clogged the opposite lanes of traffic, heading
for the sports complex.
    “It’s all connected, right?” Ben asked.
“First Seattle, now Florida?”
    “Of course they’re connected. Whoever
did this—it was all mapped out. You heard Phillips—he said there were
explosions in Denver and Pittsburg too. This is huge, Ben. It’s the end of it all .
We’ll meet up with Mom and Dad back at the house. They’ll have to…” he bit his
lip and gathered himself, “…they’ll have to help us move our things into the
shelter. Jesus, we should have been prepared for this! When we get back, I need
you to gather supplies, Ben. Water—as much as you can possibly cram into the
van. Lina? Lina, honey?”
    The little girl didn’t so much as blink.
    “Lina, I need you to snap out of it!” It
was dangerous, but he turned, leaned across the center console and slapped her
hard on the cheek with his left hand. “Lina!” he shouted, looking back just as
the left front fender coaxed a shower of sparks from the guardrail.
    Her thumb fell out of her mouth and she
stared at her brother in stunned silence before disintegrating into a wailing
mess. “Lina! Sister, honey, listen to me…we need your help!” Orin said,
watching her in the rearview. “We’re taking you to the clubhouse, sweetie! All
this time you’ve wanted to come and see it—we’re finally taking you with us!”
    The shock of the blow wore off and her
cries became sniffles. “I can really come to the clubhouse?”
    “Of course you can,” Ben said, “but when
we get home, we need you to help us gather supplies.”
    “What kinds of supplies? Can I bring Little
Beth?” she said, referring to the tattered ragdoll that had been her constant
companion since she’d been able to hold herself up in her crib.
    “Of course you can,” Orin said. “You’ll
need to pack some clothes in a bag, Lina. Take three of everything. Socks,
shirts, pants—load it all up. Grab Little Beth and your clothes and put them in
your backpack, and then we’ll need you to help us gather food. Can you do that,
honey?”
    Orin leaned hard against the steering wheel,
narrowly avoiding a Subaru that had flipped over on the expressway. A body, bloodied
and still, was smashed up against the concrete barrier.
    “Uh-huh. I can help you.”
    “That’s good, Lina. We need your help,” Ben
replied. Damn, it was good that she was coming around.
    They raced up the Mill Creek flyover and
onto Monument Road, the van straining now at 80 mph. Its frame shuddered and Ben
clutched the handle on the armrest, his fingers white.
    “Bing-BING-Bong!” his monitor chimed.
    “Jesus!” Orin hissed. When he turned to
look at Ben, his eyes were filled with contempt. “Throw that fucking thing
away, Ben. You don’t need it anymore.”
    Ben panicked. His