She tore off her light gray suit jacket and blouse, dropping them on the unmade bed. The tangled sheets were evidence of her sleepless night. It was unbelievable how the things that had kept Rowan up for all hours could instantly seem so inconsequential. Especially when she thought about the insane tragedy she had just witnessed. She could only begin to imagine how the people at Ground Zero had felt on that fateful September day. Sick with helplessness. Suffocated by fear. Ro leaned against the wall, sagging into it for support. She needed to stay calm. She needed to focus.
In the positive column—maybe the only item in the positive column—if her father’s Vietnam vet slash doomsday-prepper on steroids predictions had actually come to pass, the dick-tastic Charles, his strap-on wearing mistress of evil, and the utter disaster they’d made of Rowan’s professional life had just ceased to matter.
Ro pushed off the wall and headed to her dresser. The bottom drawer yielded a few well-worn pairs of jeans and old tshirts she kept for sleeping in. Tossing them on the bed, she headed for the walk-in closet, flipping the light switch as she entered. No lights flicked on. Obviously. But the habit was too ingrained to stop.
The lack of lights triggered another bout of talking to herself. “I just can’t believe this is happening.” Ro knew, rationally, that she could be completely wrong. Probably was wrong. But something in her gut had her believing the worst. It was like a Magic 8 Ball from middle school: All signs point to yes. Too bad her gut had kept eerily silent about Charles. Ro forced the thought away. Not important anymore.
Moving farther into the dark closet, Ro shoved aside the rows of sophisticated suits and the tasteful blouses she’d so carefully selected to make up her work wardrobe. No slut gear for her, despite what her recently acquired reputation at the firm would suggest. So ridiculously unimportant now. Within seconds, she had her hands on her salvation. A camouflage MOLLE backpack. Dad’s Army surplus special. This particular backpack was one she’d grudgingly dragged from dorm rooms to apartments before finally shoving it into the corner of her closet in the swanky condo she’d been oh-so-proud of until she realized just how superficial she’d become.
She hefted the bag from the closet and dropped it on the bed. She unzipped the main compartment and surveyed the contents. MREs, bottled water, first aid supplies, a flint and steel, lighters, Ka-Bar, compass, flashlight, batteries, hiking water filter, single person tent, emergency blanket, toothbrush, toothpaste, and a host of other random survival gear. And a taser, for the love of Christ. Dad must have added that during his only visit to the city last summer. Hell, knowing him, he’d probably swapped out most of the contents with fresh supplies. Her dad was strange and amazing that way. Anything to make sure his girls were safe. Even if they thought he was a few pieces short of a full puzzle some days. Returning to the closet, she felt around until she laid her hands on her only pair of hiking boots, tucked away in the back of her shoe rack, and then pulled a sparsely-used black Helly Hansen rain coat from a hook on the back of the closet door. Ro tossed the coat on the bed next to the backpack and grabbed a hooded sweatshirt, handful of socks and underwear, and added it to the pile of jeans and tshirts on the bed. She dressed in a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt, then rolled the remaining clothes into small bundles and shoved everything that would fit in the backpack before sitting on the bed to pull on a thick pair of socks and the boots. From her position on the end of the bed, she could see directly out the window to the building frenzy on the streets below. Small fires were starting to spread and would soon probably rage out of control without the luxury of fire trucks. Would the hydrants even work? Mobs of people shoved their way in and out of the stores, carrying everything they could hold. Good to know it took less than ten minutes for the looting to begin.
Gunshots punched through the commotion, and Ro knew she was making the right decision. She hefted the backpack over her shoulders and started for the condo door, knowing she wouldn’t be coming back. It was a sad testament to her life that she had no problem walking away from everything. The only person she would have dragged out of the city was her assistant, Amber. But Amber was visiting her mother in Idaho. Which was probably for the best. Tears started to well up in Ro’s eyes when she realized she probably wouldn’t ever see her again. Because she’d spent nearly every waking hour at work, Amber had been her only real friend. Except for the few weeks when she’d “dated” Charles, Ro didn’t socialize. She didn’t have a group of girl pals she met up with for drinks. She only had acquaintances from work. And if they went out, they talked about work. And they’d been quick to drop her like a bad habit when the rumors started swirling. Ro silently wished them all the best of luck. She couldn’t hold it against them. Everything she’d spent the last ten years of her life working for had become essentially meaningless in a single, insane moment in time and so had the slights and grudges. It was time to let it go and unbury that country girl Ro had covered with layers of silk, suit, and polish. It was time to get the hell out of Chicago.
Six days later—Somewhere in Michigan.