Chapter 26
As news of the attack spread, people around the world fled dense population centers in search of somewhere to hide. The Black Hills. The Gobi Desert. Pitcairn Island. Even the boreal forest of Canada, which was supposed to be uninhabitable in the winter.
Some tried to pack things like precious jewels and fur coats, afraid that looters would break into their homes, but most stuck to canned goods, water bottles, and weapons that ranged from baseball bats and butcher knives to hunting rifles and handguns.
Colt and Oz sat in Grandpa’s apartment, watching a reporter from one of the twenty-four-hour news networks interview Senator Bowen in his hospital bed. His hair was perfect, his teeth almost too white, and his skin looked orange from all the makeup. But his eyes were heavy and his voice was weak.
“Check it out,” Oz said. “Pierce is in the background. See him?”
“Yeah, I see him,” Colt said.
The reporter asked the senator about the attack and what his first thought was when he saw the Tracker, but when she asked him about the rumors of his affair with the Secretary of State, Pierce cut it short.
“No way!” Oz shouted as he watched Pierce knock the camera out of the cameraman’s hands. It fell to the floor, bouncing as it continued to record Pierce’s boots and a litany of colorful language as he threatened to drop the reporter through a portal if she didn’t leave.
“That was classic,” Oz said as the broadcast went to commercial. “I mean, not that I blame him. But can you believe that?”
“It was stupid,” Colt said as he flipped through the channels. “People are going to see his uniform and think we’re all like that.”
“People are going to see a son standing up for his dad,” Oz said.
“Whatever.” Colt stopped when he saw aerial footage of the Manhattan Bridge. The lanes that led into Manhattan were empty, but cars were stacked across the lanes leading out, and none of them was moving. People were getting out of their cars and running. Most didn’t bother shutting their doors. “We should be there helping them.”
“The National Guard is already there,” Oz said. “Besides, the Army Corps of Engineers couldn’t build a bridge fast enough to help them. What would we do?”
“Anything is better than sitting around here waiting for orders.”
“You won’t have to worry about that much longer.” Grandpa walked into the room holding two plates stacked high with roast beef sandwiches on rye, pickle spears, and Ruffles potato chips. “We’re packing up and heading west.”
“Back to Arizona?”
Grandpa shook his head. “The federal government is moving to what the Joint Chiefs of Staff believe is a more defensible position, west of the Rockies. The cadets of CHAOS Academy are part of the security staff that’s going to protect the caravan—only you aren’t cadets any longer. You’ve all been given field promotions.”
“What, so we’re generals now?” Oz said.
“Not quite,” Grandpa said. “They’ve come up with a new title. Junior Agent.”
By the look on his face, it appeared as though Oz just finished smelling a bag of week-old gym socks. “Junior Agents? That’s lame.”
“You also get live ammunition,” Grandpa said. “And you get paid.”
“How much?”
“It won’t really matter if we don’t find a way to stop the lizard men,” Grandpa said as he set the plates on the coffee table in front of the boys. “Anything new?” He nodded toward the television and sat down in the overstuffed rocking chair he’d had delivered from his house back in Arizona.
“Not really,” Colt said.
“I guess no news is good news.”
Oz was set to take a massive bite from his sandwich, but he stopped and set it back down. “Mr. McAlister, I know you’ve done an awful lot for me . . . you know, with getting me reinstated and everything.”
“I didn’t do much of anything,” Grandpa said. “Besides, it wasn’t like you did anything wrong.”
“Still, thanks,” Oz said. He paused a long moment, his eyes distant as though he was recalling a forgotten memory. “It’s just that I was hoping you could help me with one more thing.”
“What is it, son?”
“I want to see my father.”