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  The Sunday brunch at Fiola Mare, the Italian seafood restaurant that Lincoln suggested, was amazing. He’d slurred the name last night, so Sidney thought it was an Irish place but was pleasantly surprised that it wasn’t. The wild tiger shrimp and grits were to die for, as was her pirandello, which was a special brunch cocktail made with vodka, spicy syrup, and prosecco.

  The cocktail was so good, she had a second and was running the top of her foot up Lincoln’s calf muscle seductively by the time she’d finished it.

  Lincoln was a perfect dining partner. His table manners were impeccable, from knowing what fork to use, to asking all the important questions about the seafood catch. He used a napkin and never talked with food in his mouth. When he took a sip of his cocktail, he didn’t smack his lips annoyingly or get rude with the server when she brought out the wrong appetizer. He was a perfect gentleman—much better than the usual slobs she ended up going on dates with—without feeling like the clone of a thousand suit-and-tie-wearing pretty boys in DC.

  “So, what have you got planned for today?” she asked, wondering if she should push her luck with staying around, or if she should go back to her place and give the poor guy some space.

  “Not much,” he answered. “I’ve got to go grocery shopping. I don’t know if you looked in my fridge or in the pantry, but I’d be pretty screwed if the apocalypse were to happen today.”

  “Oh no,” she groaned.

  “What?”

  “I knew it. I knew there had to be something wrong with you.”

  “Huh?”

  “You’re one of those weirdos who think the zombie apocalypse is a real event, aren’t you?”

  “No,” he laughed. “It’s just a saying, y’know? I don’t really think it’s going to happen. Like I said, I don’t even have any food in the house.”

  Sidney nodded. She was intimately familiar with disaster preparedness. Growing up in a little town near Myrtle Beach, she’d evacuated her home several times over the years. Each and every time a storm was on the horizon, the grocery stores were cleaned out of can goods, bottled water, and bread—which always seemed odd to her since bread was extremely perishable. If her town’s residents had kept their pantries filled year-round, it would have created a whole lot less panic each time.

  “Okay,” she mumbled. “So, what is it then?”

  “What’s what?”

  She pointed across the table at him, quickly trailing her finger from his head to the tabletop where his body disappeared. “Look at you. You’re what…thirty-five?”

  “Yeah,” he replied.

  “Good looking—”

  “Thanks.”

  “Have all your hair—I think.”

  “All me.”

  “You’re athletic, still trim after playing collegiate sports, and have a steady job—that’s HUGE, by the way. You’ve got a great sense of humor, not in a derogatory way or anything bad that I can tell. You dress mostly normal, or at least acceptably.” She grinned. “So what gives?”

  “You mean, why am I single?”

  “Yeah.”

  He shrugged. “Um…sorry, I wasn’t expecting that question.”

  “It’s okay. Take a moment to think about it, and categorize all of your faults into a coherent statement. I’ll give you a moment of privacy while I go to the restroom. Excuse me.”

  Sidney stood, and a hint of a smile played at the corners of her mouth as he rose up slightly. She pushed gently down on his shoulder and squeezed slightly. “Can you order me another cocktail?”

  “Yeah, sure,” he replied.

  She added a little bit of a sway to her hips as she walked to the restroom. The great thing about living in a walking city like DC was that she could have three damn drinks with brunch if she wanted to; she wasn’t driving.

  By the time she returned to the table, there were two more drinks and a fresh bowl of fruit. She sat and popped a raspberry into her mouth. “So, what’d you come up with?”

  He shrugged. “To be honest, I think it must be that I’m not ready for marriage or children yet.”

  “Oh?” She arched her eyebrow. This was going to be interesting.

  “Yeah. I’ve dated a lot of women who—”

  “A lot?”

  “Well, not a lot, but several,” he corrected himself quickly. “Anyways…after a few months, the talk inevitably turns to marriage and children. I’ve liked the women, obviously, otherwise I wouldn’t have been in a relationship with them, but I didn’t want to start a family with any of them. Is that weird?”

  She shook her head. “No, it’s not. I’ve stayed in relationships before, simply because it was easier than the alternative. Someone to talk to or go to dinner with, have se—to be intimate—with,” she amended. “Life is just easier sometimes when you have someone there, even if they’re not there for you. But I’m the same way. I’ve dated and been in relationships that I was comfortable with and had no desire to take it to the next step with marriage or, heaven forbid, bringing children into this world.”

  He took a sip, and she felt self-conscious about her answer, so she blurted out, “I mean, I want kids eventually, but I’m still young and have plenty of time.”

  “Exactly,” he sighed. “So many people don’t seem to get that. They want to ‘get started with the rest of their lives, today’,” he said, making air quotes with his fingers. “It’s exhausting.”

  “So, we agree then. We’re never getting married,” Sidney quipped.

  He laughed uncomfortably.

  “I’m kidding, Linc,” she clarified. “We’re on our first date. I’m not a psycho or something—although, that’s another great classic movie.”

  Lincoln’s face got deadly serious. “Which version?”

  “Are you seriously asking me which version?”

  “Yup. Everything depends on your answer. Get it right, and you’ll be showered with affection. Maybe I’ll even let you come back to my place for a repeat of last night. Get it wrong, and I’ll call you an Uber.”

  “Oooh,” she drew out her words. “Were you a film student or something?”

  “I am a film student—but not that bullshit they try to force-feed undergrads at liberal arts colleges. I absolutely enjoy a good movie, not just watching it, but reveling in it. The symbolism. The hidden messages. The Easter eggs that a masterful filmmaker sprinkles throughout the story. The agendas—even when I don’t agree with them. In my opinion, directors today don’t do nearly as good of a job about layering meanings to their films like they did in the old days.”

  Oh God, she thought. There it is. He’s a movie nerd. Aloud, she replied, “Well, I love watching movies too, but I try not to read too much into them. Just like a book, sometimes the writer just means the sky is blue, not that it’s a symbolism for a deep sadness or something like that.”

  She took a sip of her drink, which she’d left sitting on the table since she returned from the restroom. “To answer your question. The 1960 Psycho is the only one that counts. That cobbled-together abomination from the late nineties or early two thousands is just—ugh. I hate it when Hollywood does remakes. Most of the time they suck hairy balls.”

  He choked on his drink. “Excuse me?”

  “What? That I don’t like remakes or that I don’t like hairy balls?”

  Lincoln glanced around the restaurant. “Ah…the second one.”

  “Oh!” she said. His shyness was cute, in a way. “We’re in a nice restaurant, and you don’t think I should be talking about my preferences in human anatomy.”

  She’d purposefully said the second part of that last sentence louder than the first part. Lincoln’s face was beginning to redden, which made her grin. She tipped her cocktail up and drained the entire thing. It went down way too smoothly for a fifteen-dollar drink.

  She pushed back from the table. “Come on, champ. Let’s go back to your place and” —she bent down and whispered in his ear— “screw.”

  She bit his earlobe and continued,
“Maybe I’ll even let you do me from behind in the alley, like a dirty girl. That’s what you said you’d do to me last night—but you failed to deliver.”

  Maybe that last part was over-the-top for a first date, but she liked the guy, and she was feeling the drinks. She needed to know he could roll with her playful jabs, and if this went anywhere, it was essential that he could keep up with her kinky side.

  “But, I, ah…I haven’t paid yet.”

  “Well, chop-chop.” She patted his shoulder as she said it. “The day is young, and this place sure as heck lived up to what you said it would.”

  “Yeah. I—”

  She cut him off. “I’ll be at the bar to see what the update is on that stuff out west. I know a ton of people out in Portland and Seattle. I hope they’re okay.”

  She didn’t wait for him to reply. Again, she exaggerated the back-and-forth motion of her hips as she weaved her way through the tables to the bar and took a seat.

  Besides a couple sitting across from her, she was alone at the bar. The bartender wasn’t there, so she busied herself with the television. Black boxes of white text scrolled past as the anchors talked about the terrible violence spreading across areas of the country.

  Frustrated with the misspellings of words that changed the meaning of the newscast, she stood on the barstool’s crossbeam to see behind the bar. The remote control sat on top of a few glasses, elevated to keep it from getting wet.

  Sidney picked up the remote and pressed the volume button several times until she could hear what the anchors were saying.

  3

  GNN Broadcast Center, Atlanta, Georgia

  March 26th

  The studio lights darkened as the anchor shuffled the papers nervously in front of him. He’d reported on wars, riots, natural disasters, and that damn presidential election, but none of those events were as creepy as the two stories he’d be discussing this morning—if they were real.

  The floor manager gave him a countdown, silently holding up three fingers and mouthing the words. He’d be live in three…two…one…

  “Good morning,” he said stoically. “I’m Chet Davidson, reporting to you from the GNN Broadcast Center in Atlanta, Georgia. GNN has recently learned of a new, deadly disease that the US Government is trying to keep the world from discovering—and it may already be on our shores.

  “These unconfirmed reports say the disease has appeared in parts of California and Oregon, and possibly in Michigan. The reports are unconfirmed because of the widespread disruption of cell phone service, Internet service, even telephone service in these areas. GNN’s own, normally reliable satellite connections with our affiliates in the affected areas are inoperable as well.

  “We’ll discuss the reports of the disease with one of the nation’s leading biomedical scientists later on in our show. But first, GNN has obtained exclusive video of a military quarantine that’s possibly occurring in Sacramento, California. The video, taken on a helmet-mounted GoPro camera, was smuggled across the northern part of the state to our affiliate in Redding, California, by a dirt bike rider who said he was chased by helicopters and military vehicles for several hours. GNN affiliate KRED-TV has the story.”

  Chet stared dutifully at the camera until the ON AIR light turned off. He’d seen the interview with the stoner three times and had no interest in trying to decipher his stupid lingo a fourth time. As the kid’s face appeared in the “Live Feed” monitor facing him, Chet stood, sipping sparkling water while the makeup assistant materialized at his elbow.

  “It’s only been one minute, Kimmie,” he grumbled.

  “That’s about your average, isn’t it?” she muttered, patting his forehead with a small powder applicator.

  Chet had fucked the blonde bimbo a few times over the winter, and he regretted it every day. She was the daughter of James Abington, the Executive Vice President of Programming at GNN US. As such, Chet didn’t have any type of pull to get her fired or moved to a different broadcast; his three-hour GNN Morning Headlines show was the only broadcast that fit her college schedule. So, he had to endure her constant reminders of his inadequacies in the bedroom—although truthfully, he’d been sloppy drunk each time, and his performance had been hindered. Whiskey dick was a real problem in Chet’s world.

  He wisely kept his mouth shut and waited for Kimmie to finish her touch-ups. When she was done, she left with a smile, making it appear to everyone else in the room that nothing was amiss.

  The interview portion of the video was winding down. Chet knew this because a gust of wind blew the kid’s flat-billed hat off, and he chased after it comically for a moment, recovering it quickly. The editors at KRED-TV had inexplicably decided to leave that part instead of splicing the video. Chet could only imagine they left the footage unedited to appear more authentic since the alleged GoPro footage would be labeled a fake by the authorities as soon as it aired.

  The anchor sat back down at his chair to watch the video footage that the young idiot had captured. This part of KRED-TV’s broadcast was captivating.

  The GoPro footage showed waving green grasses, already beginning the transition to the summer brown, and several varieties of trees, stunted from the long-term lack of meaningful rain in the region. Sacramento was right on the edge between the northern part of the state, which got plenty of precipitation, and Central California, notorious for suffering through extended periods of drought. Dust swirled around the rider as he made his way along a dirt path.

  He stopped and his hand came away from the throttle, pointing toward a long line of tan military vehicles. They ran from right to left across his field of view as far as he could see in either direction, appearing to support the boy’s claim that the city was completely encircled. The rider said he was outside of Sacramento, but the weather and distance had obscured any recognizable landmarks or buildings downtown, so in truth, it could have been anywhere out west.

  In the distance, a large mob of men, women, and children ran toward the line of soldiers and, in a scene that Chet had watched several times, the soldiers raised their rifles. Muffled shouts could be heard from where the rider sat recording the interaction. The crowd did not slow, and the first few shots rang out clearly, then the entire line began to fire into the oncoming crowd. People collapsed and were trampled underfoot by the press of bodies. Several large explosions punctuated the small arms fire, making the rider jerk his head back and forth between the gunfire and the billowing clouds of dust that the explosions created. Then, the big guns on the trucks got into the fray. The rhythmic chugging of the bigger weapons filled the speakers, and sound engineers adjusted the volume so as not to drown out every other noise. Even from the dirt bike rider’s distance, the camera was able to pick up bright splashes of red against the dun-colored background.

  The video lurched sideways when the rider looked skyward. A rakish military helicopter flew toward him. He focused ahead once more, and his right hand twisted the throttle, shooting the bike forward. The shot was jumpy for several seconds, and another helicopter swooped across the front, low to the ground and kicking up dust. The bike took a hard left and went into a stretch of the stunted trees. He killed the bike and looked around wildly. Through the leaves of a few oak trees and needles of the pines, two helicopters could be seen circling overhead as their rotors spun noisily, searching for the rider.

  Chet took that as his cue to lead back in. “As you can see, the young man was chased away from the scene outside of Sacramento. In his interview, he stated that he was harassed by helicopters and military vehicles for more than two hours as he headed northwest, before finally losing them in the darkness and making his way to Redding, where he gave our affiliate station the camera footage of the event.”

  The anchor’s eyes focused on the monitor in front of him, seeing that he’d gone into a split screen with an older man in a dark-blue suit and yellow tie. Nice combination, he thought before saying, “Joining me this morning is GNN Military Analyst, US Marine Corps, Retired, Col
onel Steven Walsh. Colonel, good morning, and thank you for coming on our show this morning.”

  “Thank you, Chet. Always a pleasure to be here.”

  “Were you watching the helmet cam video from Sacramento?”

  “Yeah, I watched it.”

  “So, what do you make of it?” Chet asked. “Do you think the footage is real, or do you believe that it’s faked, doctored somehow?”

  The colonel shrugged his shoulders slightly. “I’m not a video analyst, so you’d have to rely on your own techs to determine that. The immediate concern that comes to mind for me is that the video appears to show American soldiers or Marines—couldn’t discern which from the distance—firing on unarmed civilians. My contacts at the Pentagon aren’t acknowledging anything of the sort, and my calls to the California Adjutant General’s office have gone unanswered.”

  “I’m sorry, Colonel. The Adjutant General’s office?” Chet asked for clarification. He knew what it was, but some of his viewers may not.

  “The Adjutant General is the commander of the state’s National Guard,” Colonel Walsh replied. “Each state has a TAG. They’re responsible for coordinating any type of response from the National Guard. No one’s answering on any of the numbers publicly available at the California National Guard Headquarters.”

  “Is the office you’ve been trying to contact in Sacramento?” Chet pressed, sensing his opportunity to hammer at another issue.

  “Yes. They’re headquartered in the state capital.”

  “So then you shouldn’t be surprised that no one is answering since we’ve lost all communications with Sacramento. That’s more than just a coincidence, don’t you think, Colonel? The alleged ring of troops around the city and the complete loss of communications with anyone there seem to be related.”