Protocol One Read online

  PROTOCOL ONE

  by

  Jacqueline Druga

  Protocol One

  By Jacqueline Druga

  Copyright 2014 by Jacqueline Druga

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any person or persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  For all her help, always, Linda K. And special thanks to Kira R. for being an extra set of eyes.

  COVER ART BY ELOISE J. KNAPP

  ELOISE J KNAPP DESIGNS

  http://www.eloisejknapp.com/

  Stock photo of survivors provided by http://hiddenyume-stock.deviantart.com/

  Extinction is the rule. Survival is the exception.

  ~ Carl Sagan

  1 – Resetting the Clock

  August 1- One Hour Post Event

  Eventually, striking a match would become a luxury. Something so simple, so accessible, could be the gold of tomorrow. I hated the thought of lighting that match. I prolonged it. I held high hopes that it would be the last and only one I had to use. But I had to light it … just in case.

  Just in case.

  In case every bit of planning was for naught. Just in case everything we learned and were told ended up wrong. That match, that single match would start it all.

  Granted, there were ten thousand matches in storage. What a ridiculous amount. I scoffed at that. But in the dark, it seemed miniscule. How long really would ten thousand matches last? Long enough until we found another way? I supposed that rationing them from the get go was what needed to be done.

  Rationing was a word I would have to learn to use.

  It started with a match.

  Yet, I hesitated in lighting it.

  In that moment, maybe a few seconds or a minute into it, I thought about life up to that moment. My mind raced.

  Every single thing I had around me, every person was an asset, whether they seemed like it or not.

  It had come, it really had come.

  No amount of planning prepares you for the instant that the world ends.

  Especially, if you aren’t paying attention.

  I was one of those individuals who had what they called an External Locus of Control. Meaning, I firmly believed that things happened and there was nothing I could do about it.

  I viewed everything that way.

  Taking life as it came.

  I never made a grocery list, never preplanned my meals, or even shopped early for Christmas.

  If it happens, it happens.

  In the weeks and years ahead, perhaps that attitude would suffice, but sitting in the dark, praying that it was all planned correctly, was not one of those moments.

  Steps had been taken that brought me to the dark point. Everything up to that moment had been thought out for me.

  It was time that I took the reins and started thinking for myself.

  The knowledge had to be in my head somewhere, it had to be.

  Would I draw upon it?

  Everything was a mystery.

  The clock just reset.

  The new time began with the striking of that match.

  Finally, I ignited it.

  2 – Gil

  A Reflection

  How many times did I hear the same thing until it got to the point that I stopped listening?

  Did I ever pay attention?

  Eventually, I’d find out if I absorbed it all or passively let it go in one ear and out the other.

  “Anna, are you listening?”

  “Yes, Gil, I am.”

  “So you heard what I said?”

  “Yes, Gil, I did.”

  “Tell me.”

  Pause.

  Sometimes, I could fake it. But Gil called me out.

  Gil.

  One would think by the way he dictated my life that we were still married. Gil Jenner was not an ex-husband I hated. He was simply a former spouse from a marriage that didn’t make the cut. No hard feelings, we just didn’t click.

  I met Gil when I was a starry eyed teenager. He was my brother’s friend that was joining the service between his junior and senior year of high school. I remember thinking this was his summer vacation and he was giving it up to go to boot camp. Well, that was dumb. I told him that too. He had this ideal that everything he did in his life, he wanted to do for the greater good. Kind of a tall order for a teenager. Then again, I was only fifteen years old so I didn’t ‘get it’. Eventually we married. We married young, had a child young and divorced young.

  Gil was in law school at the time and still in the service.

  Everyone told me I was nuts giving up on a man who would one day be a lawyer. But I looked at it as giving him a better chance in life. He was struggling, I cut him a break on support and was quite content supporting our son Jackson off of what I made waiting tables.

  I knew Gil would succeed, he always did.

  When he set his mind to do something, he achieved it.

  Except us. I don’t think anyone tried harder than Gil to make a marriage work. Hand raised, I take full blame. I didn’t want to make it work. I just... didn’t feel it. Maybe it was the fact that I gave up too soon.

  I was guilty of really having no aspiration. I just wanted to live life, be happy, make enough money to pay the bills and raise Jackson.

  Gil went on to be a Jag Officer, then he hit the lottery. I mean, he actually hit the lottery. He gave me enough money to stop working, which I didn’t. Then he followed his dream. He went from local Congressman, to State Senator on a unstoppable locomotive. I firmly believe that had the world not hit the wall, Gil would have been elected President of the United States come November.

  He was ahead in the polls, the most likable and honest man and through every campaign stop he smiled. Despite the fact that he knew. He knew it was coming.

  Gil was always ready.

  When we lived in Montana he was always prepping me for the eruption of Yellowstone.

  Did you get this? Did you get that?

  Giving me a list and when I asked why, he would say in a very offhanded way, “Oh, yeah, well, just in case the Caldera blows.”

  Same thing with California. He was waiting for it to fall into the ocean.

  International news brought back the good old days of preparing for nuclear war.

  “Quick, Anna, tell me, how many roentgens of radiation can the body absorb before becoming ill?”

  “Um …”

  “Quick.”

  “I don’t know. A thousand?”

  “A thousand? A thousand? Really. You like your hair? Because the amount of knowledge you have absorbed is going to pale into comparison to the amount of radiation you will absorb. Gees.”

  “Oh my God, Gil. Who cares?” I’d reply with a laugh.

  The busier he got, the worst he got with text messages.

  At least those I could ignore.

  After we broke up, I thought it would stop. It didn’t. At first I thought he did so out of habit, then that it was because of our son. But even Jackson grew older it still didn’t stop.

  The excuse of ‘I can’t afford to buy extra batteries this week’, didn’t wash. Gil paid for it.

  He was an excessive ‘be prepared’ person. Not a radical prepper, the needs were always in conjunction with the threat.

  He’d give me the list and I went out and got it..I never really asked the reason for it. He would spew forth tips; I would nod my head or simply text ‘K’.

  But he always, always told me why I was doing something.

  Not this time.

  This time was different.

  Gil never said ‘why’... that alone should have triggered more worry
in me than it did.

  3 – Shipping

  June 27 – Five Weeks Before Event

  Seriously? Why do I answer the phone? I thought, as I jotted down the address. “Gil, I think the UPS guy thinks I have a crush on him. I’ve been there an awful lot.”

  “Maybe you should go out on a date. No wait, don’t. Don’t start any relationships.” He said.

  “Oh, this must be a big one.”

  “Anna …”

  “Nuclear war? No wait. It has to be …”

  “Anna, enough, please! I can’t tell you anything. This is a ‘just in case’.”

  “Gil, you had me laundering cardboard like it’s drug money. Seriously. I shipped cardboard to someone in Wisconsin. The aluminum foil I shipped to Florida.”

  “I can’t have the items traced back to me.”

  “Laundering. Odd things too.”

  “Just …” I could tell by the tone of his voice he was getting frustrated with my lack of seriousness. “Keep doing this please. It will all make sense. Or hopefully, it won’t. But if the need arises it will all come together like a puzzle.”

  “Okay, I’ll trust you. Does your wife do mystery shopping too?”

  “No, my … ex wife, is on a different agenda and she doesn’t have my son.”

  Man, you just collect them, don’t you?”

  “Anna.” He laughed.

  Standing in the small kitchen, I leaned on the counter that separated the kitchen from the living room and looked at Jackson who sat on the couch wearing headphones. He lounged with his back propped against the arm of the sofa, his computer tablet resting against his bent knees as well as a small musical keyboard.

  “All right,” I said. “Cardboard shipped. Mayner bags and foil went out …”

  “We need more foil.”

  “Good lord, ok, I’ll get more foil. Gil, honestly, none of this is typical. Early on it was but this stuff... I’m starting to get curious.”

  “Six months later and now you're curious?” Gil asked. “Does the debit card still have funds on it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, check please so I can reload it.”

  “I’ll check. Can you tell me what all this is for?”

  Gil hesitated. “It’s big and I can’t.”

  A decade earlier, the words ‘it's big and I can’t’ wouldn’t have made a difference, but seeing how big, politically Gil had become, they made me nervous. Then he said, “But you can say I am aiding in build a spaceship.”

  “I thought so with all that foil.”

  “Mom,” Jackson called out.

  I looked up to see him peeking out the curtains.

  “Paparazzi is out there. I think.”

  I exhaled. “I have to go, the paparazzi is out there. Are they the reason I don’t have any of this stuff here?”

  “What? No.” Gil laughed. “It’s simply because … I just don’t know where you’re going yet.”

  “What?”

  “Go deal with the paparazzi. And the foil.”

  “Foil. And … Gil, on a serious note.” I changed the sound of my voice. “I’m really proud of you. You make us proud.” He merely responded with a humble sounding ‘thank you’, then I said my goodbye.

  I hung up and mumbled. “More foil. I bet he is making a spaceship.” I ripped the sheet of paper from the tablet, folded it and placed it in my pocket as I walked around to the living room. “Daddy’s making a spaceship.”

  Jackson lowered his headset. “I’m sorry, what was that mom?”

  “Nothing.” I looked down at Jackson. He reminded me so much of Gil when he was that age. Before he hit that ‘I’m gonna work out to look big and strong’ phase. Both Gil and Jackson were tall, with defined rugged features and sandy brown hair. Jackson had the musician looks about him, with his waif-like build and pants that didn’t always fit. Gil on the other hand was a toned down Incredible Hulk after he stopped working out and drank a six pack a day.

  However, the rigorous campaign trail did help in giving Gil back that fit and lean look.

  “How’s the composition going?” I asked.

  Jackson shrugged. “Not much on Animated Kid film music. So I'm not sure if it will work.”

  “When you were a kid and we’d go see those movies, I loved the sound tracks to them. They don’t need to be childish, just good. I’m glad you decided to do the summer program. I know it’s a lot of work, and this is summer vacation …”

  “It’s what I want to do with my life. So it’s not work.”

  I smiled. Eighteen, in between his junior and senior year of high school and chasing his future. He didn’t get that from me.

  I mussed his hair then leaned over and parted the drapes to look out the window. There were two cars parked across the street. Yes, that was the extent of our big reporter bombardment. “You sure that’s the paparazzi and not Mrs. Deil having another Tupperware party?”

  “Paparazzi.”

  “Swell.” I exhaled. “I’ll brave them. I know what to do.”

  “You have to go out?”

  “Yep.”

  “Another list from Dad?”

  “Yep.” I sought out my purse.

  “Did he say what we’re bracing for now? I know two years ago it was the flu outbreak from Mexico.” Jackson said.

  “Nope, he won’t say. He did say he was building a spaceship.”

  “Makes sense with all that foil. Either that or it’s in prep for a HEMP.”

  “Hemp?” I asked. “You mean like drugs?”

  Jackson laughed. “Oh my God, you really don’t pay attention to dad at all. Go to the store.”

  “I’m going.” Just before I opened the door, I stopped, snapped my fingers, blustered out an “almost forgot”, raced to the kitchen and grabbed a box of snack cakes. “Now I am armed and ready.” I said and left my home for another odd shopping trip.

  4 – Hints

  Little Bonnie Snack Cakes were a family favorite when the household income didn’t allow for the luxury of the more expensive cream filled snacks. They also were awesome when trying to deal with paparazzi. Most of them that we dealt with were young journalists and photographers trying to grab a story to make ends meet. They were on a pay by story basis, so treats were few and far between.

  A bottle of bourbon worked if they were insistent, but I always tried the snack cakes first.

  Our street wasn’t very wide so they were easily spotted. It was a small dead end street with small modest homes and short driveways. I liked it.

  Jackson and I previously lived in California at Gil’s request. I didn’t have a problem with it because I didn’t have a career, only a job. No, wait, my career was raising Jackson.

  Four years earlier, not long after my brother was killed in the line of duty, my father fell ill. There was no one to look after him or help him. Not that my father was old, he wasn’t, but the illness was serious.

  Jackson and I packed up and moved in with my father in Midland, Texas. Gil understood the distance thing and another selling point was the really good performing arts school there.

  Even though my father passed away six months after we arrived, Jackson and I stayed.

  I worked at a restaurant called The Slice, part time as a waitress until Gil won the Iowa Caucus and then I couldn’t. Suddenly the Senator from California was under scrutiny. Everyone wanted dirt on him, after all, he couldn’t be that nice of a guy.... he was a politician.

  For some reason, the press seemed to think Gwen was his only wife. Of course she was the only wife they ever saw throughout his political venture. She was a picture perfect wife for any politician. Her father was the Vice President to the two term president. He opted not to run, and Gil was perfect.

  It was funny when I was discovered.

  Jackson was never in the spotlight. Gil never wanted his child in the spotlight. I was quickly pegged as the mother of his “love child”. His dirty hidden secret, tucked away and living in squalor and poverty
in Midland, Texas.

  I resented that. My single story, two bedroom home was fine, and more than that it was my father’s house. Second, we weren’t hidden. No one really paid attention to us in California. If they had, they would have known I was married to him first.

  When the paparazzi showed up we knew a new scandal was forthcoming.

  Gil had nothing to hide.

  “Hey, guys.” Since there was no rushing to a hidden car and peeling from the driveway, I walked up to the two men with cameras. “Thought you might be hungry.”

  They were new. I had never seen them before. And they looked shocked when I approached them and tossed them the box.

  “I’m headed to the store. Let me know if you need anything.” I walked back to my car.

  “Can I ask a question?” The one shouted out.

  I stopped. “Sure.” I turned. “Shoot.”

  He took a picture.

  I cringed.

  “Is it true, that Senator Jenner is trying to rekindle a relationship with you?”

  “Gosh, don’t get my hopes up,” I joked. “All kidding aside. That’s absurd. Why would he do that? He and Gwen just divorced two months ago.”

  The younger of the two men shrugged. “I mean, it’s hard for a non family man to get into the White House.”

  “He is a family man. Just not a married one. This isn’t news guys. Really, it’s boring.”

  “People want the human side.”

  “Just ask Gil.” I began to return to my car.

  “There are reports he is calling you up to three times a day, every day.”

  “We have a child.”

  The other reporter called out, “His former wife said …”

  That actually made me stop. “I am his former wife. If you are speaking about Gwen, that’s an ex wife and if you look around and wait, I’m sure you’ll find a future wife. But...it’s not me.” I grabbed the car door handle.

  “Is it because the Senator is a womanizer?”

  “No, it’s because he’s a great guy who deserves someone in his life.” Without further hesitation, I got in my car. They weren’t chasing me, in fact, they immediately started to converse. Maybe they agreed I wasn’t the story.