The War Cloud

26

Jennifer turned the minivan up the long incline overlooking her aunt’s grand 1890 carriage house that abutted the riding trails. The secluded home looked dark and foreboding. Inside the minivan, the radio was playing with continuous news reports from New York’s WCBS-AM.

Jennifer pulled to a stop and looked out the frosty window at the house in the distance. It was early afternoon, but with the January snow it felt like early evening. She hadn’t seen the Suburban for an hour, and she was tired of playing hide-and-seek. If they had hoped to find her here, they would have already come and gone.

Robbie, tense as ever, observed, “The lights are off.”

“Doesn’t mean anything,” Jennifer said. “Carla likes to keep the ConEd bills low for my aunt when she’s out of town. It’s like a freezer inside.”

“You mean your aunt isn’t even home?”

“Vacation in the Bahamas with her boyfriend,” Jennifer said. “But there’s a loaded.357 Magnum locked up in a closet, food in the kitchen, and a place to hide in the basement.”

The CBS radio news was suddenly interrupted by a flat, ominous tone. A deep, authoritarian voice blared from the speaker.

“This is the Emergency Alert System. This is not a test. Repeating. This is not a test.”

“Holy crap!” Robbie squeaked.

Jennifer looked at Robbie and suddenly wondered what she ever saw in this wus. “Shut up and listen.” She turned up the volume.

“This is the Emergency Alert Message from the president of the United States.”

But it wasn’t President Rhinehart that came on. It was a woman.

“Whereas an unprovoked nuclear attack has been launched against the United States by foreign military forces…”

Jennifer listened closely to the distant but familiar voice.

“…And whereas the exigencies of the international situation and of the national defense require the suspension of traditional democratic practices…Jennifer cocked her ear in disbelief. “Mom?”

“We’re doomed!” Robbie moaned.

Jennifer punched him in the arm. “I told you to shut up!”

“…Now therefore I, Deborah Sachs, president of the United States, hereby proclaim that a state of war exists.”

Oh, my God, Jennifer thought, clapping both her frozen hands over her mouth.

Robbie pointed an accusing finger at the dashboard radio. “Hey, the Constitution says only Congress can declare war.”

Jennifer cracked open her door and planted one boot in the snow.

“Hey!” Robbie shouted. “Where are you going?”

“Are you deaf?” she said. “Didn’t you just hear the radio? My mom and Aunt Dina are probably worried sick about me. I can call them from inside the house and let them know I’m OK. You coming?”

“No way,” he said and slid behind the wheel. He quickly adjusted the driver’s seat so his feet could reach the pedals. “You’re surrendering.”

“I’m the First Kid now,” she told him. “Everybody has to listen to me. Including you. Fine, drive home to your folks. They’re probably just as worried.”

She shut the door and watched him put the minivan into reverse, back up, and then screech down the road, disappearing into the darkening afternoon. She then turned and trudged through the knee-high snow down the hillside, one long stride after another, toward Aunt Dina’s house.

She burst through the front door, key in hand. “Carla? Carla?” she called for the housekeeper.

The living room, filled with expensive built-ins and antiques and period rugs, was empty. “Carla?” she called out, then ran up the stairs to the bedrooms.

But the bedrooms were empty too, including her own. She looked at the shelves next to her bed lined with trophies from soccer, basketball and softball. Even the trophies, however, were dwarfed by the ribbons and cups from her horse riding conquests. But it was the solid crystal cube— a commemorative urn — on the middle shelf that caught her eye. Etched in the crystal was an outline of an old-fashioned biplane and the words:

Richard Sachs

July 7, 1955-September 11, 2001

Jennifer looked at it for a long moment, then turned and walked into the hallway again, calling Carla’s name.

Maybe Carla left, she thought as she hurried down the stairs and ran into the kitchen, tripping over a pile of laundry. She landed hard and sprawled across the floor.

“Owww,” she cried out.

She pushed up with her hands to get on all fours when she saw the blood on the travertine tiles and froze. Slowly she willed her eyes to follow the blood trail until it ended at Carla’s skull.

“Oh, my God!” she screamed and jumped back.

Carla was on her back, staring at the ceiling, a small, dark hole in her forehead. Jennifer glanced up at the window over the sink. There was a hole in the center of a spider-web crack.

niper got Carla, she realized, feeling her heart pounding out of her chest as she gasped for air. Somebody’s out there.

She didn’t dare stand up again. Instead she crawled along the cabinetry and poked her head around to look outside the sliding glass door. A black Suburban suddenly hit its high-beams, blinding her. She recoiled and crouched back behind the counter.

“No, no, no,” she moaned.

She poked her head out again and saw the silhouettes of two shadowy figures with guns — M-16s from the profiles — walking toward the house.

She ducked back out of sight, staring at Carla on the floor in front of her. Warm tears rolled down her frozen cheeks as she bit down hard on her lower lip.

Her mom was right.